by Esther Hatch
“You never wanted me to run Vermillion. You told me I should sell it as soon as I inherited it.”
“Yes, but not so you could buy an estate in Dorset, of all places. It is so far away.”
“You are welcome to visit any time you like.”
“But what of the Season? I wanted you to sell Vermillion so you could focus more on your social life and marry, not run off to the far corners of the world. How are you to marry when you live in Dorset? Do you expect Mr. Harrison to visit you there?”
Sally stilled. “I do not.”
Mama’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
“Mr. Harrison and I are no longer courting.”
“Why?”
“We didn’t suit each other.”
“He is to inherit a barony. I find that very suitable.”
“I know you do, mama.” Sally reached forward and placed a hand on mama’s wrist. “And I’m sorry to disappoint you, but it is for the best.”
The muscles in mama’s forearm tightened. “I cannot understand how it could be for the best. Frankly, I’m having a hard time understanding you at all.”
It was a sentiment Sally was used to, but coming from her mother, it stung. “He wanted heirs, Mama.”
“You don’t want children?” Mama pulled her arm away, her eyes wide and her mouth clenched, making the muscles in her neck more pronounced. Sally was doing this all wrong. Surely she could have come up with a better way to break this news.
“I do want children. That is my point. He never spoke of children, Mama. He only spoke of heirs.” For a baron, that meant sons. What if she didn’t have any? Surely, her mother should understand that. She had lived with a husband wounded by this very fact his whole life. With a barony, that pressure would be double-fold. Sally would feel it, and until she did have a son, her daughters would feel it.
“He spoke of having children with you?”
Oh, no.
Mama leaned forward. “Your relationship had progressed so far that children had come up? Sally, that is enough to force an engagement. You should be taking advantage of that.”
“I just told you he is no longer courting me.”
Mama’s head went into her hands. Sally waited, giving her a chance to come to terms with all the news Sally had sprung on her.
Thank the heavens Mr. Harrison had wanted to keep their engagement a secret.
“I think you could win his affections back. He was so taken with you.” Mama stood in a frantic moment and paced behind her chair. “It wouldn’t take much. The way he looked at you at the Reacher’s ball, I was certain a proposal would come any day.”
The proposal had come that day. He had been fascinated with her, and she had loved being truly seen by someone. And, yes, even the fact that he would be a baron had been enticing. It had been easy to say yes to him. But that had started the quiet conversations about the future. It was a future that, the more they talked about, the less certain Sally felt. Every time they spoke of children he spoke only of sons and heirs. She tried to forgive him. She tried to trust that if all they had were daughters, he would love them once he saw them. But a barony wasn’t a business. It could only be passed on to sons, and there was no way around that. Still, she might have gone through with it if it weren’t for their conversation about Victoria.
Sally had assumed Victoria would live with them and together they could launch her into society.
Mr. Harrison had been shocked at the idea. You spend all your time working on Vermillion. How was I to know you wanted to live with her?
And the worst part about it was he had been right.
That had been the end of her engagement and the beginning of a shift in her focus. Vermillion was sold, and Victoria’s happiness was now her goal. Sally needed a few years to return Victoria to her happy, smiling self, and then she would make certain her sister married a man who could take over from Sally and continue to make her happy. Besides purchasing the manor, Sally had set up a very generous dowry for Victoria. When it came time for her to make her entrance into society, the problem would be keeping insincere suitors away, not finding suitors for her. Grandfather would be happy about both of her decisions.
“Mr. Harrison and I didn’t suit one another. I’ve sold the company and I’ve bought this manor so Victoria and I can spend the next few years together there, making it a home.”
Mama’s mad pacing stopped. Perhaps she finally had come to terms with the fact that her daughter would not be a baroness. “Victoria has a home.”
“She has a room full of books that she rarely leaves.”
“She likes to read.”
“But I think she may like other things as well, and in Dorset, we are going to discover what those things are.”
With a deep sigh, her mother returned to her chair. “How will she even get to Dorset? A carriage ride like that could kill her.”
“We will take the train most of the way. And she is made of much sterner stuff than you know. A carriage ride would not kill her—not even remotely.” If Mama was so concerned about Victoria being killed because she had to sit in a carriage for hours a day, she should make certain she got out and about more often.
“You never know, though; the train and the carriage could make her worse. I didn’t know…”
Mama paused, that haunted look returning to her eyes. It had been there ever since Victoria’s unsuccessful surgery. The surgery should have helped her. Instead, removing part of her bone on each of her feet had made her condition infinitely worse. Her feet had been deformed before—something the doctor had promised he could fix—but now they were stiffened and unmovable in an even worse position, permanently turned in on themselves in a way that caused terrible pain if she stood on them for more than a few moments.
“You didn’t know. You did what any mother would do.”
“Not some mothers. Some mothers chose better. Their daughters aren’t invalids. I just wanted her to be able to wear a beautiful pair of slippers.”
