Trust had as many facets as a superbly cut diamond. Depending on the light, the gemstone’s aspect either sparkled and gleamed or appeared gray and almost colorless.
Catherine saw a lot of gray in Jeffrey’s actions. He had provided for them, making sure they had wanted for nothing. But emotionally, her husband had long ago left their world colorless and empty. How does one trust a spouse capable of such callous disregard?
“There was a time when I trusted him implicitly, my lord.”
He studied her with an intensity that rattled her nerves. “During that time, did Ashcroft ever mention me?” When she raised her eyebrows, he clarified. “Or more specifically, my character?”
Yes, numerous times, in fact. Her husband’s fascination with the earl was one of those areas Catherine never comprehended. Lord Somerton had always been cordial and pleasant to her at gatherings, but no one she knew besides Jeffrey had ever penetrated the thick, immovable barrier that surrounded him.
“My husband held great admiration for you.”
His gaze became even more piercing. “Try to hold on to that knowledge as we maneuver through the next several days.”
Catherine was torn. She wanted to bring about a resolution to this whole intolerable affair. Yet the earl’s request carried a note of calming sincerity she couldn’t ignore. “You know more about my husband’s death than you’re willing to share, don’t you, my lord?”
His gaze did not flicker, nor did he answer her question.
“How much longer do you need to sort out whatever it is that needs sorting?”
“A few days.”
A few days. They would be the most interminable of her life.
“Perhaps your daughter might like a tour of my stables.”
Shock made her stare at him like an addled resident of Bedlam. “You are inviting Sophie into your stables?”
“Consider it a birthday gift.”
Her eyes narrowed. “A rather generous one, given your aversion to children.”
“I do not dislike children. I simply prefer them not to be underfoot.” He tossed his serviette onto the table. “I’ll make an exception for Sophie’s birthday.”
Catherine was not convinced. “This feels like a rather masterful bit of redirection, my lord.”
“Not so masterful if you saw through my ploy.”
“For my daughter’s happiness,” she said, “I’m inclined to allow it. But only for a few days.”
He nodded, accepting her challenge.
She recalled the request Sophie had made on the way home from church. “This might be a good time to extend my daughter’s invitation.”
He straightened. “To what?”
“To her birthday celebration,” she said. “Your daring rescue the other day has secured you an introduction to Castle Dragonthorpe.”
His eyebrow rose in inquiry. “Castle Dragonthorpe?”
“A project she started with her father,” she said around a lump in her throat. “All you have to do is dutifully place any new pieces—warriors, farm animals, torture devices—where she points. The furniture, I’m told, is my responsibility.”
His features softened, and Catherine wondered about his insistence to keep Sophie away from his estate.
“I thank you and Sophie for the kind invitation.” He indicated the schedule. “Shall we?”
Not exactly a refusal or acceptance. He was rather adept at avoidance and redirection. “Of course.” She spent the next ten minutes detailing her recommendations and offering possible solutions. Every once in a while, she would send the earl a sideways glance to gauge his reaction. He remained as impassive as ever, but attentive.
“Well done, Mrs. Ashcroft.” He folded the sheet of paper and slid it into his coat pocket.
“Once you meet with the craftsmen and discuss time frames and repair costs, I can fill in those columns,” she said.
“Then all that would be left is the Date Completed column.”
“Thus ending our partnership.”
His eyelids lowered. “Would you accompany me to meet with the men?”
There was no dearth of surprises when she was around this man. “I’m not opposed to doing so, but may I ask why?”
“A good question.” His lips tilted into a faint, self-deprecating smile. “Two reasons come to mind. The first—the denizens of Showbury respect and trust you. If I arrive on their doorstep with you in tow, my reception will be much more pleasant than my last attempt to mend relations.”
His cutthroat logic made the situation feel mechanical, rather than a genuine wish to win over the craftsmen. And then there was her role in the matter. He had relegated her to an adornment, there to bring respectability to his visit. “It is good to be useful, I suppose.”
“I have offended you.”
“No.” She searched for the appropriate words. “Your logic is sound, as always.”
“But?”
“Showbury’s residents are a hard-working, somewhat suspicious, and always prideful bunch,” she said. “If