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‘As I have repeatedly said, I am not cut out to be a landlord, have no experience of being one and know, without a shadow of a doubt, that my destiny lies elsewhere.’ Which at this current moment was anywhere but here. ‘Believe me, I’d be so hopeless at it, my selling up will be a blessing in disguise in the long run.’
Once again she used her eyebrows as weapons, arching them with such reasonable, heartfelt and tragic expectation they instantly triggered some misplaced guilt in him. ‘As an officer and a gentleman, will you at least grant us the courtesy of vetting the candidates before you agree to any sale?’
‘Why, Miss Gilbert? So that you can dismiss them all and delay my plans in perpetuity?’ His own frustrated sarcasm slipped out before he had the wherewithal to stop it but awarded him the pleasure of seeing those manipulative raven’s wings which graced her forehead flatten at being thwarted.
‘We should all have a say in our own destinies, my lord.’ The steely glare didn’t fully mask her fear for her future, and much to his complete disgust that got to him more than any reasonable argument ever could have. Rafe knew how it felt to be powerless and at the mercy of others. It was soul destroying.
Flustered, he raked a hand through his hair. ‘I have assured you all that I will endeavour to sell to the right buyer. Unfortunately, at this early stage in the proceedings, I cannot do any more than that no matter how much both sides might wish it, especially if only one buyer ever comes forward.’ Rafe never should have let them in. He certainly should have never uttered the word ‘compromise’ no matter what the provocation. He should have allowed his butler to call the constable and never stared a single scared, powerless villager in the eye because ignorance was indeed bliss. ‘However, if I am fortunate enough to have a choice in the matter, rest assured that I will consult with you all again before I proceed. I cannot say fairer than that.’ He stood to signal that their impromptu, dawn meeting was at a close.
As the others went to stand, Miss Gilbert motioned for them to stay seated as she stared straight into his lying soul. ‘Can you at least clarify what your definition of consult means, my lord?’
She wanted to nail him to something, and for the sake of peace he had to let her or she would never leave. ‘It means the same as Mr Johnson’s dictionary definition, Miss Gilbert. If I can give you all a choice, you have my solemn pledge that I will.’
All eyes swivelled to Miss Gilbert to see what she thought of that answer, and damn her she took her time with her verdict. As the ugly gold mantel clock ticked loud and slow like a death knell, she held his gaze unwaveringly until she finally spoke. ‘Can we have that solemn pledge in writing, Lord Hockley?’
And once again she had him, and by her sugary, butter-would-not-melt-in-her-mouth smile and smugly relaxed eyebrows she knew it.
‘Who should I address the letter to, Miss Gilbert?’ Through gritted teeth, he smiled back. ‘And would normal ink suffice on the document—or do you require it to be written in my blood?’
