Chapter Nine
“Unfortunately, two of the tenant houses will need to be stripped down and rebuilt,” Mr. Trench was saying to Rhys in the office.
Rhys had been trying his hardest to focus on the man’s words, but he could barely drum up enough curiosity about the drawings laid out before him on the desk, or any of Mr. Trench’s suggestions.
The only thing Rhys could think of was Louisa and how quiet she had become since the arrival of her sister and Lord Dawson.
“Lieutenant?”
“Hm? Oh yes, that’ll be just fine.”
Mr. Trench stared at him.
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“That’s interesting. I’ve never built a house out of black current jam.”
Rhys blinked.
“What?”
“I just asked if you thought it was a good idea to build bricks out of black current jam and you said, ‘Oh yes, that’ll be just fine.’” The architect cocked his head to the side. “If you’d rather not discuss the tenant houses, I’m sure there’s other work that can be done.”
“No, no.” Rhys stood up, ashamed to have been caught not listening. “It was just a, well, dizzying sort of day yesterday.”
Dizzying was perhaps the gentlest way of describing the events from yesterday.
Shortly after Louisa and her sister left to inquire about servants in the village, a thunderstorm had swept over the countryside, halting Rhys’s work on the tenant houses.
So instead, he had decided to help the Crawfords finish setting up the servants’ quarters.
He had hoped to have another month or so before hiring help, but there was no sense in putting it off.
And if he were being honest with himself, he had already put it off for too long.
It was just that he had been enjoying his privacy with Louisa so much that he hadn’t been thinking logically.
But now, he needed to return his focus to Fenwick Park and make it a functioning estate, just as he had promised.
“You mean, the arrival of your sister-in-law?” Mr. Trench asked as Rhys nodded. “Yes. I’m surprised the woman’s uncle allowed her to ride this far without a chaperone.”
“Lest you count Lord Dawson.”
“I do not.”
Rhys glanced at the architect, glad to have found a kindred sort in the man.
It was blatantly obvious to anyone with eyes that Miss Babcock was being used by the gentleman.
While Rhys and Louisa’s marriage had certainly come about in an unconventional sort of way, the two had been honest with each other from the beginning.
Yes, Louisa had not initially spoken about her former beau, but then the man had died before Rhys and Louisa had ever met, so there wasn’t any helping that.
Still, though their marriage had caused some gossip to unfold in London, they hadn’t come into their nuptials with anything but honesty.
The same could not be said for Kitty and Lord Dawson.
“May I ask you something, Lieutenant?”
“I don’t see why not.”
“Will you allow their little elopement to continue?”
Rhys’s brows quirked up.
“Who am I to stop it?”
“If you don’t mind me saying so, it just seemed that Mrs. Carlyle wasn’t too pleased about it.”
Rhys had noted it too. Louisa had been quiet once she and Kitty returned from the village, having only been able to secure a cook and a scullery maid.
The sisters appeared tense with one another during dinner and Louisa had fallen asleep before Rhys could question her about it.
Then that morning he had found himself alone.
Louisa had left the room before he had even opened his eyes.
But when he tried to question her after breakfast, she only shook her head, smiled, and said she was happy for her sister.
A lie, obviously, but Rhys wasn’t sure why she was lying. Particularly when she should know he would support her regardless.
“She insists that she’s all right with it.” The architect exhaled and Rhys glanced at him. “What? You don’t believe her?”
“If I may, I’m one of seven children. Six of whom are women.”
“Six sisters? Good gad.”
“Yes, well, I don’t pretend to be an expert.
If anything, to be surrounded by so many women growing up has only made it more evident that I couldn’t begin to understand how the female mind works.
But I do know that when a woman is presented with a particularly unpleasant bit of news, and she neither expresses her happiness or displeasure, she is most certainly one of the two. ”
“And you don’t think she is happy with her sister’s news?”
“I do not.”
“Well, that makes two of us.” Rhys sighed as he stood. But what could he do to force Louisa to confess as much to him? “But what can I do?”
“Nothing I suppose, if Miss Babcock is sure of Lord Dawson’s intentions.”
“His intentions?”
“Yes. You said yourself that you suspected Lord Dawson of only wanting to marry Miss Babcock because of her dowry. You could test the man.”
“And how would I do that? I won’t withdraw my promise to give her a dowry.”
“Nor do I think you should. But perhaps you could stall it for a bit? Tell them that all your finances are tied up and you won’t be able to afford a dowry for, oh, six months or so I suppose.”
“Six months?”
“It’s not a terribly long time to wait, particularly for someone as lovely as Miss Babcock.
