“I am in no need of your explanations,” she responded, her voice shaky.
“Please, I don’t want to be enemies. When I wrote to my barrister regarding the sale of items within the abbey, I didn’t know Mr. Beaumont. Nor was I aware that he held sway with the Dilettanti. He was simply a buyer, interested in the abbey’s collection of art. If there is anything I can do to assist you...”
To prove to you...
“I haven’t forgotten my promise to send men to guard the site,” I added, trying to convey how seriously I took her work. “Mr. Hinsley and Mr. Dixon come every night, and I’ll make sure they stay until you’re finished. I want to see this through.”
Her eyes flicked up to meet mine, and for a moment, something softened in her gaze.
“Thank you,” she whispered, almost too quietly to hear.
Before I could say more, Mr. Perry approached us warily. “Lord Hawthorn.”
Bridget thrust out the letter and the map. The lines about his eyes and mouth relaxed as he studied both documents.
“Thank God. You will not take my land then?”
“No,” I answered. “My steward erred, and for that, I apologize. I sent several letters to the magistrate in previous weeks, but it appears he only received my most recent missive.”
“Father visited Chichester, hoping to clear up the boundary dispute, but the magistrate was still away in Bath. Despite his best efforts, no clear resolution had come yet. Now the magistrate saidhe never received your letters. I assumed you had not sent them,” Bridget said.
“I assure you I sent several,” I replied. “I can’t help but assume someone tampered with the mail, but I don’t know whom or why.”
Squinting against the bright sunlight, Mr. Perry slid the precious documents into the safe confines of his jacket pocket.
“Interesting timing to receive this document now. I’ve had two offers for this farm—one from you a while back, Lord Hawthorn, and now another from that fancy Mr. Beaumont over there.”
I crossed my arms. “I assure you I wanted the magistrate to clear the border situation immediately.”
Bridget visibly shivered. “It would appear that someone wants to meddle with you and Mr. Perry.”
I smiled tightly. “One way or another, the truth will get out.”
Bridget frowned. “And you, my lord, are you still interested in purchasing Mr. Perry’s farm?”
I was keenly aware of her attention. “No. I, too, have received an offer of rent from Beaumont, although not for the entire estate, only the area surrounding the orchard.”
Mr. Perry stroked his chin. “Farming is a brutal business, and as tricky as gambling. You pay your expenses up front and never know if you’ll see a return for your sweat and blood, but it’s the only life I’ve known. Without Miss Littleton’s plan, I would have been forced to sell. Owning one’s land brings a sense of freedom to a man. No one can tell him what to do or where to go. Do not be so quick to release your land, sir.”
“I will do everything in my power to keep it. Miss Littleton has given you quite a gift. Perhaps you should open a tourist center,” I told him.
“Aye, a fine plan and one that Mr. Harrington also suggestedprivately to me. He thinks I can do it in under a year. If nothing else gets taken in the meantime.” Mr. Perry’s expression darkened.
“Lord Hawthorn, why don’t you consider a tourist center? Chances are that an enterprising gent such as yourself might open a similar attraction. A man needs all the income he can get. Bring in the shillings this way until you can offer cider when those orchards regrow.”
“I agree,” Bridget said with a husky voice, but it was enough to send a frisson of lightning rippling through my veins. “Why not combine what you can, gentlemen? With the mosaics stretching across both Perry’s field and your orchard, it’s likely the sites are connected. If someone works against us, are we not stronger united?”
The mention of a shared villa between the two locations sparked my imagination. I could almost picture Bridget wandering through the grounds with her art brushes and satchel—every bit as much a part of the estate as its ancient walls. Yes, she was the vicar’s daughter, beneath my station in the eyes of some.
I had followed the rules all my life. Why couldn’t I break them in this one instance?
Just as quickly, a swift rebuttal flared to life. I would act the fool and jeopardize the fragile bond between us. But I couldn’t deny I wanted her respect.
The sound of arguing reached us from the far edge of the excavation site, near the boundary of Perry’s field, next to the Medusa pool. Mr. Beaumont’s voice cut through the air. I exchanged a glance with Bridget, her lips tightening in silent frustration. Without a word, I strode across the dirt toward the men, dust rising from my boots.
As I neared, Mr. Barron and Abigail hurried toward the group, their faces painted with surprise and curiosity, clearly drawn by the raised voices. Mr. Barron slowed, hanging back just enoughto observe but not interfere, his eyes darting between Beaumont, Harrington, and me.
“You cannot be serious, Harrington.” Mr. Beaumont’s voice carried loudly.
