A Woman's Estate Read Online Free PDF Page B

you at all.”
    “Oh!” Abigail exclaimed. “I have discovered that Francis had
a family, too. I cannot imagine why he never spoke of them.”
    “Nor can I,” Baring replied, but with a tone of reserve in
his voice that made Abigail raise her brows questioningly. Instead of
responding to her unspoken query, he continued, “Do not spend all your time at
Rutupiae Hall. There are several other estates, and it would be just as well to
live for at least a few weeks at each so that everyone will come to know you
and Victor.”
    “I am willing enough to do it,” Abigail said a trifle
tartly, “if I can ever find out where they are and which ones I have a right to
use and manage.”
    Baring smiled at her. “I will obtain a copy of the will for
you from Somerset House. Don’t think too harshly of Deedes. I have had dealings
with him before, and he is a very clever man of business—perfectly honest, too.
He is just terrified of women, I suspect because he manages property for so
many helpless and unreasonable widows. He is not accustomed to dealing with a
lady who will understand business. Just go ahead and manage the property in
your own inimitable way, my dear. Fortunately I was Lydden’s banker, so you can
draw on me for any sum you need. I will see that it is cleared with Deedes.”
    “But might that not cause some conflict with Sir Arthur if
he is to be held responsible for countersigning the bills?” Abigail asked. “You
remember how I had to send every order for payment down to Philadelphia—and
then when the capitol was moved, down to Washington—to be signed by Albert. We
tried having him sign the bottom of some blank sheets, but that had to be
abandoned because Francis found them—” She stopped abruptly as a look of deep
sympathy came on Anne’s face.
    “Sir Arthur will pay no attention unless Deedes thinks some
expenditure is extravagant,” Baring said, glancing swiftly and warningly at his
wife. “In that case, Sir Arthur would, I am afraid, have the right to refuse
payment, although I have not seen the will, of course, and cannot be sure what
arrangements have been made. But I am not concerned about you outrunning
the piper, my dear. Unless he is forced to take a hand, I assure you, Sir
Arthur will, most gratefully, ignore you.”
    Abigail smiled brilliantly. “He could not do me a greater
favor,” she began, but had no time to make any further remarks because the
Baring sons, trailed by Victor and Daphne, burst into the room and began to
justify the accident to the window.
    Victor was almost as tall and broad as William, who was two
years older, with real muscle rather than baby fat showing under his sweat-wet
shirt, but his neck had not yet thickened into the strong column it would be in
manhood. There was just a hint of the baby neck, frail and vulnerable, between
the broad shoulders and the tensely held head. That neck called to Abigail to
gather him into her arms and defend him—although his stance and forward-thrust
chin showed he knew he was in trouble and that he was determined not to ask for
help. The chin was hers, and the determination. Everything else was Lydden, the
fair hair, the bright, light-blue eyes, the handsome regularity of feature.
    The tale, told by William, the eldest Baring boy, began with
a rather vague excuse, which Victor interrupted. “Beg pardon,” he said
sturdily, “but it was me, sir. I’m not a very good bat yet.”
    Alexander Baring cleared his throat, struggling to hide a
combination of amusement and pleasure, for it was clear that his son had
offered to shoulder the blame for his guest and Victor was too well taught to
accept such an arrangement. But before he could find the proper combination of
words to warn, reprimand and praise all at once, Daphne had stepped up beside
her brother and taken Victor’s hand.
    “Oh, please,” she said, “it wasn’t Victor, it was me, sir. I
begged so hard for a turn that the boys let me, but the bat was so heavy