Chapter Two The Man at Her Door #3
Ambrose marked the existing channel in pencil, then drew three possible routes for relieving the upper slope.
He explained that he needed levels from the western pasture to the beck and test pits behind the surviving wall before committing to a final design.
Temporary bracing could make the road safer within days.
Permanent work would require excavation, drainage reconstruction, and at least partial rebuilding of the retaining wall.
“How long?” Mary Beth asked.
“If the ground is sound beyond the failed section, six weeks.”
“And if it is not?”
“Longer.”
“How much?”
“I will give you an estimate after the survey.”
“You must have a range.”
“I do.”
“And?”
“I do not give ranges before I know whether a client hears the lower number and forgets the upper.”
Mary Beth leaned both hands on the table.
“I will remember whichever number is most inconvenient.”
“I had begun to suspect that.”
“Mr. Tavener.”
“Mrs. Blackthorn.”
They faced one another across the map.
Then Ambrose exhaled through his nose.
“If the wall failure is limited and the old culvert can be retained, perhaps several hundred pounds. If we find movement farther east or have to replace the lower crossing, more.”
“How much more?”
“I will know tomorrow.”
“You are an irritating man.”
“I have references confirming it.”
Mary Beth laughed.
He did too, quietly this time.
The sound did something unhelpful to the room.
Mary Beth straightened.
“Very well. Survey it.”
“I will have men and instruments here tomorrow.”
“How many?”
“Four to begin. More once I know what we are building.”
“Where will you stay?”
Ambrose glanced toward the window, where dusk had settled across the lawn.
“There is an inn in the village.”
“Eight miles by the usable road.”
“I passed it.”
“The lower bridge is under water. The usable road tonight is twelve.”
He frowned.
Mary Beth tried not to enjoy that.
“The blue room is prepared,” she said.
“For me?”
“You were expected.”
“I do not need a guest room.”
“No one needs a guest room. That is why they are generally available.”
“I am not here as a guest.”
“Excellent. I dislike guests.”
Ambrose’s gaze settled on her face.
Mary Beth became conscious, suddenly, that the blue room was in the family wing.
She had known that in the morning. It had amused her then, partly because she could already hear the county inventing reasons for it.
It did not feel quite as amusing now.
“You have work at first light,” she said. “The maps are here. The wall is here. There is no sense spending two hours a day on the road because someone might think it improper for a contractor to sleep beneath my roof.”
“I did not say improper.”
“No. Other people will.”
“Do you usually arrange your household around what other people say?”
Mary Beth’s eyes narrowed.
He had no idea how pointed the question was.
“No.”
“Then neither will I.”
For a moment neither moved.
Mary Beth had the disconcerting sensation that he had stepped across some invisible line without knowing it existed.
Ambrose folded the map carefully.
“I will stay tonight. If the work becomes longer, I will arrange lodgings for myself and the men closer to the estate.”
“The room remains available.”
“I heard you.”
“Good.”
“You dislike being contradicted.”
“I dislike being contradicted badly.”
His eyes warmed.
“Then I shall try to do it well.”
Mary Beth should have had an answer.
She usually had several.
Instead the butler entered to announce that dinner would be served in half an hour.
Ambrose stepped back from the table.
“I ate on the road.”
“That was hours ago.”
“I am accustomed to it.”
“That is not the same as it being sensible.”
He gave her a level stare.
Mary Beth recognized the expression because she had worn its twin all afternoon.
She sighed.
“You may eat in the morning room if dining with me threatens your professional discipline.”
His brows rose.
“My professional discipline?”
“You have objected to my dress, my presence on the slope, my drainage channel, my desire for an estimate, and my guest room. I am attempting to identify the principle.”
“There is no principle.”
“Then dinner should be safe.”
Ambrose picked up his boots.
“Half an hour.”
He left with the butler.
Mary Beth remained beside the estate maps.
The room became strangely quiet after he was gone.
She told herself she was thinking about the wall.
The lie lasted perhaps ten seconds.
Ambrose Tavener had arrived at Blackthorn interested in stone, water, timber, gradients, and whether four tenant cottages were safe.
He had not once hinted that he knew the stories told about her.
He had not tried to charm her, rescue her, lecture her about reputation, or demonstrate that he was broad-minded enough to forgive sins that were none of his concern.
He had simply mistaken her for an ignorant owner and then, when proved wrong, changed his mind.
Mary Beth found that simplicity more attractive than she wanted to admit.
She had also spent far too much of the afternoon wondering whether he would look at her again the way he had across the open drainage channel.
She rang for hot water and went upstairs to change for dinner. Halfway to her room, she caught herself wondering whether Ambrose Tavener would notice the dress. The wall, annoyingly, was no longer the only thing occupying her attention.