Entangled with the Earl (Tangled Threads Book 1)

by Lisbette Tomas

  Teresa found herself smiling. “I look forward to it.”

  Chapter 23

  Martin looked up and down the hallway, trying to figure out what exactly Teresa was doing that made things feel so different. Nothing stood out as obvious, making the task a challenge and yet he knew there was some change, subtle though it might be. New dishes kept appearing at dinner and breakfast — only one or two at a time, and always complementing the older dishes. Slight rearrangements of furnishings in the hallways and public rooms, so the rooms felt new and somehow more welcoming, yet everything was close enough to how it had been that he was able to immediately place where he was.

  He would be the first to admit that the house hadn’t been the highest priority when he inherited the estate. It hadn’t made any sense to sink money into that particular pit when the tenants’ needs were much more pressing and he’d been perfectly capable of coping with the house as it was.

  Once the immediate crises had past, he’d brought in an architect to address the structural issues and update the kitchen, judging that it was in his best interest to keep the cook happy, but otherwise the house was mostly as it had been in his grandfather’s day. Despite all the progress he’d made, there hadn’t been money available to waste on fripperies such as updating the furniture or refreshing the wall hangings or the curtains.

  Hell, that the Countess’s rooms had been updated at all were due to Allsworth’s insistence that, as it was going to be his responsibility to marry at some point, it was better to be prepared. Martin made a mental note to add to the man’s already impressive bonus for the year. That particular advice, which had seemed like nonsense at the time, had ended up being rather prescient.

  Her rooms were the exception to the rule though. The household budget was more appropriate to a hermit than an Earl, as Allsworth frequently informed him — something that would change once his inheritance arrived. Yet even without it, Teresa had made the manor feel like a home that was lived in and cared for.

  He wished he had some idea how she was doing it.

  Dinner was now a nightly ritual, where they ate together in the dining room before retiring to the library to spend an hour or two talking and reading. Because she asked, he found himself discussing the successes and challenges of the estate — from the increase in wool quality produced by the tenants, thanks to a selective breeding program, to the fact that the farm yields were still lower than he hoped for and a wide variety of topics in between.

  She always listened carefully, frequently asking a question or two that made him stop and consider what he was planning to do. He never felt like she was challenging his decisions, just providing a supportive ear as he talked through his plans for the estate. She even joined him out in the stables when one of the foals hit a rough patch and required supervision around the clock. Isaac did most of it, but Martin forced him to take a break in the evening for a good meal and a change of clothes.

  It was a mark of how much he enjoyed their evening discussions that he had been disappointed to realize he would have to miss it in order to sit with the foal — and he was inordinately pleased when she suggested there was no reason why she couldn’t just join him out there for an hour or two. Even after the foal recovered, she made a habit of asking about how he was doing.

  And every night, as they wished each other good night and retired to their separate bedrooms, the seemingly never-ending pile of tasks he still had to tackle in order to make the estate a profitable one again seemed less intimidating.

  Allsworth had even commented on his good humor as they discussed which order to complete the roof replacement on the tenant cottages. With the influx of capital from the inheritance, he should be able to complete the project this year, but there was always the potential for weather to throw a wrench in the plans.

  Of course, that also assumed that he received the funds for the inheritance this year. Without that, it would be impossible to pay for all the roofs — not if he wanted to buy sufficient fertilizer for the estate fields. Which meant he also needed to plan for the possibility that he couldn’t complete all the roofs this year.

  Normally such a shortfall would have left him in a foul mood, cursing his father’s selfishness, but this time he merely frowned, sighed, and pointed out to Allsworth that since the Mullens were expecting again, they should probably be higher on the list than their current location.

  Allsworth frowned. “We need to make a decision on how much slate to order soon, or else make arrangements to store the excess over the winter.” He hesitated for a moment. “It would be useful to know when we could expect to receive the funds from London.”

  The sense of overall ease that Martin had been feeling vanished, chased away by the reminder that there had been nothing in the latest post from London. It had been almost three weeks since his arrival on the estate; he had expected to hear something from the Duke of Debenford by now.

  “It would be.” The words were clipped, a signal not to pursue the topic. He didn’t often need to be blunt; Allsworth was generally astute enough to realize when not to press, a trait Martin appreciated. But the lack of information made him irritable, and he was glad when Allsworth put forward a few final details for his approval and then retreated to the office he kept down the hall.

  Rising from his desk, Martin paced back and forth across the library. It remained, through tacit understanding, his domain during the day. Teresa had claimed one of the upstairs parlors for her sitting room instead, with a view out over the hills behind the estate and space for several bookcases. From some of the older servants, he’d heard it had been his grandmother’s favorite room as well.

  Neither he nor the Duke had been eager to provide fuel for the ton gossips, preferring to keep the information about the inheritance — and its requirements — under wrap. All the lawyers they had spoken to had assured him there would be no issue with transferring the funds once he fulfilled the clause and that no record need be made of the requirements in any public court. Given that, the delay in receiving the funds made no sense.

