Besides, he’d sent for the surveyors to mark out the mine he planned to sink at the edge of his property, and he needed to oversee the placement. A smile crossed his lips when he thought of how outraged his mother would be when she learned he planned to convert acreage to a thriving lead mine and village.
This matter of missing money and blackmail would have to wait at least another week.
Setting his snifter on the corner of his desk, Geoffrey once again sat and opened the books from 1805. He’d been away from England two years by then. He tried to remember if he even knew the steward who’d been overseeing Somerton Park then. He searched his mind but came up blank.
Wait. He might not remember who the steward was at the time, but Witherspoon might. His father’s valet had stayed on at least a couple of years after the old earl died. The man might have some insight that could help Geoffrey solve this mystery.
He’d heard Witherspoon and his wife still lived in the village, and he had been meaning to get by and pay his respects. Bartlesby would be sleeping for at least a couple of hours.
Geoffrey swept up all of the account books and stowed them away in his desk. He knew he had only this afternoon before he’d have to rejoin the party and play the gracious host for a few more days.
He’d saddle Grin and head to town right now.
Chapter Fifteen
A
fter a brisk walk to the far side of the village, Liliana was feeling much more in control. The narrow lane leading to the Witherspoon cottage was a bit overgrown, the pickets of the weathered fence a bit askew, but the overall effect was pleasant. The tiny cottage her father had left her in Chelmsford possessed a similar quaint charm, and standing here on the Witherspoons’ shabby stoop brought a pang of homesickness.
Well, there was no time for that. Liliana rapped her knuckles against the hardwood door of the cottage. She bounced on the balls of her feet with nervous energy. Mr. Witherspoon just had to be well enough to see her today—there was no telling when she might be able to check on him again.
Muffled voices came from within. Liliana worked her thumb in circles against her index finger as she waited.
The rumble of hooves registered behind her and she turned to look over her shoulder. A rider slowed his mount as he came down the lane.
Liliana’s breath caught as disbelief sent her stomach plummeting to the vicinity of her toes. Geoffrey. What could he possibly be doing here? Had he found her out and come to prevent her from speaking to Witherspoon?
Her heart tripped in her chest, stumbling and skipping like an exuberant toddler chasing after a rabbit. She fought the urge to hide, knowing he’d already seen her.
As he dismounted, Liliana tried to imagine what might have given her away. This morning she’d thought for certain she had nothing to worry about. She’d watched him carefully when she’d mentioned her father and his death. Geoffrey had shown only compassion, no guilt. He’d shown no shred of suspicion or caution where she was concerned, and given that he’d been far from England when her father was killed, she’d decided he really knew nothing.
Liliana shifted on her feet, her hands clenching even as she pasted a smile on her face.
Geoffrey tied Gringolet to a fence post and turned in her direction. Gravel crunched beneath his boots as he moved to join her. A hesitant smile touched his lips, one of surprise and puzzlement. The tight knot in Liliana’s chest dissolved to be replaced by sharp relief. He hadn’t expected to see her here any more than she had him. The feeling lasted only momentarily, however, as she realized he’d want an explanation as to her presence here.
Newton’s apple. Not only would he want an explanation, but there’d be no way she could interview Witherspoon now, even if the man were feeling up to it.
“Liliana,” Geoffrey said as he stepped onto the tiny stoop with her. Had she noticed before how wide his shoulders were? She caught his scent of mint and man, could feel the heat from his body. She felt an answering heat rise in her and she stepped back, moving closer to the door. His presence overwhelmed her but didn’t frighten her. Instead, a hot anxiety filled her, one she seemed to experience more and more in his presence.
His tone was genial, his smile gentlemanly, but there was something in his eyes that stirred her as his gaze dropped to her lips. A melting heat drizzled down Liliana’s middle, and her lips tingled as she recalled how he’d looked at her just so this morning before he’d bid her good day in the gardens.
Then he blinked several times and stepped back from her as well. He tilted his head to the side and his eyes narrowed slightly, though his voice remained friendly when he asked, “Whatever are you doing here?”
Unease came roaring back. “Well, I—”
A sharp click sounded and the scarred oak door creaked inward. An older woman poked her head through the door, blinking against the bright sun. The smell of stale urine, sickness, and overboiled cabbage wafted through the door and Liliana tried not to wrinkle her nose. The odors combined with the tired lines on the woman’s face to dim Liliana’s hopes of Mr. Witherspoon’s recovery.
The woman glanced briefly at Liliana before dismissing her as a stranger and turning her gaze to Geoffrey. Brown eyes widened with shock and recognition before one hand pushed back a lock of stringy grayish brown hair. The other hand began dusting off her well-worn skirts.
“M-my lord!” she exclaimed, flustered. “Whatever are you doing here?”
The question of the day, it seemed. Liliana turned toward Geoffrey to hear his answer, grateful to have been given a reprieve in answering it herself.
Geoffrey bowed to the woman. “Forgive me, Mrs. Witherspoon, for not coming to visit you earlier.” He rose to his full height, and again Liliana felt almost crowded by him, even though she had ample room on the stoop. “I was wondering if I might speak to Mr. Witherspoon.”
Liliana looked back at the woman, curious to see if Mr. Witherspoon was, indeed, up for visitors. There was, of course, the chance that the maid of all work hadn’t given the tonic recipe to her mistress at all. And even if she had, the woman very well may have tossed it, being that it came from a stranger who’d not even examined her husband.
Mrs. Witherspoon didn’t answer, but instead fixed her curious gaze on Liliana, who felt heat stain her cheeks.
Geoffrey gazed at her, too, likely still wondering why she was here when Mrs. Witherspoon obviously didn’t know her. Yet he smoothly said, “Forgive me again. May I present Miss Claremont?”
Liliana opened her mouth to make an explanation when Mrs. Witherspoon gasped.
“Miss Claremont? You’re the young miss what come by yesterday and left the directions to make that concoction for m’poor Harold!” she exclaimed, pushing the door wide. Her expression changed, her crooked smile beaming. “Glory be.” She threw her arms around Liliana. “I don’t know how to thank you.”
Liliana staggered back at the unexpected embrace, then awkwardly patted the shorter woman’s shoulders. “Is Mr. Witherspoon improving, then?”
Mrs. Witherspoon released her, nodding vigorously as she wiped moisture from the corner of her eye. “Ever so much. I haven’t seen him this well in ten years or more.” She laughed, and a sense of pride swelled in Liliana at the relief in the older woman’s voice. Liliana couldn’t stifle a wide smile. This was why she spent so many hours poring over her tonics, why she worked so hard to find the link between sickness and chemistry, biology and environment.