The Arrangement by Joan Wolf Page B

ago.”
    Her brows, which were thick and sandy-colored and looked like twin caterpillars, drew together. “Good God, you must be the witch’s brat who married the squire’s youngest son!” she blurted.
    By now everyone in the room was staring at me.
    Savile said coldly, “Witch’s brat? What on earth are you talking about, Harriet?”
    George’s widow turned to look at him. “There is this extremely odd woman who lives in Hatfield, Savile. All the locals think she is some kind of a witch and go to her for everything from medicines to love potions. She used to have two nieces living with her,” her strange, dark eyes swung back to me, “and evidently this is one of them.”
    “My aunt is an herbalist, Lady Devane,” I said, and even I could hear the contempt in my voice as I spoke her name. “Only ignorant persons could possibly confuse an herbal healer with a witch.”
    An unattractive red flush suffused Lady Devane’s face.
    Before she could reply, however, a harsh-sounding male voice said, “Watch your mouth, missy. You talk that way to my daughter, you got to deal with Albert Cole.”
    I lifted my eyes to look at the man who was standing just to the right of Lady Devane’s chair. He appeared to be somewhere in his upper sixties and his clothing proclaimed him to be of the merchant class. His old-fashioned suit was of brown broadcloth, with a full-skirted coat. He was wearing knee breeches with stockings, not the newly fashionable trousers such as were being worn by Savile. His shoes were old-fashioned as well, square-toed and adorned with buckles. Savile’s waistcoat was snowy white; Mr. Cole’s was embroidered with what looked to be an assortment of brightly colored tropical birds.
    I stared at the waistcoat in amazement.
    “Mrs. Saunders,” Savile said, and I could hear the underlying amusement in his voice as he took in my fascination with Mr. Cole’s waistcoat, “may I present Mr. Albert Cole, Lady Devane’s father.”
    I dragged my eyes away from that many-hued garment and met the small, shrewd, light-colored eyes of the man whose money had bought George.
    “How do you do, Mr. Cole,” I said in what I hoped was an expressionless voice.
    “What’s this Saunders woman doing here, Savile?” Mr. Cole said, ignoring my greeting. “This is a family gathering.”
    “Mrs. Saunders is here because she figures in George’s will,” Savile said in a very soft voice.
    Shocked silence filled the room.
    Then Mr. Cole took a step toward me. His face began to grow very red. “I won’t have it!” he said. “My girl has just lost her husband and I won’t have one of—”
    “That is quite enough, Cole,” Savile said, and his tone stopped Albert Cole dead in his tracks. “Mrs. Saunders is here because it is her legal right to be here and because I invited her. If you do not care for my guests, then you may leave.”
    “Don’t make a fuss, Papa,” Harriet said in a strained voice.
    Lady Regina took my arm and said smoothly, as if nothing uncomfortable had just happened, “Mrs. Saunders, I have not yet presented you to my cousin, Mr. John Melville.”
    One of the two men who stood together in front of the fire bowed to me. “Happy to make your acquaintance, ma’am,” he said.
    I looked steadily into a nice-looking, unremarkable face and murmured something polite.
    “And my other cousin, Mr. Roger Melville, who is the new Lord Devane.”
    Devane Hall was entailed, of course, and so Harriet’s girls would not be able to inherit either the title or the property. I looked with interest at the slim, blond young man who would be George’s successor.
    He smiled at me. His eyes were as blue as Nicky’s. “So nice to meet you, Mrs. Saunders,” he said.
    The butler, Powell, appeared in the doorway and announced that dinner was served.
    The earl took in Lady Devane, the new Lord Devane took in Lady Regina, and Mr. John Melville took in me. Mr. Cole followed behind, his hands behind his back, his