Chapter Seventeen
Harbury angled his way through the three horseless carts in Rose Cottage’s courtyard, each of them in various stages of being filled. Sturdy men begged his pardon as they passed him, traipsing in and out of the house carrying all manner of boxes, bags, and carefully wrapped furniture.
Though he could truthfully say he hadn’t had a moment to spare in the past week, he’d been avoiding this visit, afraid of what he might feel when he saw the place emptied of memories. He needn’t have worried. Relief was the only sentiment that washed over him.
And relief was certainly a welcome change.
Eight days without Cassandra, and every one of them had added increasing weight to his shoulders. His burdens felt literal, as if he were carrying a Sisyphean rock that drained triumph of joy and robbed repose of rest. Fatigue infected every tissue straight down to his bone marrow.
So far, however, for the sake of his promise to Cassandra, he hadn’t allowed an ounce of distress to show. He’d simply soldiered on.
He had wrongs to right and an estate to set straight.
The morning after Cassandra had left, he’d begun exactly where he thought she would have wanted, by meeting with Townsend and his son. The younger Townsend proved knowledgeable, skilled, and more than eager to take on the position of steward.
Each day since, Harbury and Townsend-the-younger had gone over every lease, statement, and letter in his files. One by one, they compared terms, output, and improvements Anderson had already paid for or promised, as well as improvements suggested but not yet attempted.
Yesterday, they had held a meeting.
The public room in Upper Harfield had been filled to the brim with anxious men. Though the meeting started out hostile, when Harbury took the floor, they listened to his plan, point by point.
Mr. Anderson was to be pensioned, Townsend’s son to take over his responsibilities.
More importantly, rent due, for the remainder of this slump in prices, could be offset by the submission of any receipts for improvements made.
Additionally, if there was need, rent could also be delayed from Michaelmas to Lady Day, so long as an improvement plan had been submitted and approved.
As Harbury spoke, the grumbling lessened. And, by the time he finished, the sentiments of those present had transformed from hostility to grudging regard. He was still a long way from trust, but he’d made progress.
Solid progress.
And he’d done so not by becoming more like his father, but by trusting his instinct, and the counsel of his wife and of his chosen advisors. But only time would prove his sincere interest in his tenants’ well-being. For now, he’d shown he could be effective without being rigid.
His father’s way was not the only way.
As he’d suspected, Cassandra’s love hadn’t made him weak. Her love had been an impetus, an inspiration. And if he could prove he could be the leader the estate needed, perhaps he could also prove he could be the husband Cassandra deserved.
But first, he had to get through this visit.
Lady Pennington greeted him awkwardly, before inviting him in for tea and leading him into a half-empty parlor.
“How is your father?” he asked, once they had been seated and served.
“Calmer now.” She spoke with her head down, gazing into the dark liquid inside her cup. “He genuinely believes your father gave him a mission. Whenever he starts to fret about all he is leaving behind, I assure him his life’s work is in good hands.” She glanced up. “Am I telling the truth?”
“I’ve always cared deeply for the land and its people.”
“I know.” She hesitated. “Mrs. Grant, however, says you will never earn the tenants’ trust.”
“Mrs. Grant is prejudiced.”
She smiled a slight, knowing smile. “If you mean my father and I have her loyalty, then yes. She always behaved toward me in a motherly fashion.” She sighed. “Will you hire a new steward?”
“I already have. The estate’s largest tenant, Mr. Townsend, has a solicitor son who has managed several smaller properties for a London firm.
At my request, he has taken the position.
Having grown up here, he is familiar with the land.
Furthermore, he is eager, knowledgeable, and competent.
I told him he may move into Rose Cottage after Michaelmas. ”
“How…efficient.” She cocked her head and blinked, as if she weren’t certain she believed he was capable of having executed all of the above in such a short time.
She didn’t have any faith in his abilities at all, did she? She never had.
No wonder his father had so easily convinced her of his betrayal.
“At least the place will not stand empty.” Her gaze moved around the room. “Has Mr. Townsend a family?”
“He’s got a wife, a strapping young lad, and a little girl who is but a babe in arms.”
“How nice to think of children enlivening the cottage once again.”
“Indeed.”
The conversation fell silent.
Not, he realized, because there were things they could not say, but because they’d already exhausted every topic of polite conversation they had in common. Further proof they shared a past, but not the present.
