More Than A Lover. Ann Lethbridge

so pale, so tired, he decided to leave it. For now.

      ‘I believe not. My word and that of the constable will be enough. Once a verdict is reached we can leave for Skepton. Lane will bring the remains there for the appropriate rites and services.’

      She nodded slowly. ‘Thank you. I appreciate your help and support in this matter.’

      If he’d been truly helpful, instead of standing on his dignity, he would have insisted on escorting her and none of this would have happened. He frowned at her. ‘You said you were going to hire outriders.’

      She made a face. ‘There were none available at such short notice.’

      He had no way of knowing whether or not that was the truth, but it was water under the bridge. One thing he did know—as soon as he got to Skepton, he would write to Tonbridge and see if he had any thoughts on whether someone might have accosted his carriage and, if so, who.

      Then he’d do a bit of investigating of his own. In the meantime, he would enjoy a meal with a pretty woman who, it seemed, was prepared to admit she recalled him.

Chapter Three

      Despite his assurances that all was well in hand, Caro sensed an underlying concern in Mr Read’s manner as he gestured to a side table. ‘May I offer you a glass of sherry?’

      She shook her head. ‘Thank you, no.’

      His gaze cut longingly to the tray of drinks.

      ‘Please, do not let my abstinence prevent you from partaking.’

      He strode to the table and poured himself a brandy. He tossed it off and poured another. Dutch courage? Was she really so formidable to a man who had faced the guns at Waterloo?

      An awkward silence ensued, fortunately broken by the entry of Mrs Lane with supper dishes. The young woman with her, a dark-haired lass of about sixteen, eyed Mr Read with obvious interest. Caro narrowed her eyes at the girl, who blushed and giggled before she left the room with a dip of a curtsy.

      Mrs Lane, elbows akimbo, gazed from one to the other of them. ‘You’ll pardon me, sir, if I has this to say no matter what Sir Reginald thinks of the accident?’

      Mr Read tensed, but his lips 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