Dancing With the Gull (Revenge of the Wallflowers, #14)

Chapter Twenty-Three

Pen settled against Henny’s chest again and breathed in his scent. She knew she looked a fright, and probably smelled sour as well, but she couldn’t care.

He tipped her chin up so that she looked at him. “Are they treating you poorly?”

She glared at her father again for a moment. “Only in that they won’t let me make my own decisions. Oh! And mother burned the letter I wrote to you.”

“Did you receive my letters?” Henny asked.

“No! Most likely because my father thinks you are a rake and complete reprobate.”

To her surprise, Henny stepped back from her. She wavered on her feet without his support, her body leaning toward him.

He turned to her father. “If your only demand is that we must wait until the Season, then we must wait, but I will protest if you think to keep us from writing letters or even seeing one another from time to time.”

Pen lent her voice to the discussion as well. “Agreed. And I will insist the banns be called the Sunday after the first ball of the Season.”

Henny looked at her with a small smile. “Everyone will be expecting a betrothal of at least a few months, you know.”

“When have I really cared about what others expected of me?” she asked.

“I now suspect the answer was never, but you hid it well,” he said, chuckling. Then he sobered. “I’m sorry, love, but I think your father and I have to talk alone.”

She looked back and forth between them. “Why?”

He took her hands again. “Because that’s how it’s done.”

“But you’ll hate it,” she whispered.

He smiled ruefully. “You know me as well as I know you, I admit. But how is your father to respect me if I can’t execute the most essential duties of our class?”

She sighed, but accepted it prettily enough. Before she left she kissed her father’s cheek and said, “Don’t be too hard on him, Papa.”

Then Lord Henry pulled her into the tightest hug, the sort of hug that said he would never let her go. At that, she stopped worrying. Nothing would ever come between them, because they wouldn’t let it.

***

ONCE SHE’D CLOSED THE door, the room fell into silence. The earl studied Hen quite openly for a moment, then turned to poor two more tumblers of liquor. They settled in chairs again, and the earl finally spoke.

“So you argue that simply because she will run downstairs to see you, that you are marriage material? Is that it?”

Hen felt more tension than he ever had in his life. This was worse than school, worse than unexpected social calls. He almost felt as though he’d already unraveled, but had simply gathered up every thread of himself to hold close. Then he remembered Pen’s gentle way of asking him what he needed, what he wanted. Giving him the time and ease to truly think for once. He found that somehow it had taught him how to give that space to himself. He took a moment before he answered.

“I will be honest, my lord, that I’d not expected to marry this young. I’ve always admired Lady Penelope, but hadn’t thought much of it because I assumed she would marry long before I was ready to do so. What set current events in motion was when Lady Penelope overheard some ladies discussing how to entrap me in marriage, as they hoped to spend the money my uncle bequeathed to me. She was outraged on my behalf.

“Over the next weeks she became more friend to me than any woman ever has. She came to know me as well or better than anyone, and I would argue understands me better than anyone ever has. As I feel I understand her.”

“And what do you understand about her, precisely?” the earl pressed.

“Penelope had no more interest in marriage than I. What she truly wished for was her independence. Denying my suit will likely only send her back to the path of wishing to be a spinster in a country cottage.”

“She told you that was what she wanted?” The earl no longer seemed so confident.

“In almost exquisite detail. I could order the furniture for that cottage if I liked.”

The earl narrowed his eyes again. “And how did you convince her that marriage to you was preferable to the cottage she yearned for?”

Hen shrugged. “I don’t think I did. I think she convinced herself.”

Lord Barshaw cleared his throat and looked out his window for some time. “Your father and I were in school together, did he tell you that?”

“No,” Hen said, surprised. “He did not.”

“We weren’t friends.” The earl looked back to him quickly. “Not enemies, either. Simply not friends.” He was quiet for a few moments. “I always thought him very foolish.”

Hen wasn’t sure what Lord Barshaw was leading to. If the earl disliked his father, disliked his family, what hope did he have to bridge that? He felt his unraveling was imminent.

