Page 68 of Real Earls Break the Rules

The mill was the key to keeping everything together. The anticipated profit would enable Brandon to pay off his father’s creditors and provide for those who depended on him.

And the land. It wasn’t only a matter of pride—which Brandon had too much of as it was—but a matter of responsibility to those who depended on him. He wanted to keep the estate intact for his sisters, for his grandmother, and for his future children.

“What do you want with five hundred acres in Hampshire?” Brandon asked.

“I will sell the acres piecemeal for profit.”

Like hell. The tenants would be evicted from their homes and would be forced to relocate.

“And the textile factory? What do you want with a factory?”

“I plan to run it efficiently.”

Brandon knew what that meant. The children would return to work full-time. There would be no reduced hours or safety concerns or age limitations. There would be no future school.

Brandon’s lips thinned. “I need more time.”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible,” Arnold said, shaking his head. “Your father assured me he understood the terms of our agreement. I expect you to honor it. I’ll be back in two weeks’ time with my solicitor to obtain the deed to the land and the title to the factory.”

…

“Who was that unpleasant-looking man?”

Brandon looked up from the drawing room window to find his grandmother in the doorway. She was the last person he wanted to see at the moment. He rubbed the back of his head, feeling the throb of a beginning headache. “Another one of father’s business acquaintances who crawled out of the woodwork.”

She closed the door behind her and entered the room. “From the look on your face, I assume he delivered bad news.”

A heaviness settled in the center of Brandon’s chest. She needed to learn the truth. “Father borrowed money from a moneylender. I have two weeks to come up with twenty thousand pounds or he’ll own Rosehill’s unentailed property and the textile mill.”

“Good God!”

His headache began to build in intensity. If the mill had been consistently productive over the course of the year he would have been able to pay off the loan. But the power looms never seemed to cooperate.

“You have no choice now. You had best pursue Lady Minerva like she is the most desirable courtesan to ever cross your path,” she said.

Amelia. He should have gone to Huntingdon and asked for her hand. They’d be engaged and this wouldn’t even be an option. He may lose the mill and the land, but he’d have her to comfort him—to soothe his soul and hold him at night. He’d have the benefit of her keen mind and sharp intelligence to help him rebuild what he’d lost.

The dowager straightened to her full height of five feet. “Thank heavens the solution to all our problems is under this roof. You no longer have a choice in the matter. Tomorrow night’s ball is the perfect opportunity to announce your engagement.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

The ladies had gathered in Caroline’s bedchamber to talk about the final details of the anticipated ball. Excitement hummed in the air as they discussed their gowns, shoes, jewelry, and accessories in detail.

Caroline sat beside Amelia on her four-poster. “I know you had your own ball dress in mind, but I want to show you something,” Caroline said, her eyes twinkling with excitement.

“What is it?” Amelia looked at her curiously.

Caroline went to her wardrobe and pulled out a stunning gown of sapphire silk. “The deep blue will look exquisite on you.”

Amelia gasped. She stood and touched the fine fabric. The shimmering silk felt like a waterfall between her fingers. “It’s your dress. I couldn’t possible wear it.”

“Yes, you can,” Caroline insisted. “We are close to the same size, and I believe it will fit you well. My maid is talented with a needle and can make minor alterations. I had designed several new gowns for the house party, but I can’t wear all the remaining dresses on the last night. I want you to wear it. What better way to show everyone a sample of my designs?”

Amelia felt tears spring to her eyes at Caroline’s thoughtfulness. “Thank you.”

Amelia imagined Brandon’s reaction as he spotted her in the exquisite gown at the ball. After their encounter at the picnic, he’d departed Rosehill for two days. Amelia had wondered if his departure had to do with his strange visitor the day of the picnic. The dowager had explained his absence to all the guests that the earl had unexpected business, but that he’d be back in time for the ball. Huntingdon had temporarily taken Brandon’s place, and he’d occupied the gentlemen guests with numerous sporting outings in the day and gambling and billiards in the evening.

Amelia had continued working on Brandon’s portrait in secret, and it was nearly complete. Her clandestine work, along with her stay at Rosehill, would soon be over.