“How much?”
The debt collector licked his lips. “Ten pounds, it is.”
Beth Turner shrieked at the sum named. Obviously, this debt collector attempted to line his own pockets and considered him a gullible cull.
Leopold debated his options. He could stare the man down, but then he’d waste precious time. Besides, the man could probably use the money. Judging by his shabby attire, debt collecting didn’t pay well. Or he just wasn’t very good at it. “Colby. Ten pounds. Now.”
Behind him, his valet rushed for the horses and Leopold could hear him digging around in his saddlebag. The debt collector’s eyes widened and the child slipped from his grip. Once released, the boy rushed for his mother.
Paper pressed into Leopold’s palm and he lowered the weapon. He held out the notes. “I will expect no further demands to be made of the Turner’s. Come to me in future.”
The brute lumbered forward to retrieve the money and tucked it into his pocket. “I would if I had your name, sir.”
“Leopold Randall.”
The debt collector paled and took two steps back.
“Begging your pardon, Mr. Randall. I didn’t recognize you.”
“Quite. Be on your way.”
The other man turned, dragged himself into his rough cart, and set off down the lane at a fast clip. Once he had disappeared from view, Leopold turned to look at the cottage.
The Turner’s had been a moderately prosperous family, but it appeared they had fallen on hard times in his absence. They hadn’t lived in this shabby place before. Their last place had a prettier outlook. William Turner, a man with a well-known temper and pride to match, would be furious when he found out what
had just transpired between his wife and the debt collector. He turned to Beth.
The once pretty woman appeared neatly dressed, but closer inspection revealed careful darning on the sleeve and a tattered hem dragging on the dry road. Her expression was one of exhaustion and embarrassment as she clutched her son to her with every appearance of never letting go. “William always said you would come back when the duke died, but I never believed him,” she whispered.
He smiled. “Of course I returned. I have unfinished business at the abbey.” Leopold glanced around. “When will William return?”
The boy made to speak, but his mother shushed him by pushing him toward the cottage. “William’s gone, Mr. Randall. He died the spring before last.”
Leopold rocked on his heels, shocked at the news. He glanced around the cottage again, noting the disrepair, the signs that the man of the house was long gone. A feeble curl of smoke drifted from the chimney of a roof that needed re-thatching. The gardens were wild with neglect, too. He couldn’t believe William was gone, but the proof was before his eyes. “I’m so sorry, Beth. I hadn’t heard of his passing.”
“Why would you?”
The awkward silence stretched between them. Leopold had counted on William’s presence to make his return bearable. Without him, there would be no reason to dwell in the memory of happier times. He’d get what he came for and leave as soon as he could. And if there was trouble, he’d battle his way out alone.
“Will you come in, sir?”
Beth Turner’s formality grated on his nerves. Although William had been his friend since childhood, Beth had remained in awe of his familial connections since her marriage. She refused to behave any other way, even if his chance of acceding to the ducal title was slim. Resigned that little had changed between them, Leopold allowed her to lead the way into the cottage. She hurried to bring order to the cramped space, hiding scuffed shoes and pails set at random about the bare floors.
Eventually, Beth dragged a frayed shawl from the chair by the hearth and motioned for him to sit in William’s former chair. Leopold took up his usual seat, on a three legged stool, on the other side of the fire.
Gingerly, Beth sat in William’s place. “If I may ask, what brings you back to us now after so long, Mr. Randall?”
“Family business, Beth. But I had intended to see William. How did he die?”
Beth tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and then rubbed her palms over her knees. “Poacher’s shot caught him in the thigh when he was gathering wood. Sawbones couldn’t save him.”
Appalled by her toneless statement, Leopold sat forward. “I’m very sorry, Beth. He was the best of men. I had intended to offer him a position now that I’ve returned to England for good. I wanted to bring you all with me to a better place.”
Beth shrugged and glanced over at her boy. “All I’ve got is my George now. We do all right here.”
“He looks to be a sturdy lad. Quite the image of his father at that age.”
The boy, laboring at his chores on the other side of the room, straightened his shoulders. Leopold bit back a smile. A little encouragement was all it took to make a boy see his future as a man. William Turner’s child would grow to be an honorable, proud man if given the chance. But not in this place as it was now. Leopold looked around him again, noticing the absence of small things that had come into the family upon William’s marriage to Beth. The delicate rosewood table and chairs he’d teased William about were gone. So too were the carpets. He worked to keep his face clear of emotion. They had fallen far in his absence, but getting distressed over the matter would solve nothing.