The dining room was breathtaking. It had a ceiling that arched gracefully in several places with wooden beams leading toward each apex. The hearth extended out into the room with a beautiful and ornate mantel and a chute facade that soared to the ceiling. It was very dramatic, and the effect was gorgeous. However, the decay of the house was noticeable. Plaster was crumbling and in need of repair before a new coat of paint could be applied. The wood, both in the beams overhead and the wainscoting, was dark and in need of polish. Although some of it might need to be replaced before that could happen, as several water stains were visible. One large water stain ran down the length of one corner of the wall, no doubt caused by the leaky roof that desperately needed to be restored. The whole place held the faint odor of neglect.
“How are you enjoying your stay in London, Miss Crenshaw?” the duchess inquired as she nodded to one of the footmen, who began filling their wineglasses.
August had warmed to the woman immediately in their previous brief interactions. Seeing her with her daughters tonight had only improved August’s perception of her. It was no hardship to chat with her, so they spoke until the fish course about London and the amusements they had each attended. Over stewed eel, the duchess turned slightly toward August and said, “I am curious: tell me about your work with Crenshaw Iron. Do you find it fulfilling?”
August nearly choked on the tender bite of eel she had just taken. No one had ever asked her about her work before. August had overheard snatches of conversations where people were obviously talking about it, but no one had ever asked her directly. This phenomenon was not limited to London. It happened back home as well. It was known that she worked alongside her father and brother, but it seemed to be an unwritten taboo for women to ask her about it socially.
After a discreet bout of coughing, she said, “Pardon me. Yes, actually I do find it very rewarding. I quite enjoy the research and the forensic inspection of a financial statement.”
“August was nigh this high”—Papa held a hand up to the level of the table—“when she climbed onto the desk in my study and added a column of figures that had been making my head hurt. I allowed her to occasionally help with the ledgers after that. She gradually took on more responsibility as she grew older. She finds the work rewarding, but never fear, she is more than capable of turning that enthusiasm to new projects.”
The pride on his face was unmistakable, and August nearly smiled automatically in response before she understood exactly what he meant. He was assuring the duchess that August was perfectly content to give up the career she had worked long and hard to build at Crenshaw Iron.
The duchess gave a tight smile, and her brow raised ever so slightly when her gaze fixed on August. August blinked, and the older woman said to Papa, “What a clever child.”
“She is a very clever child,” said Papa. “I believe she will be successful in everything she does.”
“I do not prefer to give up my work,” August said, quietly setting aside her cutlery and reaching for her wineglass.
Papa’s lips twitched with a hint of displeasure. Thankfully, the duchess broke the silence. “You do not find the day-to-day tasks of office work tedious?”
Putting aside her earlier misgivings, August said, “Some days can be dull. We cannot always be in the midst of planning a new venture or acquiring a factory. However, there is always a satisfaction in knowing that a day has been well spent in a way that will benefit many.”
“Hmm . . .” The duchess made the thoughtful sound as she took a dainty sip of her white Burgundy. “The railways have completely changed the way we live.”
“Yes, there is that, but I also speak of our workers. I like to think that they are looked after. We provide them with good, gainful employment so that they can support their families. Their families in turn grow healthy and educated to further a productive society.”
The duchess nodded and smiled. “Indeed, that sounds rather progressive.”
“I think it simply makes good sense by whatever name it is called,” August said.
Not to be left out of the conversation, Papa said, “Never to worry, Your Grace, Maxwell and I keep her in line when she becomes too generous with the help. August is not so foolish as to not listen to those who know better.”
Her face flamed in both anger and embarrassment. He was doing everything he could to boast of her business acumen with a wink and a nudge that assured everyone not to worry that she was still perfectly domesticated. “I am not some wayward puppy that you must keep in check. I do understand financial constraints and measurements.”
Papa laughed. Whether he was putting a good face on things for Her Grace or he did not understand her pique was impossible to say. The duchess ignored him and viewed August with an appraising eye. “August is an unusual name.”
Momentarily taken aback at the change in topic, it took a moment for her to answer. “My grandfather was Augustus, and I was named for him.”
She nodded as if she had expected as much. “You do him proud, I think.”
Warmed more than she had anticipated by the kind words, she said, “Thank you. I enjoy that I am making a difference in a venture our grandfather started with his own hands.”
“Yes, I imagine you would.”
The woman went back to her eel and then turned her attention to her daughters, which was just as well, because August was still rattled by the exchange with her father. Had he always been insidious with his enthusiasm of her accomplishments and she simply hadn’t noticed? Had he always seen her as a child he would humor until it was time to marry her off? If so, how had she been so blind to it before?
