respect her, which makes visits like today’s go much smoother.”
Something about the vicar’s praise of the widow unsettled Sebastian. He eyed his riding companion, who appeared a few years younger than he and sported masculine features some women might find attractive.
“Are you married, Mr. Foster?” Sebastian heard himself ask.
“No, sir. Not at present,” the vicar answered. “But I have been thinking on the subject of late.”
Rather than calming the odd swirling sensation in Sebastian’s stomach, the vicar’s answer made the feeling grow stronger. Before Sebastian could decide whether to inquire further, Mr. Foster waved toward a cottage.
“Ah, here we are, my lord.”
Sebastian’s gaze swept over the homestead. He expected to find the same age-worn buildings and unkempt prospects that he had encountered on his other inspections. Instead, the cottage and outbuildings appeared well-maintained, plucked free of weeds and devoid of clutter. Yellow and white flowers lined the footpath leading up to the cottage.
The vicar pulled his mount to a halt. “Declan McCarthy moved his family here a little over a year ago. He’s hardworking and a skilled carpenter, but I’m afraid the residents of Showbury have never welcomed the family as they should.”
“Irish?” Sebastian asked.
“Yes, sir.” The vicar’s lips firmed, his back straightening. “They’re honest folks and don’t deserve suspicious treatment. If not for Mrs. Ashcroft, I fear the family would’ve been forced to move on by now.”
For the love of God. Did the woman have her hands in everything? “How did Mrs. Ashcroft help the family?”
A flush spread across the younger man’s cheeks. “Well, she, um—” The vicar’s eyes widened, then he waved at someone behind Sebastian. “Hello, Mr. McCarthy.”
Sebastian eyed the vicar, waiting for the man to finish his sentence. But the vicar dismounted, avoiding his gaze.
With no other choice, Sebastian followed suit.
Declan McCarthy held out his hand. “Good day, Vicar.”
“It is that, Mr. McCarthy.” The vicar shook the man’s hand and then turned to Sebastian. “I’d like you to meet Lord Somerton. Just returned from London.”
The carpenter’s friendly mien leeched away. “M’lord.”
“McCarthy.”
The Irishman turned to the vicar. “Are you here to see my Meghan?”
“Yes, sir, I am.” Mr. Foster glanced around, frowning. “Has Mrs. Ashcroft not arrived?”
McCarthy rubbed the stubble across his chin. “Not yet. I expect her any minute.”
“I’ve never known Mrs. Ashcroft to be late for an appointment,” the vicar mused after checking his timepiece.
“I’m visiting with each of my tenants, McCarthy,” Sebastian said. “Is there anything you need?”
Declan McCarthy’s thick eyebrows drew together. He looked to the vicar, who gave him an encouraging smile. “The gate leading into the south paddock needs some mending,” he said. “I was going to take care of it myself once I finished repairing the molding on the door leading to your gallery.”
“My gallery?”
“Declan,” the vicar said in a rush. “Is Mrs. McCarthy inside?”
The carpenter nodded, his gaze shooting between Sebastian and Mr. Foster.
Sebastian studied the vicar’s flushed face. “Mrs. Ashcroft, I presume?”
“At the request of Grayson, I believe.” Mr. Foster swallowed hard. “Declan, I’ll go pay my respects to your wife before checking on Meghan. Perhaps Mrs. Ashcroft will have arrived by then.”
Catherine had mentioned that she’d operated as Grayson’s liaison, but he hadn’t imagined her assistance extended to Bellamere.
“Would you care for a refreshment, m’lord?” McCarthy asked.
He glanced at the McCarthy cottage and found three curious faces in a window. A young boy and girl craned their neck, this way and that to see the stranger outside, and a pretty brunette, who looked to be on the verge of womanhood, stood sentinel behind them, watchful and unmoving. Sebastian guessed the eldest of the three to be the enceinte Meghan.
Wanting no part in the upcoming discussion, Sebastian turned back to the carpenter. “Thank you, no. I must be on my way.”
After mounting Reaper, Sebastian turned to the carpenter. “When you’ve repaired the molding, come see me. I have additional work, if you’re interested.”
McCarthy’s eyes widened in surprise. “Thank you, m’lord.”
Sebastian nodded to both men before wheeling Reaper about. “Gentlemen.”
As he left the McCarthy residence, Sebastian found himself scanning the country lane for a blond head. Mr. Foster’s concern for her absence replayed through his mind for nearly two miles before he shut out the vicar’s voice. A decade of deciphering men’s words and their true intent had him imagining calamity where none existed.
Showbury wasn’t London. Men did not go around terrorizing innocent women in this sleepy village. He had to let his mind rest, to suppress the uneasy feeling eating at his stomach. His special talents weren’t needed