“No. I want you to treat the angry part of you as you would treat me when I’m upset—listen to it.”
Cassie sat andlistened.
But the warring voices in her head had gone silent.
She sensed, however, a wide range of possibilities between either making her husband’s life grotesquely uncomfortable or silencing the parts of herself that had needs and made demands.
“But if I gave up sacrificing my happiness….?” Her eyes filled and she shook her head.
“Oh, Cassie—you don’t have to be perfect to be loved. Lord knows how far I am from perfection, and yet Adrian and I—”
“—are perfect for each other,” Cassie finished her sentence.
Eliza nodded. “Just remember, whatever happens, Millie, Lenora, Nettie, and I will be here for you. If you honor your anger, yet still give him a chance, and he continues to make you unhappy, we can go back to hating him.” She leaned forward. “I imagine there are hundreds of devious ways determined sisters can make a duke pay.”
Cassie snorted.
“We’ll bring the whole family in on the fun,” Eliza continued. “Millie can draw caricatures more distorted than any political sketches. Lenora can mimic and mock him. And Nettie… Ah, I know! Nettie can bake him a poisoned apple tart.”
“CanNettie bake now? I mean, I know she’s always wanted to learn but father forbade it, and Lady Asquith’s cook had no time or interest.”
“Well,Isaw no reason to prevent Nettie from learning something that gave her joy. And Cook’s delighted to teach. Nettie is ever so happy.”
“I’m so glad,” Cassie sighed. “As for Harbury”—she flashed Eliza asignificant look—“murder might be a bit much.”
“No hasty decisions,” Eliza replied. “Sleep on the matter first.”
Sleep she would.
Though without Harbury, she doubted sleep would come easy.
Chapter Seventeen
Harbury angled hisway through the three horseless carts in Rose Cottage’s courtyard, each of them in various stages of being filled. Sturdy men begged his pardon as they passed him, traipsing in and out of the house carrying all manner of boxes, bags, and carefully wrapped furniture.
Though he could truthfully say he hadn’t had a moment to spare in the past week, he’d been avoiding this visit, afraid of what he might feel when he saw the place emptied of memories. He needn’t have worried. Relief was the only sentiment that washed over him.
And relief was certainly a welcome change.
Eight days without Cassandra, and every one of them had added increasing weight to his shoulders. His burdens felt literal, as if he were carrying a Sisyphean rock that drained triumph of joy and robbed repose of rest. Fatigue infected every tissue straight down to his bone marrow.
So far, however, for the sake of his promise to Cassandra, he hadn’t allowed an ounce of distress to show. He’d simply soldiered on.
He had wrongs to right and an estate to set straight.
The morning after Cassandra had left, he’d begun exactly where he thought she would have wanted, by meeting with Townsend and his son. The younger Townsend proved knowledgeable, skilled, and more than eager to take on the position of steward.
Each day since, Harbury and Townsend-the-younger had gone over every lease, statement, and letter in his files. One by one, theycompared terms, output, and improvements Anderson had already paid for or promised, as well as improvements suggested but not yet attempted.
Yesterday, they had held a meeting.
The public room in Upper Harfield had been filled to the brim with anxious men. Though the meeting started out hostile, when Harbury took the floor, they listened to his plan, point by point.
Mr. Anderson was to be pensioned, Townsend’s son to take over his responsibilities. More importantly, rent due, for the remainder of this slump in prices, could be offset by the submission of any receipts for improvements made. Additionally, if there was need, rent could also be delayed from Michaelmas to Lady Day, so long as an improvement plan had been submitted and approved.
As Harbury spoke, the grumbling lessened. And, by the time he finished, the sentiments of those present had transformed from hostility to grudging regard. He was still a long way from trust, but he’d made progress.
Solid progress.