  He’d sent a note early the previous week trying to find out what was going on. Enough time had passed for the message to make it to London and a reply to be sent, so the silence was puzzling. If it continued, a trip back to London might be unavoidable. He needed to know when he could expect the funds.

  Time enough yet for word to arrive and no trip to London needed. There’s enough to do here without obsessing over something that might not happen. The trip to London would either happen or it wouldn’t but there was nothing he could do right now to change that fact. A few more days would hopefully bring the answer and if not, he could start planning and worrying about the trip then.

  A knock on the door startled him out of his thoughts and he looked up to find Russell standing there with a note. “From Isaac, my lord.”

  “Thank you.” Russell had already closed the door by the time Martin sat back down at his desk. The note was short, with good news. He smiled and rose from the desk. It was time to offer Teresa what he thought would be a welcome surprise.

  *

  Teresa sat back at her writing desk, staring at the journal in front of her. The book was older, with graceful penmanship filling the pages, all from the pen of Edith, Countess of Carlington — diaries from Martin’s grandmother, starting shortly after her wedding and ending a few months before her death.

  Teresa knew this because she had found the monument in the family cemetery with the date of death, wanting to know more about this woman she had gotten to know through her diaries. The Earl had died less than a year later, paving the way for Martin’s father and that sordid chapter of family history.

  Edith’s marriage had not been a love match, arranged by their parents when she was only fourteen, but over the years it appeared she and the Earl had developed a solid friendship based on a mutual love of the land. Most of the diaries were devoted to the estate, chronicling the changes in the seasons and the rhythm of the year, especially
toward the end. It was as if she had known what was coming, that her son would neglect the estate and let the traditions die off. Putting them in writing had been a shot in the dark, a faint hope that someone might care again someday and would bring them back.

  Teresa frowned at the blank sheet of paper in front of her, the ink slowly drying on the quill. Some of the old traditions wouldn’t work, not with the changes Martin had made to the estate, but some of the others… Certainly the harvest festival and the Boxing Day dinners were traditions the tenants would appreciate again and if she didn’t have all the details exactly perfect, well, the passage of time would have worn away many memories.

  No, one of the biggest challenges would be figuring out how to make both fit into the household budget. When she had taken over the accounts from Mrs. Watts, the woman had made it clear that there had been little extra available. Teresa understood why, of course. The house was one of the lowest priorities for Martin when it came to the estate.

  Based on their discussions in the library, she was certain Martin was willing to forego many of the trappings of his rank in order to make sure that the people he was responsible for were healthy and thriving, a sentiment she agreed with. Much of his day was spent considering aspects of estate management she had never dreamed of, but the results spoke for themselves. There was little sign that less than a decade ago, the tenants had been forced to choose between feeding their families and paying the rent.

  For the first time, Teresa wondered what her father’s tenants had thought of him. Their needs and considerations hadn’t ever played a role in his decision making, as far as she could tell, and yet she had always considered her father to be a perfect example of what a gentleman should be. To realize that he might not measure up well in the eyes of the people he was responsible for was unsettling.

  That was far from the only thing that had her unsettled these days. Martin was arrogant, driven, and used to doing things on his own. He rarely complimented her. More than once, she’d had to grit her teeth and remind him that she deserved to be treated as an equal. Those irritations could have easily simmered over into anger and resentment and yet they hadn’t, because she could see he was trying.

  When she spoke during their evening discussions, Martin listened. He considered what she said. Compliments might be rare but he made it clear by the way he watched her move how much he wanted her physically, something that only increased her body’s awareness of him. And when he did compliment her, it was for her mind as much as her body — something that made her melt inside far more than any of the compliments she’d overheard among the ton.

  The result was a confusing mess of feelings and more than ever before, she missed her mother.

  “M’lady?” One of the footmen waited in the doorway for her acknowledgment. He bowed as she looked up before advancing and placing a sealed envelope on her desk. “The post came. There was a note for you.”

  “Thank you Thomas.” It had taken two weeks from her arrival to learn the names of all the servants who worked in the house. Her mother had insisted on that, as a reminder that they were humans and as worthy of her respect as any member of Society. Her aunt had sniffed and said it wasn’t good ton to be so familiar with the servants.

  As nothing Teresa did had been good ton according to her aunt, that criticism had fallen on deaf ears. The servants all seemed to appreciate it and that mattered far more to Teresa. Thomas proved no exception, smiling at her as he bowed again and left the room. She kept her expression neutral until he closed the door and then frowned down at the envelope, recognizing her aunt’s handwriting.

  There had been no word from her aunt and uncle since the carriage had rolled away from the wedding breakfast, something that hadn’t surprised Teresa in the least. She honestly hadn’t expected any contact with them until she returned to London for the Season. Curious what had prompted this letter, she opened the envelope.

  Her eyes scanned over the London gossip that her aunt seemed to thrive on before catching at the mention of her mother’s name. Slowing, she read more carefully, her stomach sinking with every word.

