Her eyes widened. “A Christmas tree?”
He nodded. “Mr. McTavish says we have some very nice evergreens just west of the cottages, and you must come along to help me choose the very best one.”
She pushed up to a half-sitting position. “Can we go today?” Her eyes brightened, but her voice still sounded strained.
William and Miss Foster exchanged a smile. “It’s a bit too rainy today, but we’ll go cut our Christmas tree very soon.” He gently touched her shoulder. “Now lie down and rest. And you must listen to the doctor and Miss Foster and do everything they say so you can get well.”
“I will, Papa. I promise.”
“Did you say we’re going to cut a Christmas tree?” Andrew called from his bed.
William turned. “Yes. Would you like to come along?”
“You know I would!” The boy’s face lit up. “I’m sure we’ll find a grand tree. And it will be much better than any we had in London.”
William’s hands fell to his sides. Their Christmas celebrations had been subdued the last two years since his wife’s death. For the children’s sake he must do better this year, and he would. “Do you think we should put the tree in the drawing room or the great hall?”
“The great hall,” Andrew called, rising to his knees. “Then it can be very tall, and we’ll see it every morning when we come down for Scripture reading and prayer.”
“Oh yes, Papa, the great hall,” Millie added.
The doctor patted Andrew on the shoulder. “There now, settle down, my boy. You don’t want to strain your voice.”
Andrew huffed and flopped back on the bed. “I’m feeling much better. I’m not sick anymore, not at all.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” The doctor slipped his stethoscope around his neck.
“When may I get up?” Andrew plucked at his covers. “I’m very tired of staying in bed.”
“Soon.” The doctor turned and addressed Miss Foster. “After twenty-four hours with no fever, he may get up for a short time. But he must take it slowly and not overtire himself.”
Miss Foster nodded. “Very good, doctor. I’ll see to it.”
“And now let me see how this young lady is doing.” He smiled at Millie as he approached.
William stepped back and motioned Miss Foster to join him by the door. He pulled his watch from his vest pocket and checked the time. “I need to go down. The art dealer from London is here, and he should be done with his appraisals soon.”
He glanced at the children. “I’d like to hear the doctor’s report about Millie.”
“I’ll come and find you after he’s finished.”
William nodded. “Thank you. I’d appreciate it.”
“Of course, sir.” A sweet smile lifted the corners of her mouth. “I’m glad to do whatever I can to ease your concern.” She had obviously put their disagreement at her parents’ cottage behind her and was ready to renew their friendship.
He returned her smile, knowing he should go, but he hesitated. Their gazes met and held, and a powerful sense of connection passed between them.
Just as quickly, a warning sped through his mind. He must not let his emotions overrule his good sense. He was grateful for Miss Foster’s kindness and care toward the children. That was all. It couldn’t be anything more. Emotions and feelings were not reliable, and he would not let them take the lead.
William drummed his fingers on his desk as he watched raindrops drizzle down the windowpane. He stretched and groaned. What he needed was a good hike across the fields, but rainy weather and concern for the children had kept him indoors for almost a week.
Lawrence stepped into the library. “Excuse me, sir. Mr. Henshaw has finished. Would you like me to show him in?”
William stood. The man might want to ask him about some of the paintings. “No. I’ll come out.”
Lawrence nodded. “Very good, sir. He wants to take the five o’clock train back to London. Shall I order the carriage?”
“Yes, have Gates bring it round and take him to the station when we’ve finished.” William strode out of the library and met the art dealer in the great hall. “Mr. Henshaw, thank you for coming. I hope you were able to collect all the information you need for the appraisals.”
Mr. Henshaw nodded. “Yes sir. Your man, Lawrence, has been most helpful.” He glanced around the great hall. “You have a beautiful home and some very fine paintings.”
“Thank you. I’m anxious to hear your estimation of their value.”
Mr. Henshaw lifted dark eyebrows, surprise reflected in his eyes. “I want to give you an accurate appraisal, and that means I must do my research for comparable pieces and recent sales. I’m afraid it will take me a few weeks to find that information and write up my report.”
“A few weeks?” Now it was William’s turn to be surprised.
“Yes, and with the Christmas holiday coming, I don’t believe I will be able to send it to you until well after New Year’s.”
William’s shoulders tensed. “Mr. Henshaw, let me be frank. I am facing a deadline on the first of March to pay the death duties that were incurred when I inherited Highland. I need to know if the sale of these paintings is going to bring in sufficient funds.”
“I see.” Mr. Henshaw stroked his beard. “I’ll do all I can to hurry the process along, but it takes time to make accurate appraisals. Then we must make arrangements to bring representative pieces to our gallery in London and put those on display. We also have to add your paintings to our catalog and be sure the information is published and distributed to prospective buyers. It’s not a quick and easy process, not at all.”
“I understand it won’t happen tomorrow or next week, but with that deadline approaching, I need to know when I might expect to receive the proceeds of the sales.”
“Well, it’s hard to say. Most people who are redecorating or moving to new residences in London will do so in late winter or early spring so they can be ready to entertain guests during the season. But there are some”—he wrinkled his nose slightly—“Americans, for instance, who purchase artwork year round.”
