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"You're quite a capable, intelligent man, and a good master to have, m'lord. Your sister had all those, of course, but she... well, she was a woman," James lamented.
"Does that trouble you? The thought of having a woman as a master? As the woman in charge of Berrewithe? Of the estate?" Lord Beckham challenged.
"Oh, certainly not," James murmured, the horse hooves slowing as the carriage wound through the forested lands at the edge of the Havenshire estate. "I've no trouble listening to Ms. Cauthfield with each waning day!" he laughed. "Though... it's, well... it's simply not how our world works, m'lord."
"Don't you think we ought to pontificate on changing that, James? Isn't a woman worth as much as I am? Perhaps more?"
"I... I hadn't... thought on it, m'lord," James answered slowly.
"Perhaps you should. Perhaps all of England should."
"That's quite curious talk," James said, a little surprised. "I've... I suppose I am an old man. Our ways are our ways. I would not... mind a change, but I haven't quite thought about one."
"If we had thought on one, as a society, perhaps we could change things. Perhaps Leah would not have left in disgust, on seeing this world for what it could truly be. Is it gentlemanly, James, to disregard the value women have in our society?" Lord Beckham challenged.
"I'm not... certain, m'lord. I... I suppose I leave those sorts of thoughts up to men far wiser than I," James chuckled uncomfortably. The duke decided not to press his servant any further, sitting in silence, and instead contemplating the questions on his own. Had he deserved the family fortune over his beloved sister simply because he had been born a man? Was Lady Havenshire right to be offended by a system that allowed such a thing to happen? Did he truly deserve the position he held - or had it simply been gifted to him by the circumstances of his birth?
"We're nearly here, m'lord," James announced, pulling round the front of the manor. Though not quite as impressive as Berrewithe, its wrought-iron gates and gardens impressed Marshall, who found servants waiting at the door to greet him. "I suppose I shall wait?" James asked.
"It shouldn't be long, James," Lord Beckham said, nodding as he exited the simple, wooden carriage. Approaching the door with a stern expression, Lord Beckham met with the welcoming eyes of a portly old man and a stern elderly woman, who quite reminded him of a harsher sort of Ms. Cauthfield.
"Welcome, Lord Beckham, to Emerys, and to Lord Havenshire's manor," the older woman said, nodding. "I'm Ms. Mulwray, and this is Egan. We'd be delighted to take you to the—"
"Excuse me, yes, it's a pleasure, but I'm in quite a bit of a haste," Lord Beckham insisted. A sudden urgency filled his head; he realized all at once just where he had arrived, and who lived inside. He recalled her face - beautiful, but vexed the last he had seen it. Vexed with pained thoughts and regret. He knew, in his heart, he shouldn't have come; any time he blinked, he saw only flashes of his painful day, his dashed wedding in the Delshire Moors.
"Apologies, then, Lord Beckham," the old woman said, a slight irritation in her tone. "Let me lead you to the dining room, then, where you'll find Lord Havenshire waiting to discuss a matter of some importance." The portly man bowed courteously to Lord Beckham as he passed through the doors, the wooded interior rather inviting and every surface polished to a gleam. Maidservants cluttered the furnished foyer, their eyes alight with impish curiosity as they saw the dark man pass through the entryway. The doors swung open to a cavernous dining hall, with lanterns lit low and curtains drawn across the fading daylight beaming through short, squat windows.
At the end of the table, he saw what looked like a withered husk of a man - skin pale, his body clearly ravaged with pain as he struggled to appear welcoming, with lifting his arms quite an exhausting task for the man, his hair spotty and gray.
"Lord Beckham! I've not had the pleasure of welcoming you to the manor yet," Lord Havenshire announced, before a spat of coughs interrupted his words. Lady Henrietta sat at the pained man's flank, sipping on a cup of tea, her eyelids fluttering innocently at Lord Beckham, though he could see the conspiratorial glint in her gaze. Humbly Lord Beckham bowed, crossing wordlessly through the threshold and towards the two of them.
"A pleasure indeed," Lord Beckham finally said, and only then upon coming close to Lord Havenshire did he realize just how dire the situation was for the lord. Lady Henrietta remained silent - a rarity for her - though the little smile on her face said all that she wanted to say, letting Lord Beckham know she had been the little bird whispering in Lord Havenshire's ear about the meeting between Nadia and Marshall the night before.
"A friend of mine, Lady Henrietta," Lord Beckham introduced.
"Oh, we're quite the friends, aren't we, Marshall?" Lady Henrietta beamed, clearly quite proud of having tried her hand at playing matchmaker between lords and ladies. She clearly appeared to think Lord Beckham would appreciate the gesture, just as clearly as she clearly expected he would thank her profusely for finding him a potential wife. Instead, his words remained hasty.
"Yes, I know Lady Henrietta well, and I'm quite certain I know why I've been asked to come to the estate, m'lord," Lord Beckham nodded to the older man, who smiled wide, always wearing the mask of confidence in spite of his condition. "However, I'm not certain I'm the man you're looking for, for Nadia." That statement shocked Lady Henrietta, whose expression turned at once from smug satisfaction to mild frustration.
"Oh, come now darling, you're certainly underselling yourself! Now's the time to oversell yourself," Lady Henrietta chortled. "Lord Havenshire's invited you to speak on a great many things, hasn't he?" she looked hopeful towards the lord, who himself seemed at a loss for words. He certainly wasn't used to men so blatant in their desire - or lack thereof - to court his daughter.
"Lady Henrietta," he said, his flight instincts urging him to flee, as the bitter memories of Anna flooded his every sense, "I sincerely appreciate you introducing me to Lord Havenshire, but I'm... well, my meeting last evening with Lady Havenshire was most pleasant, but—"
"Of course it was! She's a lovely girl, and you made quite an impression, didn't you? I could see the smile on her face," Lady Henrietta insisted. "Now, you've been invited here to have a pleasant conversation, and it'd be quite crass to refuse Lord Havenshire that, wouldn't it?"
"Lady Henrietta," Marshall again insisted firmly, "I have to say, you didn't quite see the full extent of Lady Havenshire and I's interaction. I'm not certain you know what happened, and for that reason I have to ask you to... kindly, keep quiet," Lord Beckham said, eliciting a shocked gasp from Lady Henrietta.
"Marshall! I've worked quite diligently to convince Lord Havenshire to invite you here," Lady Henrietta squealed. "Now, it's quite insulting of you to deny his hospitality! Lord Havenshire, I apologize, but I—"
"I've got an idea," Lord Havenshire interjected diplomatically with a faint smile. "No offense, Lady Henrietta, but I've something I really want to show Lord Beckham. Alone. How about we go out to the stables and I show you the family horses? Nadia's quite enamored with them, and I think it'd give us a chance to talk," he finished; Lord Beckham heard Lady Henrietta let out a loud humph.
"I'm... not certain, I've quite a lot to attend to at my estate, and I had hoped to make this meeting rather hasty," Lord Beckham said hesitantly. He looked at Lord Havenshire, and felt a guilt in his throat.
"It won't take long at all," Lord Havenshire insisted brightly, before another coughing fit filled his throat. "Not long at all." Lord Beckham sighed.
"Yes, perhaps we should," he finally relented.
CHAPTER EIGHT