Sally threw her hands in the air. Everyone in the house needed to move forward and not dwell on the decision made two years ago. Victoria wasn’t going to get better, but it wasn’t as though she was getting worse, at least not physically. After Sally got Victoria settled in their new life she would send for their mother. Some time at Greenwood Manor might settle her nerves. But she wouldn’t bring her until Victoria was comfortable in her new life. She couldn't risk Mama treating Victoria as if she could do nothing.
Victoria should have been taken out of this townhome months ago. Sally had simply been too frantic about growing Vermillion fabrics to notice. Mr. Harrison had been right about that.
“Mama, you have been sadly neglected these past few years. Victoria and I will remove ourselves to Dorset, and you will be completely free again to attend all the social functions and parties that you would like.”
Her mother’s face softened as she contemplated Sally’s offer. “When will you be sending for Victoria?”
“In perhaps a week or two, so have the servants prepare her a new wardrobe—one suitable for being outside.”
“Outside?”
“Yes, Mama. Outside. It will be full summer soon, and we shall be spending much of our time out of doors.” Sally turned and left. The conversation hadn’t gone well, but she had made her points clear, and her mother had finally accepted them. Now it was time to gather the renovation supplies she would need to bring with her to Greenwood Manor. By the time she was done with it, much of it would be unrecognizable.
Chapter 3
One man’s ruin was another’s chance at redemption.
Sally ran her fingers along the stone banister leading up the stairway to the entrance of Greenwood Manor. The stairway was over fifteen feet wide but it narrowed as it reached the front balcony. On the opposite side of the balcony, a twin staircase made its way down and widened at the base. Each step was made from the finest marble she had ever seen. Despite its age and exposure to the unpredictable Dor
set weather, it still shined in the sunlight.
Sadly, one of these stairways would have to be the first thing to go.
Sally held her sketch pad and fabric swatches. There would be a lot to do in the next few days before Victoria arrived, and she looked forward to every minute of it.
The staff had assembled in a neat line just outside the front door. “Welcome, Miss Duncan.” Mrs. Hiddleson, her new housekeeper, gave her a curtsy. “Your trunks have been unpacked and your room in the west wing is ready.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Hiddleson.” Sally knew which room she was speaking of. It was a large chamber with plenty of room for wardrobes and bookshelves, both pieces of furniture she couldn't help but fill with treasures she found. She could get used to the life of a leisurely lady. Mrs. Hiddleson introduced her to the three maids.
Sally visited her room, which was still as grandiose as it had been during her tour with Lord Farnsworth’s solicitor. She walked a large portion of her wing of the house which, despite having been left empty for roughly ten years, was still in good condition.
No surprise there. A baron should keep up a home like this, even if he was too busy spending his inheritance to visit.
The east wing needed a bit more work, which was the reason she had decided to give it to Victoria. She would have a whole wing of a house for her very own, after years of being stuck almost solely in one room. Sally couldn’t wait to see her face. She hoped it would, at least in part, make up for her neglect.
Victoria had ghastly taste. She fell in love with every culture she read about and cared not a whit about current understandings of what was tasteful. Sally planned to indulge her every whim...at least in the east wing. They could always redecorate together in a few years when Victoria was an adult. Certainly by then her sensibilities would finally begin to show. But for now, Egyptian Sphinxes and Rococo vases would be mixed with Turkish rugs and English garden papers.
Victoria would not be neglected here.
After walking the inside of the home with Mrs. Hiddleson, Sally excused herself to go back to her room and change. She slid her fingers down the wall of the corridor as she strode back to her room, passing a grand drawing room situated at the back of the home. This was a room she would entertain in. The opposite side of the room was filled with windows and a door that led to a balcony overlooking the back garden. She crossed the room. What exactly did the back garden look like? She remembered a meticulously manicured rose garden, as well as hedges and a lawn. But other than that, she couldn't quite recall all there was for them to enjoy.
She unbarred the door and strode out into the crisp air, inhaling deeply. Even though they were miles from the sea, it was almost as if she could still taste it in the wind: the salty-sweet tang of water and sand without a hint of smog. The stone balcony was in sturdy condition and looked out over the lawn, then behind the lawn to the rose garden, which was only a fourth of the manicured part of the garden.
Leading off the balcony was also a long double stairway with a slow slope. One of the stairways would also need to be removed so that Victoria could visit the garden whenever she wanted to be out. Now that Sally was looking out over the grounds, she remembered the layout better. Four sections of gardens were separated equally by paths. In the center of the paths stood a circular fountain with stone seating all around it. The other parts of the garden were winter gardens, a statuary and a hedge maze. How had she forgotten that she now owned a statuary and a hedge maze? And beyond the maze and winter garden was another feature she only just recalled: a pond.
The sun glistened off the water, making her squint. Then squint again. She rubbed her eyes and leaned forward over the balustrade.
Merciful heavens, there was a man in her pond.
Blinking, she ran back into the house. “Mrs. Hiddleson!” she called. She poked her head back outside. No, she hadn’t been seeing things. He was still there. “Mrs. Hiddleson, come quickly.”
Mrs. Hiddleson had better be within hearing distance. Sally was certain that if she left the balcony, the apparition in the pond would be gone when she got back. She squinted at the sunlight reflecting off the water.
