Read April Kihlstrom for Free Online

that fellow. He is a scoundrel to speak to you that way.”
    She looked up at him then, her eyes clear and frank as she replied, in an equally soft voice, “Not a scoundrel, just a man desperate to be paid. It has been far too many months since he was and he has a family of his own to feed and clothe and provide for.”
    Rothwood was torn. His father would say a young lady should not speak of such things. Indeed it should not be her place to know of them. But clearly Miss Trowley did and it spoke well of her character that she could wish to honor her parents’ debts. On the other hand, this was far more forthright than he imagined his delicate bride to ever speak. The girl he remembered had been shy and quiet and content to let him take the lead in all things.
    Feeling more than a little unsettled, Rothwood forced himself to focus on finding someone to deal with his carriage. Miss Trowley knew just the person and it was with gratitude that he found she also knew someone with a cart who could take them to her family home.
    “Are you certain you would not prefer to stay at the inn?” she asked hopefully. “It is quite comfortable and they set an excellent table.”
    Did that mean her family did not? Aloud Rothwood merely said, “I wish to spend as much time as possible with your lovely family and shall make no complaint about anything.”
    Was that a snort from their cart driver? What the devil kind of impertinence was that? But perhaps he was mistaken. Perhaps the man had merely sneezed. Certainly Miss Trowley was doing her best to smile as the cart rattled along the rutted track. All would be well. Of course it would. It had to be, Rothwood reassured himself and tried very hard to believe it.

Chapter 3
    Mr. Trowley and Mrs. Trowley had just begun to worry about their daughter Beatrix when the cart rattled to a stop in front of the house. They went out on the front steps, along with all their offspring, and were just in time to see a finely dressed gentleman hand her out of the cart.
    “Could that be—?” Mrs. Trowley started to ask.
    “Absurd! He couldn’t have come from London in that,” her husband replied with a snort. “Look. It’s Jem driving the cart. Whoever it is, they’ve come from the village. But who is the gentleman and why is he with Beatrix?”
    “Perhaps he’s staying in the village and didn’t want to bring his carriage here?”
    This last question was said hopefully by Mrs. Trowley, who was not as oblivious to their financial straits as Beatrix was inclined to assume. Already she was thinking of what Cook must be preparing for supper and knowing it could in no way be up to the standards of a gentleman dressed in such elegant attire. He would despise the food and thus despise them, even if he didn’t notice the shingles falling off the roof, and then where would their poor Beatrix be? If, of course, he was the Viscount who was supposed to be coming to court her. But it couldn’t be, could it? Perhaps it was just some chance encounter with some stranger passing through the village who knew Mr. Trowley, someone who had nothing to do with the matter of Beatrix’s future. Mrs. Trowley could only hope it was so, for she had planned to go to the village herself and beg the butcher for his forbearance and some good meat while the Viscount was here. If this was he, there was no time to do so.
    Mind you, Mrs. Trowley was not depending entirely upon the mercy and good nature of the butcher. She knew the man too well for that. No, she planned to use a small bit of her tightly hoarded cache of coins to pay a portion of the money owed the man. She could not tell Mr. Trowley this, for he would immediately insist upon doing so himself and what that meant, of course, was that he would take the money and gamble with it, telling himself that he meant to double it so that he could pay even more of the bill. But Mr. Trowley would surely lose every penny and while Mrs. Trowley adored her husband, she was not