Page 43 of A Proposal to Wed (The Beautiful Barringtons #9)

“ L ock broken,” McAddle said to Harry, pointing into the dim confines of Pendergast. “Must have come in that way. Looks like they used a hammer of some kind.”

Harry stepped around the small pile of debris at the corner of the main floor. A tiny explosion from one of the forges, contained for the most part. The damage was minimal, thanks to the quick thinking of his new ironmaster. “It could have been much worse. Were there any injuries?”

“A few scrapes and bruises.”

Nodding, Harry’s eyes ran over the mess before him.

“So our friend breaks into Pendergast, manages to put a sphere filled with metal bits and gunpowder into one of the forges hoping it will go unnoticed until it explodes, raining down bits of metal and embers on the main floor, causing perhaps death and destruction. Chaos, at the very least.”

“Aye, Mr. Estwood.”

“Yet, it didn’t. And not solely due to you. No offense, McAddle.” Harry looked at his ironmaster. “Whoever placed it, miscalculated.”

“None taken, Mr. Estwood. A prank, perhaps? Even the lads running about the floor would have known to place the sphere in a forge closer to the center for maximum impact,” McAddle said. He was a big, barrel-chested man with the face of a cherub and a ruddy complexion.

Harry’s first inclination would have been to suspect Colm, but the man had worked at an ironworks for years; he knew explosions. Fire. Heat. Also, while he wouldn’t put murder past Colm, his former employee had little to gain from killing Harry except satisfaction.

But Dufton? Or Waterstone?

“Thank you, McAddle.”

Either could be behind today’s incident—and the attempt to strangle Harry with a length of chain. Dufton certainly had the resources to hire an assassin. Both men would profit greatly from his death. Once Lucy was widowed, Waterstone could force her into marriage with the earl.

Harry walked back to his office, thinking it would be best if he kept a pistol on hand.

He generally liked to solve matters with his fists, but he had a wife to think of now.

If Dufton was behind the two attacks, and that seemed likely, Harry wanted to make sure she was protected.

He made a note to inform Bartle. Hire some good lads to watch the house.

Keep Hammond, in the stables, armed as well.

“Mr. Estwood.” One of the younger men, Wist, stopped Harry. “Sorry to bother you, sir, what with…” Wist looked at the mess on the main floor. “But there’s a gentleman outside with a basket for you. Says he has what you ordered.”

“Thank you, Wist.” Harry smiled for the first time that day.

“Tell him I’ll be right out.” He grabbed his coat from the office, pausing only to let McAddle know he was leaving.

“Have the mess cleaned up. Don’t let on this was anything but an accident.

I’m leaving for the day. There’s something I need to give my wife. ”

A broad grin crossed McAddle’s features, and he winked. “Well then, please give Mrs. Estwood my best.”

“I will.” He nodded. McAddle had been wed for twenty years and still mooned over his wife. He assumed Harry did the same.

You are mooning over her.

Harry whistled as he stepped outside. “Mr. Acres.”

Acres had worked at Pendergast with Bartle once. The two still met at the Goat’s Head regularly for an ale, and when Bartle had casually mentioned what Harry was seeking, Acres had said he could help.

“Sir.” Acres doffed his cap. “I have two, just as Bartle said you wanted.” He held up the basket. “A lovely gift for your new wife.”

“I think so too.” Harry slid several coins into the older man’s hands before taking the basket. “Thank you, Mr. Acres.”

Lucy sat outside in the garden atop a large blanket, newspapers, notes, and books spread out around her.

A pencil was stuck behind one ear as she moved the articles around, rereading them again in order, before leaning forward to scribble on a pad of paper.

She had to make a compelling argument, enough to convince Harry to purchase a shoe factory.

The entire week had been devoted to her research, when she wasn’t redecorating the house behind her.

Lucy now knew a great deal about ready-made footwear, primarily the process required to create shoes and boots for the working class.

The demand would only grow over time, and a factory or two engaged in supplying footwear would be a sound investment.

She smiled and nibbled on the end of the pencil. Harry would be convinced when he saw her argument for the shoe factory because she was correct.

Marriage to Harry Estwood was far better than Lucy could ever have hoped when she’d first proposed they wed.

There was the physical desire, of course, and the pleasure they brought one another.

A like-minded partner in business matters who encouraged and respected Lucy’s opinions.

But more than that, Harry was her friend .

A trusted confidante. Their interests were in alignment.

He treated her as an equal. Never dictated to her. Or ordered her about.

Lucy felt the heat crawl up her cheeks.

I told you a cravat has many uses, Lucy. Raise your arms.

At least…most of the time.

Suffice it to say, she was more than happy to be ordered about…under the right circumstances.

Lucy likened herself to a flower, finally given enough sunlight, water, and room to grow.

She flourished under Harry’s care. Her feeling for him was profound, so much more than merely the love of a wife for her husband.

Harry had given Lucy… herself . A most precious gift.

She was ridiculously happy and dared to hope he would one day return her affection.

