all the nerve. I hope you weren't planning on moving in any time soon."
So his suspicions had been right. Still, the property had to be worth something—for he was only interested in the cash it would gain him. "No, I was going to sell it. What do I need a house for?"
"I suppose you don't," she said, though she didn't sound convinced. She handed him back the deceptive portrait. "Malvina won the property in a game of whist about four years ago and it's been a noose around her neck ever since."
"Is it worthless?" he asked, more than willing to return to London and wish Lady Tottley many happy years with her unwed daughter at her side.
"No, just in need of repair."
Lord Finch, seemingly still captivated by his orchid journal, made an ignoble snort.
Lady Finch shrugged. "The baron is probably right. A lot of repairs. But the land is good and you should have no problems finding someone to buy it."
"So why hasn't Lady Tottley been able to sell it?" he asked, still suspicious that his possible fortune was now dwindling to a meager purse.
"She's had offers, but mostly from mushrooms and other cits who want to set themselves up with a country address. She's rather high in the instep and has refused them all so far, much to my relief." Lady Finch sighed. "I suppose you won't be so particular though and I'll end up with another one of these ridiculous and pretentious nabobs for a neighbor."
Rafe smiled at this. "I haven't the means to be choosey, so it will be the first fool I can find."
"You shouldn't have any trouble there, for London is full of them," Lady Finch remarked before returning to her meal. "And though I see now that you are going to be the ruination of Bramley Hollow, I'll still help you. But I'll ask a boon in return."
Rafe felt an uncharacteristic twinge of guilt, and in a weak moment said, "My lady, if there is anything I can do to repay your favor, you have but to ask."
She glanced up from her plate and studied him. "Since you've offered, there is a matter of some importance that I would like your assistance with."
"Anything."
"Not for me, but for someone else."
Something about the way she said it sent a warning clamor down his spine. Yet before he could inquire further, a young man entered the dining room.
"Rafe? Rafe Danvers? Is that you? Demmit, I thought I'd gone round the bend when I saw you ride past the gatehouse," he said, hobbling into the room, leaning heavily on a silver tipped cane.
"Jemmy," Rafe said, more in shock than in delight at seeing James Reyburn, the Finch heir and only child. Like his mother, Jemmy was a recluse, though for different reasons.
Years earlier the young man had impetuously stowed away on Colin's ship and ended up in Rafe's guerilla band searching the Iberian Peninsula for an ancient treasure.
But the fresh-faced, idealistic young man he remembered held little resemblance to this pale, haggard man before him. Rafe saw only too clearly the terrible price Jemmy had paid for his noble dreams of war.
One hand clung to a cane, which he obviously needed to walk, his once shattered leg dragging along, sad evidence of the nearly fatal injuries he'd suffered at the Siege of Badajoz. There was also a long scar on one side of his face and he looked pale and thin. Hardly the rakish and robust daredevil Rafe remembered who'd come to Spain determined to make his place in history.
And when Rafe glanced over at Lady Finch, he knew without a doubt what she wanted.
She wanted him to help her save Jemmy.
Dios
, what had he gotten himself into?
"What are you doing here?" Jemmy asked, as Addison set a place and filled a plate for him.
"I've come to ask your mother's aid in finding someone."
"Yes, and he was nearly to telling me whom, when you arrived," Lady Finch said. "I thought you weren't hungry and deemed us too boring to eat with?"
"I didn't know you were having company," Jemmy told her, winking at Rafe. "So who are you looking for? A murderer? A thief? Some foreign spy?
So his suspicions had been right. Still, the property had to be worth something—for he was only interested in the cash it would gain him. "No, I was going to sell it. What do I need a house for?"
"I suppose you don't," she said, though she didn't sound convinced. She handed him back the deceptive portrait. "Malvina won the property in a game of whist about four years ago and it's been a noose around her neck ever since."
"Is it worthless?" he asked, more than willing to return to London and wish Lady Tottley many happy years with her unwed daughter at her side.
"No, just in need of repair."
Lord Finch, seemingly still captivated by his orchid journal, made an ignoble snort.
Lady Finch shrugged. "The baron is probably right. A lot of repairs. But the land is good and you should have no problems finding someone to buy it."
"So why hasn't Lady Tottley been able to sell it?" he asked, still suspicious that his possible fortune was now dwindling to a meager purse.
"She's had offers, but mostly from mushrooms and other cits who want to set themselves up with a country address. She's rather high in the instep and has refused them all so far, much to my relief." Lady Finch sighed. "I suppose you won't be so particular though and I'll end up with another one of these ridiculous and pretentious nabobs for a neighbor."
Rafe smiled at this. "I haven't the means to be choosey, so it will be the first fool I can find."
"You shouldn't have any trouble there, for London is full of them," Lady Finch remarked before returning to her meal. "And though I see now that you are going to be the ruination of Bramley Hollow, I'll still help you. But I'll ask a boon in return."
Rafe felt an uncharacteristic twinge of guilt, and in a weak moment said, "My lady, if there is anything I can do to repay your favor, you have but to ask."
She glanced up from her plate and studied him. "Since you've offered, there is a matter of some importance that I would like your assistance with."
"Anything."
"Not for me, but for someone else."
Something about the way she said it sent a warning clamor down his spine. Yet before he could inquire further, a young man entered the dining room.
"Rafe? Rafe Danvers? Is that you? Demmit, I thought I'd gone round the bend when I saw you ride past the gatehouse," he said, hobbling into the room, leaning heavily on a silver tipped cane.
"Jemmy," Rafe said, more in shock than in delight at seeing James Reyburn, the Finch heir and only child. Like his mother, Jemmy was a recluse, though for different reasons.
Years earlier the young man had impetuously stowed away on Colin's ship and ended up in Rafe's guerilla band searching the Iberian Peninsula for an ancient treasure.
But the fresh-faced, idealistic young man he remembered held little resemblance to this pale, haggard man before him. Rafe saw only too clearly the terrible price Jemmy had paid for his noble dreams of war.
One hand clung to a cane, which he obviously needed to walk, his once shattered leg dragging along, sad evidence of the nearly fatal injuries he'd suffered at the Siege of Badajoz. There was also a long scar on one side of his face and he looked pale and thin. Hardly the rakish and robust daredevil Rafe remembered who'd come to Spain determined to make his place in history.
And when Rafe glanced over at Lady Finch, he knew without a doubt what she wanted.
She wanted him to help her save Jemmy.
Dios
, what had he gotten himself into?
"What are you doing here?" Jemmy asked, as Addison set a place and filled a plate for him.
"I've come to ask your mother's aid in finding someone."
"Yes, and he was nearly to telling me whom, when you arrived," Lady Finch said. "I thought you weren't hungry and deemed us too boring to eat with?"
"I didn't know you were having company," Jemmy told her, winking at Rafe. "So who are you looking for? A murderer? A thief? Some foreign spy?
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