Read Online Worth Lord of Reckoning by Grace Burrowes - Free Book Online
Authors: Grace Burrowes
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and all the Bond Street finery in between. “Takes a bit of the ready to trick yourself out like a swell.”
“More than a bit. Now, you’re a married fellow. What is the secret to politely prying two women apart when a man needs to be on his way?”
Henderson’s expression turned sympathetic. “Can’t be done. Trude gets to visiting in the churchyard, too, and the boys have walked halfway home before I get her in the cart.”
“Don’t suppose that pig knows how to drive?”
“The boys are working on it. They want to be famous throughout the shire for training the realm’s first draft pig.”
Worth complimented the boys on William’s accomplishments, scratched the pig’s hairy chin, and took his housekeeper by the elbow to remove her from the Hendersons’ front porch.
“Mrs. Henderson’s a genius with her lace, isn’t she?” he observed when he’d handed Wyeth up.
“The whole family can do work like that, but it’s hard on the eyes. We’d best hurry. Looks like we’re in for a squall.”
“Goliath is the steady sort, and he must live up to the standards set by that pig. He’ll get us home safe and sound. What did you ladies talk about?”
“The usual.” She pulled her shawl closer. The temperature, which had been summery warm, was dropping as the breeze picked up. “The boys are growing, the crops are coming along, she misses her Linda, but may be carrying again already.”
“The fences were not in the best repair, and I suspect one corner of the cottage roof leaks.” Though Henderson hadn’t mentioned either problem.
“Your steward will have a list of tenant repairs for you,” Wyeth said, eyeing the sky. “A short list, but he’ll want to show it to you before he spends any coin on maintenance.”
“I know this steward you mention. Mr. Reilly sends me reports each month almost as detailed as yours. Is the weather always so changeable here?”
“This is England, so yes.”
It might have been Worth’s imagination—or wishful thinking—but it seemed to him she bundled closer to his side.
“Your bonnet might get a soaking.” She likely had only the one. “May we impose on a neighbor along the way to the manor?”
“The Hendersons are the closest tenants, and the church is kept locked on weekdays.”
“To prevent felons from taking refuge?”
She made no reply, and from the south came a long, low rumble of thunder.
Worth gestured with his chin, because his hands were on the reins. “A covered bridge, about half a mile ahead. We’ll make it.”
Goliath gave them his best bound-for-home trot, and a gust of rain spattered down, but they made the covered bridge before the heavens opened up. To Worth’s surprise, his housekeeper’s gloved hand was manacled around his arm when he drew the horse up in the middle of the bridge.
“You are pale as a winding-sheet, Wyeth. Is your head paining you?” He set the brake and wrapped the reins, unwilling to move until she loosened her grip.
She slipped her hands to her lap. “I hate to be out in storms. When I was a girl, I saw a tree struck by lightning, a lovely old oak I’d been playing in an hour earlier. The tree went up in flames and became an ugly, charred skeleton. My brothers thought it wonderfully dramatic. I hated it. The tree had been refuge for me.”
“Brothers can be the worst.” He climbed down and came around to her side of the gig. She sat straight as a lamp post, clutching her shawl around her as if a winter gale rather than a summer storm threatened. “Get you down, Wyeth. The weather must have its fifteen minutes, and Henderson said the corn can use the rain. Tell me more of these disgraceful brothers.”
He lifted her from the seat before she could protest, then she stood beside him, looking pale and shivery, while he untied her bonnet and set it on the seat.
“The one I’m closest to is Grey, and he’s a good brother.”
Worth settled his coat around her shoulders. He liked the look of her in
“More than a bit. Now, you’re a married fellow. What is the secret to politely prying two women apart when a man needs to be on his way?”
Henderson’s expression turned sympathetic. “Can’t be done. Trude gets to visiting in the churchyard, too, and the boys have walked halfway home before I get her in the cart.”
“Don’t suppose that pig knows how to drive?”
“The boys are working on it. They want to be famous throughout the shire for training the realm’s first draft pig.”
Worth complimented the boys on William’s accomplishments, scratched the pig’s hairy chin, and took his housekeeper by the elbow to remove her from the Hendersons’ front porch.
“Mrs. Henderson’s a genius with her lace, isn’t she?” he observed when he’d handed Wyeth up.
“The whole family can do work like that, but it’s hard on the eyes. We’d best hurry. Looks like we’re in for a squall.”
“Goliath is the steady sort, and he must live up to the standards set by that pig. He’ll get us home safe and sound. What did you ladies talk about?”
“The usual.” She pulled her shawl closer. The temperature, which had been summery warm, was dropping as the breeze picked up. “The boys are growing, the crops are coming along, she misses her Linda, but may be carrying again already.”
“The fences were not in the best repair, and I suspect one corner of the cottage roof leaks.” Though Henderson hadn’t mentioned either problem.
“Your steward will have a list of tenant repairs for you,” Wyeth said, eyeing the sky. “A short list, but he’ll want to show it to you before he spends any coin on maintenance.”
“I know this steward you mention. Mr. Reilly sends me reports each month almost as detailed as yours. Is the weather always so changeable here?”
“This is England, so yes.”
It might have been Worth’s imagination—or wishful thinking—but it seemed to him she bundled closer to his side.
“Your bonnet might get a soaking.” She likely had only the one. “May we impose on a neighbor along the way to the manor?”
“The Hendersons are the closest tenants, and the church is kept locked on weekdays.”
“To prevent felons from taking refuge?”
She made no reply, and from the south came a long, low rumble of thunder.
Worth gestured with his chin, because his hands were on the reins. “A covered bridge, about half a mile ahead. We’ll make it.”
Goliath gave them his best bound-for-home trot, and a gust of rain spattered down, but they made the covered bridge before the heavens opened up. To Worth’s surprise, his housekeeper’s gloved hand was manacled around his arm when he drew the horse up in the middle of the bridge.
“You are pale as a winding-sheet, Wyeth. Is your head paining you?” He set the brake and wrapped the reins, unwilling to move until she loosened her grip.
She slipped her hands to her lap. “I hate to be out in storms. When I was a girl, I saw a tree struck by lightning, a lovely old oak I’d been playing in an hour earlier. The tree went up in flames and became an ugly, charred skeleton. My brothers thought it wonderfully dramatic. I hated it. The tree had been refuge for me.”
“Brothers can be the worst.” He climbed down and came around to her side of the gig. She sat straight as a lamp post, clutching her shawl around her as if a winter gale rather than a summer storm threatened. “Get you down, Wyeth. The weather must have its fifteen minutes, and Henderson said the corn can use the rain. Tell me more of these disgraceful brothers.”
He lifted her from the seat before she could protest, then she stood beside him, looking pale and shivery, while he untied her bonnet and set it on the seat.
“The one I’m closest to is Grey, and he’s a good brother.”
Worth settled his coat around her shoulders. He liked the look of her in
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