Chapter 5
brIGHAM ADJUSTED HIS position in the rickety chair his estate steward, Briars, used when maintaining the ledgers for Hockcliffe.
The seat was too hard, the back too straight, and the location too far from Mellie.
But again, he’d spent the last five years keeping his distance from her…
a simple few minute’s ride by horse was far closer than London—or the wilds of Scotland.
He glanced at the empty hearth, debating the merits of starting a fire to ward off the early morning chill.
There was no doubt he’d be at the steward’s office for some time as he was finding it difficult to rein in his thoughts long enough to study the accounts.
There was something else...someone else he’d much prefer to study.
Instead, he was in Briars’ office, and Mellie was likely still abed, gaining her final hour of restful sleep.
Tenant dues. Crop rotation schedules. Staff allowances. Kitchen receipts from the market.
It was all a haze. Turning another page in the accounting ledger for the crop sharing land nearest the village, Brigham attempted to concentrate on the columns neatly scripted on the paper.
Corn was in high demand, while wheat and barley had seen a decrease since last winter.
The oat crop had suffered a major catastrophe when an unidentified insect contaminated the fields closest to the manor.
The livestock had been kept clear of the land and moved to the east for grazing before being herded inland toward Oxford and away from the coastal breezes that still managed to make their way to Hertfordshire.
Briars was a shrewd asset to Hockcliffe Manor and the Whitmore family as a whole. His detailed accounting made it possible for Brigham to surmise how his estate was doing in just a glance. For many years, that was all the time Brigham could allot to the scrutiny of his ledgers.
However, if Brigham were to make a smooth transition to his country seat, he must needs better educate himself in the ways of his property.
It was no different than collecting data, compiling research, and proposing a reform bill.
He only need apply himself to the task at hand.
Yet his thoughts continued to return to another task that was much overdue and should demand his attention over all else.
Mellie.
Her happiness. Her comfort. Her well-being in every form.
It had taken every ounce of strength he possessed to keep from seeking her out the night before—at her meal or later in her private chambers. He was up at first light, prowling the hall in hopes she’d exit, and he could gain another view of her splendid beauty.
She hadn’t left her room…and Brigham knew, for the time being, it was for the best. Until he could gain a firm hold of his longings, it was not advisable for him to allow his emotions to overtake his good sense.
There was much he owed the woman and lusting after her like a randy London dandy fresh from University was not one of them.
He leaned back in his chair and massaged his temples, though the light pressure gave no relief to his aching head.
They need speak of the grave matters between them; namely, Brigham’s need to cast himself at her feet and beg her forgiveness before anything could develop anew.
Be it a renewed friendship or the resurgence of the closeness they once shared, he would not hedge his hopes on either.
It was just as likely she’d grown accustomed to her life of solitude and wished naught for his presence at Hockcliffe.
He need remember the folly of misplaced confidence. Had he not learned a severe lesson over the last several weeks?
The fact that he’d come face-to-face with the woman he’d once known was what had thrown him off course, given him pause, and incited a long dormant lust he hadn’t known still burned so strongly within him.
Brigham glanced at the windowpane next to the door of the cottage as the sun rose ever higher in the sky.
No matter how much time he spent away from Hertfordshire, he never grew accustomed to any other sunrise.
Something—or someone—kept his heart at Hockcliffe.
His time at University had been no different, as he’d counted the days, the hours until he was free to journey home.
Was it the place or Melloria who tethered him to this land?
If she’d agreed to accompany him to London after they wed, would the need to return here still be as strong within him?
It was said that home was where the heart lay, but Brigham could not understand the bonds linking him to a woman who did not know she held his heart. And he would not delude himself into thinking her heart was meant for him.
He would not question his decision.
Pushing back his chair, Brigham strode to the hearth and stared into its sooty, cavernous cove.
Hockcliffe was where he belonged, where he should have remained, and where he needed to be to find his future.
