Cold-Hearted Rake (The Ravenels #1)(36)

“As I explained yesterday,” West said, raising his voice to be heard above the infernal racket, “I’m visiting a man in Wiltshire, who’s taken over a tenancy to experiment with modern farming methods.”

“How long will you be away?”

“Three days,” he said cheerfully. “You’ll scarcely have time to miss me before I’m back.”

“I wouldn’t miss you no matter how long you were gone.” But Kathleen looked over him with concern as the butler helped him don his hat and coat. When he returned, she thought, they would have to take in his clothes again; he had lost at least another stone. “Don’t forget to eat while you’re away,” she scolded. “You’ll soon be mistaken for a scarecrow if you keep missing your dinner.”

The constant exercise of riding across the estate lands¸ walking the fields, helping a farmer repair a gate or retrieve a ewe that had jumped a garden wall, had wrought considerable changes in West. He’d lost so much weight that his garments hung on his frame. The bloat had melted from his face and neck, revealing a firm jawline and hard profile. All the time spent outdoors had imparted healthy color to his complexion, and he appeared years younger, an air of vitality replacing the look of sleepy indolence.

West leaned down to press a light kiss on her forehead. “Good-bye, Attila,” he said affectionately. “Try not to browbeat everyone in my absence.”

After West’s departure, Kathleen headed to the housekeeper’s room near the kitchen. It was washing day, the dreaded occasion when the household laundry was sorted, boiled, washed, rinsed, and hung in a drying room attached to the scullery. Together Kathleen and Mrs. Church would take inventory and order fabric.

They had only just begun to discuss the need for new aprons for the housemaids when the butler, Sims, appeared.

“I beg your pardon, milady.” Sims’s tone was measured, but the wrinkles and crags of his face had scrunched in dissatisfaction. “A tenant and his wife – Mr. and Mrs. Wooten – are asking to meet with Mr. Ravenel. I explained that he was away, but they won’t leave. They claim their need is urgent. I thought it best to inform you before I have a footman remove them.”

Kathleen frowned. “No, you mustn’t do that. The Wootens wouldn’t call without good reason. Please show them to the receiving room and I’ll meet them there.”

“I feared you would say that,” Sims said dourly. “I must protest, milady, that as a widow in mourning, your peace and quiet should not be disturbed.”

A crash from the upstairs caused the ceiling to rattle.

“My stars!” the housekeeper exclaimed.

Kathleen fought back a laugh and glanced at the butler.

“I’ll show the Wootens in,” he said in resignation.

When Kathleen entered the receiving room, she saw that the young couple were distraught. Mrs. Wooten’s eyes were swollen and tear-glazed, while her husband’s face was pale with anxiety.

“I hope no one is ill or injured?” Kathleen asked.

“No, milady,” Mr. Wooten replied, while his wife bobbed a curtsy. He twisted his cap back and forth as he explained that one of his hired workers had encountered a pair of trespassers who had identified themselves as representatives of the railway company.

“They said they was surveying the land,” Wooten continued, “and when I asked by whose leave, they said Lord Trenear himself gave them permission.” His voice turned unsteady. “They said my farm would be sold to the railway company. I went to Mr. Carlow, but he knows naught about it.” His eyes flooded. “My father left this farm to me, milady. They’re going to put tracks on it, and plow under my fields, and turn me and my family out of our home without so much as a farthing —” He would have continued, but Mrs. Wooten had begun to sob.

Shocked, Kathleen shook her head. “Mr. Ravenel mentioned nothing of this, and Lord Trenear would not do such a thing without first discussing it with his brother. I am certain this claim is baseless.”

“They knew my lease was up,” Mr. Wooten said, his eyes haunted. “They knew exactly when, and they said it wouldn’t be renewed.”

That gave Kathleen pause.

What the devil was Devon up to? Surely he could not be so heartless and cruel as to sell a tenant’s farm without notifying him.

“I will find out,” she said firmly. “In the meantime, there is no need for distress. Mr. Ravenel is firmly on the side of the tenants, and he has influence with Lord Trenear. Until Mr. Ravenel returns – in only three days – my advice is to carry on as usual. Mrs. Wooten, you really must stop crying – I’m sure such distress isn’t good for the baby.”

After the Wootens had departed, taking little apparent comfort from her reassurances, Kathleen hurried to the study and sat at the large desk. Fuming, she reached for a pen, uncapped a bottle of ink, and proceeded to write Devon a scathing message, informing him of the situation and demanding to know what was going on.

For good measure, she added a none-too-subtle threat of legal action on behalf of the Wootens. Even though there was nothing a lawyer could do, since Devon had the right to sell any portion of his estate, it would certainly seize his attention.

Folding the message, she tucked it into an envelope and rang for the footman to take it to the telegraph office of the local postmaster. “I’d like this dispatched right away,” she told him. “Tell the postmaster that it’s a matter of the utmost urgency.”