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looked up, tears glistened in her eyes. “And thankful I am for it, too.”
    Tears clogged Lucinda’s throat. “You’ll miss him, too.”
    “I will, miss. I’ve worked for your father for nigh on thirty-three years, did you know that? He took over Ravensbrook as a lad of twenty when his own father died. A better employer I could never have had.”
    Tears slipped down Lucinda’s cheeks, and an answering one rolled down the older lady’s face. “Oh, Mrs. Beatty.” Voice breaking, Lucinda flew into her comforting arms, as she’d often done as a child. “I can’t believe he’s gone. I don’t want to believe it!” She choked on a sob.
    “Now then, child. We’ll all miss him, we will. He was a fine man. Not many like him.”
    Lucinda finally pulled back, wiping her eyes. “Everything will be all right, Mrs. Beatty. Don’t worry.”
    “Why would I worry, child? He’s sent Mr. Montclair to watch over us. If your father trusted him, I have full confidence we can, too. Your father was a good judge of character.”
    Unfortunately, Lucinda found she could not fully agree with the housekeeper’s trusting words. She was a good judge of character, too, and Mr. Montclair was not entirely what he appeared to be. A raw edge lived in that man; an untamed side that had told her to beware of Gabriel Montclair from the first moment he’d planted his massive boot on the bottom step of Ravensbrook.
    In addition to the logical reasons she’d found to distrust him—namely, his brutish manhandling of her person—a sixth sense whispered that somewhere, perhaps dredged deep in Riel’s past, lived something dark. Perhaps a secret her father had known nothing about. This was more than possible, and unfortunately, another disturbing memory about how her father’s kind heart had been duped in the past flew to mind.
    Three years ago, a young man and his pregnant wife had arrived at Ravensbrook, and begged for food and shelter. The woman’s baby bulge had looked suspiciously lumpy to Lucinda, and she’d had a bad feeling about the “husband ” all along. The dirty, hungry couple had insisted on working for food. Pleased, her father had agreed, and let them sleep in a guest room in the house. In the morning, the two were gone, along with the family’s silver.
    No, as much as Lucinda loved her father, she just could not trust Gabriel Montclair.
    “Did you need something, Miss Lucinda?” Mrs. Beatty dabbed her eyes with her apron. The letter fluttered in her hand.
    Lucinda looked at the note, and then at Mrs. Beatty’s sad face. The letter meant the world to the housekeeper, just as Lucinda’s did to her. Her hastily concocted plan to burn all the letters her father had sent, thereby destroying all evidence that Riel Montclair was supposed to be her guardian, puffed out like a candle.
    Although she could sacrifice something of her own to accomplish her goal, she would never dream of asking for, or destroying, something the housekeeper cherished.
    A sick feeling welled in Lucinda’s heart. “No. Thank you, Mrs. Beatty,” she said softly, and swallowed back an ache of disappointment.
    Now, how would she get rid of Riel Montclair? “I came to tell you that Father’s body will arrive tomorrow afternoon. I plan to speak to Pastor Bilford tomorrow about a service.”
    Mrs. Beatty straightened her plump shoulders. “I will plan a reception here, miss. You need only say the day.”
    “Let’s see. Today is Monday. Perhaps Wednesday evening?”
    The housekeeper nodded her approval. “If you agree, I will send a few lads to the village to spread the news. Letters will need to be sent to the prominent families round about, as well as notices to his friends in London.”
    “I will write those tonight.” Lucinda knew the handful of aristocratic families to whom Mrs. Beatty referred. They lived nearby, but would expect a personal invitation. The rest of the townspeople would know they were welcome. Her father had been a generous