Free Regina Scott by An Honorable Gentleman

done: shutting down the mine with no thought of the consequences, his callous treatment of his staff, his incessant fears at the end, sure someone was out to harm him. Was having someone who knew nothing any better?
    It had to be!
    She walked to the pantry that ran under the stairs and opened the door. The light from the kitchen window spilled over bottles and jars of pure white,deep purple and fiery crimson: her mother’s treasures, neatly lined up on the shelves, waiting for her to return. But she wouldn’t be returning. Gwen couldn’t make herself step inside.
    “He’ll need help,” she tossed back to her father over her shoulder instead. “We’ll need to show him what it means to be the master of Blackcliff and the leader of the upper valley.”
    Her father swallowed the last of the bread, and Dolly closed her eyes as if giving up on him. “Only if he decides to stay.”
    Gwen faced the pantry. “He has to stay.”
    Her father followed her to the door and glanced inside with a sigh. “What do you need, daughter?”
    “The horehound syrup. Tim Wheaton is ailing again.”
    Her father stepped inside and drew down the clear bottle. “Last one,” he said, handing it to Gwen with gentle fingers. “She left you the recipe, you know. Likely you could make some before frost comes.”
    “Perhaps,” Gwen said, backing away from the room and the memories it held with the bottles of preserves and cures.
    Her father sighed as he closed the door behind him. “You like him, then, this Sir Trevor? You want him to stay?”
    She felt her face heating and busied herself finding a cloth and wrapping the bottle. “Of course I want him to stay. You’ll have your old position back. The village will have a source of income.”
    “He’s a handsome fellow,” her father said, leaning against the doorjamb between the kitchen and the sitting room. “I’ve no doubt you wouldn’t be the first to notice.”
    Gwen smiled as she turned to him. “Ruth Newton turned positively crimson, the poor dear.”
    “More likely the other girls will turn green knowing you’ve already set your cap for him.”
    “I’ve done no such thing,” Gwen said primly, setting the wrapped bottle in her work basket. “I’ve no interest in a man with leanings outside this valley. I’m needed here.”
    He grimaced as he straightened. “I haven’t had more than my share of the cups in three months, and you know it.”
    She crossed to his side and kissed him on the cheek. “And is that the only reason you need me, to keep the gin out of reach?”
    He glanced at her out of the corners of his blue eyes. “You know I dote on you. But there’s a whole world outside this village. Perhaps it’s time we saw it.”
    Fear wrapped around her, drew her tight. Leave Blackcliff? Leave everything she’d ever known? Go somewhere she had no control over her own life? How could he even suggest it? “No, thank you, Father. This is my home. I have no wish to live anywhere else, not even to marry as fine a fellow as Sir Trevor.”
     
    Trevor regretted snapping at Gwen the moment she had turned and stomped off for the gatehouse. She was only trying to help him settle in. It was clear she wanted him to feel a part of the village.
    But it was equally clear to Trevor that he would never fit in. A happy sinner like Trevor approve of the vicar’s position like some pompous archbishop? His acquaintances in London would laugh themselves sick if they knew.
    His temporary gardeners were busy hacking his garden into submission, he saw as he approached the house. They paused to remove their caps and nod as he passed. His temporary maid was dusting the withdrawing room when he entered; she scurried out of his sight so as not to give offense. His temporary housekeeper helped him off with his coat, her smile warm and welcoming. They expected him to hire, to lead. They wanted a savior.
    Trevor was no one’s savior.
    He took the stairs for his bedchamber two at a time. It was a