Jesus! How had he ever thought this boy’s mother would make a good breeder? His offspring, the fruit of his loins—which he never doubted, because his late wife hadn’t the spirit to cuckold him—sat across from him and poked at his meat. His son had inherited Silas’s height and brown eyes but that was all. His overlong nose, lipless mouth, and puling nature were all his mother’s. Silas snorted in disgust.

“Were you able to see Lady Georgina?” Thomas had taken a bite of the beef and was chewing it as if he held dung in his mouth.

“Oh, aye, I saw the arrogant bitch. Saw her in the library at Woldsly. And Harry Pye, damn his green eyes.” He reached for a roll.

Thomas stopped chewing. “Harry Pye? The same Harry Pye who used to live here? Not a different man with the same name? Her steward, I mean.”

“Aye her steward.” Silas’s voice rose on the last word to a mincing falsetto. His son flushed again. “It’s not like I’m apt to forget those green eyes any time soon.”

“I suppose not.”

Silas looked hard at his son, his eyes narrowed.

“You’ll have him arrested?” Thomas spoke quickly, one shoulder up.

“As to that, I’ve run into a slight problem.” Silas curled his upper lip. “Seems Lady Georgina doesn’t want her steward arrested, stupid wench.” He took another swig of ale. “Doesn’t think the evidence is damning enough. Probably doesn’t care one way or the other about dead livestock— my dead livestock—seeing as she’s from London.”

“The carved figurine didn’t convince her?”

“No, it did not.” Silas picked a bit of gristle from between his front teeth. “Ridiculous to let a woman have that much land, anyway. What’s she want it for? Probably cares more for gloves and the latest dance in London than she does for her estate. The old woman should have left it to a man. Or made her get married so she’d have a husband to run it.”

“Perhaps . . .” Thomas hesitated. “Perhaps I could talk to her?”

“You?” Silas flung back his head and laughed until he began to choke. Tears appeared in his eyes, and he had to take a drink.

Thomas was silent on the other side of the table.

Silas wiped his eyes. “It’s not as if you have a way with the ladies, now, is it, Tommy, my boy? Not like your brother, Bennet. That lad had his first cream jug while still in the schoolroom.”

Thomas’s head was bowed. His shoulders twitched up and down.

“Have you ever even bedded a wench?” Silas asked softly. Slyly. “Ever felt soft, fat titties? Ever smelled the fishy odor of eager twat?” He leaned back, balancing his chair on two legs, and watched his son. “Ever plunged your pud into a willing woman and fucked her until she screamed?”