he bought his commission.” She had cried her eyes out when he had gone to war.
Mr. Blakiston looked at the waiting clerk and a considering look came over his face. “Thank you, Felton. Show his lordship straight in.”
Biting her lip, Maddy accepted that as a hint. She had probably wasted quite enough of the lawyer’s time asking him to tilt at windmills for her. She rose. “I’ll bid you good day, sir. Thank you for—”
“No, no, Miss Maddy.” Hurriedly he rose and waved her back. “There is no hurry. I am sure Lord Ashton will be happy to renew his acquaintance with you.”
She flushed, gathering her documents. “No, I’d better go.” She’d been about fifteen when she had last seen Lord Ashton, and foolishly in love with him in the way that only a fifteen-year-old girl could be. She hoped devoutly that he’d never realized how her heart skipped at the sight of him and all the times she’d tried to imagine what it would be like if he suddenly swept her into his arms and declared his love. “I doubt he would remember—”
“Lord Ashton, Mr. Blakiston.” Felton the clerk was holding the door open.
Mr. Blakiston went forward. “Lord Ashton. I believe you are acquainted with Miss Kirkby?”
To her embarrassment, her heart leaped just as it always had at the sight of him. And then she froze, as bleak gray eyes raked her and a frown creased his brow as he stared at her. And not as if he recalled her at all, let alone fondly.
Lord Ashton, brother to the fourth Duke of Thirlmere, was not quite as she remembered him. Oh, he was still tall, and with that head of fair hair and sea-gray eyes that proclaimed his Viking forebears. And years of fighting Napoleon’s forces in the Peninsula had left him with all his limbs and no obvious scars. But there was an indefinable difference in him that had little to do with age and everything, she thought, to do with experience.
“Miss—?” The frown lightened a little, and his mouth achieved something that might have been a smile, but didn’t warm his eyes. “Of course. Miss Kirkby.”
He held out his hand, bowed over hers, exquisitely polite. Heat and cold swept Maddy as his gloved hand held hers, and she managed to get out a polite reply even as her heart still thumped and her pulse skittered.
God help me! It’s you again. Nuisancy brat!
She remembered him calling her that. Then he’d smile at her and tell her to tie her pony up and keep her misbegotten dog out of the way.
Those pleasantries aside, Ash Ravensfell had always had a friendly smile for her. Even when he was grumbling at her and threatening her pony and herself with a gruesome death if either of them stood on any of the Roman antiquities he had found near her home. Papa had never minded Lord Ash digging near the Wall.
No time for that nonsense. He’s welcome to it all.
Sometimes he’d let her uncover something he’d found. A coin, a piece of pottery, once a little bronze horse, its head upflung. He’d explained what the discovery was. What he thought it meant. Then the gray eyes had held laughter. Now they held ghosts, as if he’d found things he’d rather forget, and he mouthed stiff, polite greetings as if to a stranger.
He’s a duke’s brother. You’re far beneath him in the scheme of things.
Only, the Ash Ravensfell she remembered hadn’t seemed above her at all. He’d been a friend.
She got a smile onto her face, and made her excuses in a stultifyingly proper voice that even her great aunt Maria couldn’t have faulted, and left.
* * *
Mr. Blakiston saw her out, ignoring her protests. “Not at all, my dear. I am only sorry I cannot help you any further. I had better get back to his lordship. Rather an awkward commission. He wishes to buy a property of his own.”
Something about the way his eyes held hers alerted her. “A property?”
“Yes.” The lawyer shook his head. “Not too large, you know. And near the old Roman wall. His lordship is very interested in antiquities.”
“Yes,” she said slowly. “I remember that.”
Mr. Blakiston patted her hand. “Sadly, I have not the particulars of a single property like that to interest him yet. One or two that might do at a pinch, but I fear he will be disappointed. They are either too far away or too large. Well, I had best go and break the bad news. Goodbye, my dear.” And he squeezed her hand.
* * *
Maddy made her way slowly back toward the Three Shepherds Inn where she had stabled her horse and gig, stopping off on the way to buy tea, her mind spinning.
Her mind continued to spin as she left the tea merchant’s shop. Mr. Blakiston was usually the soul of discretion. She didn’t think he had ever, in all her dealings with him, had another client ushered in while the previous client was still with him. Of course, that might be because he no longer considered her a client. In just over a month she wouldn’t be. But then, why had he confided Lord Ashton’s business to her? He had a reputation for being closemouthed. He never gossiped about clients...did he? Surely he hadn’t been giving her a hint?
But what if he had? Was there a way to save her home? Her people?
She knew Ash Ravensfell. Or she’d thought she did. For all his familiarity, the man in Blakiston’s chambers just now had been a stranger.
But if he wants a property near the Wall...what if...?
She was nearly at the inn and her steps slowed. Christmas was so close. She would have to tell her people that there was no hope, unless—
“Well, well, well. It’s my little cousin. And did Blakiston break the news gently?”
Maddy looked up. Edward, Earl of Montfort, stood there by the archway leading into the stable yard of the Three Shepherds. Tall, dark, handsome, his aristocratic features had been known to make maidens sigh.
Maddy wanted to spit in them.
“Or were you looking for lodgings here?” Edward’s smile oozed gloating self-satisfaction. “Haydon will be mine on the seventh of January. You’d better start packing.”
It was his smug assurance that did it.
“You’re counting chickens rather early, aren’t you, Edward?” she said sweetly. “You really ought to wait until they’re hatched. And even then a fox might take them if the run isn’t secure.”
He laughed at her. “You’re a fool, Madeleine. If you’d had any sense, you’d have accepted my offer of marriage.”
“And spent the rest of my life protecting the dairymaids?” she shot back.
Determined to wrest Haydon back, he’d offered marriage only because he wanted everyone to know that he hadn’t simply kicked her out. That, and it would have made taking Haydon easier. Marrying him would have saved her, but not Haydon. He’d made it very clear that he intended to demolish the old manor for the building stone and the section of the Roman wall that marched across the estate.
He roared with laughter. “Did that rankle?
