laughed. "In fairness to Old Boney, I think Moreland was deserted long before Lord Winn left Yorkshire. He got this property by default through a cousin. He has never lived here. Ain't it a sight how the rich get richer?"
"Oh," she said, stepping carefully around a tread rotting away from the leaking roof.
She stood on the porch again in a moment, and the bailiff pocketed the key. "Pretty sorry, eh, Mrs. Drew?"
If she had been in a calm mood, she would have nodded, made some throwaway comment about the sad state of ruined things, said good-bye, and hurried toward the road that led to Whitcomb. Instead, she took a deep breath.
"It can be repaired, Mr. Winslow. Oh, sir, how much would you charge me for a year's rent?"
Chapter 2
Thank God Napoleon is banished to St. Helena, brother. You have no more excuses now to avoid your family duty." Fletcher Rand, Lord Winn, colonel late of His Majesty's 20th Yorkshire Foot, looked up from his newspaper. He settled his spectacles slightly lower on his long nose and peered over them at the woman who had administered this opening shot across the bows.
"Amabel, I wish you would drop yourself down a deep hole," he replied, and returned his attention to corn prices in Yorkshire. He cared not a flip for corn prices, but there was no need for his sister to think she had his attention. Corn it would be, until Amabel wearied of the hunt.
"Look at it this way, Winn," said his other sister. "Your eyes are going. Who knows what will go next? I wish you would marry and provide this family with an heir before it is too late."
"Lettice, there is nothing wrong with my virility," he commented, turning the page and directing his attention to pork and cattle futures. "I can refer you to a whole platoon of high flyers in London who were almost moaning to see me return from Brussels."
It wasn't true at all, but that should do it, he thought, in the shocked silence that followed. He returned to pork and waited for the reaction.
It was not long in coming, taking the form of several gasps from Lettice. He waited behind the paper, unable to resist a slight smile. Now she will fan herself, even though the room is cool. Ah, yes. I can feel the little breeze. Now Amabel will approach her with a vinaigrette. He took a deep breath. Yes, there it is. I wonder if Clarice will intervene now. She will clear her throat first. There we are.
"Winn, you are vulgar. I wish you would not tease your sisters like this. You know we are concerned about you."
He put down the paper to regard his older sister, who sat with her mending at the opposite end of the sofa. She returned his stare, unruffled, unblinking.
"Perhaps you are, Clarice," he said. "But that is because you are married to the juicy Lord Manwaring, and you do not need my money." He glanced at Amabel, who was chafing Lettice's wrists and making little cooing noises. "Amabel, on the other hand, hopes that I will burden some female with a son, and cut out Lettice's oldest, who is my current heir."
"I never considered it!" Amabel declared, dropping her sister's hand. "I only want what is best for you."
The fiction of that statement was not lost on any of the sisters-Clarice turned her eyes to her mending again, while Amabel and Lettice glared daggers at each other. Lord Winn waited for the next statement. It was so predictable that he had to resist the urge to take out his watch and time its arrival.
"It is merely that I do not think it fair that Winn has all the family money," Amabel exclaimed to her sister.
Lord Winn put down the paper, removed his spectacles, and glared at his youngest sister, who pouted back. Hot words boiled to the surface, but as he stared at her, he was struck by the fact that although almost ten years had passed since he went to war for the first time, the arguments had not changed. Amabel was still feeling bruised because more of the estate was not settled on her; Lettice was smug because her son, a worthy if prosy young fellow,
"Oh," she said, stepping carefully around a tread rotting away from the leaking roof.
She stood on the porch again in a moment, and the bailiff pocketed the key. "Pretty sorry, eh, Mrs. Drew?"
If she had been in a calm mood, she would have nodded, made some throwaway comment about the sad state of ruined things, said good-bye, and hurried toward the road that led to Whitcomb. Instead, she took a deep breath.
"It can be repaired, Mr. Winslow. Oh, sir, how much would you charge me for a year's rent?"
Chapter 2
Thank God Napoleon is banished to St. Helena, brother. You have no more excuses now to avoid your family duty." Fletcher Rand, Lord Winn, colonel late of His Majesty's 20th Yorkshire Foot, looked up from his newspaper. He settled his spectacles slightly lower on his long nose and peered over them at the woman who had administered this opening shot across the bows.
"Amabel, I wish you would drop yourself down a deep hole," he replied, and returned his attention to corn prices in Yorkshire. He cared not a flip for corn prices, but there was no need for his sister to think she had his attention. Corn it would be, until Amabel wearied of the hunt.
"Look at it this way, Winn," said his other sister. "Your eyes are going. Who knows what will go next? I wish you would marry and provide this family with an heir before it is too late."
"Lettice, there is nothing wrong with my virility," he commented, turning the page and directing his attention to pork and cattle futures. "I can refer you to a whole platoon of high flyers in London who were almost moaning to see me return from Brussels."
It wasn't true at all, but that should do it, he thought, in the shocked silence that followed. He returned to pork and waited for the reaction.
It was not long in coming, taking the form of several gasps from Lettice. He waited behind the paper, unable to resist a slight smile. Now she will fan herself, even though the room is cool. Ah, yes. I can feel the little breeze. Now Amabel will approach her with a vinaigrette. He took a deep breath. Yes, there it is. I wonder if Clarice will intervene now. She will clear her throat first. There we are.
"Winn, you are vulgar. I wish you would not tease your sisters like this. You know we are concerned about you."
He put down the paper to regard his older sister, who sat with her mending at the opposite end of the sofa. She returned his stare, unruffled, unblinking.
"Perhaps you are, Clarice," he said. "But that is because you are married to the juicy Lord Manwaring, and you do not need my money." He glanced at Amabel, who was chafing Lettice's wrists and making little cooing noises. "Amabel, on the other hand, hopes that I will burden some female with a son, and cut out Lettice's oldest, who is my current heir."
"I never considered it!" Amabel declared, dropping her sister's hand. "I only want what is best for you."
The fiction of that statement was not lost on any of the sisters-Clarice turned her eyes to her mending again, while Amabel and Lettice glared daggers at each other. Lord Winn waited for the next statement. It was so predictable that he had to resist the urge to take out his watch and time its arrival.
"It is merely that I do not think it fair that Winn has all the family money," Amabel exclaimed to her sister.
Lord Winn put down the paper, removed his spectacles, and glared at his youngest sister, who pouted back. Hot words boiled to the surface, but as he stared at her, he was struck by the fact that although almost ten years had passed since he went to war for the first time, the arguments had not changed. Amabel was still feeling bruised because more of the estate was not settled on her; Lettice was smug because her son, a worthy if prosy young fellow,
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