A man was swimming in her pond.
Was he even clothed?
She leaned forward and shifted to the right, removing the glare of the sun from where he was swimming. Not many men knew how to swim nor felt the need to. Who would be swimming in her pond? She employed a groom, a gardener and a footman. She still needed to hire a butler. The footman had arrived with her. He would not have made his way straight to the water to go for a dip.
Mrs. Hiddleson must not have heard her cry. And Sally didn’t dare run into the manor and find her. If it was an employee of hers, she needed to inform him of her expectations, one of which would be that he didn’t swim in her pond. How foolish would it be to inspect exactly what was going on by herself?
Foolish.
And yet, Sally didn’t like the idea of a servant feeling free to bathe in the pond at a time of day where she could stumble upon him. What about when Victoria was here? Would she come upon a similar scene?
No, she would not. Problems must be met head-on without hesitation or wavering, and the sooner, the better. She was the mistress of this estate, and even though the servants had run the place for years without the interference of the owners, some things would have to change now that she was here.
She swept down the stairs on the right side of the balcony and stomped through the gravel pathway of the garden, past the fountain, until she reached the pond. The swimmer was on the far side and there wasn’t a good path around it.
No matter. She hiked up her skirts and forged a path along the grassy banks.
When she was about twenty feet away, she stepped on a fallen branch. The man spun around with just his head above water.
His eyes met hers for a split second and then he spun back around.
She knew that face. But from where? She raised her skirts higher and quickened her pace. Which of the servants had she met? Only the footman, and this was definitely not the footman. Still, she knew the light brown hair and square jawline from somewhere.
“Pardon me,” she called out. “Who gave you permission to swim in this pond?”
He didn’t turn around to face her; instead, he ducked under the water and swam farther away.
The impudence.
She would not be treated thus. Especially not by someone in her employ. “Stop this instant.”
He didn’t.
The pond was not so large that he would be able to swim out of her sight. What in the world was he expecting to gain by swimming away? Unless he wanted to stay there all day and into the night, she would discover his identity and what would have been a small infraction would now be cause for dismissal.
The gall.
She followed along the shoreline, and although he did increase the distance between them, there was no way he could actually escape. He must have realized that fact, for at last he stopped.
She put her hands on her hips. “Turn around so I know which of my servants has ignored me so purposefully.”
“I would rather not.”
Oh, he would rather not, would he? Sally marched forward again. She passed a tree to her left and saw a pair of boots, a jacket, and a waistcoat neatly folded, resting against the trunk.
She knew that waistcoat: Asian silk and Persian buttons.
It belonged to the pugilist—the pugilist who was most definitely not a pugilist.
“Lord Farnsworth?”
His head dropped forward and a dripping arm rose out of the water. He placed his forehead in his palm, shook his head, then straightened and turned around.
“Miss Duncan.” A drop of pond water fell from a lock of hair. He wiped it and pushed his hair back, then gave her a bow...or at least the closest thing a man could approximate to a bow whilst five feet underwater. It was a bob of his head, really.
“What are you doing in my pond? The sale of this property went throu
gh last week. You can no longer be here.”
His head tipped to one side and the barest sliver of a shoulder emerged from the water. He was shrugging. “I thought you were to arrive tomorrow.”
She had arrived a day early, but how did he know that? And more importantly—why did it matter? She thought her one visit with him would be her last. The man who had been so ridiculous as to try and pass himself off as a pugilist when he was quite obviously a man of fortune was now here, swimming about on her property.
“My day of arrival is irrelevant. I now own this pond and you should not bathe in it.”
His chin lifted. “I’m not bathing in it.” She raised her eyebrows. It was a hard point to argue when she was watching him do just that. “I’m swimming in it.”
She scoffed. “I don’t see the difference.”
His head bobbed closer to her, his arms pushing him forward. “Oh, there is a very large difference. If I were bathing you would also find my breeches and shirt in that pile of clothes next to you.”
Sally cringed. Glancing once again at the pile of clothes, she was grateful to see that he was right. Her cheeks heated, but she refused to be embarrassed. He was the one swimming in her pond. She pulled her lips together, but she still let out the smallest of laughs. The whole blasted situation was ridiculous. And the baron hadn’t needed to throw being naked into the mix to make it more so.
She shook her head and relaxed her shoulders. Lord Farnsworth was no employee she needed to disparage; he was a baron and a... guest? Where was he staying? He wouldn’t think she would play hostess to him, would he? Simply because he used to own the manor? She hadn’t sold Vermillion so she could entertain a man she barely knew.
“Please, just remove yourself from my pond. We can discuss this later when you are decent.”
“Our pond,” he called out across the water. “And are you certain you would like me to come out?”
“Of course I am certain. I cannot have you swimming here in the middle of the day.”
What exactly did he mean by our pond? Did the man not understand how the sale of a property worked? Did he think he still had some rights to Greenwood Manor? Swimming in the pond was one thing, but if he tried to come into her home uninvited...
