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"He cares so much for you, for us - for the estate, m'lady," Ms. Mulwray said in her stern manner. "He's done more than you can know. Don't let him suffer with—"
"It's quite alright, Ms. Mulwray," her father spoke up, startling the two women. "My daughter is just... willful, is she not?" he smiled drowsily, barely able to open his eyes. He took Nadia's hand; she squeezed his.
"She's very much that," Ms. Mulwray said, her eyes still searing as she watched the two of them. "Do you need anything, m'lord?"
"No, Ms. Mulwray, thank you, just leave my daughter and I for a moment," he implored. With venom in her glare she briefly and sternly regarded Nadia before spinning wordlessly and leaving the bedroom.
"Sometimes I fear Ms. Mulwray has it in for me," Nadia joked.
"Oh, come now, you know she hasn't, she's simply protective of me, the old woman," Lord Havenshire laughed. "Very protective of the estate. She doesn't like willful women. Thinks they ought to be in their proper place. Not the sort of thing you'd ever agree with," he laughed a croaking, hoarse and painful laugh.
"Certainly not, no," Nadia smiled.
"I... I only ever wanted to help you, Nadia, and I hope you realize that," the crestfallen lord confided. "I know how you feel, about men, about life here, but... I really think Lord Beckham is different, than the others. I think you might... actually come to love him." Her heart clashed with itself; she wanted to listen to her father, but the subject of that man burned with so much confusion inside of her.
"What... did he say? About me, about women?" she couldn't stave off that curiosity any longer, and it nagged at her. He had taken advantage of this system that favored him - what could he possibly know about the struggles of woman simply seeking to be equal?
"He'll be able to tell you himself, what he thinks of women, next week," Lord Havenshire said. "I've accepted, on your behalf, an invitation to his manor for a nice dinner, between just the two of you."
"You what?" Nadia asked incredulously, her hesitation boiling over in to mild anger. "Father, I never agreed to such a thing. He may be what you say he is, even, but I don't..."
"Just give him a chance, won't you? You might be surprised. He's not the arrogant, greedy animal you might think he is," Lord Havenshire implored.
"Father, I... I want my freedom. Any man, in this system, is going to want to control me - don't you understand that? No man, no matter how good his heart, is going to work against the way this society favors him," Nadia insisted.
"You take such a dim view of the world, for so beautiful and capable a woman, Nadia," Lord Havenshire said. "Listen to him... you might be surprised."
She doubted she would.
"For your sake, father," she grudgingly admitted. "For your sake."
CHAPTER TEN
Her father had begged her to listen; to keep her mind open. After another week of thought and struggle, Nadia had already made up her mind.
Women aren't supposed to ride; that's what the stablekeeper had told her. Ms. Mulwray had had her own brand of looking down her nose at Nadia, constantly lording over the poor girl and chastising her for disobeying her ailing father, or sometimes for showing any sort of thought or initiative whatsoever. She'd had a whole week to deal with the same sorts of issues she'd dealt with her whole life - the preconceptions and the greed she dealt with as a prisoner of her own womanhood - that by the time Egan had hitched up the horses and readied the carriage to carry her across the moors and through the forests and to Lord Beckham's doorway, she had already decided precisely how she planned to deal with the dinner her father had arranged with the mysterious man.
She had no interest in him - no interest in any man who would continue to benefit from the warped power structure that the aristocracy placed on the burdened shoulders of the workers and the women like her. She'd sit; she'd be perfectly personable. She'd say as little as she needed to, eat as little as she needed to; she'd keep her integrity, and she'd leave. That'd be the end of it, she decided; and her father, as much as she loved him, would have to deal with it.
"You're going to try to have at least a bit of fun, right, m'lady?" Egan implored, interrupting the jaunty tune he had been whistling the entire ride from the gates of Emerys to the rocky roadways leading in to Lord Beckham's estate in Berrewithe. Lady Havenshire remained obstinate, responding in as few words as she could.
"Perhaps, Egan," she lied; she knew precisely what she planned to do, and none of it involved 'fun'. Living a week, a few weeks; any weeks, really, as a woman with a will of her own would never be fun. It had been fun carousing in Canada, and India, and even in the United States; it had been fun, being her own, free person, without the burdens of warped expectations on her shoulders. Now, she knew she'd have no fun again, unless a man decided for he she was allowed to have it.
"That didn't sound very confident," Egan's endless insight provided. "You'll at least give the food a good try, right? I'm curious how the house staff's cooking measures up to Ms. Ranold's usual dinners."
"I preferr
ed your whistling, Egan," Lady Havenshire responded, nonplussed.
"If I recall quite rightly, m'lady, one of the last trips of ours evolved into a rather pointed conversation of how you couldn't stand my whistling very much," Egan quipped. "Am I to take it as a compliment that you're pleased to hear my tunes again, m'lady?" he asked facetiously.
"Take it how you like, Egan," she sniped, and quite obnoxiously, Egan began to whistle again. Like an angry child Lady Havenshire simply bore it, too proud to object. The carriage began to hit rather rough patches of terrain, the horses whinnying and the wagon-wheels creaking; she found herself tilted back against the bench, carried slowly up the side of a rather steep hill, as deep clouds broke to reveal a simmering orange sunset on the horizon. She peeked from inside the vehicle to see the estate of Lord Beckham - its appearance, the sun behind it cresting down through cottony gray-black clouds, taking the girl's breath away.
"Quite a place," Egan said in surprise, stopping even the whistle of his sarcastic tune, simply beholding the manor. "I'm not certain where you may have met this man, m'lady, but her certainly seems prepared to entertain."
"Yes," Lady Havenshire said, turning away and ignoring her own surprise at the manor. He was still just a man, and she wouldn't ignore or forget or be charmed out of making the point she had come here to make today. She crossed her arms, looking instead at the sweeping, rocky hills dotting the estate, a landscape nearly as stormy as the man she remembered from that night - his expression entrancing, but mysterious; concealing beneath someone charming and funny, but clearly troubled. She couldn't dispel all those curious thoughts she had of him, no matter how hard she tried, so she instead ignored them as best she could and tried to maintain her focus on her mission.
"You know, he may not be the greedy scoundrel you think he is, m'lady," Egan whispered conspiratorially.
