For the first time in nearly an hour, he looked directly at her.
“It suited the purpose,” he said. “I prefer solutions that do not require repetition.”
She let the reply rest between them for a breath.
“And the tenants?” she asked. “How did they receive the change?”
Gabriel gave a sad shrug.
“They were wary,” he said. “Many still are. Experience has taught them to expect disappointment. But this year, the yield was twice what it had been. The youngest Darley no longer wakes with a cough each night.”
Something in his manner arrested her attention.
“You know their children by name?” she asked.
He nodded.
“I kept account of every child born on the estate these two years past,” he said. “The illness spread quickly when the ground lay soaked. I kept watch over the cottages that remained dry through the storms.”
Genevieve studied him. It would have been easy to judge him as remote; he possessed the bearing for it. But what she heard beneath the measured cadence of his words was not coldness. It was pragmatic, to be sure, but there was also an air of caring and compassion.
She turned back toward the glass. A newly ploughed field came into view, the furrows dark and clean.
“You arranged for that improvement as well?” she asked.
He nodded again.
“Stone-lined channels were buried beneath the topsoil,” he said. “It required no small sum, but it had to be done.”
Genevieve concealed her surprise by nodding with approval. It was clear that her new husband was a practical man, even if it meant spending more of his fortune than he saved.
“You risked the estate’s accounts for it,” she said.
Gabriel shrugged once more.
“The accounts had long been in disorder,” he said. “My father neglected them for years. My efforts, these last seasons, have been bent upon recovering whatsoever could possibly be salvaged. Small risks now may protect against greater losses in the future.”
Genevieve nodded, her expression softening into understanding.
“I cannot imagine what a strain that must have been on you,” she said gently. “Do you use crop rotation?”
He turned to her, his brow lifting in quiet surprise.
“We do,” he said. “Legumes are followed by barley on the lower fields, and wheat gives way to potatoes.”
She met his eyes once more.
“A wise method,” she said. “It preserves the soil’s strength.”
Gabriel nodded, his eyes brightening
“Yes. Just so,” he said, something close to interest appearing in his expression. “You have knowledge of such matters?”
She nodded, suddenly feeling shy. What if he ridiculed her for her education and interests in botany, as all other men had? He had already joined her in matrimony, but it would surely push him further away from her if he disapproved.
“My uncle once permitted me to examine his steward’s ledgers,” she said softly. “I read them when confined indoors one winter. I found it fascinating how much more the land could yield through a careful method rather than brute strength.”
Gabriel regarded her as if seeing her through a new lens.