” Rhys noticed a slight heightening of color on the man’s cheeks when he mentioned Kitty.
He looked down at the drawings, trying to focus on the work at hand.
“But it might be too long of a wait for Lord Dawson.”
“Hm…”
Though Rhys wasn’t the sort of man to test another, he couldn’t help but agree that Mr. Trench’s idea was a sound one.
But how would he do it? If he spoke to Lord Dawson alone, he would know instantly by his reaction whether or not his intentions for Kitty were true.
If Lord Dawson really wanted to marry Kitty, it wouldn’t matter, but if he reacted poorly to having to wait months before receiving Kitty’s dowry, well, it would prove that his instincts about their nuptials were right.
But Rhys knew he needed to do so out in the open, so that Lord Dawson couldn’t deny his reaction.
Then, Rhys had an idea.
“Tell me, Mr. Trench, would you care to dine with us tonight?”
Mr. Trench glanced up from his drawings and gave Rhys a single nod.
“Yes, I think I would.”
Dinner that evening was a disaster. The cook Louisa had hired, Mrs. Fulton, had grossly overstated her abilities in the kitchen.
The potatoes were overboiled, which gave the vegetable the texture of glue, while the carrots were undercooked and without seasoning.
The duck, however, was roasted to perfection, and while the ratafia cake had collapsed, the taste was exquisite.
It was a hectic and uninspired meal, but Louisa had managed to keep the conversation light and flowing.
“Lord Dawson, what do you and my sister plan to do once you return from Gretna Green?” Louisa asked when the ratafia cake was cleared from the table.
“Well, we will likely set up house in London, to be near my brothers,” he answered, smiling at Kitty, who was sat between Lord Dawson and Mr. Trench. Her fiancé reached for her hand and squeezed it. “You’ll enjoy it there, I’m sure. It’s considerably posher than where Sir Malcom lives.”
“Ah. Mayfair then?” Rhys asked.
“Yes.”
“Goodness, I didn’t think we’d be living in Mayfair,” Kitty said breathlessly. “It’s rather expensive to live in Mayfair, isn’t it?”
“Darling, don’t concern yourself with such trivial things.” He winked. “We’ll be able to live comfortably, be sure of that.”
Louisa glanced at Rhys and though her face was perfectly blank, her eyes showed her anxiety. This was it. Time to uncover the truth.
“Well,” Rhys said, leaning back in his chair. “I am glad to hear that. Kitty deserves everything she desires, according to my wife. And I’m pleased that my sister-in-law has been blessed with such a patient man.”
“Yes, well, I…” Lord Dawson started. He had brought a glass of wine to his lips but paused. “Patient? In what way?”
Rhys inhaled deeply.
“Her pin money. I’m sure Sir Malcom explained it?”
“Explained what exactly?” Lord Dawson asked, placing his glass on the table while Kitty, Louisa, and Mr. Trench stared at Rhys.
“Well, that she shan’t receive any of it for at least twelve months.”
Mr. Trench’s brow rose, since Rhys had extended his suggested time frame by six months, but Rhys was determined to push Lord Dawson.
“Twelve months?”
“Aye.”
Lord Dawson released Kitty’s hand almost immediately.
“But I, I thought…” Lord Dawson glanced between Kitty and Louisa before turning back to Rhys. “I thought you promised her a dowry?”
“Oh, I did,” he said taking a sip of wine. “And once Fenwick Park is a proper working farm, she shall have it. Of course, the estate is still about a year away from earning income. Until then, well, there just isn’t any money.”
“No money?” Lord Dawson repeated, his complexion suddenly pale and strained.
“I’m afraid not.”
“But weren’t you awarded ten thousand pounds? From the prince of Sweden?”
“Christopher,” Kitty hissed.
Although it had been widely reported in the papers that every member of the British army who had served as the personal guard for the prince of Sweden had been awarded ten thousand pounds, it was hardly polite to discuss in mixed company.
To have such a discussion, at a dining room table with ladies present no less, was considered grossly impolite.
Yet Lord Dawson was completely focused on Rhys.
“I was.”
“Then where is it?”
“You’re sitting in it,” Rhys said, looking around.
“Fenwick Park was not inexpensive to renovate. Not to mention the furnishings, the livestock we’ve had to buy, the spring oats and winter wheat, the farming equipment, the food at this very table that was needed to be purchased elsewhere and will continue to be purchased else way until at least next summer.
” He paused, noting the tension in the room, but decided to relax back in his chair. “But that’s of no issue to you, is it?”