Free Lord Iverbrook's Heir by Carola Dunn

quite abandon us in future?”
    “By no means! I shall return as soon as I can, no later than Tuesday if all goes well. There is still the wheat and clover to be cut.”
    “You must not feel obliged to return for that! I cannot express my gratitude for your help, but I have done the harvest before and will do it again. It will not kill me, you know.”
    “No, but it makes you excessively uncomfortable, and then you are cross as a bear at a stake.”
    “How odious of you to put me to the blush! At least you need not be present to suffer my megrims.”
    “Oh, but I must. There are certain matters between us that have not been settled, and I have not forgot if you have.”
    “Peter!” The twinkle in her hazel eyes was extinguished. She bit her lip. “You are persistent, my lord. I assure you that I shall not give him up, and if you continue to press me, you will not be welcome here, harvest or no harvest."
    “I shall rely for a welcome on your amiable mother, Miss Whitton. I mean to obtain custody by hook or by crook, and if you fight me it just makes it more difficult for both of us. Come, let us cry friends, and discuss the matter calmly for once."
    Selena turned on her heel and walked out.
    Going in search of her mother, to try to persuade her not to invite the viscount to return, she found her in the stillroom.
    “Have you found out what is wrong with Joshua’s leg?” she asked.
    “It is an old injury that never healed properly, and rheumatism has set in. I am making up some oil of wintergreen liniment and white willow tea for the poor boy to take back to London with him.”
    “Was it caused by his owner? Iverbrook told me a little about him.”
    “Yes, that dreadful Hodge. Dear Hugh behaved just as he ought, bought him and freed him.” She told Selena the story. “The dear boy would die for Hugh,” she finished.
    It did not seem a propitious moment to request that the paragon be refused admittance to the Manor. Her feelings utterly confused, Selena went to bed.
    She was woken in the night by the sound of water dripping through the elm outside her window. It was raining steadily; there would be no harvesting tomorrow. She decided to stay a-bed late and miss the viscount’s departure, thus solving the problem of how to bid him farewell.
    * * * *
    The heavy drizzle was still falling when Tom Arbuckle shook his master awake. His lordship yawned and stretched and sat up. Then he saw the clock on the mantelpiece.
    “Seven o’clock? What the devil do you mean by it, Tom? I distinctly remember saying eight for today. No farm work and we’ve not so many miles to cover.”
    “‘Tis sixty mile to London if it’s a score, m’lord, and the lanes will be like a hasty pudding.” He pulled back the draperies at the window. “We’ve a ways to go afore we reach the post road.”
    “Oh lord!” groaned Iverbrook, “and we’ve only the curricle. We can’t let Joshua get wet, with his leg the way it is. I wonder if we might borrow the Whittons’ carriage, just till we get to a posting-house and can hire a chaise.”
    “Better ask her ladyship,” advised Tom with a grin. “Miss Whitton‘d likely say no.”
    “You servants are gabblemongers, one and all. Now how did you know Miss Whitton and I are at outs? No, don’t tell me, you impertinent clothhead. Give me some clothes!”
    Still grinning, Tom went to the wardrobe.
    Though half expecting it, my lord was disappointed when Miss Whitton did not put in an appearance at the breakfast table.
    “I expect she is sleeping in,” said Lady Whitton placidly. “She rises so early as a rule, but in this weather there is not much to be done about the farm."
    “It’s raining, Uncle Hugh,” Peter explained. “Do you like rain? Lots of grown-ups don’t like it. Me and the ducks do, ‘cept when I’m not ‘lowed to go out.” He clapped his hands across his mouth in dismay, but his grandmother neglected to issue the expected prohibition.
    “I wonder what Sir