Page 9 of The Raven’s Lady

“Good morning,” he said.

“You persist I see. May I remind you that Verwood is not for sale?”

“It is a lease I’m after, and I find persistence generally yields results. Did you walk far this morning?”

“Just to the dower house.”

He glanced down the track into the woods from which she had come. He suspected that her little jaunt to the dower house meant that she had been thinking practically, as he’d hoped she would. “Ah, how does it look?”

“Neglected.”

“Can you picture yourself living there?”

“That is not the right question.”

“No?”

“You mean can I picture my grandmother and my aunt living there?”

“My offer to help with the move still stands.”

“Sadly, such an offer is of no use with the house in its current state.”

He laughed. He recognized a negotiating tactic when he saw one. “We do want the same thing, you know,” he said.

“Do we? And what is that?” she asked.

“A signed lease for Verwood.” He offered her his arm. “Show me what needs to be done to this dower house of yours.”

She glanced at his arm, and gave a little shake of her head, clearly unwilling to accept his help. He didn’t know what to make of her refusal. Resistance or defiance? He doubted that she was as lofty as her grandmother, but he could not be sure. She turned and took the path into the woods, and he fell into step beside her.

When the house came into view around a curve in the gravel drive, she stopped and looked up at him, her expression amused, irked, and above all, intelligent. “Do you always get what you want?” she asked.

“I like to think I choose the objects of my pursuit carefully.” Her nose distracted him briefly. A smooth, straight, slightly upturned nose of the feminine sort, it had a flat, shallow dent along the ridge, as if broken at some time. Her accident must have been serious.

“An obscure estate in Hampshire is a careful choice?”

“You won’t deny that Verwood is a fine house.”

“But it’s not for sale.”

“A lease will do … for now.”

“You are provokingly confident. I spent months persuading my grandmama that leasing Verwood is absolutely necessary if she—”

“—does not wish to part with any of her horses,” he finished for her “And then one unguarded remark from your aunt Honoria set your grandmother off. What if, instead of draining Verwood’s coffers, the stables paid for themselves? They used to, did they not?”

Her expression changed. “How do you know that? Who told you?”

“I spoke with the Crocketts this morning.” Raven produced the honey jar from his pocket. “Mrs. Crockett sends you some of her honey.”

Her gaze dropped to the jar wrapped in linen and tied with blue bow. “Mary Crockett is a kind neighbor, but you must not credit everything she says.”

Plainly, Lady Cassandra was aware of her neighbors’ speculation about her. Raven thought her cheek flushed, but it might only be the coolness of the morning and the exercise. He waited for her to take the honey. The sun hung above the trees. The raucous bird song had died down a little. A hint of warmth was in the air. In London, in his grandfather’s grand Italianate villa, Raven rarely heard birds. Bells ringing the hour and carts and wagons of every sort made the swelling predawn sound of the city waking. Not that he had awakened at dawn recently. For months, he had been dancing late into the night, coming home at first light.

Just when his holding out the honey jar grew awkward, she took it.

“Thank you.” She began walking toward the dower house again, and this time he caught the hitch in her stride. She made no effort to conceal it, and it didn’t slow her down. Still, Raven thought, much walking must lead to pain. The house came into view, two stories of yellow stone with a steep slate roof and a blue door. It looked neglected, but sturdy and well-situated. They approached the door.