William lifted his brows. “Americans?”
“Yes sir, Americans and the nouveau riche—those who’ve made their money from industry, newspapers, or transportation rather than receiving it as an inheritance. They are the most likely buyers for these types of paintings.”
William grimaced. “Yes, I suppose they have the money.”
“Yes sir. And they like to line their walls with classic paintings by prominent artists to give the impression they have lived in their home for generations. But if you ask me, they fool no one but themselves.”
“So you think our paintings might be purchased by someone like that?”
“Perhaps. But the process could also take months. There’s really no way of knowing.” He shifted slightly away from William. “I’m sorry. But I can’t guarantee you will have the funds by the first of March.”
“I see. So there’s no way to know the amount we will receive or when we will receive it?”
“I can give you the appraisals soon after New Year’s, but then we have to wait and see what sells.”
“I don’t suppose you would be interested in purchasing the paintings outright?”
“Oh, no sir. That’s not how it’s done. We act as your agent and representative, taking a commission only from the pieces that are sold.”
William narrowed his eyes. “And just how much is your commission?”
Mr. Henshaw hesitated, his face coloring slightly. “Our commission is twenty-five percent for pieces up to fifty thousand pounds.”
A shockwave jolted William. “Twenty-five percent?”
“Of course, the percentage decreases for those that sell for more than that.”
He glared at Henshaw. “A quarter of the value goes to you simply for connecting me with a buyer?”
Mr. Henshaw straightened. “We do much more than that, sir. As I said, we represent you and make sure you
receive the highest price possible from each sale.”
“Minus your commission.”
Mr. Henshaw cleared his throat and lowered his gaze. “Yes sir. Minus our commission.”
William blew out a deep breath. What did he expect? The man knew the market and had a decent reputation. William swallowed his irritation and nodded to Mr. Henshaw. “Very well. I understand. I’ll look forward to receiving the appraisals and finalizing our agreement after the New Year’s holiday.”
“Thank you, sir.” Mr. Henshaw smiled. “I promise we’ll do our very best for you.”
“I hope so, Mr. Henshaw.”
The art dealer placed his hat on his head and reached out to shake William’s hand. “A pleasure doing business with you, sir. A pleasure, indeed.”
Sir William’s voice rose from the great hall as Julia crossed the open gallery. Even though his words were polite, she could hear the tension in his voice. She frowned and glanced over the railing.
He stood below, conversing with a gentleman she assumed was the art dealer. As she descended the main staircase, he bid the man good day and Mr. Lawrence ushered him out the front door.
William looked up and met her gaze, his expression sober. “Miss Foster.”
“You asked me to bring you the doctor’s report about Millie.”
“Yes.” He motioned her to continue.
“Her fever has broken, and the rash is fading. He is pleased with her progress and says she is over the worst of her illness. He’ll come again tomorrow afternoon to check on her.”
“Very good.” But the news did not bring him the relief she had expected.
“Is everything all right, sir?”
He glanced toward the door, his frown deepening. “No, I’m afraid it is not.” He motioned toward the library. “There’s something I want to discuss with you.”
“Of course, sir.” She followed him across the hall and into the library. She waited for him to offer her a chair, but he did not.
Instead, he paced to the fireplace, his back to her. “The art dealer has informed me it may take several months to see any income from the sale of the paintings.” He turned and noticed she was still standing. “Please, be seated.”
She took a chair and clasped her hands in her lap. “I’m sorry. I know you had hoped that would provide the funds you need.”
“Yes. But stripping the house of these family treasures is becoming less appealing the more I consider it, especially knowing the hefty commission he wants to charge.”
“How much is his commission?”
“Twenty-five percent.” He released a disgusted huff.
Julia had no way of knowing if that was a fair commission or not, but Sir William certainly didn’t seem to think so. “Is there some way you might sell the paintings without his help?”
He glared into the fireplace. “I doubt it. They’ve probably got a lock on the system.” Clasping his hands behind his back, he crossed the room and stared out the windows toward the gray sky. “I must find some other way to raise those funds.”
“I had hoped our efforts to economize would help.”
His tense posture eased as he turned toward her again. “Your efforts are saving us a great deal of money, and I’m grateful. More important, they’ve allowed my sister to gain confidence and experience in running the house.” Suddenly, his expression darkened again. “Although that has not led her in the direction I had hoped.”
Julia looked down and pressed her lips together. She did not wish their conversation to become an argument.
He cleared his throat. “I know you don’t agree with me on the matter of my sister and Mr. Dalton.”
Julia opened her mouth, then thought better of it.
“I’ll resolve matters with my sister in time. Right now we must find a way to raise the funds we need.” He rested his hands on the back of the chair across from her. “And I hope discussing it with you will help me find a solution.”
A pleasing warmth spread through her. Did he truly value her input even though they often clashed and came to opposing conclusions? Perhaps her mother was right, and the Lord had sent her to Highland to offer Sir William her encouragement and support through these difficult times. “I am happy to help you any way I can.”
