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tomorrow afternoon. I assume you will wish to make arrangements for his burial?”
    Lucinda’s thoughts fell to earth with a thud. “Yes… Yes of course. I will need to speak to Pastor Bilford in the village.”
    “You can ride to town with me tomorrow when I see the solicitor.”
    Lucinda did not relish the thought of traveling anywhere in Gabriel Montclair’s close, disturbing presence. But she did need to see Pastor Bilford. Better yet, if all went according to plan, Riel would never visit the solicitor at all. Instead, he would immediately return to his ship.
    However, her former optimism failed to return. Her heart felt like a lead weight in her chest. Lucinda had never planned a funeral before. She had been five when her mother had died. Perhaps Mrs. Beatty could give her advice. That was a good plan, for she needed to speak to the housekeeper on another subject, as well. If handled delicately enough, the conversation might prove quite fruitful indeed.
    Lucinda signaled for the next course she did not want to eat. Riel Montclair did, however. He ate all of his food—a great deal of it—with obvious appreciation and enjoyment.
    Enjoy it while you can, she thought. Ravensbrook will not feed you for much longer.
     

     
     

Chapter Two
     
     
     
    After supper, Lucinda found Mrs. Beatty in the kitchen, banking the fire in readiness for the next morning. Riel Montclair had retired to the parlor with a small snifter of brandy, and one of Father’s books. Happily, he was unaware of her plot.
    “Mrs. Beatty, supper was delicious.”
    The housekeeper sent her a sharp glance. “I trust no more rolls ended up on the floor.”
    “Of course not.” Lucinda could have felt offended, but the housekeeper had been like a mother to her for the past twelve years. Besides, she deserved the gentle rebuff.
    Mrs. Beatty straightened, and dusted her hands on her apron. “Why don’t you like the Baron, miss? Your father sent him to watch over you and Ravensbrook. A blessing that is, to be sure.”
    Lucinda didn’t want to get into an argument with the housekeeper. Perhaps to Mrs. Beatty’s way of thinking, Father’s solution would seem like a relief. A man would continue to run things until Lucinda was married. However, Mrs. Beatty had not experienced Montclair’s rough hands on her wrists, and she was also blissfully unaware of the man’s probable pirate associations. Lucinda could not allow him to run Ravensbrook.
    At the crux of it, Lucinda wanted to know why Riel had offered to manage Ravensbrook in the event of her father’s death. Had her father asked him, or had Montclair volunteered himself? Unless Lucinda could discover firm, unassailable evidence to Riel’s good character—an unlikely prospect—his motivations remained suspect. Therefore, he must go, and speedily. At all cost s, she must protect Ravensbrook .
    On a more personal note, she also could not bear the thought of Riel—or any other man, if she were honest—ruling her life, or most especially dictating her choice of suitors. She would marry for love, whether the man was “worthy” or not, according to ton strictures. Her father had always been able to see the value in people, no matter who they were—title or not. Who knew what sort of guidelines Riel might try to institute for her suitors, and for every other aspect of her life?
    She shivered. After living in utter freedom, as she had done for the past two years, and frankly, for most of her life, Lucinda could not countenance the thought of a stranger—particularly a savage, she reminded herself, rubbing her faintly sore wrists—wielding a scepter of authority over her head. No. And that was why she was here now.
    “Mrs. Beatty, did you say Father wrote you a letter, as well?”
    The housekeeper reached into the front pocket of her apron and pulled out a parchment similar to Lucinda’s own. Only not trampled, of course. She gently ran her fingers over it. “Yes, he did, miss.” When she