So many years had been squandered chasing after dreams and aspirations that, while vitally imperative to England’s future, shouldn’t have overshadowed his duties at home: to his wife, his servants, and his land.
Worse yet, it was only now, in the aftermath of his failure, that he realized Mellie was more important than any calling in London. In the blink of an eye, everything in town had been stripped from him—it had all disappeared—and he was left with only one thing… Mellie.
With shaking, unsteady hands, Brigham piled the logs high in the hearth and spread the small twigs and sticks at the base before turning to collect the flint from its place.
As he struck the metals together, a sense of rightness filled him.
Using his hands to produce something as basic as a fire for warmth had his confidence increasing.
He could do this. He could admit his failures, confess his betrayal, and beg for Mellie’s forgiveness.
The time was upon him and certainly long overdue.
He owed her the option to cast him from Hockcliffe—as was her right.
Returning to his seat, he lowered down with a heavy sigh.
After stating his piece, Brigham had to be man enough to accept whatever dictate Mellie set forth.
Her mercy was something he was uncertain he was worthy of.
Perhaps a few more hours away from the manor would strengthen his resolve, and he’d find the right words to tell her all while keeping his longing for her from spilling forth and further muddling their precarious situation.
He was hiding…and he damn well bloody knew it.
The question was, what was he willing to do about it?
MELLIE WATCHED brIGHAM through the thick grime on the window as he rubbed his temples, knelt to start a fire, and then sat lax in his chair.
He was an academic man, a lord more accustomed to the darkened halls of Parliament than the stalls at Tattersalls, yet that did not diminish his presence.
He did not appear any less broad of shoulder or tan of skin than the servants who worked the fields around Hockcliffe.
Perhaps Brigham had taken up fencing or bare-knuckle boxing while in town to hone his physique and remain active.
Closing her eyes, she envisioned him, not in the full garb of a fencer, but bare-chested with his hands wrapped in cloth, and short pants to enable easy, swift movements—his hands raised in defense as he danced around the boxing area, keeping space between him and his opponent.
A sound from within had her lids snapping open once more to see Brigham standing again and pacing before the hearth, his hands shoved deeply into the pockets of the coat he had yet to remove.
Something was amiss with him, Mellie was certain of it.
Never had he arrived at Hockcliffe with such a dark cloud looming over him, his shoulders caving in, and dark shadows under his eyes, indicating he hadn’t slept well for some time.
His usual carefree manner and jovial nature was lacking, as well, and never had he outright avoided her presence when in residence.
It was a fact that they’d never shared a marriage bed, but Brigham hadn’t ever called off on a meal with her or evaded her company.
Whatever weighed on him was great enough that he did not seek to burden Mellie with it. What the man did not realize was that his avoidance made it all the more important to her to discover what had him so crestfallen…and repair it.
In any way she could.
Yet, Mellie was at a loss for how to discover anything if he continually sought to evade her.
But she had her own plans for his short stay at Hockcliffe.
Perhaps it was possible to combine those two goals: help banish his melancholy mood and repay his kindness.
She’d lived for so many years under a black cloud of grief, and Mellie did not want that for Brigham. All she needed was time to reconnect with him, and she could certainly restore his happiness.
The last several months, with no ailing mother to keep her occupied, had opened her eyes to many things—namely, hope for her future.
She’d been blessed with a kind, compassionate husband who had done everything in his power to help Mellie and keep her mother comfortable during her last years.
It was time Mellie was there for her spouse.
On the morrow, Christmastide morning would dawn, and Brigham would likely speak of his intentions to depart Hockcliffe.
Her future—and his—hinged on the present.
Not tomorrow, not a fortnight from now, and certainly not a year from now when once again Brigham returned for his short holiday stay.
Mellie glanced down at her tightly bound cloak and hastily unbuttoned it until her midnight blue sash was visible beneath.
A quick touch at her ear confirmed that her hair was as it should be, pinned at one side and hanging freely down her back.
Her cheeks were already rosy from the harsh December cold.