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“Aren’t you underestimating yourself a little?” Barrow asked in his typical teasing tone.
It took her a good moment to remember what it was they had been talking about. “No, I am not,” she replied, as much to herself as to him.
He shrugged. “Suit yourself, then.”
She focused on the banality of his tone, reminding herself that his feelings for her were nothing short of frivolous. Francesca’s body and heart might be in an uproar for his attention, but she knew better than to think he felt anywhere close to the same intensity of emotion for her. Even so, it took everything she had not to change her mind and beckon him along with her to the secluded locales dotting Jasper’s massive estate. “I should locate Sophie to tell her of Lady Clifton’s visit and the many more she will conduct.”
And just like that, he closed up once more, the teasing warmth leaving his eyes and being replaced with something harder, warier. “Yes, I suppose we will see more of her. Good morning, then. I will probably be gone for the remainder of the day.” He gave her a stiff bow and walked past. She watched his lean form disappear around a corner towards the hall, and it was embarrassingly difficult not to walk after him.
**
Arthur made his way to the stables, clenching and unclenching his hands to release the tension thrumming within him. Lady Clifton’s visit had been jarring, and he was all but certain the woman somehow knew his identity. While he was partly thankful that she hadn’t seemed to have said anything to Lady Aircourt or anyone else, that she felt inclined to hide the information was odd at best and downright suspicious at worst. Unlike himself, she had no reason to hide the facts, and he’d spent the entire visit trying to work out what exactly her angle was. Possibly even more concerning was the fact that Lady Francesca had seemed to pick up on his discomfort. He’d brought up her walk as a way to throw her off the scent, and it had worked well. Rather too well, if he were being honest, for it had only taken the sight of her pretty flush and the likely lurid imaginings that had caused it to make him forget the comments had been made in jest at all. Even now, all he could see was her slight form sprawled invitingly on the grass, moaning his name whilst he settled between her lovely thighs and thrust into the snug heat of her body.
“My horse, lad,” he barked to the stable hand. The boy jumped, nearly dropping the tack he’d been shining, and Arthur felt a pang of regret for his outburst. “Apologies, I am running a tad late, and my mind is in a bit of a tangle. Please, take your time. I can see that I’ve interrupted your chores.” If there was one thing Arthur loathed most about the aristocracy, it was their treatment towards those they employed. He despised ever coming across in a similar manner, even if unintentionally.
The stable hand bobbed his head. “No worries, sir. I’ll have your mount out right away. Midas, right?”
“Yes, thank you,” Arthur replied with a smile.
The boy returned the gesture with a grin of his own. “Of course. ‘Tis my pleasure.”
Arthur watched him scamper off before making his way back outside. Amberwood’s servants were often quite a happy and efficient lot, likely because of their substantial wages and fair treatment. Satisfied employees made for smoother operations, a philosophy that Arthur himself had always adhered to within the walls of The White Heather. The skill and loyalty he could expect from all of his people were worth far more than any small gains he might earn from undervaluing their contribution to the success of his hall. He had the distinct impression that the tenants and employees of Renwood were not given the same consideration, and this would be the first thing he rectified once he got a good look at the state of things. This covert ride to the border of the estate was his first step in gathering such information.
The stable hand returned within a few minutes, and after a friendly conversation about horseflesh, along with a few shillings for the rambunctious lad, Arthur was off. After allowing Midas his paces through the fields, he followed the trail that Amberwood had told him of at breakfast. Little traveled and winding through the thick woodlands that served as a natural border between the two estates, the route was perfect for snooping. If he was caught by a gamekeeper, it would be a simple manner to feign ignorance and a lack of direction. The path was quite overgrown, and it took a good hour of trotting delicately over fallen branches and muddy pits before he emerged on the other side. The first thing that greeted him upon emerging from the tree line was a wooden fence; a very old, very dilapidated wooden fence. Several beams had fallen from their moorings, the rotting posts having done little to prevent collapse.
A wonderful first sign.
The field beyond it was fallow, despite it being near the end of spring. Arthur knew little about farming, but he was reasonably sure that empty, muddy fields were not the thing at the height of planting season. Several of the crops on Amberwood’s land were already sprouting. Arthur squinted to get a look further afield, only seeing more empty acres, much of the land dotted by patches of tall grass.
“What are you doing here?”
Years of experience in a world where showing weakness meant potential death was the only reason Arthur didn’t jump at the sudden child-like voice. A little girl with perfectly plaited blonde hair and impeccably dressed in a starch white pinafore emerged from the trees. Her grey eyes, nearly identical to his own, narrowed on him in consideration. It took him less than a second to conclude that this was another relative, though that realization did nothing to solve the mystery of why the child was at the extreme end of the estate. Pasting on his most charming smile, Arthur doffed his hat. “Hello there. I did not see you.”
“Of course not. I was hiding.”
“Not from me, surely?”
“Why are you staring at the fields so much?” she replied without missing a beat. “You’re not another one of those men, are you?”
“Those men?” he repeated, deciding to choose his next words with care. One underestimated the perceptiveness of children to their detriment, and he didn’t need the girl to think he was prying. “Were they trying to buy some land, perhaps?” It wouldn’t surprise him that some enterprising individuals had heard of the old earl’s financial straits and had made an offer on the unentailed chunks of land. It had been how he himself had acquired the building that would become The White Heather Hall. A formally wealthy merchant had been desperate for funds and had sold the expansive building for a paltry sum, and he was sure there were sharks hoping for the same sniffing around this property.
“They won’t sell anything to you. I heard Eunice telling mama such.”
“Eunice?”
“My sister.” The girl wrinkled her nose. “Though she’s old. Older than Mama.”
Ah. “You are Lady Clifton’s daughter, I presume?” Minus her hair and eyes, he could see the resemblance. Good God, he realized with some revulsion towards his grandfather, this little one was one of his aunts.
The girl’s shoulders relaxed at the words, her eyes losing their suspicion. “You know mama?”
He nodded. “Yes. Your mother came to call at Festoon Hall earlier today. I am a guest of The Marquess of Amberwood.”
“Then why are you all the way out here?” she inquired.
Arthur shrugged. “I was having an afternoon ride and became lost in this forest. I realized I wasn’t on Amberwood’s land and was trying to get my bearings.” He leaned forward on his horse. “And what is a little girl doing all the way out here?”
“I am not little!” she snapped back with a pout.