  Because of the expenses of this past Season, your uncle and I have found ourselves short on funds as we prepare for a summer trip to Brighton and several fall parties. Your uncle insists I inform you that unless we are able to find sufficient funds to pay for the essential bills, he will be forced to sell your parents’ manuscript — anonymously, of course, because goodness only knows what would happen if the ton learned how much of a bluestocking Isabel was in addition to her ridiculous courtship with Miles. I doubt it will amount to much as there’s very little interest in that sort of text these days, but as your wedding was an unexpected expense every little bit is important.

  The letter continued prattling on, just like her aunt would, but Teresa could hardly see the rest of it through the tears of rage in her eyes. Her parents’ manuscript, nearly completed, had gone missing in the chaos of the days following the accident. Teresa had nearly torn the house apart looking for it before her aunt and uncle insisted she leave. She’d spent most of that carriage ride in tears, feeling like she had lost her last connection to her parents.

  To find out now that her aunt and uncle had hidden it from her — and only now told her of its existence in an attempt to wheedle money out of her — tinged her vision red even as she struggled to bring the tears back under control. That her aunt disliked her was no secret, but she had always thought it had been because of her failure to live up to Charlotte’s standards of ladylike behavior in London. This argued otherwise.

  Her aunt and uncle had hardly known her when they’d arrived at the estate three days after her parents’ deaths and yet one of the few vivid memories she had of those bleak days was her aunt sitting in the library as Teresa had torn it apart looking for the manuscript. She’d said nothing but reminders that she should leave the library neat because that was how a lady behaved. Only now did Teresa discover that she must have known the entire time that Teresa wouldn’t find what she was looking for.

  A short rap at the door startled her out of the memory and she instinctively tucked the letter under the papers on her desk as she looked up. Martin stood in the doorway, frowning at her. “Is everything alright?”

  “Hmm? Oh, yes. Just an unexpected note from London, that’s all.” She forced herself to smile, hoping that he wouldn’t notice if her eyes seemed overly bright.

  He narrowed his eyes at this, but his next words made it clear he wasn’t going to press the subject. “I was wondering if you would be willing to join me for a ride this afternoon.”

  Teresa blinked, surprised by the request. They hadn’t gone riding together since that first afternoon, the demands of the estate filling most of Martin’s time. She understood, even if it frustrated her occasionally that he was unwilling to make time for his wife.

  Now here was an invitation she hadn’t expected. She looked out the window and saw that the clouds — a remnant of the rain that had lingered for the past week — had finally broken. The enforced time indoors, especially after the taste of freedom she’d gotten during the first two weeks on the estate, left her itching to be outside and hoping the weather would cooperate this afternoon. Besides, time outdoors would help clear her head and decide what to do with the letter from her aunt. She pushed back her chair and rose. “I’d like that.”

  Chapter 24

  Martin checked the side-saddle on Artemis, even though he knew the grooms had done their job well. He just needed to do something as he waited for Teresa. Ares shifted his feet, clearly picking up on Martin’s nervous energy even though he had yet to mount and he forced himself to take a deep breath, calming himself. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt like this, anxious for no clear reason.

  The ride would settle his nerves. It always did. But until Teresa joined him, he was confined to the stable yard, checking the tack. The grooms said nothing, which only made him feel more self-conscious. It was not a feeling he was used
to.

  “Martin!” Teresa waved at him as she made her way along the path to the stable yard, her riding habit today a cool gray. Her progress came to an abrupt halt as she noticed Artemis standing next to Ares, a pause he could appreciate. There were very, very few horses like Artemis.

  Her coat was a pure silver, with a few dappled spots of darker gray along her flanks. Her mane and tail shimmered in a lighter gray, almost white but not quite. Her eyes were a soft brown, alert and watching as Teresa began to slowly approach Martin again.

  “I thought you might want to meet some of the other horses we have here besides Hestia.” Martin smiled. “As nice a horse as she is, I think your skill calls for someone a little more lively.”

  Teresa flushed at the compliment, the color highlighting her cheekbones. “I confess I had wondered if you’d decided she was the best fit for me, since you hadn’t given any instructions otherwise according to the grooms.”

  Martin shook his head. “She’s an excellent mount, but mostly for those who aren’t nearly as capable as you are. Come and meet Artemis instead.”

  “What a perfect name.” Teresa stepped forward, raising her hand to place it on the mare’s shoulder before letting the mare get a good sniff of her. Martin moved next to her and pulled out the sliced apple he had prepared as Teresa murmured a hello to the mare, exclaiming over how beautiful she was and how she must know it. Artemis was happy to take the treats from Teresa’s hand, snuffling them down quickly before nuzzling her palm to make sure there were no more treats hiding there.

  “Does she meet with your approval for today’s ride?”

  Teresa’s smile stretched from ear to ear, pure joy radiating from her. “Very much so!”

  Martin couldn’t help smiling back. “Then shall we?” He offered her his arm and escorted her to the mounting block, the groom leading Artemis behind them. Teresa glowed with happiness as she settled into the saddle, arranging her skirts as Martin stepped back and swung up onto Ares, taking the reins from the waiting groom.