poor family was in dire need. She reached out, instinctively touching Sir Rex’s hand. He started, looking at her.
Blanche dropped her hand but held his gaze. Something had to be done.
“My lord, my lady!” a man cried, huffing and out of breath, coming up behind them.
Blanche turned, as did Sir Rex. A tall, thin man approached, eyes wide and fearful. Instantly he bowed.
“You are?” Sir Rex asked.
“I am Jack Johnson, my lord.”
“Sir Rex de Warenne, and this is Lady Blanche Harrington.”
He blinked. “Please, come in. Bess, boil up some tea.”
His wife rushed to obey.
“Please, we are not in need of tea or anything else,” Blanche said firmly. She would not deprive them of their spare provisions. “I have merely come to inspect the estate.”
He plucked nervously at his collar. “Are ye buying it? Is that why you’ve come to inspect it?”
Blanche started. “My father passed, Mr. Johnson, and the fact that this manor is a part of my inheritance just recently came to my attention.”
Johnson shifted uneasily. “We’re good people, my lady. But…” He stopped.
Sir Rex was staring at the man, clearly thinking there was no excuse for the squalor. “But what?”
He inhaled. “I mean no disrespect, but I am confused. Lord Bury has owned the manor for years. I didn’t know he was dead—or that there are heirs! He was so young and a bachelor himself!”
Blanche tensed and glanced at Sir Rex. “I do not know any Lord Bury, Mr. Johnson. Now I am confused. Are you saying that Lord Bury owns the manor? For my solicitor recently found a document indicating that the manor is a part of the Harrington fortune.”
“Lord Bury inherited Penthwaithe from his father, perhaps six or seven years ago. In fact, he was here three months ago to inspect it and collect his rents. I thought you might be his agents, come to see if I have improved it as I swore I would do! But he sold the estate to you? I didn’t know.”
Blanche froze.
Rex faced her. “Blanche, are you certain about the title you saw?”
Blanche shook her head. My God, there had been a monumental mix-up. For it no longer appeared that her father had owned the estate for years. But if Lord Bury had been out to collect the rents three months ago, how could her father have purchased the estate from him? Her father had been dead.
She began to have an inkling, and she tensed, thinking, Bess?
And she quickly thought about the events leading to the title’s discovery. The solicitor who had told her of the title had been surprised by its existence. He had been very frank: he hadn’t heard of Penthwaithe in all the years he’d been employed by Harrington. But Harrington hadn’t owned Penthwaithe for years, Bury had. And Bess had been with them and she’d remarked that this kind of mix-up happened all the time. Oh, how casual and certain she had sounded! And there had been an odd gleam in her eyes!
Blanche became convinced. They had been discussing Sir Rex at some length. Bess had asked her if she wished for him to court her. She hadn’t, and she had said as much, but when Bess had an idea, she was like a terrier with a bone. Clearly, Bess intended to send Blanche to Cornwall on a wild-goose chase—and arrange a match with Sir Rex.
Her heart lurched wildly. She stared at Sir Rex, stunned. He might need a wife, but they had nothing in common! Yes, he needed additional income, and he was very attractive, but he was wedded to his Cornish lands. And he certainly wasn’t interested in her as a possible spouse—he’d had eight years to come forward, if that were the case. What was Bess thinking?
And why was her heart galloping madly—why was she so stricken?
He didn’t even like ladies; he liked solitude and housemaids.
“Are you beginning to believe there has been a mistake?” Sir Rex asked her quietly.
She managed a bright smile. She couldn’t reveal to Sir Rex that her best friend had conspired to send her to him by falsely implying she owned the neighboring estate! On the other hand, he’d laugh uproariously if he knew Bess thought to throw them at one another. Wouldn’t he?
She should laugh! Shouldn’t she?
“Lady Harrington?” He clasped her shoulder, steadying her.
She forced the words, stiffening now. His hand was large, warm and firm. It was unyielding, like the man. “It seems the title might be as bungled as you believe.”
“A dead man cannot purchase a manor, and apparently the Bury family has owned Penthwaithe for years,” he said very seriously, studying her very closely. “You are distressed.”
I am very distressed, she thought, and when I see Bess, I intend to set her straight. “The logic is inescapable, then, there has been a mix-up,” Blanche somehow agreed. A mix- up and a misunderstanding, she thought.
A match between her and Sir Rex? It was madness, sheer madness!
Except, Bess Waverly was one of the most astute women Blanche knew.
CHAPTER FIVE
JOHNSON WAS GLANCING rapidly between them now.
Blanche had almost forgotten his presence. She turned to soothe him, relieved by the distraction. “We are not agents for Lord Bury, Mr. Johnson. And apparently, I do not own this estate.”
He sagged with relief. “I do not mean to deny Lord Bury. But I got five children to feed!”
“I understand.”
“If you see his lordship, please tell him I’m workin’ as hard as I can,” he cried.
“I have never met Lord Bury, but if you wish, I will seek him out in London and plead your case,” Blanche said, meaning it.
Johnson seemed incredulous. “Could ye, please?”
Blanche nodded. “I am more than happy to help.”
“Good day,” Rex said firmly, lightly clasping Blanche’s arm and glancing closely at her. As she walked beside him down the stone path to the coach, she glanced back to see Johnson and his boys staring after them. She waved. They paused beside her coach.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
She made up her mind; she shook her head. “I am never well when confronted with those who are so needy.”
“I can see that.” he added, “Most of the families in the parish are impoverished.”
“So that makes it acceptable?” she asked frankly, their gazes locked.
“I did not say