Sneaking a glance down the table, she was not at all surprised to find Rothschild engaged in conversation with her mother and Violet. Mother was relating some childhood mishap, and Rothschild laughed when he was supposed to, but his gaze found hers across the table. As if sensing her unease, a crease formed between his brows, and he glanced to his mother before fixing his attention back on her. As the laughter died down, he turned his attention to his sisters and his voice rose to encompass the table. “I am sorry to say, but these two can outshine any mischief your children might have made. Did Mother tell you of the time they locked their governess in the very attic they had convinced her was haunted?”
“No!”
“Evan!”
The twins simultaneously cried out, sending the table into laughter. His concern felt genuine, as did the way he tried to turn the flow of conversation away from her and her family. She appreciated the gesture and felt herself softening toward him again. When he glanced back at her, she inclined her head in appreciation, and he grinned, making her heart pick up its pace the tiniest bit. The rest of dinner carried on in that same vein.
No one mentioned marriage or fortunes.
Chapter 15
No man ever became great or good except through many and great mistakes.
William Gladstone
The next morning, Evan took the family on a tour of the estate grounds. It had been one of the singularly most unpleasant experiences of his life, akin to baring the ugliest parts of his soul to strangers. Strangers who made a fuss about how quaint and charming it all seemed, the rural and very real decay that decorated their country jaunt.
All Evan could see was evidence of his failure.
When the tour had concluded, he had likely not so graciously bade the Crenshaws a good day while ushering August to the stables. There was more she was entitled to see before making her decision, but he refused to allow her parents the opportunity to come along. Now they were slowly riding their mounts down the drive to a row of nearby tenant farms. August had barely said a word, but she kept glancing at him. He was too ashamed of the mess his father had left and his own inability to clean it up to ask her what she thought so far.
“Do you ride very often?” she finally asked, breaking their self-impos
ed silence.
“Yes, as much as I can in London. Usually, every morning. You?”
“I have a horse at home, Poppy. She’s a beautiful palomino. I ride her as often as I get the chance.”
He glanced at her, taking in the easy way she settled into the saddle and moved with the animal. She had a natural grace about her. It pleased him to see her easy manner with horses. He could hardly imagine having a wife who did not enjoy riding. Once more, he was gripped by an urgency to seal this deal. She was nearly perfect for him in every way. Only, more and more, guilt followed on the heels of that urgency. She had an entire life he was taking her away from.
She caught him looking and gave him a smile. “Shall we race?”
“It would hardly be fair. You are sidesaddle.”
A line formed between her brows. “Then give me a head start.”
He laughed. “You are the last person I would believe would ask for a concession.”
“Concessions are needed, dear sir, when the very fabric of the rule is inherently unfair. Change the rule and I wouldn’t need one.” She clicked her tongue and snapped the reins before he could respond, and she was off racing down the road. “First one to the gate wins!”
His bay perked up his ears and took very little prodding before giving chase. Even sidesaddle, she was fast. His heart pounded as he started closing the distance between them. Her hat appeared very near to falling off her head, and he loved that she didn’t care. When she glanced over her shoulder, she appeared much more concerned with winning. In the end, they pulled up to the open gate at the same time before coming to a slow stop to allow the horses to catch their breaths. “You are a very good rider,” he said.
“I love horses.”
She gave her borrowed filly a few loving strokes that had a strange sort of jealousy coming to life in him. What would it take to make her touch him in the same loving way? Probably calling off this marriage pursuit would be a good start, but Evan could not go that far. Not when they needed her so desperately.
Instead, he guided them off toward the path that went along the river that cut through the estate. Many of the farms bordered the southern part of the estate and made use of the river. It was time to start showing her one of the few things he could offer her. Freedom.
“Have you ridden astride before?”
She nodded. “We have a country house in Connecticut. I usually ride astride there.”
“Why am I not surprised?” He grinned.
She smiled over at him. “No one is supposed to know, but I have riding trousers and a special skirt made for the task. Violet does as well.”
“I would not mind if you did that here . . . should you agree to become duchess.” He glanced out over the gray, slow-moving water to avoid her face. It was the first they had spoken of marriage since the night of the ball. Even now he could not quite say it. He spoke around it, and a queer sort of flicker began in his stomach. It was an agitation he did not care for.
“How magnanimous of you.” There was a bitterness in her voice that was softened by the shape of her smile. It drew his gaze to her shining eyes. “Or I could simply stay unmarried and do as I wish.”
He gave her a nod. “Or you could do that.”
Logic urged him to remind her that she would eventually marry. He might have believed that she was perfectly happy not to marry, if he had not kissed her. If he had not witnessed how her eyes lit up and her body softened to him. She wanted companionship, the kind that only a lover could bring. He was surprised that he also wanted that. Marriage had never been important to him, but it was all he thought of lately by necessity. With her, however, his thoughts took him further. He found himself imagining nights at the theater, days at home with her in front of the fire, surprising her with small things like a necklace or a book. He had noticed a few of those on the desk in her bedroom.
