Harbury shifted in his seat, all too aware of his ever-present, frustrated desire.
He shook his head and refocused on the task he’d set himself—going over the income and rents generated specifically by the Townsend farm.
So far, he’d discovered Towsend was the second largest tenant, and his family had been working the land for several generations. On paper, things appeared balanced. The farm’s income, though down considerably from prior years, more than covered the recorded expenses. Still, he hoped his visit would shade in areas of understanding that mere numbers left devoid of life and breath.
Did Townsend consider his treatment fair and reasonable? Had there been any recent issues left unattended? Had unkept promises been made? In other words, did Anderson continue to be a reliable intermediary?
Harbury would have to find some way to answer the latter question without directly asking.
Although he’d received a second anonymous letter this morning, he still felt duty-bound to give Anderson the benefit of the doubt. Not only had an Anderson family member been stewarding the estate since his great-grandfather’s time, but the man himself had always treated Harbury with civility, even when Harbury had given Anderson very good reason to be angry.
But cracks had appeared in Harbury’s trust. The other morning, Anderson had seemed reluctant to leave the books with him. Not a major slight, but an odd one. How much concern the slight should cause wasn’t clear. That morning, Harbury had been tired and vexed,both by the letter’s allegations as well as the vivid memory of his father’s censure.
Harbury wanted to believe his father had been wrong.
He wanted to believe he’d a good head for business and a solid understanding of human nature. He’d need both to successfully navigate these harder times, and to resolve the questions precipitated by the letters without increasing discontent or creating loyalty factions.
Marsden entered the room through a servants’ door. “The duchess is ready to depart.”
“Please let her know I will meet her at the bottom of the stairs in the hall.”
“Shall I call for the carriage?”
Harbury considered. “I think not. I think it best to avoid ostentation.”
“Very good.” Marsden nodded.
“Have a stable hand ready Trusty and…” After mentioning the horse, his voice trailed as a sudden awareness prickled beneath his skin.
“The cart?” Marsden supplied, sending him a significant glance.
Harbury nodded grimly. “The cart.”
Yes, he’d been about to call the damned thingViv’scart.
Not because of any fondness, but because his father had the conveyance built so that Vivianne and Sarah could travel around the grounds on their own. At present, the cart was mostly used by servants for errands, but the name had stuck.
Memory snares of Vivianne littered Harbury Hall…more than he’d ever consciously noticed before Cassandra had arrived. Something of Viv lurked in every room, every outbuilding, every oft-visited site.
Had those memories influenced how long he’d held onto the hope she would eventually return to him?
Looking back, he’d had no rational reason for staying true toVivianne other than longstanding infatuation—one that predated his ability to reason.
His stubborn infatuation had begun when he’d first became aware of the fairer sex.
Ten years his senior, Viv had never noticed him as a man until he’d become one in her eyes the summer before he’d entered Cambridge. However, as Sarah’s governess, she had been present—and fascinating to him—for as long as he could remember.
Slowly, he made his way to the hall to await his wife.
Viv was his past, but Cassandra was his present and future. She was unlinked to an untested version of himself he was coming to despise.
Before his marriage, he’d been occasionally reckless and well on his way to becoming permanently morose. Now, he was a husband, a responsible landowner, and God willing, a future father. The more time he spent with Cassandra, the more rooted in those values he became.
Moreover, he liked that she’d reoriented him.
He liked the man he was becoming.
Cassandra appeared at the top of the stairs. Again, she took his breath away. The sight of his wife was as cleansing as a breeze on a spring morning.
