Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Field day yet again, and Ellie was grateful for the reprieve from the house examination.
Fred had taken over that particular task with a gusto and intensity that even Ellie could not match, nor could she continue to pretend it was not exhausting.
But it was something productive for the man to do while his cousin was away, and it was a useful occupation, so she was delighted to let him oversee it all.
Besides, he had distinct memories of certain rooms, so there was a touch of nostalgia that might provide insight that Ellie would be completely without.
They had begun dining together in the evenings, not in the formal dining room, but down in the kitchens with Mrs. Havens, Worsley, and the Andrewses.
With a greater audience, Fred had become an even more dramatic entertainer, and most of the meals ended with peals of laughter ringing out from the group.
His stories alone were worthy theatrics, but his reports of the room evaluations were full-on productions, complete with inanimate objects having voices and character flaws.
He was convinced that the house was alive and resentful about the state it had fallen to, and had strong opinions about everything.
No one had gotten over the saga of the largest chandelier in the ballroom bearing the accent and persona of an Italian vicomte, and entirely affronted about not seeing its “amore mio” the harp for ten years.
Or his feelings about being diminished into darkness for so long.
Or for the obscene lack of dancing. The art on the ceiling that had begun to fade.
The dullness that had sunken into the gold-leaf details.
An entire monologue about a stain on the floors in one corner of the room.
If Ellie had wanted laughter at Fenmore, clearly she had just needed to bring Frederick Gates into it.
But all of this was just a distraction for all of them until West returned with some sort of a plan, or at least an idea of how the estate truly stood now that Leonard’s belongings and fortune were his.
Ellie could only attest to what Fenmore earned on its own, and her dowry’s investment in it.
She had never known the other financial details, never been permitted such information, and thus, had never known what was being withheld from Fenmore.
She was as afraid to hear the truth of the matter as she was to see West return and begin to take over in truth.
She would diminish the moment he did, and she did not know how to cope with that idea.
But for today, at least, it was field day and she desperately needed to speak with George Tucker about standing in as Williams for West to chat with.
The ruse might not last forever, but it needed to last longer, that was for certain.
She had not thought any of this through without Leonard and his preference for distance being at the head of it.
Never even with real longevity in mind. Once the estate was returned to success and in a more productive, more promising situation, she would have made up an excuse for Williams to move on to another estate somewhere and hired an actual estate manager.
She had simply run out of time.
Cursed Leonard.
The trousers-and-boots combination had gone unnoticed by anyone this morning as she’d left the house, as it had every other time except once.
She doubted Fred would have had any objections to it, but he would certainly have made several teasing or sarcastic comments that would have made her blush or laugh or both, and likely want to hit him as well.
Not in the face, just the arm. Or the leg. Like she might have done with a brother.
She’d never had a brother, of course, but she imagined that was what this was like.
A pang of loneliness and grief gripped her chest and stomach hard, stealing her breath for a moment.
She hadn’t been lonely when her mother was alive, but after her death, loneliness had crept into her heart and her nights, especially.
Her father could not spend all his time with her, but he made more of an effort than before, knowing she would need mother and father from him.
Their relationship had grown closer, and he had shaped the way her mind thought and the details her eyes saw.
She had learned to love the land and farming, crops and harvests, because it was where she connected most and best with the only parent she had left.
When he was gone, she had nothing. Grief and vacancy were her bedfellows, and the only thing she could think to do was continue her interest in land and farming.
It connected her to her gentle, brilliant, lonely father, who had clung to her the way she had him, and the only life she could recall.
The smell of the fields was the smell of her memories.
The sun on her face was the feeling of joy.
The ache in her muscles was the satisfaction of a good day.
She had no one to live for but herself, and herself only knew how to live this way.
The only connection to the only people who loved her.
It was as though these boots she wore to the fields were the armor of her soul, the truth of herself she could don when possible. The only version of herself that was not a performance.
That wasn’t entirely true, of course. She had moments every day where she was her true self, but there was something specific about going out to the fields in these boots that rang truest.
“Miss Ellie?”
She shook herself as she approached the first field, smiling at the concerned but welcoming face of George Tucker.
“Good morning, George,” she greeted as she placed her hands in the pockets of her coat. “How’s the barley?”
His brows furrowed, his mouth turning down. “Fine . . . We are preparing for an early harvest in this field due to the ripening. Were you expecting something else?”
Ellie shook her head, finding her unease slipping away as she conversed with him.
George had been one of the only farmers to remain at Fenmore throughout the trouble with Leonard, and likely the only reason why Rokesby hadn’t ruined everything during his tenure as estate manager.
He knew the lands as though they were his children, and he had become mentor, uncle, and friend during her time here.
He could also see through her facades at any given time.
“Not really,” Ellie admitted. “I just don’t know what to say anymore. You know everything, and I now have an uncertain future here. I want to remain invested, of course I do, but would it not make more sense for me to distance myself before it all hurts too much?”
“You’re getting emotional over barley?” George asked her, one of his thick brows inching just above the other.
She laughed easily at that. “No. I am emotional over Fenmore. The barley is simply what this field consists of at the moment. Were this last year, I would be emotional over wheat. Next year, turnips. The specifics are not important.”
George smiled gently. “You’ve made all the difference here, Ellie-girl. You’ve earned a tear or two.” He nudged his head towards one of the unused fields nearby. “Would you like to come inspect the next field over with me? I think we may be ready for pipe laying come autumn.”
Ellie gasped, her hands flying out of her pockets to clasp beneath her chin. “Really? It’s ready to drain?”
His nod made her squeal in delight, and she all but skipped in that direction. “Wait up, Ellie! The settling has made that field particularly boggy, and you’ll get stuck.”
“Better than falling into a lead shaft!” she called back.
It was the best news she could have hoped for today. The sign of progress because of her work and plans. Something that would carry on after she had left. A legacy of sorts that the land would recall, even if no one else would.
Except George, of course.
He caught up to her after a quick jog. “So his lordship is sending you away, then?”
Not entirely sure how to answer, Ellie offered a small shrug.
“He hasn’t said specifically, but there is no other reasonable alternative.
I am an unmarried woman at his home, and that is not allowed.
Cannot be. I was engaged to his brother, nothing more.
He wanted to put me in the dower house, but . . .”
“But it is now a clover field,” George finished with a humorless laugh. “Difficult to use as lodgings, that.”
“Marvelous for sheep, though,” Ellie commented, nudging him in the side. “Have your granddaughters settled on the names for the sheep we do not have yet?”
George beamed at the question. “Not yet. They’ve been focused on remembering the letters of the alphabet so they can name the sheep in that order.”
Ellie cooed at the idea, clasping a hand to her heart. “They are at the most precious age. I hope to see them again before I go.”
“When do you depart?” George asked as they moved into the field in question.
“Not sure. When West returns, I am sure it will be brought up.” She cleared her throat, remembering her specific purpose for speaking with him. “Which reminds me: I need you to play your role with him.”
George stopped and looked at her, his hands going to his hips. “Williams?”
She nodded. “He has been looking over the ledgers and reports and wants his estate manager to walk him through everything with more detail. He wants to work beside the estate manager, in a way, and be active in his landowner responsibilities.”
Nodding slowly, George kept his gaze on her. “And what will you do with this scheme of yours, Ellie, when you are gone from here? Have Williams perish in an accident?”
She winced. “Keep being Williams by letter, you be Williams by sight, and when you retire from farmwork and the lands are flourishing, Williams moves on and you move to the coast to be by your oldest daughter?”