“Edward—”
“Harbury,” he corrected. “…Lady Pennington.”
“Just as well, I suppose.” She tilted her head. “You’ve changed.”
“I know,” he replied. Marriage had changed him, first. Then, love. He was, he hoped, becoming the man he’d always wanted to be.
“Harbury,” she started again, “before I go, I want you—and, more importantly, the duchess—to know I am sorry for how I acted the other day. I should not have gone out of my way to antagonize either of you.”
Grateful for her gesture, he inclined his head. “She will appreciate your apology.”
“And despite what I said, I don’t blame you for the way things ended. What you said in your letter was right. Our elopement would have brought shame on your family. I knew how much you longed for your father’s good opinion. I was mad to think you would have crossed him to marry me.”
He contemplated telling her the truth, that he hadn’t written the note his father had delivered on his behalf, that his father had deceived them both.
But what good would such revelations do, especially now that he had finally come to know his own heart? Gazing at Lady Pennington now, he felt as if he were looking at a stranger.
When Cassandra returned—he could not bring himself to say if, even in the privacy of his own mind—he would not only tell her but also show her he returned her love with all his heart.
“I am sorry,” he told Lady Pennington sincerely, “for any harm I caused, too.”
She ran her finger along her cup’s edge. “Well, you weren’t wrong to end things, you know.”
“What do you mean?”
“I cared for you.” She shifted as if uncomfortable. “But perhaps not as much as I allowed you to believe.”
“How….honest.” A few months ago, her admission would have devastated him.
Now, he simply shook his head.
“My father’s first thought was always of your father, of the estate.” she went on. “Always. I resented that he placed the well-being of your family over his own. When I realized you cared for me. I…” Again, she shrugged. “I went after what I thought I could get.”
“We were both young.”
She laughed ruefully. “You were young. I was foolish.”
In his opinion, they’d both shown an appalling lack of sense. “You are happy now,” he gently reminded.
“With Pennington?” Her face went soft. “Yes. And you? You love your duchess, don’t you?”
“With all my heart.” His answer came readily and with ease.
“That’s good.” She looked away. “Well, we had our day,” she said with a sigh. “You were a lovely distraction from drudgery.”
“A distraction,” Harbury repeated, with a half-smile…then a snort, then an ironic chuckle.
She’d thought of him as a distraction.
As his laugh deepened, she raised her brows and shook her head as if she didn’t understand him at all.
“I can’t explain.” He inhaled deeply and shook his head, suppressing his appreciation of the irony. “It’s just…I have some experience with distractions.”
She raised her brows. “Apparently.”
“Be happy,” he offered.
“I intend to.” Her smile broadened. “Penny finds me fascinating, you know.”
“That, you are.”
“What does your lady think of you?”
He considered. “I hope she finds me…” What was the opposite of a distraction? “As essential to her as she is to me.”
Lady Pennington nodded as if she approved. “I also want to let you know how much I appreciate what you did for my father.”
“The duchess put the plan in motion. I only played a part… For his sake.” Another awkward silence. “What will you do about him?”
“Take him home with me. Take care of him. Make sure that, if nothing else, he understands he is safe.”
“He will receive a full pension from the estate.”
She shook her head. “I don’t want your money.”
“A little late to be noble?”
She inclined her head. “Perhaps, but I must insist. I want to care for him.”
“Be the better person?”
“Rise above my resentments, yes.”
“I wish you both well, then.” He took a deep, cleansing breath. “And as…enlightening as our conversation has been, the past is not the reason I came over here today.”
“No?”
“I came to talk with you about the pup. My wife rescued him. And I’d like to keep him.”
She assessed him critically. “He was my litter’s best. If I hadn’t gifted him to my father, he would have fetched a nice price.”
“I’m not asking for a gift. I am willing to pay. And”—he leaned forward—“I can assure you the duchess and I are sincerely attached to Mercy.”
“Mercy?” The corner of her mouth turned up.
“As in, ‘Mercy, what have you gotten into this time!?’”
She laughed lightly. “I can see you are sincerely attached to him.”
They negotiated a price. He didn’t haggle hard. The important thing was to make sure the pup remained with him. Mercy belonged at Harbury Hall. Just as Cassandra belonged with him.
He only hoped she’d come to her senses and return soon.