Chapter Thirteen #2
‘Leave it with me. It will be nice to have something to distract—to take my mind off—’ Henry cleared his throat. ‘Leave it with me.’
She hesitated. She was never one to burden someone with her problems, and though Henry hadn’t shared his own, it couldn’t be denied that he seemed to have many. Something was weighing on him, something he clearly had no wish to tell her.
Unless…unless that was why he was here. Her heart leapt. Had he come here looking for her?
Almost as though he had read her mind, he said briskly, ‘Now, where’s that brother of mine?’
Ditty tried not to notice just how disappointed she was.
After she had rejected his advance, she shouldn’t really have expected Henry to want to continue as they had been.
Besides, she would be gone in a week, she reminded herself.
This was not a town where she could build a life—not enough people to arrange their proposals, for a start!
‘He’s back at his law office, pretending to be working on his proposal speech,’ she said with a mischievous grin. ‘But as you are at a loose end, and I happen to be buried in ribbon…’
Ditty looked pointedly out at the myriad of champagne flutes.
Henry chuckled. ‘You are not going to—’
‘All I’m asking for is half an hour of your time,’ Ditty declared, excitement rushing through her at the thought of spending another half an hour alone with Henry. ‘Please?’
He met her eyes, then groaned. ‘Fine! But I warn you, I’m going to be about as good at this as you are at being spontaneous.’
‘You are fortunate there are champagne flutes and a table between us, Henry, for I do not take kindly to that remark,’ Ditty said with a laugh that was accompanied by a rush of desire.
A desire she should definitely not be feeling.
* * *
‘Like this?’ Henry held out what he considered to be a perfectly ribboned champagne flute.
Ditty glanced up from the bow she was making on one of her own. ‘That’s—that’s perfect. How did you do that?’
‘You spend a term at medical school learning how to sew up patients, I promise you’ll soon be a master at tying ribbon,’ he said dryly.
Her laughter filled the dining room, but more, it filled Henry’s heart.
It was so simple. Two people in a room, not even touching, completing a task together.
So why did it fill him with more joy than he could remember sharing with another person? Why did he not want this half hour to end?
In truth, he had intentionally not looked at the longcase clock or his pocket-watch. He didn’t want to be reminded he was due back at the Lodge in a few hours. He wanted to spend the time with her. Ditty.
As the chance for more hours with her slipped away, he had to make the most of each one.
‘Well, I should have asked you to help me with this days ago,’ said Ditty with a grin. ‘Who knew you’d be such a master?’
Henry grinned, her praise doing something strange to the tension in his chest. When he was with her—especially when he and Ditty were not at the Lodge—he could forget all the troubles he’d left there.
Well, almost. The tension in his body never seemed to completely disappear, but for moments, he could forget.
‘And I really must track down some fireworks,’ she said vaguely.
Henry looked up. ‘Fireworks?’
‘I placed my order days ago, but apparently unless you live in London, nothing can be done swiftly or on time,’ Ditty said with a wry smile.
It was difficult to return it. Yes, Brexley was a little out of the way. But it was home. It was everything he had ever wanted. For a time, he had hoped—thought that Georgiana had understood it. The last few days had made him hope that Ditty would.
But would the lure of London always tempt away a woman like Ditty?
‘Now, why don’t you tell me what’s eating at you?’ she said calmly, placing her beribboned champagne flute onto the dining table.
Henry was about to do the same with his own, but his hand halted and he looked up at her with concern.
What had she heard?
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ he gambled, hoping it was a lucky guess.
Ditty examined him calmly; no judgement, no anger, but also no willingness to look away.
‘Don’t give me that guff,’ she said quietly. ‘You’ve helped me, and I would like to help you. I don’t need to have lived in Brexley my whole life to know there’s something wrong up at your Lodge.’
Henry swallowed. How on earth had she noticed?
‘Perhaps it’s because I haven’t lived here for an age that I see it,’ she mused aloud, almost directly answering his question. ‘I would hazard a guess that most people here haven’t noticed the place getting more and more run-down, haven’t wondered why you’ve not repaired anything.’
Panic started to rush through Henry’s chest. She had noticed—and if she noticed, it wouldn’t be long before others did.
What would they say? Would they think he was a bad doctor, a bad duke? Would they criticise him, demand he—
‘It’s only literally this moment I realised,’ said Ditty, a sad smile now creasing her lips. ‘Oh, Henry. What happened?’
He glanced at his hands. They were doctor’s hands. His tutor had said one of the benefits of being a doctor was that they’d always be warm, always be whole, cared for. They’d never know true hardship.
Look at them now. Calluses, a small cut where a splinter had to be dug out. These were hands that worked an honest day’s job, and he was proud of that.
But he couldn’t keep doing this on his own.
Henry took a deep breath. ‘It’s… You’re right. I don’t know how you managed to see it, but there’s no money.’
Ditty frowned, as though what he said didn’t make any sense. ‘What do you mean, no money?’
‘I mean we’re in debt up to our eyeballs, and I don’t have any money to buy food for next week,’ Henry said blandly.
In a weird way, it was almost a relief to be saying it out loud.
‘We seem to owe everyone money, and the place is getting more damp and decrepit with every passing week. I’ve not replaced five members of staff as they’ve left and yet I still—’
‘I don’t understand. Is it—is it truly that bad?’
He cringed at the empathy in her voice. She would never see him in the same way again once she knew, he thought dully.
