Chapter Seven
"Your Grace, I must say, I have always admired the way you manage your estates."
Lord Deane's voice cut through Vanessa's thoughts, rousing her back to her present ruminations.
He had leaned forward slightly, addressing Martin with an eagerness that made her wince internally.
The confident, relaxed man who had walked with her in the drawing room had vanished entirely, replaced by someone who seemed desperate for approval.
"Have you?" Martin's tone was politely neutral, the kind of polite that was somehow worse than outright hostility.
"Oh, yes. Everyone says that Montehood Park is one of the most efficiently run estates in England. The innovations you have implemented, the new drainage systems, the tenant improvements, the modernisation of the home farm, they are really quite remarkable, Your Grace. Quite remarkable indeed."
"I have competent estate managers. They deserve the credit."
"But surely the vision comes from the top?
A good leader inspires excellence in those beneath him.
" Lord Deane nodded eagerly, his words tumbling over each other in his enthusiasm.
"I have been trying to implement similar improvements on my own properties, though I confess I do not have Your Grace's resources.
Or Your Grace's reputation for innovation.
I must say that the manner in which you directed the enclosure disputes last year were extremely impressive.
Most impressed indeed. Lord Haberton was just saying at the club the other day… "
"Deane." Martin's voice cut through the rambling with surgical precision. "You flatter me unnecessarily. I assure you, my talents are greatly exaggerated by those who have nothing better to discuss."
"I did not mean to…that is, I only thought…" Lord Deane fumbled, his earlier confidence evaporating entirely. His face had gone red, his eyes dropping to his plate. "I apologise if I was too forward, Your Grace. I simply wanted to express my admiration."
"Your admiration is noted." Martin took a sip of wine, his expression revealing nothing beyond faint boredom. "And entirely unnecessary."
The dismissal was clear. Cruel, even. Vanessa felt an unexpected surge of protectiveness and irritation. Lord Deane was trying too hard, yes, but Martin's cold contempt seemed designed to wound.
"I find Lord Deane's ideas about estate management quite fascinating, actually," she said, her voice carrying clearly. "We had a lovely discussion about crop rotation the other day. His approach is innovative and practical, something many landowners could benefit from studying."
Lord Deane shot her a grateful look, his shoulders straightening slightly.
Martin's expression did not change, but something shifted in his eyes, a flicker of surprise, perhaps. Or challenge.
"How wonderful," he said smoothly. "Crop rotation...positively enthralling!"
"It is, actually." Vanessa met his gaze steadily, refusing to be cowed.
"Lord Deane has been corresponding with agricultural reformers in Norfolk.
His theories about soil enrichment could significantly improve yields for tenant farmers which would benefit everyone, including the landowners who profit from their labor. "
"I am sure it could."
"You sound sceptical."
"Not at all. I am merely impressed by the depth of your newfound agricultural expertise.
" Martin's smile was pleasant, his tone perfectly polite.
But beneath it, Vanessa sensed something coiled and waiting.
"I had not realised you had developed such a passionate interest in farming. When did this occur, precisely?"
"Recently." She refused to look away, refused to let him see how much his dismissiveness stung. "Lord Deane has a way of making even complex topics accessible and interesting."
"Does he now?" The words were flat, almost toneless. "How fortunate for you."
"It is fortunate. It is refreshing to speak with someone who does not assume that women are incapable of understanding practical matters."
The hit was palpable, and his composure was quite overset. She observed the slight tightening of Martin's jaw, the almost imperceptible narrowing of his eyes. For a moment, his mask slipped, revealing something raw beneath, something that looked almost like hurt.
But then it was gone, smoothed away as quickly as it had appeared.
"I have never assumed you incapable of anything, Vanessa." His voice was quiet, stripped of its usual sardonic edge. "Quite the opposite, in fact."
The use of her name, just Vanessa, without the teasing …found her completely unprepared and off guard.
"There are many things about me you do not know, Lord Montehood," she said, trying to regain her footing.
Martin's eyes held hers for a long moment, long enough for the rest of the table to fade away, long enough for her heart to begin racing in her chest. There was something in his gaze that she could not read, something that made her feel exposed in ways she did not understand.
