Chapter 8 #2
Harry would normally be frightened by beauty such as this, but here he was, holding her gaze for a few moments longer. Her confidence affected him, even as she made his mind spin. She trusted him. They were in this together.
“There,” Agnes declared, turning back to Lord Skelton. “That is settled. Let’s discuss and spare no details.”
It was Harry’s turn. She was passing him the gauntlet. A new wave of nausea rolled in his gut.
The tapping of his foot echoed softly in the room while both the baron and widow waited for him to speak.
Usually he was calm and collected in his business dealings, but no meeting had felt so significant.
He normally dealt with wealthy men, counting every coin in their ample accounts and advising them on how to make even more. This was Lady Skelton’s entire life.
Something brushed against his legs. He looked down. The golden eyes of a black cat met his. Harry sighed and reached toward the feline. It hissed. Harry swallowed.
“As . . . as I explained to you previously . . . Lady Sk-Skelton . . .” She gave him an encouraging nod.
“You have been left with ownership of the dower house, the steward’s cottage, and a modest sum.
The rest of the inheritance goes to the current Lord Skelton.
He has offered to provide a small stipend to support your living expenses in the dower house if you would perform hosting duties at Skelton Manor. ”
Her eyes shattered. Defeat had never been so clearly written on anyone’s face. Harry was certain.
He had been holding on to hope that something would change with each review of the document or that the missing steward would come forward and make everything clear, but that had not happened.
Harry had let her down. Her face was stone, but the tears that collected in the corner of her eyes led Harry to believe she had been holding on to hope too.
With an air of pride that Harry wanted to eradicate from the man’s voice, Lord Skelton added, “Dear Cousin Richard would be so pleased with the additional provisions I’m willing to offer. It was of utmost importance to him that you’d be taken care of.”
Not expecting Lady Skelton to be able to speak with the devastation still staining her face, Harry prepared a response to the new baron. Yet, Agnes did not cower. Her voice cracked, but she punctuated each word with her remaining strength.
“But this is my home. My apothecary is here, as are my greenhouse and gardens. Richard built them with me, intending them to be mine when he was gone. You must know that. He would have told you.”
“But Lady Skelton—” said the baron. His tone was painted as sympathetic, but it rang uncomfortably in Harry’s ears.
“The apothecary is not yours, nor is this home. Cousin Richard has entrusted it to me. He was confident in my ability to expand his fortune and do right by the Skelton name, as is the duty of an heir. And at present, my life is in London. So are my business investments that require more capital to keep up with the competition. I have no choice but to sell this home, and its contents, to put the funds where they are needed. That is how I will honor the Skelton name.”
Anger flared, and Harry fisted his hands. But he kept his mouth closed, listening carefully. If he was going to help, he needed to know the man’s plans.
Skelton continued, speaking as if Lady Skelton were no longer present. “The equipment in that attic of hers is worth a significant sum. The sale of that alone could bolster one of my investments for the next year or so.”
Agnes commanded the room. “But that is my equipment. It was given to me by Richard.”
“What a man allows his wife to use while he is alive is a different matter than what is legally his property when he has passed on. Besides, my dear cousin, you can’t possibly consider continuing to behave the way you have without his protection.
A woman living alone, healing people out of her attic, playing pharmacist. Think of your reputation, and mine, now that they’re intertwined. ”
“I am not a pharmacist. I do not work with their chemicals. I am not licensed by the Society of Apothecaries, so I cannot treat patients. If I claimed to be, I would be fined and shut down.”
Skelton’s face contorted, but he fought each muscle for control. When he looked back to Agnes, he held a polite smile.
“It is remarkable that you have operated this long without catching the attention of the society, isn’t it?”
Fire flashed in her eyes at the barely veiled threat. Harry had come to this meeting to fight on her behalf, but she didn’t need him.
“It is a hobby of mine, a way to help my friends, practically a charity. Haven’t you heard? I’m just the Witch of York, an eccentric playing with herbs. Richard has only lost money over the years. It was a gift from him to me.”
Charles raised an eyebrow. “A gift for your love or a gift for companionship?” The manner in which he spat out the last word signaled an unspoken meaning.
Agnes looked startled by the implied accusation. Harry had to put an end to this, now.
“Please, Lord Skelton. I believe our business here is finished. You have delivered your message to Lady Skelton. Leave her with time to think of her future.”
The man’s narrowed eyes inspected Harry with distrust. Harry turned to Lady Skelton. She was not looking at him with any admiration, either.
Lord Skelton stood abruptly, calling over his shoulder to summon Harry. “Well then, let us take our leave.”
“Actually, Lord Skelton, I must remain in York. It appears you require that I take inventory of the contents of this home.”
Agnes’s gaze went from displeased to deadly, but he noticed she was pinching her lips to keep them closed, their silent agreement still intact.
At the sound of Charles taking his leave, Ward immediately stepped into the drawing room to usher the man out. Judging by his own cutting look at Harry, he had been eavesdropping from the hallway.
Oh, heavens. Now there were three death glares pinned on him, practically slicing him apart. Harry looked down to see the black cat still at his feet.
Four.