Flowerday, thrown off balance, grasped the doorframe. Pulling himself erect, he turned and followed Geoffrey, who could still be heard. “I’ll be damned…”
Ria sat heavily on a delicate Sheraton chair, the pistol knocking her leg as she did so.
Once again Geoffrey had shown his true colors. If she had been unsure about the worth of her shooting lessons, she wasn’t any longer. There might well come a time when she would have to use her pistol.
As for the other matter, well, talk about her death made her determined to live—in every sense of the word.
For her next shooting lesson, she would not wear a corset.
13
As Geoffrey rode back to Old Farm, he went over what had just happened. He couldn’t believe it. The little bitch wouldn’t even discuss marriage with him. Acting so high and mighty. Like she was above him. How dare she! She’d stolen his estate from him.
He swallowed, trying to stop the flow of bile that was beginning to fill his mouth. There he was, doing the honorable thing, offering to help her run the estate, offering to marry her, and she threw it back in his face.
He coughed, almost choking on the bitter acid burning his throat. He’d been right before. He shouldn’t have wasted his time.
Death was too good for the jade.
As he stalked into the estate office, John Blackwell turned from the window, “What did she say? Will she give me my position back?”
Geoffrey sneered at him. “Do you really think I was going to ask her to keep you on? After all you’ve done? You botched everything.”
Blackwell shook his head vigorously. “It wasn’t my fault. I was giving her some advice, and she said you’d told her the same thing. Using the same words. If anyone’s to blame, it’s you.”
Unable to believe what he had just heard, Geoffrey stared until he recovered enough to shout, “Get out!”
“If she won’t take me back, then you hire me. You said you would if I helped you.”
Breathing heavily, he fought for composure. “I lied. I’d never have you anywhere near my estate. You’ve got no loyalty. I could never trust you. Besides which, you’re a useless estate agent.”
The tra
itorous agent’s face turned gray. “But where shall I go? At least give me a reference. You owe me that.”
“I owe you nothing! Now get out before I have you thrown out.”
Blackwell stood there and stared at him. Geoffrey stared back until finally the man dropped his gaze and went to turn away.
Following a brief moment of triumph, Geoffrey had second thoughts. “Wait!”
Before he could say anything more, he heard a slight cough. His butler stood in the doorway. “What is it?”
“Sir John Somerville is here to see you, sir.”
Plague upon plague! Before he could indicate he was not at home, a red-faced man brushed past his butler.
Scowling, Geoffrey nodded in dismissal at his butler and told Blackwell, “We’ll talk later at the cottage.”
The agent nodded, then stomped from the room with one last fulminating glare.
Geoffrey then looked at his unwelcome visitor. “Somerville.”
“Danielson.”
“To what do I owe the honor of this visit?”
Somerville’s eyes narrowed. Clearly he’d picked up on the sarcasm dripping from every word. He wasn’t quite as obtuse as Geoffrey thought. “I’m here about the matter of your debt. When can I expect payment?”