Cold-Hearted Rake

“I will be present.” Kathleen’s brows lowered. “I gave the Wootens my personal assurance that everything would be sorted out.”

“They shouldn’t have come to you,” Devon said bluntly. “They should have waited to speak to my brother or Mr. Carlow.”

“They went to Mr. Carlow first,” she retorted, “and he knew nothing about the situation. And Mr. Ravenel wasn’t here. I was the only person available.”

“From now on, I would prefer you not to make yourself available when it comes to discussing leaseholds. You should limit yourself to whatever it is the lady of the manor is supposed to do. Bring them baskets when people are ill, and so forth.”

“What smug, condescending —” Kathleen began.

“Are we to stand here squabbling in the entrance hall?” West interceded hastily. “Let’s pretend to be civilized and proceed to the library.” He pulled Kathleen’s arm over his and accompanied her from the entrance hall. “I wouldn’t mind sending for some tea and sandwiches,” he said. “I’m starved after riding on the train. You’re always telling me to eat, remember?”

Devon strode after them, only half listening to the conversation. Scowling, he focused on the sight of Kathleen’s arm tucked into West’s. Why was he touching her? Why was she allowing it? The unfamiliar poisonous jealousy returned, coiling thickly in his chest.

“… and Mrs. Wooten couldn’t speak for weeping,” Kathleen said indignantly. “They have four children, and Mrs. Wooten’s elderly aunt to look after, and if they were to lose the farm —”

“Don’t worry,” West interrupted with a soothing murmur. “We’ll sort it all out. I promise.”

“Yes, but if Trenear made such an important decision without saying anything —”

“Nothing’s been decided yet,” Devon said stonily, following the pair.

Kathleen glanced over her shoulder, her eyes narrowed. “Then why were there railroad surveyors on the estate land?”

“I prefer not to discuss my business affairs in the hallway.”

“You gave them permission to be there, didn’t you?” Kathleen tried to stop and face him, but West tugged her inexorably toward the library.

“I wonder if I should have Darjeeling tea?” West mused aloud. “No, perhaps something stronger… Ceylon or pekoe… and some of the little buns with the cream and jam… What were those, Kathleen?”

“Cornish splits.”

“Ah. No wonder I like them. It sounds like something I once saw performed at a dance hall.”

They entered the library. Kathleen tugged at the bellpull beside the door and waited until a housemaid appeared. After requesting a tea tray and a plate of sandwiches and pastries, Kathleen went to the long table, where Devon had unrolled a map of the estate lands.

“Well, did you?” she asked.

Devon gave her an ominous glance. “Did I what?”

“Did you give the railway men permission to survey your land?”

“Yes,” he said flatly. “But they didn’t have permission to talk to anyone about it. They should have kept their mouths shut.”

Her eyes flashed with outrage. “Then it’s true? You’ve sold the Wootens’ farm?”

“No, and I don’t intend to.”

“Then what —”

“Kathleen,” West broke in gently, “We’ll be here all night if you don’t let him finish.”

She scowled and fell silent, watching as Devon weighted the corners of the map with various objects.

Taking up a pencil, Devon drew a line across the east side of the estate. “Recently I met with the director of the London Ironstone railway,” he said. For Kathleen’s benefit, he explained, “It’s a private company, owned by a friend. Tom Severin.”

“We’re in the same London club,” West added.

Devon viewed the map critically before drawing a parallel line. “Severin wants to reduce distance on London Ironstone’s existing Portsmouth route. He’s also planning to relay the entire sixty-mile line, start to finish, with heavier rails to accommodate faster trains.”

“Can he afford such a project?” West asked.

“He’s already secured one million pounds.”

West uttered a wordless exclamation.

“Precisely,” Devon said, and continued in a matter-of-fact tone. “Of all the prospective plans for the shortened route, the natural gradient is best across this area.” He shaded lightly between the parallel lines. “If we were to allow London Ironstone to cross the eastern perimeter of the estate, we would receive a large annual sum that would go far toward easing our financial problems.”

Kathleen leaned over the table, staring intently at the pencil markings. “But this is impossible,” she said. “According to what you’ve drawn, the tracks would run not only across the Wootens’ farm, but at least three other leaseholds as well.”

“Four tenant farms would be affected,” Devon admitted.

A frown grooved West’s forehead as he studied the map. “The tracks appear to cross two private drives. We would have no access to the east side.”

“The railroad would build occupation bridges at their own expense, to keep all parts of the estate connected.”

Before West could comment, Kathleen stood and faced Devon across the table. She looked stricken. “You can’t agree to this. You can’t take the farms away from those families.”