“Oh, for the love…” North put his fists on his hips and glowered at the snake. “I suppose he’ll need a little snake palace to bide in until his royal barge departs, and a name.” He took the snake from Beck like so much dirty washing. “As the name Boo-boo is taken, and Screech lacks a certain dignity, his name will be Milton, and I will find him a suitably impressive dwelling and take him into the village tomorrow, there to begin his homeward odyssey, about which he will no doubt write at great length, setting a trend among all the fashionable, well-traveled black rat snakes.”

He stomped off, lecturing the snake about getting ideas above his lowly station, while Beck silently applauded a very convincing reestablishment of the status quo.

“Quite an adventure for you.” Beck held out a hand to Allie. “I suppose you want a snake now for your birthday instead of a pony?”

“A pony?” Allie’s eyes grew round, and she began to chatter volubly, completely missing the wink Beck shot Sara and Polly.

The topic of Allie’s birthday figured prominently at the dinner table, with various outlandish suggestions being made regarding her gifts and appropriate activities for the occasion. North joined the group midway through the meal, having constructed a wood and wire cage for Milton.

“He’s taking a nap after his ordeal,” North reported. “He’s been rendered temporarily deaf by a certain young lady’s stunning propensity to summon help, as have I. Ah, I see you left me a dollop of potatoes and three entire green beans. I’m touched.”

Polly rose, smiling. “There’s more.”

North reached over and slid the butter away from Beck’s plate toward his own. By tacit agreement, the adults were not going to discuss the broken axle or the snake at the table, not while Allie remained among them. But when she’d disappeared to take Hildy her scraps, Beck glanced around the kitchen.

“When Allie has found her bed, I’d like the rest of us to convene in my sitting room.”

Sara nodded, resignation and worry reflected in her gaze.

“Sara and I will be doing the dishes tonight, Polly,” Beck said. “You’ve cooked for a legion all week and can use the time to get off your feet.”

“Excellent suggestion,” North said. “Though perhaps you’d take a turn with me in the garden rather than get off your feet?”

A glance passed between them, one Beck didn’t try to parse, though North was a fool to walk away from a woman who looked at him that way.

When Beck was left alone in the kitchen with Sara, he did, indeed, set to clearing the table and washing the dishes.

“You sit too,” Beck said, stacking plates at the table. “I’ll tend to this, and you enjoy a second cup. I wanted to talk with you first, though, before we open discussion with the others.”

Sara rose and slipped her arms around his middle. “I’ve never been so grateful to see another person in my life as I was when you came skidding into that barn, Beckman. That idiot snake kept slipping and slithering off the hay fork and glaring at me and waving his tongue about…”

“You would have gotten him,” Beck assured her, setting down his load of dishes to return her embrace. “He was as upset as you were, though.”

“Polly wanted to get an ax.”

“A shovel would have given her longer reach, but all’s well, even for the snake.”

“You handled it beautifully.” Sara held him a moment longer. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure, but, Sara? The broken axle on the wagon today? It wasn’t an accident, and I suspect this snake was purposely put where Allie and Boo-boo like to play.”

“I haven’t asked Allie for the details. I gather the beast was somewhere in the vicinity of the doghouse.”

“It could be coincidence. The snake might have come in on a wagonload of goods shipped into Portsmouth, but I don’t think we can take that chance.”

“What are you saying?”

“If the snake was put here deliberately, then we’ve escalated from malicious mischief toward replaceable property, to a threat of real harm to Allie or you ladies. Even nonvenomous snakes have a nasty bite, Sara. They’re carnivores, and the wound can easily get infected.”

Sara dropped her arms from Beck’s waist and stepped back. “Somebody wants Allie dead?”

“Or doesn’t care if harm befalls her, which suggests to me we’re not dealing with a greedy uncle.”

“How do you figure that?” Sara moved off to pour herself a cup of tea, her movements mechanical, her eyes unfocused.

“Why would Tremaine stir up so much trouble to get his hands on a talented artist then put the artist herself in harm’s way?”

“I don’t know.”

She sounded so forlorn, so uncertain. Beck silently cursed whoever had let the snake into the barn. The scare to Allie was likely to be quickly forgotten, not so the scare to her mother.

