The Wagered Miss Winslow Read Online Free PDF Page A

her in the role of servitude. “Yes, I won it, as it was won
    on the turn of a card by the Winslows in the first place. Only I wasn’t half so underhanded about the business as the Winslows were. But enough of ancient history. I don’t believe I caught your name.”
    “I don’t believe I tossed it in your direction, Mr. Remington,” Rosalind responded, her anger simmering very close to the surface now, so that she had to clench her teeth not to give herself away. “My name is Rosalind. Rosalind ... Winters. So you have won Winslow Manor? And were you on your way there now, to take possession of your winnings?”
    “I was, Miss Winters,” Beau admitted, eyeing her through narrowed lids. Perhaps this woman was employed at the estate in some obscure way, or lived nearby. She certainly seemed possessive of the place. But then, he remembered, this was the countryside, and he was an outsider. Bridget had warned him that he shouldn’t think he would be welcomed with open arms. “I will, sadly, have to postpone my arrival for at least another day, until I nave seen to my injury and made provisions for the repair of my vehicle. Do you have any idea as to how I should go about these two projects?”
    Rosalind found that she had a multitude of ideas—although there wasn’t a convenient cliff nearby over which she could suggest that he, his curricle, and even his fine horses might jump. “Mollie,” she called to the maid, “go fetch Sam Hackett, if you please, and tell him to bring his wagon. Mr. Remington has need of Dr. Beales.”
    She turned back to Beau. “Sam will tie your horses to the back of his wagon and drive you into Winchelsea. I suggest you have him deliver you to the Grapes and Hoops, where you can secure a private room for the night. Sam will see that Dr. Beales is brought round to tend to you and, as Sam is always happy to increase his income, he will doubtless also be happy to take care of having your curricle brought to the smith.”
    Beau’s smile was genuine, as this strange young woman had impressed him with her talent for organization. “And here I was worried, being told country folk were a standoffish sort. You have handled it all quite nicely, Miss Winters, and I thank you. But I wonder if I could prevail upon you for yet another service. Is it possible, seeing that I am not to reach the end of my journey today, that you could point out the general direction of my new estate? Just so that I can assure myself that I have indeed been traveling along the right roadway.”
    An imp of mischief, similar to but not exactly identical to the one that had prompted her to give him a false name, caused Rosalind to consider sending the man off in the entirely wrong direction, but she knew that would only be delaying the inevitable. She had at least a day’s warning now, which was twice as much as she had had a few minutes ago, and that would allow her sufficient time to mount a defensive against the fellow.
    She pointed past his left shoulder. “It is that way, just over the hill. If you follow this pathway you will come to the rear of the manor, and pass by the gate marking the tradesmen’s entrance. You have to follow the stone wall to reach the front gates. Will you be sending word of your arrival?”
    “No, ma’am,” Beau answered, watching the man he already knew to be Sam Hackett approaching on a rickety farm wagon. “I’m not so silly as to believe I’ll be as welcome as the flowers in May, even if it is only a skeleton staff of servants in residence, according to Mr. Winslow. I think it’s surprising them all I’ll be, and in more ways than one. I am assured I will make a much better master than the previous owner.”
    “Is that so, Mr. Remington?” Rosalind responded, openly seething. How dare the man insult her in this fashion! To hear him talk, anyone would think that Winslow Manor had fallen into rack and ruin and only he could resurrect it. What overweening arrogance—although, to