formed an encouraging smile. ‘I would be glad to hear your opinion, Mrs Lane.’
‘I’ve known Josiah Garge for years. Back and forth he’s gone along this road until he knowed it like the back of his hand. He’s no Johnny Raw to be taking that corner too fast. Something happened.’
The piercing gaze Mr Read had fixed on the woman’s face became more intense. ‘What sort of something?’
Mrs Lane deflated, her hands falling to her sides. She shook her head. ‘I don’t know. But taking a man’s good name, talk of drink, fair makes my blood to boil.’
Caro’s own indignation rose. ‘Is that what Sir Reginald is saying? I have no reason to believe that Josiah Garge was anything but sober. Mr Read, surely—’
‘Sir Reginald made no more than a passing comment,’ he said. ‘One of several possibilities.’ His lips flattened. ‘But you are right, Mrs Lane. It is easy for a man’s reputation to be blackened by a careless word. I will ensure that no such aspersions on his character will be cast without evidence.’
‘His wife will thank you for it, sir,’ the landlady said.
‘And you may be assured that Lord Tonbridge will see to it that she is properly cared for,’ Caro added.
‘As he should, or he would hear from me,’ Mrs Lane said brusquely. ‘Dinner is served.’ She nodded for emphasis and left, leaving the door wide open.
‘A fierce woman, our Mrs Lane,’ Mr Read said. ‘Clearly not one to be cowed by the heir to a dukedom. Shall we eat? I told Mrs Lane we could manage to serve ourselves since most of her staff is off on other errands on our behalf. I hope that finds favour with you?’
She certainly didn’t want the saucy servant girl waiting on them. And as long as the door remained open... ‘Certainly.’
He led her to the table and seated her, managing to slide her chair in with one hand as easily as a man with two. He sat opposite her. ‘If you would serve the side dishes, while I serve the beef?’
The beef had been sliced in the kitchen. He used the large fork provided and placed two slices on her plate. She served him the potatoes, green beans and peas. After spooning gravy on her plate, she passed him the boat.
‘Wine?’ he asked.
‘Thank you.’
He poured a rich red burgundy into their glasses. After a short muttered saying of grace, he lifted his goblet in a toast. ‘To those gone but not forgotten.’
The sorrow in his deep voice was not lost on her. This toast meant something more than Josiah Garge. Although there were some people in her life she would prefer to forget, the coachman was not among them. She raised her glass. ‘Not forgotten.’ She sipped and put the glass down. She usually preferred water.
They addressed their dinner. Or at least she did. She had not expected to feel so hungry, but it had been a long time since breakfast. Something made her look up.
He was watching her, his eyes hooded, his expression something she could not quite read. Was she eating too fast? Did he think that if she was a proper lady she would not be hungry, but should pick at her food? ‘Is something wrong?’
He seemed to pull himself back into the present. ‘Nothing.’ He picked up his fork and neatly folded a slice of meat into a small parcel before lifting it to his mouth. It was barely noticeable that he had the use of only one hand since he accomplished it with such grace.
‘How long do you plan to stay in Skepton?’ she asked, more to fill the silence than anything else. There seemed to be a great many silences in Mr Read’s company. Perhaps that was what made him so attractive to the ladies. To her. His air of impenetrable darkness.
She mentally shook her head at her foolish thoughts.
He took a sip of his wine. ‘Good question.’ The pause signified something important. ‘After I met you in York yesterday, I received a letter from Lord Tonbridge. He has offered me a position in his employ.’
The way he phrased it, the way he looked at her... Her heart fluttered oddly. ‘A position in Skepton?’
‘Yes. As house steward at the Haven.’
Her vision tunnelled to a small point. ‘The Haven? My Haven?’ The place where she thought she and Tommy were finally safe?
He gave a slight grimace. ‘I understand that Lady Tonbridge—’
‘Yes, of course. She is our patron. Without her, there would be no refuge. But I thought she trusted— We had an agreement...’ She forced herself to stop. ‘This is Lord Tonbridge’s doing.’ She pressed her lips together. What could she say? Her friend was married. Her husband’s word was law. And now he would put this man in charge of a house she had managed perfectly well these past many months. Any other man might not be so bad, but what if he recognised Tommy, the way he had recognised her? Fortunately, the lad took more after her than his male parent, who had been almost as dark as she was fair. Only his jaw and his eyes came from his father. The thought of anyone realising she had never been married left her feeling ill. Not for her sake, but for how badly it would reflect on Tommy. On his future prospects. It really was too bad. She did not want to leave a place she had come to think of as her home. Her place in the world.
Like a mask his face revealed none of his thoughts. ‘I am sorry if my appointment distresses you, Mrs Falkner. I can assure you, I am not charged with interference in the running of the charity. I am to see to the maintenance and security of the property along with that of the mill until Tonbridge is able to leave his father’s bedside and return to his duties.’
‘Security?’ She stared at him. ‘Tonbridge thinks we are in some sort of danger?’
‘Tonbridge, like any good soldier, is ensuring his defences cannot be breached. There are rogues everywhere, Mrs Falkner. Thieves as well as malcontents. As I said, the appointment is temporary.’
Temporary. She grasped at the word like a straw. But temporary might be a very long time given the apparent severity of the duke’s illness. If at all. If Tonbridge’s father should die, he would become duke, which would mean he and Merry might never return to Skepton for anything but a brief visit. Oh, why of all men would Tonbridge have chosen this one to stand in his stead?
The answer was obvious. They were friends. Comrades-in-arms. And he was available. ‘Then I must congratulate you. No doubt your army experience will stand you in good stead. Things like this—’ She stopped herself. She had been about to say ‘death’, and it would have been such a foolish thing to have said to a man who had spent years of his life in the service of his king and a country at war. If only the sight of the coachman lying there would stop circling through her mind’s eye, she might be able to stop thinking about the fragility of life.
‘One never gets used to it,’ he said softly.
A lump rose in her throat at the pain in his voice and the sympathy.
‘Tonbridge told me about the loss of your husband at Badajoz,’ he continued. ‘I am so very sorry.’
She swallowed her guilt. ‘Thank you.’
‘Your son is a fine little man. You are doing a good job with him. I