“I think we need to have a serious talk with one Tremaine St. Michael, Sara. Sooner rather than later.”

“You want us to confront him?”

“I do, but here, where we’ve got some support and we can keep a close eye not just on Tremaine but on Allie as well.”

“You’re determined to invite him here?” Sara worried a thumbnail between her front teeth. “Is that necessary?”

“I think it is. I wanted to discuss it with you first.”

“I could take Allie away somewhere.”

He understood the impulse to flee but understood as well that it seldom resulted in a real solution—and wasn’t that an insight to be pondered some other fine, long day? “And if he was able to find you here, using your maiden name, what will you do when he finds you there too?”

She glowered at her teacup. “I’ll go to America with the damned snake. It’s my job to keep Allie safe, and I’ll go to the ends of the earth to do that.”

She wasn’t arguing, which Beck took as an indication that she was closer to emotional collapse than even she knew, so he took her teacup from her and wrapped her in another hug. “The ends of the earth are not as worthy of inspection as one might think. It’s time to stop dancing around silences and innuendos, Sara. We’ll get St. Michael here, on our turf, and determine his motives. My brother is an earl, my step-grandmother a marchioness, and my pockets are full to bursting. I’m connected to more damned titles than you can count, and I will bend all of my resources to see that Allie stays safe with you.”

“It’s so complicated,” Sara whispered against his neck. “Why does it have to be so complicated?”

“It isn’t complicated. Either St. Michael ceases his nonsense, or I’ll see him behind bars or in the ground.”

Sara cuddled closer, which might have been a sign of progress except for the realization that if Allie were once again safe, then Beck’s greatest leverage for gaining Sara’s hand in marriage would be gone.

Seventeen

The haying was successfully completed, the barns and sheds and even the house sported repaired or replaced roofs, the walls and fences were again sturdy and straight, and the crops matured in the fields. Summer eased past the solstice and into July, hitting the lull between haying and harvest when life should have been sweet.

At Three Springs, since the evening Beck had explained his intent to invite Tremaine St. Michael for a visit, every adult on the property had lived with an underlying sense of tension. The lack of further destructive mischief only made the anxiety greater.

There was good news, at least for Beck, in that Nicholas had reconciled with his new countess.

“You are still determined to leave?” Beck asked as he and North rode in from the eastern barley fields.

North patted Soldier’s dusty neck. “I am. I thought you’d have matters wrapped up by now, and St. Michael has apparently gone to ground.”

“He’s on his way here.”

“He’s on his way…” North’s scowl was thunderous. “This man puts a little girl in harm’s way, he’s on his way here, and you didn’t think to mention this to me? The women will draw and quarter you, and I’ll sharpen their knives.”

“I got his letter in the village today. Seems he’s been walking the Lake District or some such, and he’s happy to grace us with his presence as of the first of next week. You are duly warned, so what will you do about it?”

“Fret prodigiously.”

“Just so, and I appreciate the warning. But you’ll still go.”

“Soon,” North said, his eyes straying to the back of the manor house. “When you’ve routed the enemy, I’ll move along, so you’d best be looking for a new steward.”

“You were going to stay through harvest,” Beck reminded him as they turned their horses into the stable yard.

“I was going to try, but it isn’t working out that way.”

Beck regarded him as closely as one could regard North, given his ability to mask his feelings.

“Is Polly angry with you?”

North swung off Soldier. “She is not, or not as angry as she should be. She’s… brokenhearted, and that I cannot abide. The sooner I’m gone, the sooner she’ll realize I was a complete waste of her sentiments.”

“Gabriel…” How did Beck, of all people, tell another man that leaving didn’t solve anything?

“There is no good outcome for us, Beckman,” North said as he ran up his stirrups. “The most honorable thing I can do is take myself off and let her get on with her life.”

“You aren’t even giving the woman a chance, North. At least tell her the truth of your situation—whatever that might be—before you go, so she has a reason for your departure other than her own failings.”

“God.” Clearly, this possibility had not occurred to North. He rested his arm over Soldier’s muscular neck and bowed his head as if exhausted. “She’ll blame herself, won’t she?”