A Rogue of Her Own (Windham Brides #4)(79)

Why should wealth come to a man who had no great standing, no particular learning, no family of any consequence? Why shouldn’t Sherbourne have to struggle a bit, or more than a bit? Though not too much—Brantford did need rather badly for this investment to be profitable.

“That’s your home?” Brantford asked as they topped a rise and a stately country house came into view.

“My home, and the former dower house for Haverford Castle. We purchased it from the St. Davids in German George’s day, and each generation has kept the house modernized in every particular.”

How proud he was of a mere jumped-up manor house, though his residence did have rather a lot of windows. Also a fine formal garden that led to a park, which transitioned to cultivated land and pastures. The outbuildings were nicely placed behind the main house—a carriage house and a sizeable stable, a summer kitchen, laundry, and spring house, among others.

Gravel walks joined the buildings, and trimmed hedges marked off the gardens. The premises were, in fact, about the same size as the Brantford estate in Yorkshire.

“Will you join us for dinner, Radnor?” Brantford asked.

“Alas for me, no. I’m expected to relay a report of the day’s business to Haverford before I join my lady wife for supper.”

Brantford hadn’t exactly made a map of the neighborhood, but surely Radnor’s errands took him in the opposite direction—back to Haverford Castle—rather than along this bucolic lane?

“You could send a note,” Sherbourne said. “Have Lady Radnor join us. Mrs. Sherbourne would be delighted to have her ladyship share another meal with us.”

Another meal…Meaning Sherbourne regularly entertained the marquess.

Radnor had a hand in running the mine, Sherbourne had married the duke of Haverford’s sister-in-law, and by escorting Sherbourne back to his home, Radnor was sending a clear signal to any presuming earls: Sherbourne had allies, close at hand, and well placed.

And yet, the duke had not invested in this mine, while Brantford had. Perhaps dinner would afford a tired, hungry earl far from home several opportunities to remind his host of that salient fact.

*



“His lordship is a bumpkin,” Charlotte said, setting a pot of heartsease on the bedroom mantel. “He talked about nothing save his collieries in Yorkshire and his sporting acquaintances. Was he much of a pest at the works?”

She should have written to her family and gleaned their opinions of Brantford, for he’d been a disappointment in fine tailoring.

Sherbourne closed and locked the bedroom door. “Radnor nannied us at every turn, which I gather was at Haverford’s insistence. My sense is that Brantford knows little of mining, and while he could have interrogated me at length for the benefit of his own education—which would have earned my esteem—he wasn’t about to appear ignorant before Radnor or before you.”

Charlotte stood in front of her husband and slipped the pin from his cravat. “For his pride, he does not have your esteem. Sleeve buttons, please.”

Sherbourne offered her his right hand, then his left, and she slipped the fastenings at his wrists free. “Pride doesn’t offend me, Charlotte. I’m proud. I hope I’m not arrogant. I can undress myself.”

She undid his pocket watch next, then set his jewelry on the vanity and went after the knot in his cravat.

“I am your wife, and undressing you is my pleasure.”

He tipped his chin up. “You mean that.”

“I spoke vows, you did too. Shall I order you a bath?” She folded his cravat over the back of a chair.

“No, thank you. I did nothing today that came close to qualifying as physical exertion. My thanks for a fine meal. You have quite the treasure trove of recipes.”

“Our cook has recipes too, but she was loath to try them on you without an invitation. Shall you take off your shoes?”

He settled into the chair by the hearth, his sigh redolent of weariness…from a man who hadn’t exerted himself.

“Are you relieved to have Brantford’s visit behind you?” Charlotte certainly was.

“I should be. Might you sit for a moment, Mrs. Sherbourne?”

Charlotte took a seat on the hassock, though sitting still was difficult. Her first true guest beyond family had come to dinner, and nothing had gone wrong…or had it?

“What did you and Brantford talk about over the port?”

Sherbourne bent to remove his shoes. He set them aside and regarded the fire blazing in the hearth.

“Brantford is unhappy with the terms of our agreement. He waited all day to ambush me, until neither you nor Radnor could hear him express dismay at the schedule upon which his investment will be repaid.”

Nothing of Brantford’s displeasure had been evident when Charlotte had rejoined the men for a final cup of tea before sending Brantford back to Haverford Castle. He’d been the gracious, smiling, lordly guest, bowing with friendly presumption over Charlotte’s hand.

“You are unhappy with Brantford,” Charlotte said, taking her husband’s feet into her lap.

“Have you a fascination with my feet, Mrs. Sherbourne?”

Yes. “You might offer to rub my feet at some point if I bring you pleasure often enough by rubbing yours.” Or you might not be upset with me, when I find a moment to tell you about Fern’s son. And the Mrs. Wesleys. All of the Mrs. Wesleys, including the ones I haven’t met yet.