He studied her for a moment, his expression easing. “You are quite the mystery, Miss Foster.”
“A mystery, sir? I don’t understand.”
“You have no experience running a large estate, but I find great comfort talking to you about these matters.”
Her heartbeat quickened, and she looked into his eyes, trying to read the message behind his words, but he shifted his gaze away before she could decipher it. “I’m … I’m glad to hear it.”
He sat in the chair opposite her, apparently unaware of her reaction. “An idea, Miss Foster. We must come up with a new idea.”
She nodded, pushed down her emotions, and turned her thoughts into a prayer. A few moments later an idea formed in her mind. “Is there something else you might sell more quickly than the paintings? Rare books or jewels perhaps?”
“Sarah has a little jewelry, but it was given to her by our mother and grandmother. I wouldn’t want to take it from her.”
“No, of course not.”
He glanced toward his bookshelves. “My late cousin was not a great reader. I’m afraid most of these are common books, and the same is true of our library in London, no first editions or books of special significance.”
Julia nodded. “Do you have any other savings or investments that could be liquidated?”
“I sold my interest in our family business to my brother David before we left London. Most of those funds have already been used to make repairs here. The only other investment I have is our family home in London.”
Julia straightened. “Why not sell the house and use the proceeds to pay the death duties?”
“I would have to convince my brother. He and I are co-owners.”
“Does he live there?”
“No, he has his own residence across town.”
“Do you think he would be open to selling?”
William frowned. “I doubt it. The house has been in our family since the 1840s. We’re all quite attached to it, especially Sarah. David holds parties there a few times a year, and Sarah and I planned to stay there with the family when we go to town.”
“Perhaps your brother would like to buy your half and have full ownership. Then the house would stay in the family, and you might still be able to use it on your visits to London.”
William’s expression eased. “That’s a possibility. If the business is still going well, David might have the funds to buy me out.”
Julia smiled, her heart lifting. “Sarah told me he is coming for a visit soon.”
“He arrives on the twenty-first and plans to stay through New Year’s Day.” William rubbed his chin. “Yes, full ownership of our family home would appeal to David. He likes to feel he is in control.”
“A financial agreement within the family could certainly be handled more quickly than the sale of the paintings.”
“Yes, I believe you’re right.” He looked at her and smiled. “You see. I knew if we talked this through we’d come up with a solution. And I think this one just might work.”
“I hope so, sir.” Gratitude flooded her heart, and she thanked the Lord. If William’s brother would agree to the plan, Highland would be saved, and everything would continue as it had.
But was that what she wanted: to continue on as governess? Or did she long for something more? And what about her dream of returning to India and serving the Lord there? For some reason, that dream didn’t seem to shine as brightly as it had when she’d first come to Highland.
Was that because a new dream was forming in her heart, a dream that included the man who sat across from her?
EIGHTEEN
Reverend Langford’s wise and caring gaze rested on the congregation as he lifted his hand for the benediction. “The
Lord bless thee, and keep thee: The LORD make his face shine upon thee, and be gracious unto thee: The LORD lift up his countenance upon thee, and give thee peace. Amen.”
Sarah rose from the pew, her queasy stomach fluttering as she turned and scanned the last two rows on the opposite side of St. John’s Church. Several members of the Highland staff stood and prepared to leave, but she didn’t see Clark Dalton among them.
She clasped Julia’s arm as they stepped into the center aisle and walked toward the back of the sanctuary. William, Katherine, and Penelope followed. Sarah leaned closer to Julia and whispered, “Do you see Mr. Dalton anywhere?”
Julia glanced to the left. “He was sitting with the other members of the staff when we came in at the beginning of the service.”
“Yes, but he’s gone now.” She searched across the sea of parishioners filing out the rear door, and her hopes fell. “I thought I might at least be able to see him and say hello.”
“I’m not sure that’s wise unless you’ve worked things out with Sir William.” Julia sent her a questioning glance.
“Not yet.” Sarah bit her lip and looked down, guilt squeezing her heart.
What must Clark think of her? It had been nine days since William had discovered them together. She had written Clark two notes and asked Ann to deliver them secretly, but he had not written back. Was he being honorable and obeying William’s orders, or had he decided he didn’t love her enough to risk losing his position? Sarah’s heart throbbed, and she slipped her trembling hands in her coat pockets.
Sarah and Julia greeted Reverend Langford at the door, and then descended the steps to the churchyard.
Julia turned to Sarah with a gentle smile. “Why not talk to Sir William today?”
Sarah glanced around, her anxiety rising. “I’m not sure this is a good time. He has been so concerned about the death duties, the art dealer’s appraisals, and David’s visit …”
Julia smiled but sent her a doubtful look.
Sarah sighed. “All right. I admit it. I’ve put it off because I’m afraid of what he’ll say.” She looked back toward the church door as her brother stepped out into the sunshine and shook the reverend’s hand. The two men exchanged a few words before William started down the steps. “What if he dismisses Clark?” Sarah whispered, her voice catching in her throat.
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