Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
His lordship has died.
Elena Williams hadn’t heard anything more complicated in her entire life than those words a week ago. She had yet to fully make sense of them upon reflection.
There was satisfaction, she would admit to that. Leonard Howard, Lord Bickham, had not set foot on the estate in three years. Fenmore barely knew him, and the tenants of Fenmore would not mourn him. In fact, Fenmore had improved since he had avoided it.
There was conflict, to be sure. The lord of the manor, the baron of the estate, was dead, and that was going to throw just about everything into upheaval.
Of course, the estate would continue to run smoothly until the new baron took up residence, but what would happen when he did?
It was exciting and terrifying in equal measure.
There was disappointment, surprisingly. Not that Leonard was dead, specifically, as she did not know enough of him to have strong enough feelings for grief or mourning, but that the current projection of her life was now going to alter. And she had enjoyed its path so much.
Who would have thought that when it all began?
The orphan girl with an honored name and fair fortune, who did not expect romance or sentiment from a match, had managed an engagement with Lord Bickham of Derbyshire, of all things.
And her dear intended had insisted that she live at his estate at Fenmore while he saw to interests abroad so she might be comfortable with the place before they married.
He would be away for some time, so no chaperone would truly be needed. And it was the countryside, after all.
No one but herself, the London solicitor, the parson, and the parson’s assistant knew that she and Leonard had married by proxy six months after he’d departed England.
The parson’s assistant only knew because he had been the proxy.
Oh, and there were witnesses. The housekeeper and the butler, which Leonard would have hated.
Only people of class and station ought to have borne witness to such a union, but Leonard was not there.
Elena had been, and that had been the last time anyone had called her Elena rather than Ellie.
She had never paraded herself as Lady Bickham, and she wasn’t about to start claiming to be the dowager.
It had been entirely a matter of legality.
Nothing she had expected, but Leonard had written and stated that he despised dealing with the affairs of Fenmore while in Austria, so she ought to act as she saw fit.
When she reached the limits of that ability, and only a marriage would give her the authority she needed, she had suggested a marriage by proxy for them, and he had agreed.
He’d already sent word ahead to his solicitor that she was to have all legal authority to act in his name once she was his wife and their marriage would become a matter of public knowledge—and consummation—upon his return.
Which had never taken place.
Ellie thanked God daily for the continued reprieve, but should she also thank Him for taking her husband before anyone knew that he was? Or before he knew her in the biblical sense?
Seemed a trifle tasteless to pray in gratitude for the death of someone who was not evil.
Except his death would send her away from the estate, and she had gone to such troubles for the place while she’d had the authority to do so.
Not as Lady Bickham, of course. Lady Bickham would never.
Lady Bickham had only hired a new estate manager once the old one had been relieved of his responsibilities, and the new estate manager had reformed the entire place.
The estate manager who took no meetings and never met in person.
The estate manager who rebuffed all offers to work for other estates, once those written offers came in.
The estate manager only known as E. Williams.
The estate manager who was, in fact, a woman.
And was her.
Only George Tucker, the head farmer of the estate, knew it was her. He stood in her place and acted as E. Williams when a face had to be presented anywhere.
Ellie did the rest of it, all by writing.
Everyone on the estate just thought that the sweet Miss Williams took a keen interest in the affairs of the tenants, and would she not make a wonderful baroness when the time came?
Williams was such a common surname, after all. There was, in fact, another Williams family down in Buxton, and they were in charge of the finest lodgings for visitors in the town. No relation whatsoever to the sweet and invested Miss Williams or the keen and agriculturally gifted E. Williams.
Wasn’t that such a coincidence?
Leonard would have despised her acting as estate manager.
Ladies were ladies, which meant delicate flowers or something made of porcelain to him, and they had no thoughts, intellect, or sense.
Instead, they had emotions and whimsy and longsuffering patience, as well as talents for painting, table arranging, and the pianoforte.
No singing, if it could be helped. A female singing voice had to be ethereal or nothing at all.
