The Heiress of Winterwood - By Sarah Ladd Page 0,40
Winterwood Manor will need to be addressed to George Barrett or Edward Littleton. I no longer manage its affairs.”
“Actually, Littleton is one of the reasons I am here.” Graham waited for the man to look back up from his papers before proceeding. “There’s been a change of plans regarding the future of the estate.”
The man’s unkempt eyebrows lifted. “You have my attention, Captain Sterling.”
Graham slid the letter confirming his license application from his leather satchel and held it in the air. “I’ve just applied for a marriage license.”
Carrington chuckled. “Getting married, are you?”
“Yes. To Miss Amelia Barrett.”
The old man jerked. His smirk dissolved. He pushed himself back in his chair, and a very different sort of smile crossed his round face. “Well, this is interesting. Interesting indeed. What happened to Littleton?”
Graham opened his mouth to speak, then snapped it shut. The less said, the better. “Let us say that circumstances intervened.”
Carrington slapped his hand on the desk. “I’m glad to hear it. Littleton’s a rogue.” His proclamation echoed off the plaster ceiling and caused the bloodhound to lift his head. “A blackguard, he is, not fit to muck Winterwood’s stables, let alone be its master.”
Graham would have enjoyed nothing more than a thorough discussion of Littleton’s shortcomings, but he held his tongue and returned the letter to the satchel. “Miss Barrett and I will wed as soon as possible, and I will return to my duties shortly thereafter. We will need someone to manage Winterwood’s affairs, and Miss Barrett trusts you. I’d like to reinstate you as steward. You will, of course, be able to take up residence again at the estate cottage whenever you are in Darbury. Is that satisfactory?”
“It is, sir. I must say I am gratified to hear of these developments. You will of course let me know if there is anything I can help you with in the meantime.”
Graham stood and held out his hand. “I’ll not keep you any longer. I’ll be in touch in the next few days with further instructions.”
Carrington stood, stepped over the sleeping dog, and completed the handshake. “Of course.”
“Good.” Graham turned to leave, then turned back. “This is not public information yet. It’s crucial you keep this news to yourself for a few days.”
“Will do, Captain. I am at your service.”
Graham quickened his pace as he rounded the corner to Winterwood’s east lawn. Skeletons of rosebushes lined the walk, and his tailcoat caught on the bare, spindly branches. Shells of leaves crunched beneath each footfall as he approached the massive house. He allowed his mind to settle on a thought he had not yet dared to entertain: within the next couple of weeks, he would become master of Winterwood Manor.
The magnitude of such a role had yet to sink in. Ever since he left Eastmore Hall as a lad to make his way in the world, he had accepted that his profession would center around life at sea. He excelled at it and, yes, he enjoyed it. His plan had been to earn enough so that he and Katherine could live out their years comfortably. He had done well enough for himself, but the fortune connected with the Winterwood estate made his wages and prize money pale in comparison.
For the time being, honor and experience bound him to his ship. But should he survive the war, would he continue in his profession or return here—to Lucy, to Amelia Barrett, and to this magnificent house?
A quick glance up at the rolling sky and a threatening clap of thunder made him regret his decision to leave his oilcloth coat at Eastmore Hall. With his still-nameless horse in the care of a groomsman, Graham was eager to get inside. At the main entrance, the butler took his hat and gloves and showed him to the library. No fire blazed in the black marble fireplace—odd for this time of year.
Miss Barrett’s smile, however, more than made up for the lack of warmth afforded by a fire. “Captain Sterling!”
Graham bowed toward Miss Barrett before turning his attention to Lucy, who perched on her nurse’s hip. He smiled at Lucy, who regarded him with indifference. He straightened. At least she did not cry. Then she grinned and waved a paintbrush in the air.
He laughed. “Been painting, have you, Lucy?”
She waved it again and held it out to him. He went to take it from her, and she snatched it back, giggling and looking proudly at Miss Barrett.
“You tricked me.” He chuckled. “Will you come to your