Bobbi Smith by Heaven Page A

written by their father among the priest’s possessions? Didn’t priests take a vow of poverty? Surely, Father Bradford didn’t have so many personal belongings that it would take Lord Bradford a long time to find them.
    “Perhaps we could meet later in the week?” Winn was still trying to maintain a courteous demeanor, but their persistence wasn’t making it easy.
    “This shouldn’t take long,” Robert added. “If we could just step into your study for a moment?”
    Winn’s jaw tightened as he fought to control his temper. “This is not a time to speak of business, gentlemen. If you’ll excuse me?”
    He started to walk away to greet other, newly arriving guests, but Philip stepped before him, blocking his way. He pressed him once more.
    “Lord Bradford, we’ve been led to believe that your uncle had some of our father’s books in his possession. If you could possibly return them to us, we’d be greatly appreciative.”
    Winn stiffened at their ill-mannered crudeness. His gaze was condemning as he regarded them. “When the time is appropriate, I will consider your request. This is not the time. Good day, gentlemen.” His dismissal was curt and undeniable.
    The two brothers left, frustrated from pursuing their prize. They had only one more day before they were to be evicted from their home. Since their funds were limited now, time was of the essence. Their survival depended on finding those books.
     
     
    The following morning, the funeral mass was held. It was a glorious celebration. The church was filled to overflowing with people who’d loved his uncle, and Winn felt better knowing that he’d touched so many lives, so deeply.
    During the service, Winn had happened to catch sight of the Anthony brothers in attendance. Their presence irritated, and he hoped to avoid them after the ceremony. When the mass had ended and he went outside to enter his carriage, he saw the pair again, climbing into their own vehicle to join in the procession.
    The funeral cortege had over thirty mourning-coaches in it, and with the hearse in the lead, it wound its way through the city streets to the cemetery where the priest was to be interred.
    Winn’s mood was somber as he said his final good-bye to his uncle. He felt desolate and very alone as memories of his uncle’s love and support threatened the tenuous hold he had on his composure. He’d been young and innocent in the ways of the world when his parents died, but Uncle Edward had been there to guide him through those difficult, formative years to manhood. Winn would never forget him—or his advice.
    The graveside ceremony was short, and Winn was relieved. It would be good to be done with this last painful ritual of separation. The others who’d traveled to the cemetery came up to him and offered their final condolences before moving off. He remained there alone, standing quietly over the grave.
    “Lord Bradford . . .” Philip and Robert had waited until all the others had gone before they’d approached him. They were determined to get their answer.
    Winn recognized the voice immediately and looked up at the two of them.
    “Since it seems your business here is finished, we were wondering if we could have that talk with you now?”
    “Business?” Winn turned on them, his eyes hardening at their intrusion on his grief. He’d had little respect for them after their visit to the house the day before, and now he was jarred by their cold-blooded indifference to his situation. “I’m afraid this is more than just business to me, gentlemen. I loved my uncle, and I am in mourning for him.”
    “But as we’ve told you before, this is very important, and it won’t take much of your time,” Philip persisted.
    “My uncle was very important to me,” he ground out, thinking the two men were little better than vultures. “If I happen to run across the items you’re looking for, I’ll let you know. I suggest you wait until you hear from me. Good day,