A Wager for the Widow. Elisabeth Hobbes

called his abilities as steward into question. Her mind became so tangled whenever he was around that she could well be attributing blame where there was none. But still, the thought of spending more time in his company was unsettling.

      ‘Why does it have to be me?’ she asked. ‘Why could Edmund not work with him? They are friends after all.’

      Sir Edgar gave a mirthless laugh. ‘You know I love your brother dearly, as I love all my children, but credit me with knowing you all well. Edmund lacks the character and inclination to accomplish what I require him to do. I would go so far as to say, the wisest thing he has done this far is to befriend William and bring him into my service. At least he will be sure of sensible counsel when he succeeds to the title.’

      ‘I barely know Master Rudhale,’ Eleanor protested, clutching for any more ways out of the situation. ‘It wouldn’t be appropriate for me to spend time alone in his company.’

      Sir Edgar tilted his head and gave Eleanor a thoughtful look. ‘Eleanor, you are in danger of becoming a recluse. You need to become accustomed to the company of people again. William is a fine young man and very conscientious in his duties. It will do you good to spend time with him. The more I think about this, the more I see only advantages.’

      He nodded to himself in satisfaction. Eleanor’s heart sank, knowing his mind would not be changed. She sighed her agreement, dropped a curtsy and left the room.

      Rudhale was leaning against the wall opposite Sir Edgar’s library. His long legs were crossed at the ankles and he was whittling something with a short knife. He stowed them in the pouch at his belt and smiled at Eleanor. She recalled the hints he had dropped as they walked to Sir Edgar’s study. In a rush her suspicions regarding the part he played returned. Eleanor put her hands on her hips. She stared at the steward angrily.

      ‘Was this your idea?’ she asked.

      He stared at her and spread his arms wide. ‘My idea? How could it have been? Do you think I have so much influence over your father? You must regard my abilities higher than I thought. I am not sure if I should take the compliment to myself or be offended by the slight on my employer.’

      Eleanor narrowed her eyes. The steward’s face radiated innocence. Too much innocence by far. She crossed the space between them, her crutch tapping sharply on the stone floor, punctuating the silence with irritated bursts that perfectly echoed her mood.

      ‘I don’t believe you,’ she said. ‘You had something to do with it, I am sure of it.’

      ‘I merely commented to your father that if he could spare me anyone to assist, I would be most grateful. I may have remarked that you appeared in need of distraction. If Sir Edgar chose to combine those two facts, I can hardly be held responsible for that, can I?’

      Eleanor cursed inwardly. She knew he would never admit it.

      ‘Lady Peyton.’ Rudhale inclined his head and smiled down at Eleanor. The unsettling feeling rose in her stomach again. ‘I will not hold it against you if you prefer to return to your woman’s work. I shall tell your father you prefer to spend your days sewing with your mother and sister.’

      Still holding Eleanor’s gaze, Rudhale circled around her so he was now outside Sir Edgar’s door. He continued smoothly, ‘I am sure he will understand and I shall manage as best as I can. I would not want you to feel under obligation to do this if you feel the task is too daunting.’

      Too daunting! Eleanor’s pride flared at the implied insult and blood rushed to her cheeks. The jibe about woman’s work had been bad enough, but she would not stand by and be held as incapable.