Guarding the Spoils (The Wild Randalls 3)

He skimmed the remaining items and paused on the last. Elizabeth might not even want his help. When she had been faced with the news, it had not been him she had turned to for direction.

He tossed back the contents of the glass and refilled it, contemplating the frustrating woman. She was as headstrong and protective as she was pretty and intelligent, but likely to ignore sound advice when presented, no matter how thoroughly. Elizabeth wouldn’t ask for his help at all and if he offered, she likely wouldn’t listen.

He crushed the paper and threw it into the flames. There was no point involving himself too deeply if he was leaving. Elizabeth had made it very clear she didn’t need him.

Chapter Fourteen

GETTING TO KNOW her brother-in-law again was a slow and troubling task for Beth. Henry simply could not focus on answering the whole of her questions. Before he’d granted her an answer she wanted, he’d veer off onto another topic entirely and it could take almost half an hour to realize that fact.

Since Henry had insisted that it was too warm outside to be comfortable, she’d agreed to his suggestion to give him a tour of the abbey. She kept her eyes on him as they strolled through the library, but he wasn’t very interested in books. They stopped often to admire the paintings hung on the walls, vases, and the views revealed at different locations.

Henry leaned close to the glass in the drawing room, peering out into the gardens beyond. “I’ve not missed England, let me assure you.” His fingers skimmed the glass, leaving yet another careless finger mark that one of the overworked maids would have to polish away, and moved to shift aside the heavy red drapes that impeded his view on the next window.

Beth moved a few paces away, hoping to lure him toward the center of the room where there were fewer items he could touch. “Are there any dangers we should be prepared for?”

Henry dropped the drape, his expression thoughtful as he gazed about him. “A few. Nothing for you to be concerned about. I’ll be there and you’ll always have my servants about you at the plantation house. I gather this room is used most often?”

“It is. The duchess greets all her guests here,” she said quickly before returning to her questions about his situation. “Is it named? The house at the plantation, I mean.”

Henry studied the clock on the marble mantelpiece, his fingers gliding over the gilding. He tapped it with his finger. “Yes, I believe it has one.”

Beth frowned at his answer. Every question answered left her wanting more. And if he did not stop handling the duchess’s possessions she would have to ask him his intentions. His attentions to the small but expensive items in the house were making her extremely nervous about his character. “Will you not tell me what the house is called?”

“Lillyvale. I don’t much care for it,” he added with a shrug. He walked away from the clock and peered out another window.

“It sounds very pretty to me,” she murmured.

“Pretty,” he exclaimed with enough contempt dripping from his voice to make her shiver. “Now there is a word that could never apply to the place. “

During the course of his visit, Henry had given her the impression that softness or grace had no place in his life. Given what he’d told her so far, it seemed he’d worked very hard to get where he was today. He may be dressed as well as any gentleman she had encountered, but he wore it with such disdain. Dark brocade waistcoat above dark pantaloons, gold fob chain glittering in the sunlight, it all appeared the picture of propriety. The fit of his coat was perhaps a little snug, but that hardly mattered. Her gaze lingered on his hands too often, though. They were not a gentleman’s hands.

She led him toward the long gallery where George had scampered ahead. “Do you act as host often to your neighbors and friends?”

“No,” he said somewhat gruffly, pausing to peer at one of the Randall’s less illustrious-looking ancestors. “There’s little time for play in the New World.”

“Are there no gatherings or even balls from time to time?” Beth quizzed, determined to learn what type of society she would join.

“Some, but I’ve no patience for that nonsense. I’m too busy with the estate business.” He called to George and demanded her son wait for them to catch up.

Meandering from room to room as Henry was doing was not of interest to her energetic offspring. She could tell George would rather be elsewhere—the library, hanging on Oliver’s every word, or pestering cook for biscuits—than spending the morning in this boring fashion. Henry still had some way to go in his manner before he could be considered a beloved uncle.

She wasn’t especially surprised by her son’s reticence to form a closer bond with the man. Henry rebuffed all attempts at kindness, and it was no wonder he had no family of his own. Perhaps all he needed was the right woman to soften his rough edges. Perhaps, when she’d come to know his character better, she could help him find a wife. As sister-in-law she’d be perfectly placed to honestly promote his good qualities to another lady.

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With this new plan in mind she joined the pair, but their conversation stuttered to a halt at her approach.

George tugged her sleeve. “Can I go to the library now?”

“Perhaps later,” Beth murmured quickly to stave off any arguments. The library was one of George’s favorite places in the abbey. He could happily spend hours there and not be at a loose end. But his uncle was here now and shouldn’t be abandoned simply because he was bored.

“But, Mama, please,” George began. “I was reading about…”

Henry placed his hand on George’s shoulder and must have squeezed hard because George wriggled out from under it and whirled around to stare at his uncle. “Ouch. What did you do that for?”

Instead of apologizing, Henry shrugged. “Where I come from that’s mild. You don’t get ahead in this world by reading from books. You think fast and do what you’re told. Living here has weakened you, son.”

“I’m not your son,” George bit out hotly. “Stop saying that. I’m only your nephew.”