The earl continued speaking without Henny’s input, as though he were mulling his thoughts out loud. “I’d hoped to include a mill as part of Penelope’s portion.” That seemed to bring the man back to himself, and he looked directly at Henny again. “I feel we must speak plainly. First, my understanding is that while your parents have a good deal of money, they do not have productive land. Blunt has an unfortunate tendency to be spent. The mill would not be a sufficient income source if you or your parents deplete your ready funds, and it could prove more drain than boon if not managed properly. What are your plans for how to support my daughter over the length of her life, which I hope to be quite long, in the style she should expect?”

This was one of those times that, to Henny’s way of thinking, people spoke in riddles. He suspected there was even more hidden and inferred in the earl’s brief sentences that he could not guess at. Now was no time to be thrown off his quarry, however. Seeing Penelope today strengthened his resolve that they needed to be together. Neither was as strong apart.

“My lord, as much could be said on these topics, allow me to take them in the order you presented them. As for the mill, can you tell me its age, location, and current throughput of grains?”

The earl arched a brow, but replied. “In the East Midlands, near Lincolnshire. It has been operating for thirty years and can take in better than a tonne of wheat per day. If you are interested in the particulars I can show a quarterly report to you.”

“Thank you, I would be very interested in seeing the specific numbers. Although I have no experience in milling, I studied agriculture in general with some interest at school.” He smiled, remembering his studies. “Not the hands-on subjects, mind you, but the theoretical aspects of efficiency and production as they relate to problems such as how to feed a populace. It is quite mathematical. However, I’ve experience in farmwork now, as well, because Lord Wilkins is ever in need of help on the land his father left to him.”

The earl merely nodded, seeming arrested by Hen’s explanation.

“Although you labeled it as first, the second item to be addressed is my parent’s fortune, and whether any of it might survive to be passed down to Lady Penelope and myself, especially as so much of their fortune is, as you say, blunt rather than land or other productive assets. I suspect, although of course I can never be sure, that it is the same concern that my uncle had, and why he passed his fortune to me wholly rather than splitting it amongst his other nieces and nephews who would not have such concerns. Thus, the question of how well my parents will manage their estate has been made moot. I not only received ten thousand pounds silver, which every member of the ton seems to have found out about down to the shilling, but also over a thousand acres of productive land in the north which provided an income in excess of a thousand pounds each year my uncle owned it. There is also an associated manor I’ve not quite decided what to do with yet, two herds of sheep for fleece, three hundred cattle, and a surprisingly popular soap concern, whose products can be found here in London.”

The earl cleared his throat and said, “I suspect that if I were to question you on the details of those concerns, that you would answer me with even more precision.”

Hen mulled how to respond. “I think that precision is one of the most important things in this life.”

“I see,” the earl said, appraising him anew. “How do you plan to handle management problems, such as finding out about theft or incompetence?”

Hen rubbed his hands together for a moment before he realized the nervous gesture and folded them. “It’s not something that I look forward to, and hope to rely on my close friends for their advice.”

The earl set his tumbler aside and leaned forward. “In this particular case, I would suggest you let Penelope deal with it. No one here will work efficiently without her say-so.” He slapped Henny’s knee and rose. “Let’s see if we can lure her down to supper with the promise of your presence. Then perhaps it will be served properly, for once this month.”

If Henny had realized he could earn the earl’s good graces by holding forth on agriculture outputs and wealth management, he would have done it much earlier.

The earl paused before they left the study. “Don’t break her heart, Lord Henry. She’s not a woman to be made small by mistreatment or flaunting of mistresses. I would never be charitable about that.”

Henny could do aught but nod his agreement.

Lady Penelope looked much refreshed at supper, and the company was more convivial than Henny expected. Although her parents were far different from his own, there was a similarity in the dynamic. The three of them had clearly been a close household for some time. Even after the recent unpleasantness, they had an ease among them that his quiet presence barely affected. They chatted about Penelope’s siblings, distant relatives who’d written, and Penelope was brought current about general news from Town.

Penelope had professed to adore his parents, who he also loved but found somewhat exhausting. If this quiet supper was the true measure of her parents, however, they had the sort of settled ease that he craved. The future suddenly seemed far less daunting. Looking across the table into the eyes of his beloved, he would even say it was likely to be everything he’d never dared hope to have.