“I have read about the suffrage case before the American Supreme Court.”
Her head whirled back to him. “What do you mean?”
“The case for women’s suffrage.”
“Minor v. Happersett?”
“That’s it. Have you followed it?”
She gave a small laugh that sounded a bit like disbelief. “I have. I daresay any thinking American woman has heard of it, or at least its predecessor, the Susan B. Anthony case. I’m . . . I’m merely surprised that you know of it, or paid attention to it.”
“It is a newfound interest of mine.” Very new, considering he had not been bothered to give the issue much thought before her. His world had been very narrowly focused on his own needs, with the occasional thought of his mother and sisters butting in. “Both were unsuccessful in their attempts to gain suffrage equality.”
She nodded. “I don’t think anyone actually believed that Minor would prevail, but it was a challenge that needed to happen.”
Wanting to completely understand her position, he asked, “How do you feel about voting rights for women?”
She had turned forward, but she cut her eyes at him as she spoke. “I think the more pertinent question is: How do you feel about voting equality?”
He could not help but to smile at her boldness. “I believe that it makes no sense that my butcher be allowed the vote but not someone as educated and contemplative as you.”
She finally looked at him head-on, and he could see that she was startled. “Then you support women’s suffrage?”
“I do, and I also happen to be in possession of a seat in Parliament.” He swallowed and plowed forward with his bid for her acceptance. “I could use it to further that cause.”
Her lips parted and she visibly swallowed. “Have you been to Parliament this season?” she asked dubiously.
“I go only when absolutely necessary. I can hardly stand to listen to the endless speeches by the pompous, boorish, and self-important men who spend their days there.”
“But you would brave those if you had to?”
He gave a nod. “For good reason, yes, I would spend more time there.” He hated the idea of it. Politics was something he loathed almost as much as he had loathed spending time alone with his father. But for her, he could take his place there.
“One of our tenant farms.” He gestured to a house in the distance. They had passed a bend a while back that made the first farm come into view. Now they were close enough to make out several figures in the far field in the midst of harvesting the winter barley. She had yet to respond to him, and he hoped it meant that she was thinking it over. “This is Harold Armstrong and three of his sons.” Harold raised an arm in greeting as they approached. “His family has lived on this estate for over a hundred years.”
“Good mornin’, Your Grace.” Harold took his hat off as he approached, revealing a receding hairline and a generous amount of gray mixed in with the brown. The man was only approaching middle age, but he looked as if he could be sixty, such were the lines and crevices in his face.
Evan introduced him to August. After greeting her, the man turned and introduced her to his sons. They stood like step stools all in a row of descending height from the oldest, who was about fourteen or so, to the youngest, who appeared to be half that.
“What lovely children,” August said politely. She could not have missed how their clothing was worn, the leather of their shoes nearly cloth-like in its texture.
“Where is your older boy? Alfred, isn’t it?” Evan asked.
“Off to York. Our young want the city life.”
“Indeed.” He did not need to point out that it was not want so much as need that had likely sent the boy to a factory position. Young people were leaving for the cities in droves.
They spoke about mundane things for a few minutes—the weather, the harvest—before Evan bade him goodbye and led August back toward the river. He hardly dared to look at her, knowing that her eyes would reflect her disappointment and c
ondemnation of him. Who was he to live like a . . . well, like a duke, when the people in his care were barely surviving?
“Why did you bring me here?” she asked when they were far enough away no one would hear them.
The censure he expected in her voice was not present. It was quiet and pensive, instead. Her face was still, and when he met her gaze, it was unreadable.
“We made a deal. One week. I wanted you to know what you would be walking away from.”
* * *
* * *
August rode in silence for a few moments as she absorbed what Rothschild had revealed to her. Her emotions ran the gamut from anger that he would try to manipulate her into accepting him to grateful appreciation that he was willing to show her unpleasant things about the estate and its troubles. Perhaps not everything, but at least this. She could not stop from thinking about the children in that family. Did they even know how to read?
Deciding that it was best to know, she asked, “Can you tell me more about the farmers? Their plight?”
He gave a curt nod. “Their plight? Yes, I should be happy to. Several years ago, before his death, my brother, William, got it into his head that the farms were faltering. I do not know if he had met with the estate manager or if it was simply observation, but he urged me to take his side in convincing Father to modernize. I did.” He glanced at her then, revealing the mischievous glint in his eye along with the self-deprecating smile. “Do not let that excite you. It was no high-minded gesture on my part. I took his side because it meant not taking Father’s. No more and no less.”
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