Page 40 of Never Tempt a Widow

Receiving a series of nods, he strode to the door and out into the hallway, just in time to catch Jacob throwing open the front door.

Recognising a red-faced Lord Hanley, accompanied by a tall, smart-looking gentleman, Rowland immediately stepped into the shadows. With luck, Jacob would shut the door on the men while he enquired if Sir Rowland or Lady Cavendish were at home. Fina would have the sense to reply that they were not. Now was not the time for a neighbourly visit.

“Ah, Cavendish—there you are!”

Alas—too late! Rowland moved into the light from the open doorway and tried not to look sheepish.

“Lord Hanley! What an unexpected pleasure.” He tilted his head and stared at the other man. “I’m afraid you have the advantage of me—”

“This is Constable Coe. I daresay you haven’t met him as he’s but newly arrived in Norfolk, and you’ve been… um… busy.”

“Of course.” Rowland’s gaze took in the man’s baton, the manacles tucked into his belt and the ring of keys that jangled at his hip. “I hope you have not come to arrest someone?”

“Not at all,” responded Hanley, staring at Rowland with disapproval. “This is no light matter. It is a very serious one. It concerns someone known to you—Mr Dundas Reedman.”

Rowland drew in an unsteady breath. Whatever was afoot now? Surely not more trouble from their nemesis?

“You appear disturbed, my lord. Perhaps you’d both like to join me in my library for a drink.”

The constable surged happily past him, followed by Hanley.

Rowland signalled to Jacob. “Pray, tell Lady Cavendish that I am entertaining Lord Hanley in the library and that we have no intention of disturbing her or her guests. We shall avail ourselves of the decanter in there if you could have some glasses sent in.”

The library was littered with maps and plans, showing his intended reorganisation of his lands, and the positions of the ditches, windmills, and drainage engines. He pressed his lips together as he swept them from the table—Hanley had put an end to that particular dream. The man did not approve of scandal and would never sell the land to him now. And it looked as if even further scandal was about to darken the portals of Morden Hall. Otherwise, what was the constable doing here?

Hanley took several sips from his glass of sack, and his high colour eased a little.

“It’s outrageous, Cavendish. Absolutely outrageous.”

“What exactly is outrageous, my lord? And how does it concern me?”

“It’s that vile recreant, Reedman. He is as much a villain as you painted him, and I’m ashamed to say that I owe you an apology.”

Rowland waved his hand magnanimously. “You have nothing for which to apologise. The man is a confidence trickster of the very worst kind—he has no doubt gulled countless people with his good looks and winning ways.”

“But not me, sir, not me! He stole from me. Quite blatantly. After I left you the other day, I went to the inn where I knew Reedman to be lodging, He seemed on edge—as if getting ready for flight, but was full of apologies for the misunderstanding over the parentage of your son.”

Rowland swallowed. He was none too keen on the constable hearing all of this.

“But we are speaking of your affairs, not mine. Pray, continue.”

“Well. Damned fellow bought me a tankard of ale in recompense, then excused himself for a moment, and never came back. As soon as I realised, I hurried outside and discovered the villain had taken my horse. Would you credit it?”

The expression of outrage on Lord Hanley’s face was almost comic.

“Yes, actually, I would. But how do you know it was Reedman who took your horse?”

“It was later found in his possession. Caught the vermin red-handed. I have a good eye for horse-flesh, you know, and many connections hereabouts. The fellow tried to sell my gelding, Cuckoopint, to someone who recognised the beast immediately. Detained Reedman on some pretext, got the constable onto him, and clapped in irons before sending a note to me.”

Rowland took a moment to digest this information. “Reedman is incarcerated?”

“He is, indeed.” The constable rattled his manacles. “Firmly under lock and key. Looking at transportation for horse theft, at the very least.”

Rowland suppressed his glee. It would not be fitting for a peer of the realm to dance on the table in his own library.

“Then I confess myself delighted. Although, I am sorry you temporarily lost your Cuckoopint, my lord.”

“There’s more. Tell him, Coe.”