Chapter 22 #2
“My steward has already given his recommendation.” Julian settled onto the bench beside her, close enough that the report rested between them as he unfolded it.
“He suggests delaying the repairs until spring. He believes the stone can be patched well enough to see the tenants through the worst of the cold, and the full expense postponed until the ground softens and the work can be done properly.”
“That sounds sensible enough, on its face,” she remarked.
Julian nodded. “It is the economical choice, certainly.” Something in his voice caught, and he frowned down at the page as though the figures might rearrange themselves into a more comfortable shape if he studied them long enough. “And yet I confess I am not entirely certain it is the right one.”
Louisa said nothing for a moment, only watched him.
It was under that same quiet attention that Julian had found himself saying more than he’d intended to when he’d first sought her out. He frowned slightly.
“How many cottages did you say?” she asked finally.
“Eight.”
“And the roofs in poor condition?”
“Three.”
“If you delay the repairs until spring,” she asked, “will they cost less by waiting?”
“No.” He said it slowly, working it through. “If anything, they will cost more. A winter’s frost and damp will do the stonework no favors, and Mason has already told me as much, however carefully he dressed the recommendation in the language of economy.”
Louisa reached down and brushed a fallen camellia leaf from her skirt, unhurried, and considered the matter a moment longer before she spoke again.
“Then the recommendation is not truly economical, Your Grace. It merely postpones an expense you will pay regardless, and likely pay more dearly for waiting.”
Julian looked down at the report again, at the careful figures his steward had assembled to make the delay sound prudent rather than merely convenient, and found, turning it over now in the quiet of the conservatory, that he had already reached the same conclusion before he’d left his study in search of her.
“So it would seem,” he murmured.
Louisa’s mouth curved, something knowing in it. “I suspect you knew that before you came looking for me, Your Grace.”
He blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“You had already made your decision. I have watched you work through enough of these estate matters now to recognize when you have settled something in your mind and merely wish to see whether the rest of the world agrees with you before you commit to it.” She glanced sideways at him, amusement warming her expression.
“You did not come seeking my counsel on the cottages, Your Grace. You came seeking confirmation of counsel you had already given yourself.”
Julian sat very still for a moment, the report loose in his hands, because she was entirely and uncomfortably correct.
Dominic’s voice returned to him, which he had dismissed too quickly the first time he’d heard it. “Why does every decision you make now begin with the words, what would Louisa think?”
He had not noticed himself doing it, not properly, not until this moment, sitting beside her with a decision already settled in his mind and yet somehow still incomplete without her having heard it first.
“I shall write to Mason this evening,” he said, refolding the report. “The repairs will begin before the week is out, whatever the additional cost.”
“I thought you might decide as much.” She said it so plainly, so entirely without ceremony, that it coaxed the smallest smile from him.
“Thank you.”
“Whatever for?”
“For agreeing with me.”
Louisa laughed, low and surprised, the sound settling warm into the conservatory’s quiet air, mingling with the faint, sweet scent of the camellias still clinging to the stone around them.
“I hardly think that deserves gratitude, Your Grace. I merely pointed out figures you had already added up yourself.”
“No,” Julian said, quieter now, watching her, a tight feeling in his chest that he had spent weeks carefully refusing to acknowledge settling further into place despite every effort he’d made to hold it at bay. “It does.”
Because she is right.
Louisa gathered her shears and the small basket of trimmed blooms, and rose from the bench. Eleanor stirred faintly in her basket at the movement, one small fist working free of her blanket before settling again into sleep.
“The Winterbourne ball is next Thursday, is it not?” Louisa asked, smoothing her skirts. “Mrs. Whitfield mentioned this morning that she has already begun pressing my green silk gown in anticipation, though I confess I had entirely forgotten the date until she reminded me of it.”
“Thursday, yes.” Julian rose as well, tucking the folded report beneath his arm. “The whole county will be there, Winterbourne says. He has been promising a proper ball since the spring, and I gather he means to make good on it with more ceremony than the occasion strictly requires.”
“You do not sound particularly enthused by the prospect.”
“I am not a man who cares much for large gatherings.” He said it plainly and believed it entirely, and yet he felt anticipation rise in his chest at the prospect regardless. “Though I confess this year I find myself less reluctant than usual.”
“Is that so?” Louisa glanced at him, something curious in her expression, though she did not press further, only set down her basket of flowers for a maid to carry in later and gathered Eleanor’s basket carefully into her arms. “I shall have to see what accounts for so remarkable a change, then, come Thursday.”
“Perhaps you shall,” Julian said, and watched her go, the warmth of the afternoon light following her out the door.
Alone now among the camellias, he found he could not convince himself that his anticipation for Thursday had anything to do with Lord Winterbourne’s ballroom and nothing to do with the woman who had just left.