Free The Gamekeeper's Lady by Ann Lethbridge Page A

her portfolio. ‘Th-thank you for this. I presume it was my last opportunity to see him at all?’
    His gaze followed hers to the tools of his trade, the fierce metal traps and the gun. He inclined his head. ‘I expect so.’
    She nodded. ‘Good day, Mr Deveril.’ Great way to convince him to let him sit for her as a model: accuse him of murder.
    She’d have to do better than that if she wanted to escape her fate with Simon. And she’d have to have a little more courage.

Chapter Five
    T he gamekeeper’s office beside the stables smelled of old fur, manure and oil. A small lantern on a rickety table provided enough light for the task of cleaning his lordship’s shotguns before daylight would send Weath-erby and Robert out into the fields.
    ‘Did ye catch the fox on Gallows Hill yesterday, young Rob?’ the gamekeeper asked in his creaking voice.
    Until yesterday, Robert had never balked at culling Reynard’s population. Cunning and sly, their raiding of henhouses and other fowl made them unpopular vermin. Caught in its natural setting by an artist who seemed almost as wild as the creatures she brought alive on paper, the dog fox had looked magnificent.
    The far-seeing hazel eyes on the other side of the table required an honest answer.
    ‘No, sir. I don’t think that’un’s raiding Lord Wynch-wood’s chickens, after all. The only bones I saw were voles and rabbits.’
    ‘Hmmph.’ Weatherby stared down the barrel of the shotgun, then picked up his ramrod. ‘Still, it’s a fox.’
    ‘The most likely culprit lives by the river,’ Robert continued. ‘I’ve set traps.’
    ‘Make no mistake, Lord Wynchwood wants to see a brush, lad. It’s results what counts with our master.’
    And it was the creatures who counted with the young lady of the house. The thought of her knowing he’d killed the creature she’d drawn so lovingly made him feel sick. He was a soft-hearted fool. She’d got her drawing, made a damned fine job of it, too. She didn’t need the animal as well. Yet the sadness in her eyes had caused him to forget his duty to his employer. He’d risked his position for gratitude in a pair of ocean-coloured eyes. He must have lost his mind.
    ‘He’ll have his brush,’ Robert muttered. ‘I’ll check the traps later.’ Robert placed the gleaming weapon in the rack on the wall. ‘Do you have any instructions for today?’
    ‘Hares, if you can get’em, and trout, for his lordship’s table.’
    Robert nodded. ‘By the way, I noticed a break in the hedge down by the river—might be the way our poacher is getting in. Shall I have it fixed?’
    ‘I don’t know how I managed before you came along,’ Weatherby said.
    Robert nodded his thanks and picked up his far-inferior shotgun to the one he’d cleaned for his lordship. ‘Is there anything you’d like for your pot, Mr Weatherby?’
    ‘Not today, lad. The missus exchanged a brace of pheasant for a nice bit of pork. I reckon it will do us for a couple of days.’
    Roasted pork. Robert could almost taste it.
    ‘What you need, lad, is a wife.’ Weatherby groaned to his feet and shouldered his own gun. ‘You’d get a proper dinner.’
    Robert couldn’t imagine anything worse. What woman would want to share this hard life of his? Not the kind of woman he’d want. But celibacy didn’t appeal much either. Perhaps he’d snuggle up to the barmaid at the Bull and Mouth this evening. She seemed like a cheerful sort, and willing, from the gleam in her eye.
    Weatherby gave him a dig with his elbow on the way to the door. ‘How about our Maisie? She’s taken quite a shine to ye.’
    He repressed a shudder. As a kitchen wench, Maisie was a fine lass, but not one to whom he could bear to be shackled.
    ‘I’m not looking for a wife until I’m better set up. I’d best be off, sir, if I’m to get all of this done before dark and catch his lordship’s fox.’
    Weatherby grunted. ‘Right-ho. Talking of getting established, I heard of a position