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“Castleton!” She shouted and ran to the door. “How dare you! Let me go at once!”
“Calm yourself, Miss Matthews. I don’t want the responsibility of you freezing to death on my land. I’ll send you home in the morning.”
The morning?
“Oh, but my aunt! She’s ill and all alone.Please,Lord Castleton, I must go back to take care of her.” The fight in her died swiftly as she realized how dangerous it was for Florence to be left alone. “Please…” she cried and struck a fist against the door. “Please, she’s very ill.”
She was afraid he had already left, but then she heard a soft breath on the other side of the door.
“Ugh,” Castleton muttered. “Very well. I will fetch your aunt and bring her here before the snow is too thick for the coach to travel. She will remain as my guest, and if necessary, I will have a doctor called in to look after her. I will find some way that you can repay me for my mercy later.”
She sank against the door, listening to the sound of his booted steps grow fainter and fainter.
Lord, all she had done was throw a harmless snowball. By doing so, she’d managed to start a war with the Earl of Castleton.
CHAPTER2
Arthur Brynnwood, the new Earl of Castleton, had just locked a woman in a bedchamber.
Good Lord. Now what?
He had been possessed by some flight of madness, that had to be it. It must have been caused by the pressure of being saddled with a new title and a vast estate. His great-uncle had been in good health and his death had been entirely unexpected. Arthur hadn’t been prepared to take over this life, these lands, and certainly not the responsibility that came with it. He had enjoyed a life of leisure in London. He’d had money and a fine house, the best horses and excellent servants. Now he had even more, and that somehow made everythingharder.
When he had arrived at the Castleton estate a week ago, his new steward, Mr. Fulton, had discussed all of the assets of the estate as well as its liabilities. This had included a small cottage on the edge of his land called Meadow Cross cottage.
Fulton had mentioned there were two people living in the cottage who hadn’t been paying rent and were also receiving a small stipend from the estate. Yet no reason was provided as to why, or whether it had been a temporary condition that should have ended years ago. This was exactly the sort of oversight that allowed a grand estate to hemorrhage into bankruptcy if one was not careful.
Arthur didn’t know why his great-uncle was paying for these people to live there instead of the other way around, but it was going to end now. Whoever was living there could either pay a reasonable rent or leave.
He’d been satisfied with his decision, until he’d learned he would be tossing out two spinsters into the literal cold. Well, Matilda Matthews was too young to be considered a spinster, and too pretty. It didn’t change his stance on the matter, however. Sentimentality had no place in running an estate.
Stodgens hurried after Arthur as he walked away from the bedchamber he’d locked Matilda in. He’d let her out once he decided how best to handle all of this. The woman was clearly stubborn and pigheaded. If he hadn’t locked her up, the woman would have stormed back out into the snowy night and perished. She could call him a monster all he liked, but at least she’d be warm and safe tonight.
“My lord?” his butler asked, seeking instructions on what to do next.
“Have my coach brought around. I assume it can travel through the woods to this Meadow Cross cottage?”
“Yes, sir. The snow shouldn’t be too thick yet.”
“Good. Prepare a room for this aunt of Miss Matthews.”
“Ahh, yes, sir. That would be Miss Florence Wells.” Stodgens supplied the name quickly.
“See that all is ready for her and for Miss Matthews. And send one of the grooms into the village to bring the doctor back if he can travel. It sounds as though the aunt may be unwell.”
Arthur wasn’t exactly compassionate, but if word reached the villagers that he had killed an old spinster through neglect and allowed her niece to freeze in the woods, he would be run off his land with pitchforks.
“I will see to it, my lord.”
Collecting his cloak and gloves, Arthur went to steal a biscuit from the kitchen and filled a small flask with brandy to tide him over in the coach. He’d worked all day with only a light luncheon, and it was still well over an hour before dinner.
He spent the ride to Meadow Cross cottage puzzling over his predicament. The predicament being what on earth to do with Matilda and her aunt.
The little spitfire had the nerve to march up to his door and call him out for his callousness. London ladies had tongues sharp enough to pierce a man’s heart along with cold smiles and even colder hearts, and they could hold their own against the heartless men of London like him. They battled for dominance with subtle warfare in the ballrooms that would have frightened even the likes of Napoleon.
Here in the country, though, it was different. Women were warmer, softer,real, right down to their tempers and their impressive ball pitching skills. His lips twitched, remembering how Matilda had dared to wallop him with a snowball. He’d never once seen any lady of society dothat.
He’d been furious at first and then had wanted to laugh so hard his stomach cramped. When she’d been all flushed with her fine fury, he had glimpsed what she might be like in the height of passion in a man’s arms, and what a sight it would be for the man lucky enough to bed her. Whenever he came across a lady of gentle breeding who had a hint of a hellion in her, it always attracted him, but he encountered such women so rarely that he hadn’t been tempted in a long time.
