Page 26 of The Bastard's Iberian Bride
Their gaze slid toward the door. Cummings stepped out, coatless and hatless, his bristled grey hair pulled tight across sunken temples into a queue.
He launched himself across the green toward Paulette. “I told you to leave.”
Mr. Gibson stepped in front of her. “Hold there. Miss Heardwyn is not leaving without her belongings.”
Cummings’ stinging gaze flicked from her to Mr. Gibson, and a shrewd smile turned his lips up. “Who be you?”
“My name is Gibson, and I speak for the Earl of Shaldon.”
The factotum appeared behind him and spat into the dirt.
“Who was buried yesterday,” Cummings said.
Paulette sidestepped her champion. “And succeeded by his son. And that is my lap desk. It was a gift from my father and it is rightfully mine.”
Let Cummings try to hit her with Gibson by her side.
“You think so.” Cummings drew closer. “I don’t know who your man here is, Paulette, but this cottage and all its contents are mine, as of yesterday.”
“He told you who he is. And you’ve offered no proof of ownership,” she said.
“I don’t need to show you proof.”
“Yes. You must. Otherwise what you’re doing is theft.” She looked at the men loading the wagon and the factotum. “And you men are complicit. If there is no proper bill of sale, I’ll bring charges against all of you.” She crossed her fingers under her skirts. “I’m not without means.”
Cummings laughed. “I see. You have your big fancy-man here—”
Cummings’ head popped back, the impact of a large fist toppling him backwards into his man.
“A right good one,” Mabel said from behind her. “Land him another, Mr. Gibson.”
Mr. Gibson brushed his hands together. “I have a copy of the document. I’ll share it with you later, Miss Heardwyn. For now, I need you to instruct these men which items you wish them to remove from the cart.”
“I’ll bring charges against you,” Cummings spluttered, his man helping him up. “You assaulted me.”
“And you impugned this lady’s honor.”
That deep line appeared again creasing his brow.
“And mine, Cummings. But very well, send your man for the magistrate. I’ll share my documents with him, and bring charges against you. Theft. On a scale large enough to have you transported.” He nodded at the workers. “And them as well.”
The men looked at each other, their countenances going grim, but at a look from Cummings, they hunched closer.
She feared for Mr. Gibson’s safety. Surely he couldn’t take on the two farmers, Mr. Cummings, and the squirrely factotum. His pistol would have only one round.
She stepped up next to him and fisted her hands.
The creaking of wheels in the lane drew everyone’s attention.
The men on the box of an open wagon she recognized—Lord Shaldon’s manservant held the reins, and next to him on the box was the vicar. “Sorry for the delay, sir,” the manservant said. “The man of God wanted to come along.”
A rush of relief mingled with a profound embarrassment as she greeted the vicar. He’d found a new mother for his ever-increasing brood, and they’d remained friends, yet he was probably pitying her.
The vicar nodded a greeting to the two laborers. “Are you evicting Paulette on the Sabbath, Cummings?” he asked in the sonorous tone he used for his sermons.
“Good of you to finally make it, Kincaid.” Mr. Gibson introduced himself to the Vicar and said, “Cummings was indeed throwing Miss Heardwyn into the road and taking her possessions, even down to her clothing, I believe. Although what a man would do with a young lady’s clothing I have no idea.” He cast a glance her way. “Though he’s only a bit taller than you, Miss Heardwyn. Perhaps the dresses will fit.”
She covered a laugh, and Cummings spluttered. “See here—”
