Cold-Hearted Rake (The Ravenels 1)

“Stay then,” Kathleen said matter-of-factly.

West glanced at her in surprise. “You wouldn’t object?”

“Not if it will help the tenants.”

“What if I remained through Christmas?”

“Certainly,” she said without hesitation. “You have more claim to stay here than I do. But won’t you miss your life in town?”

West’s lips quirked as he glanced down at his plate. “I miss… certain things. However, there is much to do here, and my brother has a shortage of trustworthy advisors. In fact, few landowners of his rank seem to understand what they’re facing.”

“But you and Lord Trenear do?”

West grinned suddenly. “No, we don’t either. The only difference is, we know it.”

Chapter 10

“Cousin West,” Kathleen said a month later, fiercely pursuing him down the grand staircase, “stop running away. I want a word with you.”

West didn’t slow his pace. “Not while you’re chasing me like Attila the Hun.”

“Tell me why you did it.” She reached the bottom step at the same time he did and swung around to block his escape. “Kindly explain what deranged mode of thinking caused you to bring a pig into the house!”

Cornered, he resorted to honesty. “I wasn’t thinking. I was at John Potter’s farm, and he was about to cull the piglet because it was undersized.”

“A common practice, as I understand it,” she said curtly.

“The creature looked at me,” West protested. “It seemed to be smiling.”

“All pigs seem to be smiling. Their mouths are curved upwards.”

“I couldn’t help it; I had to bring him home.”

Kathleen shook her head disapprovingly as she looked at him. The twins had already bottle-fed the creature with a formula of cow’s milk whisked with raw egg, while Helen had lined a basket with soft cloth for it to sleep in. Now there was no getting rid of it.

“What do you intend for us to do with the pig once it’s full-grown?” she demanded.

West considered that. “Eat it?”

She let out an exasperated huff. “The girls have already named it Hamlet. Would you have us eat a family pet, Mr. Ravenel?”

“I would if it turned into bacon.” West smiled at her expression. “I’ll return the pig to the farmer when it’s weaned,” he offered.

“You can’t —”

He forestalled her by lifting his hand in a staying motion. “You’ll have to badger me later; I’ve no time for it now. I’m leaving for Alton Station, and I can’t miss the afternoon train.”

“Train? Where are you going?”

West dodged around her, heading to the front door. “I told you yesterday. I knew you weren’t listening.”

Kathleen glowered and followed him, thinking it would serve him right if bacon were eventually declared off-limits in the Ravenel household.

They paused beside the front receiving room, where workmen pulled up flooring planks and tossed them aside with noisy clatters. Elsewhere, the sound of incessant hammering peppered the air.

“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.