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Rhys came down to supper that evening feeling tired. He had spent the entire morning working in the field with his farmers, as was his custom. He spoke to them daily and made sure they had everything they needed because their problems were quite literally his and his estate’s problems.
The farmers were possibly the busiest people on his estates. So to have a conversation with them, Rhys needed to work alongside them.
This was an unusual activity for a marquess. However, Rhys was not a conventional lord. People already whispered atrocious rumors behind his back. What was one more thing in the scheme of things?
Besides, Rhys loved to work outdoors. He spent every afternoon locked inside his study, crouching behind his desk and looking at numbers with his solicitors, and the morning work was a reprieve from a boring existence. It also gave his highly spirited daughter freedom to roam around the estate while supervised and his massive dog a space to race freely around the fields.
Now, as he sat at the supper table, he gloomily stared at his plate, not even looking at what was being served. His mind was too occupied with the issues around the estates that needed solving. So many things needed his attention, and he couldn’t quite pay enough attention to them all.
This was one of the reasons he had married, but would Lady Isabel aid him in his work or just stifle his progress?
“Ew!” Millie’s exclamation of disgust was what brought him back into the present. “What is this?” she asked, her face a scrunched-up grimace. Her mouth was half-open, pieces of meat falling out as she wiped at her lips and chin.
“A duck, with beans and—” Lady Isabel started, but Millie interrupted her as she shot up from her chair.
“A duck!”
Lady Isabel blinked, and Rhys covered his face with his palm for a brief moment. “Millie, dear, there will be a second course. Please, sit back down.”
“What is wrong with the duck?” Lady Isabel looked from Rhys to Millie, her gaze confused.
“Nothing, Millie doesn’t like the taste, that is all.”
Millie grumbled and sat back down, her face still a grimace of disgust.
Lady Isabel closed her eyes in defeat. “Nobody told me.”
“That’s not an issue.” Rhys turned to the footmen lining the wall. “Second course, please.”
“I should have asked,” Lady Isabel said.
“Yes, you should have,” Rhys agreed.
“No.” She finally looked at him, fire behind her eyes. “No, you should have told me. I couldn’t have known. You should have told me, or the chef… But the servants do not seem to respect me, and neither do tenants.”
Rhys stilled. “You went to the village?”
“I did.” She looked away.
“When I explicitly forbade you from doing so!”
“I don’t see how you can forbid me from doing my duty!” She poked her fork at the duck, avoiding his gaze.
“And I assume it didn’t go so well?”
“Of course not! Because you withheld things from me. The villagers were waiting for the items you promised to bring them from London, and naturally, they were upset. But none of it would have happened if you’ve been upfront with me,” Lady Isabel argued.
She wasn’t wrong, but Rhys felt like she went behind his back, betraying his trust, just like his late wife used to do, and it made him stubborn. “I am your husband, and you should obey my every word.”
“Papa.” Millie’s voice sounded on the periphery of his mind.
“You should trust me enough to do my duty! What were you afraid of? Did you think I’d manage to ruin your relationship with the tenants?”
“Papa!” Millie’s voice sounded again.
“Wait a moment, moppet,” Rhys said in an offhand manner and turned back to Lady Isabel. “Of course, I think so. Do I have any reason to believe otherwise?”
“And instead, you decided to ruin mine,” Lady Isabel countered. “Now they look at me as though I am incompetent and not only that but—”