God rest his soul.
Or plague it.
Ellie didn’t particularly care which way he went, but did wonder if he had gone so far as to update his will before his passing. She was his wife, technically, but if no one knew, did it matter? Did she have to endure a mourning period of she was legally his wife, but not publicly?
So many questions.
She’d have to write to the solicitor and see what options were open to her, what would become of her now, how she ought to proceed . . .
But even he did not know she was also the estate manager. He could not tell her what would become of the current plan in place, the work that the farmers were taking up, the harvest that was planned, the new livestock options . . .
Leonard couldn’t have died four months from now? That would have given her all of the time needed to ensure that the current plans were fully set in motion and it would be too late to stop anything for someone else’s whims.
There was very little money designated to the estate from Leonard himself. He’d sequestered every farthing he could into his own pockets, which was why Fenmore had gotten into the floundering state it had been in when she’d taken up residence.
Their proxy marriage meant that Ellie could use her own funds for the estate, even though Leonard had made no provisions for her beyond the usual.
He’d paid no attention to the marriage details, which meant there were no hidden traps for her, and her money was her own until the day he decided he was a husband.
As that day never came, was it still her money? Or was it now the new Lord Bickham’s?
Ellie sat in her private drawing parlor in Fenmore, her tea tray untouched on the table before her.
She had put off making an appointment with the solicitor in Buxton as long as possible, but receiving the news from Mrs. Havens, the housekeeper, that the new Lord Bickham was en route to the estate made time of the essence.
Why could it not have taken longer to locate the heir to Fenmore?
Time was all she needed in order to prove that E.
Williams was not only an enviable estate manager, but a genius of the trade.
A name that might fade from speech when she was gone but would not fade from memory.
Her work would become that of legend, and while she might care nothing for the name of Bickham or its barony, Fenmore was greater than them both.
Its improvements and prosperity, its enviable prospects and beauties, its potential and past, had taken hold of her heart and her mind as though she had been born on these lands and bred for its legacy.
She could not give it up. She could not sit by and be a biddable, docile, genteel wife who fussed about linens as the high point of her day.
It had taken her long enough to secure a man as dismissive, selfish, and desperate yet respectable as Leonard, and doing so again so quickly would not reflect well on her.
Leonard, of course, had thought their engagement his idea, which was also part of her plan.
She must be the helpless, innocent woman grateful to any man of influence who paid attention to her.
But only if he would also leave her alone. She had no desire for an actual husband.
A shudder raced through her. She had been raised by a father who rarely spoke of her mother, who had died when Ellie was a small girl, and he had never addressed the subject of matrimony without also addressing security as well as felicity.
She had vague memories of affection and cheer between her parents, but nothing she could swear by, let alone emulate.
And if her wise, scholarly, forward-thinking father had wanted her to take anything from the idea of matrimony other than the practical nature, he would have said so.
Life was uncertain and unfair where women were concerned, and he had trained her very well to take advantage of every opportunity to secure her future.
To be useful. To be functional and not just decorative.
She was far more educated than other girls of her station.
Far more active than was considered appropriate.
Far less concerned with decorum and finery than was polite.
Far less delicate and graceful than was ladylike.
Far more opinionated and less demure than any woman she had ever met.
And it had all served her well.
Secretly, of course. She could not be blatantly scandalous. She only wanted to be fully herself, and was seizing that hope in any way she could, even if it meant crafting a world around her alone.
But now she might have to start all over again, and that was not something she was prepared to accept.
“Miss Williams?”
Ellie looked up into the worried face of Mrs. Havens, who looked a trifle windswept compared to her usual composed state. “Mrs. Havens? What is it?”
Mrs. Havens exhaled shortly, her cheeks pink. “The . . . the new Lord Bickham. He is here.”
“What?” Ellie cried, springing to her feet.
A new and unfamiliar voice boomed from the doorway. “Who are you and what are you bloody well doing in my home?”