She had respected him, perhaps even admired him. Admired not just the title of duke, but the man he was. Not as much as he admired her, he was certain, but just having her respect had been something to buoy him up through the hard days.
But now she was looking at him in dismay. ‘But how did this happen?’
Henry swallowed. It was difficult, he was discovering, being vulnerable.
Usually other people were vulnerable with him. It was part and parcel of being a doctor; people told you their greatest fears, shared their symptoms with you and sometimes had to hear bad news.
But now that it was the other way around, he was finding it rather difficult.
He looked up at Ditty and saw nothing but compassion in her eyes. His fear subsided. No matter what, she would not judge him. She might even be able to help. But no. No one could help. He would have spotted a way if it were possible.
‘I don’t honestly know,’ Henry said truthfully. ‘Well, you’ve seen what I’m like with paperwork,’ he then quipped, trying to add a little lightness.
A wry smile slipped across her lips. ‘I have indeed.’
‘But that happened after—I mean, I wasn’t able to replace my clerk before the paperwork started piling up, so it’s not like the answer is in there,’ he said defensively.
Ditty stepped away from the dining table and to the doorway leading to the drawing room. ‘Come and tell me all about it.’
Henry hesitated. And then he did.
The two of them on the sofa, he poured out all the fears, the panic, the bills unpaid, the tabs building up with Brexley townsfolk, all of it.
How when he had inherited the duchy he had opened the Lodge in grand expectation of riches, waited for the solicitor to dazzle him with the new income that would be his own now that he was the Duke of Glanyrafon…
and the shock he had experienced to discover the duchy was instead in grievous debt.
With each sentence he uttered, it was as though he was drawing poison from a wound. Everything he shared seemed to lessen the weight on his own shoulders. Every detail he recounted seemed to relieve him of the burden.
And Ditty sat there, sympathetic and listening carefully, as he had never imagined anyone would.
The few times he had considered trying to tell someone about the mess he had inherited, the only thing he could imagine was judgement. In his very worst nightmares, his residents would all have to be separated, leave Brexley…and the town would turn on him.
But looking into Ditty’s eyes, seeing her compassion and her genuine concern calmed him in a way he could never have imagined.
‘…and that’s about it,’ Henry said heavily, coming to the end of what felt like the most despairing of monologues. ‘And if I don’t do something soon—’
‘Why are you telling me this now?’
He swallowed. It was a reasonable question. ‘I didn’t feel like I knew you before.’ It was more than that. If it was simply about knowing her then he could have confided in anyone in Brexley.
Ditty’s cheeks flushed. ‘And…and you do now?’
‘I do,’ said Henry, a strange feeling cascading down his spine. ‘And what’s more, I like what I’ve found. I like you, Ditty.’
The words seemed to echo around Charles’s drawing room, sounding foolish, almost childlike. He braced himself for a rebuttal, for Ditty to awkwardly pull away, to move from the sofa and make it entirely clear she had no wish for him to think of her in that way.
She did not move. She did smile, and her cheeks darkened in colour. ‘I… I like you, too, Henry.’
They stared at each other for a moment, facing each other as they sat twisted on the sofa, and he wished he knew what to do next. Did she understand what he meant? His ‘like’ was far more than the pedestrian like of a friend, even if this affection he felt could not go anywhere.
Did she mean the same thing?
‘You need to balance the books,’ she said firmly. ‘If there’s one thing I’ve learnt about business, it’s that if you don’t have enough coming in to cover what’s going out, you’re in trouble.’
‘I’ve been in trouble since I have inherited the blasted thing,’ said Henry wearily. ‘That’s the problem—I’ve tried to cover it up for so long, I forgot how to ask for help. But even so, I can’t just ask Brexley people to forgive my tab, or the coal merchant to hand over coal without payment, or—’
‘No, I don’t suppose you can,’ said Ditty, biting her lip.
He watched her with a growing appreciation. She had that look about her, that creative, problem-solving, excited look she had when ideas were coming to her.
There was something to really admire about the way Ditty thought. He watched, fascinated, as she carefully considered all he had said, and then started to put her mind to work.
‘I don’t suppose you could ask your residents for an increase in fees?’ she suggested hesitantly. ‘If I know anything about you, Henry, you barely charge them a thing.’
He grinned. ‘Hardly a bean. But most of my residents couldn’t afford to stay in Brexley, where they’ve lived all their lives, if I put up the fees. Besides…’
His voice trailed away and she gave him a mock severe look. ‘Henry Paisley, you’re not charging all of them, are you?’
‘What, me?’ he said innocently.
‘Are you charging any of them?’
Henry grinned. He was unceremoniously hit with a cushion. ‘Ouch!’
‘Henry Paisley, you are far too wonderful for your own good!’ Ditty said with a laugh.
He caught the cushion she was hitting him with, and his fingers brushed against her own. ‘Do you really think so?’
For a moment, he thought she was going to lean forward and—
But the moment passed before it had really arrived, and she was shaking her head. ‘You are a good man, but you cannot just home people for no money, forever!’
His shoulders sagged. Finally letting himself feel the weight of it all. ‘I’ve tried everything, Ditty. Everything. I promise you, if there was anything that could be done, I would have done it already. I just have to accept—’
‘Ah,’ she said with a broad smile, pulling her notebook toward her. ‘But you haven’t had me here, though, have you?’