The Tempting of Thomas Carrick by Stephanie Laurens Page A

morning.
    By then, Lucilla had made breakfast for the Bradshaws, as well as for Thomas and herself. After dispatching Thomas to milk the by-then-distressed cow, she had rummaged and found oats, and some barley, too. She had made a large pot of thick porridge, adding fresh milk to make it creamy. The two youngest Bradshaws came to the table, but the others ate propped up in their beds. The rapidity with which the steaming bowls, liberally laced with honey, had emptied had reassured her.
    The Bradshaws were firmly on the road to recovery.
    When Mr. and Mrs. Forrester walked into the house, she had a large batch of the strengthening tonic prepared and put by, enough to see the whole family back to robust health.
    After going around the bedrooms with both Forresters and explaining the improvements she expected to occur over the next few days, she led Mrs. Forrester into the kitchen, leaving Mr. Forrester conversing with Thomas in the main room.
    Both Forresters had been shocked to hear of Joy Burns’s death but, rustically stoic, had accepted the mystery of it as “just one of those things.” Neither she nor Thomas had alluded to any deeper suspicions; no sense in starting rumors over something they could never prove.
    After instructing Mrs. Forrester on the correct dosage of the strengthening tonic to administer to each of the Bradshaws—and reassuring her that there was no danger if any of them took too much—Lucilla helped unpack the baskets of food and supplies the Forresters had helpfully brought.
    With everything for the Bradshaws’ further care organized, she turned her mind to the most pressing item on her personal agenda: How to keep Thomas with her—or, alternatively, how to remain by his side.
    Regardless of the reason for his return, he was there. In his continued absence, she’d wondered if she should act and bring him to her, but she had always sensed she wasn’t supposed to; the current situation was, presumably, the reason for that. He’d been summoned by others and he’d come, but now he was there, acting to keep him there long enough for them—her and him—to take the next step along their preordained path, namely to marry, was patently something she should do.
    That it fell to her to do.
    How to do so, however…
    He had said that he would escort her back to the Vale, but when they reached there, how was she to get him to stay?
    The Forresters had brought more water. Thomas and Mr. Forrester came into the kitchen, crossed to the rear door, propped it open, and went out. They returned a minute later, carrying one of the water barrels between them.
    Lucilla rushed to clear a space on the counter along the rear wall. The men set the barrel down, made sure it was steady, then went out to fetch the next.
    Shifting various pans from the counter to create more space, Lucilla heard Thomas, outside by the dray, say, “So neither you nor any of the farmers have been given any explanation for the delay in the seed stock?”
    “No,” Forrester replied. “When we asked, we were told that we’d get the seed when it came in, and that was all there was to it. Any of us questioned—as Bradshaw did—why the seed was late, we were told it wasn’t our concern.” Forrester’s ire was plain. “Can you imagine? Telling us—who grow the crops, who get the seed into the ground—that it’s no concern of ours when we get the seed? Preposterous!”
    Lucilla stepped back as the men brought in the next barrel, the second of three.
    When they went back to the dray, she made a show of rearranging some pans so she could remain close enough to the door to overhear their exchanges.
    “I take it,” Thomas said, “that none of you spoke directly to the laird.”
    “No—although we would’ve if we could’ve. We were told it was Mr. Nigel we had to deal with. Not that that would’ve stopped us, but none of us has seen the laird these past months. Seems he’s been poorly and keeping to his room.”
    “So I’d