Page 26 of When the Scoundrel Sins

“Burns?”

“Angus Burns, my foreman.”

Ah, the guard dog who had watched him so closely when he’d arrived at the stonework.

She explained, “His family has lived legally on Glenarvon land for five generations.”

“Legally?” he repeated, sliding her a curious glance as she walked beside him.

“Illegallyfor far longer than that.” Her lips curled into a smile, the first genuine one he’d seen from her this morning. “He helps me oversee the property and manages the building repairs and maintenance. He makes certain the work crews have no problem taking orders from a woman.”

“I doubt you need anyone’s help with that.” Not based on the way the men paid attention to her instructions at the ditch.

A faint smile of pride teased at her lips, before a wrinkle of worry creased her brow. “It’s been…an odd year,” she confided, lowering her voice as they made their way toward the hill. “We’ve had more than our fair share of accidents and problems recently.”

Struck by that, he halted and reached for her arm to stop her. His eyes searched her face for answers. “Are you in danger, Belle?”

“No! Of course not.” She waved away his concerns with a scoffing laugh. “You wouldn’t have been invited here if anyone was in danger.”

“Annabelle.” Her name emerged as a low warning. “Don’t dissemble. Not with this.”

“No one’s been hurt,” she admitted, “and no lasting damage has been done. But it’s bothersome enough to distract from the real work of the estate.”

Her denial didn’t reassure him. “Enough to make you regret running Glenarvon by yourself?”

“Never.” Determination flashed in her eyes.

She pulled her arm away and walked on, leaving him to catch up.Stubborn chit.He scowled as he fell into step beside her.

“The creek feeds into the irrigation ditch, as you saw,” she explained with a wave of her hand, as if she were explaining the workings of the estate to a new hire, and most likely grateful to change topics. “When everything works properly, we can control the amount of water to the pastures. The creek joins the Arvon River at the bottom of the glen.” She pointed behind them toward the glen cutting its way across the property. “That’s how the estate got its name.”

“Glenarvon,” he murmured. “And the castle?”

She beamed, her smile full and bright. And full of love for the place. “The ruins lie up ahead on the hill above the pond.”

The pond where Belle liked to swim at sunset. Naked. Quinn suddenly gained a new appreciation for history.

“It was built in the fourteenth century to guard this stretch of the river. Now all that’s left of it are a handful of walls and tumbled stones.” With pride ringing in her voice, as if daring him to contradict her, she added, “But I think it’s beautiful.”

“So do I.” He stopped to pluck a wild rose from a bush growing alongside the creek.

She shook her head, clearly exasperated with him. “But you haven’t even seen the ruins yet.”

He shrugged and handed her the flower. “I believe you.”

She stared at the rose, momentarily wary, as if she didn’t trust it not turn into a snake and bite her. Then she mumbled, “Thank you.”

She took the pale pink flower from his hand and raised it to her nose, then turned away quickly and began walking again, but not before he saw a matching pale pink blush color her cheeks. He was finding a new appreciation for those rose-pink blushes, too.

“But we’re not stuck in the Middle Ages,” she continued as she turned onto a narrow path snaking through the trees to the top of the rise. He fell into step behind her. “We’re a modern country. Things are changing rapidly, and I have big plans for the estate and the village.”

He smiled. Why was he not surprised? “Like what?”

“Well, first, I want to improve the village school.” The description of her plans came slowly in her hesitancy to trust him. “I started the school three years ago, but I want to employ a good teacher from London or York who can teach the children the basics they need to know. Their numbers and letters, how to manage property, how to avoid being taken advantage of by unscrupulous millers and merchants—” She quickly ticked off the list on her fingers, her reluctance to share her plans with him now gone. “And especially how to read. All those skills they won’t get as apprentices or might never get at all as tenant farmers.” She glanced back at him, as if to gauge his reaction, before continuing up the path. “And I want to find a real doctor for the village, too, not just an apothecary.”

As she continued to list all her plans, Quinn stopped and watched her walk up the hill ahead of him, now seeing her in a completely different light.

She wasn’t just the bluestocking and lady’s companion he’d always known. Annabelle Greene had grown into a capable estate manager with a just understanding of the importance a manor house had on its village’s future. In fact, some of her plans were exactly what he wanted to do in America…to have a piece of land of his own to shape and to help the local townspeople. While he would have to spend years creating that dream, she had the opportunity within her reach now, the right vision for the future, and the determination to see her dream through.