The woman jerked away from him, her white cap slipping back to reveal dark-red hair. “Who are you people? What have you done to my grandfather?”
Puzzlement clouded Shand’s eyes. “We’ve not done anything, madam.”
“A likely story, trespassing as you are. Get out of here, or I’ll have to call for the magistrate.” She knelt before her grandfather, touching his knee. “It’s monstrous to treat an old man this way.”
He was covered in dirt from rolling on the floor, and his hands trembled.
Shand had clearly reached the end of his patience. “Madam, may I present to you the Earl and Countess of Whitelock? They have every right to be in this home, since they own it. If your grandfather was once in the employ of the former earl, that situation ended long ago. I admire his willingness to protect the property, but he’s in no condition to be wandering around with a loaded gun and pointing it at his betters.”
The woman rocked back on her heels, her cap tumbling to the floor, and Evan realized she was past the first blush of youth. Perhaps mid-thirties?
“You’re the earl?”
She was looking at him, and he felt an impostor. He wanted to say no. To say he was just a simple soldier, a clergyman’s son, plain old Evan Eldridge.
But that bridge had been crossed … and burned. He couldn’t go back.
“I am.”
“We’d heard there was a new Whitelock, but no one mentioned you’d be coming here. My grandfather …” She lowered her voice. “His mind wanders sometimes, and he thinks he’s a young steward again. I do apologize, my lord. Please don’t punish him. He wouldn’t understand.” She sidled on her knees until she could put her arm around the old man.
“I don’t intend to punish him. I’m sorry for …” Evan spread his hands. “He shouldn’t have that gun.”
“I’ll take it from him. I promise.”
“Best let Shand keep it. It’s so old, it’s a miracle that it fired at all. Next time it could explode. It doesn’t appear to have been cleaned in a long time.”
She frowned at the sergeant but said nothing.
“I assume you live somewhere on the property?”
“Yes.” Pushing herself up, she curtsied quickly. “Here at the back of the house. When the housekeeper left, we took over her rooms.”
“When did she leave?” Evan glanced at the dirt and debris.
“I was a child of twelve. All the staff left about that time. And most of the tenants. The land’s been fallow all this time. The magistrate, Mr. Jones, asked Grandfather to stay on and protect the house. For a while, he also protected the grounds, but it was too much for him. Now it’s all he can do to keep thieves and vagrants out of the manor proper. The crofters’ cottages are full of squatters and the like.” She kept her hand on her grandfather’s shoulder as he muttered and twisted his gnarled hands in his lap. “I get work sometimes at the inn or taking in mending or washing, but it’s been hard going the last few years.”
So Evan had a house that was falling down, land that had lain fallow for twenty years, and squatters in the cottages. How could he turn White Haven into a profitable estate? He knew nothing of estate management, carpentry, farming. He had none of the skills necessary to be a landowner.
And in ten or twelve weeks, he would be hosting the Prince Regent and his retinue.
Diana removed her cloak and handed it to Beth, surveying the small room. The coaching inn at Crawley would be their home for the foreseeable future, and as there was no private parlor available, this room at the head of the stairs would have to do. She bent over the laundry basket that served as Cian’s crib, checking that he was still covered.
She didn’t want to stay at the inn at all, but there was nowhere else. White Haven was uninhabitable at the moment, especially for a baby. Would her father send someone after the child? If he did, would those men look first at the inn? How could she protect the baby? She had no rights to him, none that a court would listen to, anyway. It didn’t matter that Catherine had put her son into Diana’s keeping. Her father was his legal guardian.
Somehow, she felt that if she could just get the baby to the estate, he would be safe. He would be surrounded by servants, under her watch constantly. But here at the inn, he seemed vulnerable. The place would be full of unfamiliar people, travelers … or men sent by her father.
If only she could trust her new husband to protect the child, but she didn’t know him well enough. He’d been gentle with the baby on the trip here, but that was only for a little while. Her promise to Catherine was forever. To raise Cian as her son. How could she do that and keep his identity a secret?
The first item on the agenda was to provide a safe place for him to live, which meant getting to work as soon as possible to make White Haven habitable.
Mr. Shand carried in another load of baggage. “His Lordship will be up soon. Where would you like me to put things?”
Where indeed? With such a tiny room and so much luggage, it would be a squeeze.
“Beth, run downstairs and fetch me ink, pen, and paper. If there is none to be had, take a coin from my purse and find the closest stationer. I’ll help Mr. Shand get the luggage sorted, and then we can get to work. Also, see if the inn has a milking cow. If not, we’ll have to find someone who does and purchase milk.”
“The earl has already inquired, my lady. The cook here will keep you supplied.” Shand shifted a valise from one hand to the other.
Warmth hit Diana’s chest. Evan had already asked about food for the baby? He was such a puzzle to her. At turns he was kind and then volatile. Not above using his fists at the slightest provocation, and yet he’d been patient and considerate when it came to Cian.
And herself too. Though he acted swiftly, and sometimes physically, he had never directed his anger or his fists at her.
He tapped on the open door and came in, surveying the room. “This place is so small, you’ll have to step outside to change your mind.”
Diana nodded and pushed aside a bandbox. “Still, it won’t be much for housekeeping. The innkeeper said this was where the coach driver usually sleeps, but since you’ve rented the entire floor, we can use it as a bit of an office or sitting room.”
“Where’s your maid?” He noted Cian’s basket on the small writing desk.
“I sent her for writing implements. We’re going to need a great many lists.”
“Lists?” He moved a hatbox from a chair and sat down.
“Of all the things to do, the supplies, the servants and workmen we’ll need.”
He leaned back and put his hands over his eyes. “Do you think it’s even possible? I fancy a good fire would solve all our problems. We can send our regrets to the prince and tell him the place is a pile of ashes. Then we wouldn’t have to host a Royal Visit. At least not until we could build.”
“He’s invited himself for a visit to White Haven, and it is incumbent upon us to make the place ready. One does not say no to the Prince Regent.” She set Cian’s basket near the little coal stove and sat at the desk.
“Don’t I have cause to know it?” He sounded rueful and a little bitter, and she flushed.