green lawn until it resembled some lush carpet scattered with pearls. Harry peered out the study window, rubbing eyes gritty from lack of sleep.
It was not the first time he had watched the sun come up over his parklands. He had often witnessed this magnificent spectacle after one of those grueling all-night card sessions with his father, or riding home in the wee hours, his head splitting from carousing at one of the inns in Chillingsworth.
This time, however, it was a far different reason that found him out of his bed at daybreak. Wearily, Harry's gaze tracked to the oak desk littered with sheets of rumpled parchment, the candle that was no more than a charred wick protruding from a lump of dried wax. The scene bore mute testimony to his nightlong labors, going over the condition of his estate—a most dismaying and unrewarding task.
Massaging some of the stiffness from his neck, Harry turned back to the far more agreeable prospect that lay just outside his window. He had never been given much to flights of fancy, but his lands, beneath the sun's first rays, bore an aura of enchantment, the mists and soft light conjuring up images of days gone by.
Harry could well imagine the first earl, that dashing cavalier, charging across the lawn toward the Hill, the plumes of his hat waving, his sword drawn in defiance against Cromwell's soldiers, his bold deeds winning for him the heart of his lady fair.
Aye, Harry envied that ancient lord. How easy he had had things. Merely rattle his saber, hold Mapleshade against a score or so of Roundheads, mayhap endure a wound or two, and the woman of his dreams had melted into his embrace.
"But I'll wager the woman in question was not a bishop's daughter," Harry murmured with a wry smile. He had not seen Kate since he had driven her home from church five days ago, and their parting had been far from warm.
He had sensed the change in her immediately after, what had been for him, a most delightful visit to Huddleston's farm. But as he had handed Kate back into the curricle, she had been distant, taking refuge behind the prim demeanor he knew far too well.
When he had set her down at her own gate, she had attempted to fob him off with a stiff handshake. But he had held her fast, summoning up his most engaging grin.
"Now what have I done wrong, Kate?"
She refused to answer him, merely looking flustered. Finally he did manage to goad her into saying, "It is not so much what you have done, my lord, as what you have not."
As Harry tried to figure out what the devil that meant, Kate disengaged her hand. "Forgive me, my lord. It is not my place to say— Good afternoon and thank you so much for bringing me home."
She had given him a look, at once so sad and somehow filled with disappointment, before fleeing into the sanctuary of her cottage, leaving Harry standing at the gate, feeling more confused than ever.
It was then that he had discovered the advantage of having an ally within Kate's stronghold. Kate might continue to try to avoid him, but not so her grandmama. When he had asked Lady Dane if she knew what had gone awry, that formidable dame did not mince words.
"It's the state of your tenants' farms, you young cawker. Kate feels you haven't been doing your duty by them and the heavens forfend! If there was one word that girl was taught the meaning of before she could even say 'mama,' it was duty."
At first, Harry had waxed indignant against the charge. He might not be the best of landlords, but as for neglect! He frequently passed by his tenants farms on horseback, enjoyed tousling the curls of the babes, jesting with the men, playfully flirting with their good wives, listening to the grandfathers spin tales of their youth.
But he took enough heed of what Lady Dane had told him to ride back to the Huddleston place and study it through more critical eyes. What he saw caused his face to burn with shame. The roof was all but coming down upon their heads.
As in turn he examined his
It was not the first time he had watched the sun come up over his parklands. He had often witnessed this magnificent spectacle after one of those grueling all-night card sessions with his father, or riding home in the wee hours, his head splitting from carousing at one of the inns in Chillingsworth.
This time, however, it was a far different reason that found him out of his bed at daybreak. Wearily, Harry's gaze tracked to the oak desk littered with sheets of rumpled parchment, the candle that was no more than a charred wick protruding from a lump of dried wax. The scene bore mute testimony to his nightlong labors, going over the condition of his estate—a most dismaying and unrewarding task.
Massaging some of the stiffness from his neck, Harry turned back to the far more agreeable prospect that lay just outside his window. He had never been given much to flights of fancy, but his lands, beneath the sun's first rays, bore an aura of enchantment, the mists and soft light conjuring up images of days gone by.
Harry could well imagine the first earl, that dashing cavalier, charging across the lawn toward the Hill, the plumes of his hat waving, his sword drawn in defiance against Cromwell's soldiers, his bold deeds winning for him the heart of his lady fair.
Aye, Harry envied that ancient lord. How easy he had had things. Merely rattle his saber, hold Mapleshade against a score or so of Roundheads, mayhap endure a wound or two, and the woman of his dreams had melted into his embrace.
"But I'll wager the woman in question was not a bishop's daughter," Harry murmured with a wry smile. He had not seen Kate since he had driven her home from church five days ago, and their parting had been far from warm.
He had sensed the change in her immediately after, what had been for him, a most delightful visit to Huddleston's farm. But as he had handed Kate back into the curricle, she had been distant, taking refuge behind the prim demeanor he knew far too well.
When he had set her down at her own gate, she had attempted to fob him off with a stiff handshake. But he had held her fast, summoning up his most engaging grin.
"Now what have I done wrong, Kate?"
She refused to answer him, merely looking flustered. Finally he did manage to goad her into saying, "It is not so much what you have done, my lord, as what you have not."
As Harry tried to figure out what the devil that meant, Kate disengaged her hand. "Forgive me, my lord. It is not my place to say— Good afternoon and thank you so much for bringing me home."
She had given him a look, at once so sad and somehow filled with disappointment, before fleeing into the sanctuary of her cottage, leaving Harry standing at the gate, feeling more confused than ever.
It was then that he had discovered the advantage of having an ally within Kate's stronghold. Kate might continue to try to avoid him, but not so her grandmama. When he had asked Lady Dane if she knew what had gone awry, that formidable dame did not mince words.
"It's the state of your tenants' farms, you young cawker. Kate feels you haven't been doing your duty by them and the heavens forfend! If there was one word that girl was taught the meaning of before she could even say 'mama,' it was duty."
At first, Harry had waxed indignant against the charge. He might not be the best of landlords, but as for neglect! He frequently passed by his tenants farms on horseback, enjoyed tousling the curls of the babes, jesting with the men, playfully flirting with their good wives, listening to the grandfathers spin tales of their youth.
But he took enough heed of what Lady Dane had told him to ride back to the Huddleston place and study it through more critical eyes. What he saw caused his face to burn with shame. The roof was all but coming down upon their heads.
As in turn he examined his
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