The drainage ditches flowed clear, and inside my body, a quiet, steady fluttering confirmed that the future of Harwood Hall was secured. I was reviewing the ledger for the spring seed purchase, when Mrs. Gable appeared in the doorway of the estate office. Her normally rigid posture was agitated. Your grace," she said, ringing her hands in her black apron. "A carriage has arrived in the courtyard from London."
I frowned, setting my pen down. We expected no one. The solicitor was not due until autumn. Who is it, Mrs. Gable? He says his name is Mr. Henry Pendleton.
Your grace, he is demanding to see you. The name hit the room like a foul odor. Henry, the man who had traded me for a clean ledger. Where is his grace? I asked, keeping my voice perfectly flat.
At the stables, Mom. With the new foss. Leave him there. Do not disturb him. I stood up smoothing the skirt of my dark green day dress.
I felt a cold, hard knot of fury tightening in my chest. Put Mr. Pendleton in the main drawing room. Do not offer him tea. I took my time walking through the corridors. I let my heels click sharply against the newly polished wooden floors.
The house smelled of lavender and wood smoke now, a testament to the life we had clawed back from the rot. I pushed open the double doors of the drawing room. Henry stood by the window looking exactly as he had 8 months ago. Perfectly tailored blue coat, immaculate crevat, hair styled to look effortlessly windswept. But his eyes were nervous, darting around the room, taking in the restored tapestries, the gleaming silver, the roaring fire.
He turned as I entered, a practiced smile stretching across his weak face. Cecilia. My God, look at you. I did not cross the room. I stood by the door, my hands folded calmly over my stomach.
Mr. Pendleton. You have strayed quite far from your club in St. James. What do you want? His smile faltered. He clearly expected a different reception.
Tears perhaps, or at least a lingering bitterness he could manipulate. I came to check on you, of course. The rumors in London are dreadful. They say Harwood has lost his mind entirely, that he's locking you in a dungeon while he squanders the last of his fortune on mud and sheep. The rumors in London are clearly generated by men with too much time and too little consequence, I replied coldly.
Henry took a step forward, lowering his voice into a tone of conspiratorial intimacy. Cecilia, I know I handled things poorly, but I am back on my feet. A fantastic investment in the Indies. I have the funds to buy back the marriage contract. I can take you away from this miserable place from him.