The Rake by Mary Jo Putney

recall, there used to be a tavern on the Shaftesbury road that had good food.”
    â€œIt’s still there, and the food is still good.” Alys wondered for a moment that he would take her to a common tavern. Then she realized that it would be less scandalous to eat with her at the Silent Woman than to share a private meal at the manor. Despite his stated intention of treating her like a man, he was being careful of the proprieties.
    Half an hour later, they were facing each other across a wooden table polished by years of sliding crockery and hard scrubbing. A good number of customers shared the beamed taproom and sent curious glances their way. All of the men were local and knew the eccentric Miss Weston, and they could surely guess who her companion was. They kept a respectful distance from the new master of Strickland.
    Davenport polished off the last crumbs of an excellent beef and onion pie, then refilled his tankard with ale from the pewter pitcher. “Will you tell me the whole story of the pottery, or will I have to drag the information out of you a piece at a time?”
    Alys finished the last bite of her own meat pie. It was time to tell the whole story, because if he had to dig for the facts, it might ruin his expansive mood. “You know about the problems caused by discharging so many soldiers after the war. There wasn’t enough work to begin with. To make matters worse, the new machinery reduces the need for farm laborers.”
    When he nodded, she went on, “For example, the estate could never have managed without one of the new threshing machines. There simply weren’t enough laborers during the later war years. Now that the machinery has been purchased and is working well, it makes no sense to go back to slower, more cumbersome methods just to create a few ill-paid jobs. Other solutions needed to be found.” She gazed at him earnestly. “Besides the fact that idle men make trouble, it would be wrong to let the soldiers who defeated Napoleon starve. Wrong, and dangerous for Strickland as well.”
    He took a draft of ale and prompted, “So ... ?”
    â€œI’ve encouraged the creation of various businesses to provide work. There’s a wood shop in Strickland village that employs eight men, and a brick and tile yard with five workers. Because there are good deposits of clay nearby, it made sense to open a pottery as well. It makes moderately priced ware that the average person can afford. There’s quite a market for such things, and now twelve people are employed.”
    â€œWho manages the place?”
    She took a deep breath. “I do.”
    The dark brows shot up. “In addition to managing Strickland? Where the devil do you find the time?”
    â€œI make all the decisions and keep the accounts, but a foreman supervises the daily work,” she explained. “As you can see from the estate books, I haven’t neglected Strickland. I ...”
    He held up one hand to stop her words. “Before we go too far afield, who are the three minors who are the actual owners of the pottery? Are they local children?”
    Alys poured more ale for both of them before answering. “They are the niece and nephews of Mrs. Spenser, my former employer.”
    â€œMore and more interesting. Where do they live now?”
    With an inward sigh, Alys recognized that it was time to confess what he would surely learn soon. “They live with me.”
    â€œYou’re their guardian?” he asked with surprise.
    She took another swig from the tankard, her eyes cast down. “There were no close relatives whom Mrs. Spenser trusted. One reason she helped me get the Strickland position was so that I could keep the children with me.”
    â€œI see why they call you Lady Alys,” he said with a mocking humor. “Managing an estate, several businesses, and children as well. You are an extraordinary woman.”
    â€œMost women are