Yet there was still one small, troublesome item that threatened to destroy Lucy’s blissful new existence.

Three thousand pounds.

Not an enormous sum, in comparison to the large amount of money Harry had deposited in Lucy’s account. But she should have known that three thousand pounds wouldn’t be the end of it.

Lucy sat back on her knees, pressing a palm to her mid-section.

The second request, for the same amount, had come barely a month after her stepmother’s unexpected appearance in Middlesbrough. And hoping that an additional three thousand pounds would finally be enough, Lucy had sent the amount.

I’m a fool.

Another letter had arrived just yesterday.

Sally claimed the need for more funds was pressing.

The situation was dire. Father’s horse farm was gone, as well as all the horses.

He was under the constant care of a physician and might never recover.

Had Lucy’s mongrel of a husband not gone back on his word and called in Father’s debts?—

Lucy took a deep breath. Harry wouldn’t have done so, would he?

—she would not be forced to beg charity from her stepdaughter. This entire matter was Lucy’s fault, and it was her duty to provide for her future brother or sister. Did she want them out on the streets?

She blew out a puff of air and looked across the lawn.

She didn’t want to believe Harry would have called in Father’s markers, but if he had, it was likely because some action Father had taken had compelled him to do so.

Her husband had little patience for deceit.

Or Gerald Waterstone. Still, she’d sent a total of six thousand pounds to Sally thus far.

The sum should have been more than sufficient.

“I need to tell him,” she whispered into the breeze.

Harry would be furious and consider Lucy’s charity nothing short of a betrayal.

Sally was unlikely to stop her demands for money.

She might even go to Harry directly. The longer the situation went on, the worse it would become.

But thus far, Lucy had been too much of a coward to confess, afraid of destroying her newfound happiness, though the guilt over her actions grew by leaps and bounds every day.

“There you are.” A shadow fell over the blanket and Lucy’s scatter of papers and notes. She looked up to see Harry, grinning at her. Entirely pleased with himself.

“Here I am.” Your deceitful wife .

The sun glinted off his hair as he tossed his hat aside, turning some of the strands to copper. He hadn’t had a proper haircut since leaving London, and the sherry-colored waves fell over his ears, nearly touching his collar. There was mischief gleaming in his eyes as he rocked back on his heels.

“I’ve something for you, Mrs. Estwood.” He had his hands behind his back. “And not what you’re imagining, naughty girl. Stop ogling me.”

Lucy raised a brow and bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing at his blatant innuendo. “I merely glanced in your direction.”

“Leering, then.” He held out a basket, from which came small howls and whimpers. “A surprise for you.”

She took the basket, heart swelling with love for him.

As she opened the top, two small heads popped out, eyeing Lucy with tiny purrs.

One jumped into her lap, small claws sinking into her skirts before attempting to climb up her chest. “You—” Lucy’s throat thickened so much she couldn’t speak, touched by such a sweet gesture.

“Were listening.” She blinked at the moisture gathering in her eyes.

“I always hear you, my lovely girl.”

“You do.” A tear ran down Lucy’s cheek.

Harry settled beside her, kissing the drop away.

“None of that.” Taking the second kitten out of the basket, Lucy could see they were nearly identical, both calico with green eyes.

“This one didn’t shut up the entire ride home.

” He allowed the kitten to climb up his shoulder.

“Might be hungry. I’ve already alerted Mrs. Bartle that we have two more mouths to feed. ”

Lucy pressed her forehead into his chest, a tiny sob leaving her. “You brought me kittens.”

“Not to make you weep.” He nuzzled her temple. “You said you always wanted a pet. A cat. Was I wrong to get them?”

“No.” She smiled through her tears. The two kittens proceeded to make their way across the blanket, tumbling over the papers and books. Lucy cupped his cheeks. “You are a wonderfully thoughtful man, Harry Estwood.”

“Don’t tell anyone.” His mouth brushed over hers. “You’ll cause talk. I have a reputation to protect. I confess it’s difficult to tell you’re pleased when you’re soaking my coat with tears.”

“Sorry.” She breathed in his scent. “I am just surprised.”

And touched. Not only did Harry hear her, but he listened .

Harry pulled her close, rolling Lucy gently until she was on her back. He lay half atop her and placed his cheek directly over her heart. They stayed curled together on the blanket, the kittens leaping over them in the sunshine.

“I believe those two terrors are clawing at your notes,” he said lightly.

“It doesn’t matter. You and I both know the shoe factory is a good idea.” Lucy held him tight, wanting to live in this moment for the rest of her days. This was all she needed. Harry. A pair of kittens. Sunshine and the smell of grass.

After some time, Harry’s breathing evened out, growing slow and deep. He’d been working so much lately, often into the wee hours of the morning. He needed his rest. Lucy threaded her fingers through his hair, marveling at the silky strands, his big body keeping her pinned in place.

“I love you, Harry Estwood,” Lucy whispered, thinking that she must tell him about Sally—or risk losing him. “Don’t ever forget it.”