"No," he said finally, his voice soft. "I suppose there are."
Before she could respond, Edward's voice cut through the tension.
"Martin, stop monopolising my sister and tell everyone about the time you accidentally challenged Lord Petersham to a duel."
The moment shattered.
"I did not challenge him to a duel," Martin said, turning smoothly to address the table. "There was a misunderstanding about a horse."
The conversation flowed on, carrying them away from the charged moment that had passed between them. Vanessa focused on her food and tried to slow her racing pulse.
It was nothing, she told herself. Just another of our verbal sparring matches. It meant nothing.
But Martin did not look at her for the rest of the main course.
And somehow, that felt like it meant everything.
***
After dinner, the ladies withdrew to the drawing room while the gentlemen remained for port.
Vanessa felt a surge of relief to leave the table.
She settled onto the settee beside Helena, accepting a cup of tea from her mother with a murmured thanks.
Lady Wayworth was already deep in conversation with Mrs. Crawford about some social event or another, and Aunt Bertha had claimed the chair by the fire, her knitting needles clicking rhythmically.
"Well," Helena said quietly, leaning close so as not to be overheard. "That was certainly an interesting dinner."
"Was it? I found it rather ordinary."
"Vanessa." Helena's voice was gentle but firm. "I have known you for ten years. You cannot hide the truth from me.”
"I am not trying to hide the truth from you,”
"You most certainly are…and you are not doing a good job either.” Helena set down her teacup with a soft clink. "Something happened at that table between you and the Duke."
"Nothing happened, we talked…we argued…nothing out of the ordinary.”
"That was not your usual arguing. I saw the way he was looking at you…"
"He was not looking at me in any particular way."
"He said you were brave, Vanessa. That you were never afraid to want things. That most people spend their lives standing on the shore. And then he looked at you …” Helena shook her head. "As if he wanted to be brave too."
The words struck something deep in Vanessa's chest. “I fear your imagination has run quite away with you. Martin was simply being philosophical."
"That was not philosophy. That was a confession."
"A confession of what?"
"I do not know." Helena's eyes were searching, concerned. "But something is different. Something has changed. And I think you know what it is, even if you will not tell me."
Before Vanessa could respond, the door opened, and the gentlemen returned.
There was music as Helena was persuaded to play, her fingers dancing across the keys with quiet competence while Edward watched her with barely disguised adoration.
There was conversation with Lady Wayworth holding court about the upcoming social events, Lord Deane was earnestly discussing something with Mr. Crawford, Mrs. Crawford and Aunt Bertha were exchanging observations about the weather.
And through it all, Vanessa was aware of Martin.
He did not approach her again. Did not seek her out for private conversation or meaningful glances. He was simply... present. A gravitational force she could not escape, no matter how hard she tried to focus on other things.
But once, just once, she caught him watching her across the room. And in that moment, his expression was unguarded in a way she had never seen before. There was something raw in his grey eyes, something almost vulnerable.
Then he noticed her looking and the mask fell back into place, smooth and impenetrable.
Had she imagined it? Had she seen what she wanted to see, rather than what was actually there?
She did not know. She could not know.
And the uncertainty was driving her mad.
"Lady Vanessa."
Lord Deane appeared at her elbow, his expression hopeful. "I wondered if you might like to take a turn about the room? I find myself somewhat restless after such an excellent meal."
"Of course." She took his offered arm, grateful for the distraction. "I would be happy to."
They walked in silence for a moment, moving along the perimeter of the drawing room. Lord Deane seemed to be gathering his thoughts, his brow slightly furrowed.
"I hope I did not embarrass myself earlier," he said finally. "With the Duke. I fear I may have been... overly enthusiastic."
"You were perfectly fine."
"You are kind to say so, but I know I can be…
" He sighed, running a hand through his hair.
"I admire him, you see. Lord Montehood. He is everything I am not.
Confident and commanding, effortlessly charming.
His words carry a weight that commands the attention of every ear.
His opinions are sought with the greatest solicitude, and his entrance into any assembly never fails to create a sensible stir.
"You have your own qualities, Lord Deane. They are simply different."