The Heiress of Winterwood - By Sarah Ladd Page 0,39

Miss Barrett before Mr. Littleton paid his own visit to the Archbishop’s offices and learned what had transpired.

Graham waited for a barouche to pass before stepping into the cobbled streets, dodging a heap of straw that had fallen from a passing wagon. London’s labyrinth of avenues stretched out in unfamiliar twists, but he’d memorized the way to his hotel. It was just a short distance away. He’d walk.

Rounding the corner to Bracket Street, he nearly tripped over a small boy. Soot smudged the child’s cheek, and ragged clothes hung limp on his scrawny frame. He stopped Graham with his expressive brown eyes and extended his cap. Graham stared at him for several seconds before realizing he wanted money.

Three weeks before, Graham might have walked past the urchin with little thought. Today thoughts of Lucy made him pause. This boy was someone’s child. He fished in his pocket, pulled out some coins, and dropped them into the hat. The boy peered in, and a smile spread ear to ear. He turned and, like a shot from a cannon, disappeared into the sea of horses, carts, and people.

Graham allowed himself a gratified smile. He had helped a child and found a satisfactory arrangement for his own little one as well. All was going well. In just a short time—a week or two at most—he could return to his ship with a clear mind.

Graham wove through the throng of people who had braved the chill of the day, pausing once to allow a group of ladies to pass. His thoughts transitioned from his daughter to his soon-to-be bride and from there to his late wife.

Eighteen months had passed since he last saw Katherine, and even then, their time together had been brief. He had loved her with unequaled passion, but if he were to add up all the time he spent in her company, it came to less than six months. Indeed, the passing of time had made her seem more like a lovely memory than flesh and blood.

During those many months at sea, he had often imagined the life they would share—a life free of war and struggle. He had feared that battle might claim his life before then, never dreaming that hers would be cut short. But she was gone, along with all his hopes for their life together. Lately when he envisioned his future, he saw Lucy. And now, Miss Barrett.

As the days crept by, he was growing accustomed to the idea of marrying once again. But he still must guard himself. As Amelia had reminded him many times, this was an arrangement, not a romance. He could not—would not—begin to think of her in such an impractical way.

He straightened his hat and turned down Binkton Street. He needed to rest well tonight. It was a long way back to Darbury. And he had a stop to make along the way.

Weary from days of travel and lost in the unfamiliar streets of Sheffield, Graham almost passed Henry Carrington’s door completely. He backtracked and rapped on the door. Within seconds an elderly man appeared.

“Captain Graham Sterling to see Mr. Carrington.”

The butler ushered Graham through a narrow hallway to a small office. Graham ducked to miss the library’s low threshold and sidestepped to miss a haphazard pile of empty crates. Burgundy paper covered the walls, and thick brocade drapes blocked out the day’s light. Only a single sliver of light pressed through the curtains, illuminating tiny specks of dust hovering in the air.

At the butler’s announcement, Mr. Carrington looked up from behind an untidy stack of papers and fixed startling blue eyes on Graham. The old man’s gaze traveled from the top of Graham’s head to the brass buttons on his tailcoat to his gray pantaloons and Hessian boots. He pushed his spectacles down on his nose and squinted, making no attempt to hide his assessment. His gruff voice cracked the silence. “Captain Sterling. Come in.”

Graham stepped over a sleeping bloodhound and moved to the desk. “Thank you for seeing me on such short notice.”

Carrington nodded toward a carved chair. “Pay no heed to the crates. Moving from one town to another is maddening business. Sit down there.”

Graham followed the man’s instruction, removing a dust cloth from the back of the chair before sitting.

Carrington leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m here to discuss Winterwood Manor.”

Carrington waved a dismissive hand and dropped his spectacles to his desk. “Any discussions related to