Romancing Her Rival - Joanna Barker Page 0,45

But Mrs. Hartwell wishes to see you right away.”

“Now?”

“Yes, as soon as you are able.”

Cole rubbed a hand over his face. What the devil? Aunt Hartwell had rarely summoned him like this, and certainly not so early in the morning. Then his stomach gave a lurch. Daphne. Had Mrs. Windham done something?

“I’ll be there in ten minutes,” he said fiercely, barely allowing for Charles’s confirming nod before shutting the door.

Nine and half minutes later, Cole was knocking at the parlor door, his cravat a messy knot around his neck and his hair in disarray. Aunt Hartwell had always been an early riser, but even this was unusual for her, which only added to his anxiety.

“Come in,” Aunt Hartwell called and he stepped inside, closing the door behind him before hurrying to where she sat before the fire.

“What has happened?” His words stumbled over each other in his haste. “Is it Daphne? Has Mrs. Windham—”

“No, it is not Daphne.”

Cole furrowed his brow. “What is it then? Has there been some accident?”

Aunt Hartwell finally looked up and held out a single slip of paper, creased at its folds. “No, I do not believe this is an accident at all.”

Cole blinked, then looked closer. His name crossed the top of the page, and his stomach twisted. He knew immediately what it was.

“Where did you find that?” His voice croaked, but his mind moved too rapidly to care. He hadn’t even realized the letter from Mr. Steele was missing. Last night, he’d been too consumed with thoughts of Daphne and what the morning would bring.

“It was slid under my door this morning,” Aunt Hartwell said stiffly. She set the letter on the table beside her, next to another quarter sheet of paper on which Cole could just make out the words I thought you should see this. He stared at it. The writing looked familiar.

Cole shook his head. “Who—”

“It does not matter who.” She stood as her eyes flashed. “What matters is whether or not this is true. Did you arrange to sell that parcel of land to Mr. Steele?”

He closed his eyes. “Yes.”

“When you knew I was against it? That I had strictly forbade it?”

Cole tried to catch his breath. “It would not have been until after you left.”

She scoffed. “As if that makes it any better.”

Irritation began to grow within him, though he attempted to subdue it. “You said I would have complete control over the land and finances. If you trust me enough to leave me Cheriton, why doubt my decisions now?”

“Because,” she said, teeth grit together, “Mr. Steele is a snake. I warned you about him countless times, and still you chose to take his money and surrender Cheriton’s lands.”

“We need the money more than we need that tiny bit of land,” he insisted, but again she was shaking her head.

“It may seem like it,” she said, “but you have not been steward long enough to understand. Some years are more scarce than others, but the land always fights back. We will have better years, and then we can do all that you hope. Selling off the land bit by bit will only eat away at our future prospects.”

Cole blew out a breath, setting his hands on his waist. She was right, of course. But it wasn’t as though he had intended to sell land left and right, greedy for money now instead of waiting for the eventual payoffs. “It was simply an investment in Cheriton,” he said, though his voice lacked his conviction from earlier. “One sale.”

Aunt Hartwell’s eyes were pained. “No,” she said. “It was not. It was you refusing to listen to me, who has a vast deal more experience, even if you do think I am just a silly old woman.”

“I do not—”

She held up a hand and he stopped. “I want to hope this was a solitary mistake,” she said quietly, “but you have broken my trust, Cole.”

He winced. She had not called him Cole since he was a boy.

She turned away to stare at the fire. “I have a great deal to think about. You may go.”

He stood without moving for a long moment, his feet frozen in disbelief. But Aunt Hartwell did not look at him again and so he left the room, not bothering to close the door behind him as he went.

Blast it all. He kicked the thick rug that lined the corridor, his heart thumping uncomfortably in his ears. He’d thought so clearly that he’d done the right thing, that