Cold-Hearted Rake (The Ravenels 1)

“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.”

“Yes, milady.”

As the footman departed, the housekeeper appeared at the threshold. “Lady Trenear,” she said, looking vexed.

“Mrs. Church,” Kathleen said, “I promise, I haven’t forgotten about the washing book or the aprons.”

“Thank you, my lady, but it’s not that. It’s the workmen. They finished plumbing the master bathroom.”

“That’s good news, isn’t it?”

“So I would think – except that now they’ve begun to convert another upstairs room into an additional bathing room, and they must run a pipe beneath the floor of your room.”

Kathleen jumped to her feet. “Do you mean to say there are men in my bedroom? No one mentioned anything of the sort to me.”

“The master plumber and carpenter both say it’s the only way it can be done.”

“I won’t have it!”

“They have already pulled up some of the flooring without so much as a by-your-leave.”

Kathleen shook her head in disbelief. “I suppose it can be tolerated for an afternoon.”

“My lady, they say it will take several days, most likely a week, to put it all back to rights.”

Her mouth fell open. “Where am I to sleep and dress while my bedroom is torn apart?”

“I’ve already directed the maids to convey your belongings to the master bedroom,” Mrs. Church replied. “Lord Trenear has no need of it, since he is in London.”

That did nothing to improve Kathleen’s mood. She hated the master bedroom, the place she had last seen Theo before his accident. Where they had argued bitterly, and Kathleen had said things she would regret for the rest of her life. Dark memories lurked in the corners of that room like malevolent nocturnal creatures.

“Is there any other room I might use?” she asked.

“Not at the moment, my lady. The workmen have pulled up the floors in three other rooms as well as yours.” The housekeeper hesitated, understanding the reason for Kathleen’s reluctance. “I’ll direct the maids to air out a bedchamber in the east wing and give it a good cleaning – but those rooms have been closed for so long that it will take some work to turn it out properly.”

Sighing, Kathleen dropped back to her chair. “Then it seems I’ll have to sleep in the master bedroom tonight.”

“You’ll be the first to try the new copper bathtub,” the housekeeper said, in a tone she might have used while offering a bonbon to a sullen child.

Kathleen smiled wanly. “That is some consolation.”

As it turned out, her bath in the copper tub was so lovely and luxurious that it almost made up for having to sleep in the master bedroom. Not only was it deeper than any bath she’d ever been in before, it was crowned with a full roll edge upon which she could rest her head comfortably. It was the first bath she’d had ever taken in which she could lean back and submerge herself all the way up to the neck, and it was heavenly.

She stayed in the bath for as long as possible, lazing and half floating until the water began to cool. Clara, her lady’s maid, came to wrap her in soft Turkish towels and settle a clean white nightgown over her head.

Covered with gooseflesh, Kathleen went to sit in an upholstered chair by the fire and discovered that her ombré shawl had been draped over the back of the chair. She pulled it over her lap, snuggling beneath the soft cashmere. Her gaze went to the stately bed, with its carved wooden canopy mounted on four elaborately turned posters.

One glance was enough to destroy all the good the bath had done.

She had refused to sleep in that bed with Theo after the debacle of their wedding night. The sound of his slurred, angry voice emerged from her memories.

Do what you’re told, for God’s sake. Lie back and stop making this difficult… Behave like a wife, damn it…

In the morning, Kathleen was exhausted, her sore eyes undercut with dark shadows. Before she went out to the stables, she went to find the housekeeper at the spice cupboard. “Mrs. Church, forgive me for interrupting you, but I’d like to make certain that you’ll have a new bedroom readied for me by this evening. I can’t stay in that master bedroom ever again – I’d sooner sleep in the outhouse with a herd of feral cats.”