“No, no, the family sent me up here.” Miss Lizzy would back him up, Ethan was sure. But would it make any difference, her being a child?
“Sent you for what? You’re not making any sense. And who is this Mrs. Charlotte Wylde? I don’t know of any family by that name.”
“She’s Mr. Henry Wylde’s widow.”
“Oh, that one?” As always, gossip had passed from the servants in town to those in the country. It went faster than the mail, it seemed sometimes. “She’s not what I expected. But what’s she doing here?” He frowned. “And… they said you came rushing in yesterday, with one young woman, near to stole a cart…”
“I borrowed it. It’s back safe and sound, isn’t it? And Greylock, too?”
“Went haring off somewhere,” his father continued as if he hadn’t spoken, “out all night, and now you’re back with two females and not a word of explanation for any of it.”
Ethan slumped with fatigue and uncertainty. Lucy wouldn’t want him telling tales about her mistress. And his dad never listened to him anyway. What was he supposed to say? “There’s been some… trouble… with Lady Isabella. I… I reckon Sir Alexander will clear it up when he gets back.”
“Huh.” His father eyed him. “She’s always been good at trouble.”
He paused, and Ethan dared to hope he could escape for now. He wanted to find his mother, explain as best he could, and enlist her help. She’d know what to do about Lucy.
“What’s this nonsense about you taking old Elkins’s place?”
His hopes came crashing down. Of course this talk had to come when he was worn out and worried. But this was his dream. He had to fight for it. “I’m going to. We’ll… I’ll be moving into his cottage as soon as he goes. It’s all settled with Sir Alexander.” Ethan had gotten the final word on this from the steward soon after he asked for the post.
“And this is what you mean to do with your life?” burst from his father.
“Yes, sir, it is. I’m determined on it. It’s what I’ve wanted since I was a lad.”
His father glared at him. Ethan stood straighter and met his eyes, steady and determined though his throat was dry. After what seemed an endless time, the older man blew out a harsh breath. “Seems you’re certain about it.”
“I am. Never more certain about anything.” With an effort, Ethan kept his gaze resolute.
“Well, then.” The fire in his father’s eyes slowly banked. “That’s pretty much all I ever wanted to hear from you. Some kind of purpose. Some fight for what you want.”
Ethan couldn’t believe it. “You… it’s all right then?”
“It was your fecklessness drove me distracted, son. If you’ve found the work you want to do, that you care about doing, then I’m glad for it.”
Weak with relief, he went to find his mother.
***
Lucy sat on the silken armchair and clenched her folded hands in her lap. It was just as she’d feared it would be all along. The staff peering at them and wondering how they came to be arriving with Ethan on their own, and no proper explanation to give them—because there wasn’t one. She’d have liked to blame Ethan for bumbling his words. But what was he to say? She couldn’t think of a lie that covered the circumstances. And anyway, she didn’t want to be the cause of him lying to his family and friends.
She’d done something wildly improper, traveling alone with him all this way. She’d felt she had to do it, that she couldn’t bear to wait in London not knowing what had become of her mistress. She wasn’t sorry! Well, she was, but… they’d found Miss Charlotte. All right, maybe Ethan could have done that on his own. Or maybe not. She’d picked the direction they turned right before they came upon her. He said it made sense to go the other way. They’d have missed her then, left her to the mercy of those men with pikes. Who knows what they might have done to her? It would have been worse for Miss Charlotte to be in this house alone amongst strangers, too. Only now Lucy had to face the consequences. Ethan’s mother was somewhere about; he might bring her through the door at any moment. The idea made her cringe.
Lucy wasn’t used to disapproval. All her life she’d worked hard, tried to learn all she could, gotten along with most folks—well, not that wretched lot in his