‘Big enough.’ Ellie made herself smile, even if it was somewhat lopsided. ‘We will sort it out in time.’
They sent the damp young man on his way with an oilskin and careful directions, and she went back to her desk. If she could only forget Blake’s words the day they had arrived.
Stupidly independent…
‘You can stay on the doorstep until you rust and get rheumatism. See if I care,’ she had retorted.
But despite her hostility he had cared. He had come back to make certain she was all right.
It was a good thing he did not know about the roof or the water supply.
She wanted Blake, wanted his practical good business sense. Wanted his advice. Wanted him.
That is just too bad, Ellie. You are stupidly independent, remember? And plain, and of no interest to his lordship whatsoever. So get on and manage. Lord Hainford is no more likely to materialise here than that mythical financial wizard with his pointed hat.
*
Mr James Harkness, private enquiry agent, sat on the other side of Blake’s desk and produced his notebook. ‘It is not good, my lord. There’s a water dispute that will reduce the rents and the land value, and the roof is an expensive job. The place is clean, tidy, but it reeks of just making do and I have never been so cold and wet in my life. The locals say it has been the worst summer anyone can recall, just like it has been everywhere this year, and that there’ll be famers heading for ruin. I imagine a farm like hers will be impossible to sell for anything like what it is worth.’
‘How did Miss Lytton seem to you?’ Blake kept his voice studiously neutral. He had given Harkness the impression that Ellie was a distant relative and he wanted to keep it like that—although the man would find out soon enough if his interest was aroused.
‘Tired,’ the other man said after a moment’s frowning thought. ‘Tired and worried and…dogged. The lady has courage—I will say that for her. The local people say she is always pleasant, pays up on time, is a good neighbour. But you can see they wonder what on earth a southern lady is doing on a remote Lancashire farm with just the one maid.’
She is up there because some idiot was too tied up in a game of cards to stop her even more idiotic stepbrother ruining her, Blake thought. And then said idiot put her back up to such an extent that she dug her heels in and now her pride won’t let her yield. And the same idiot hasn’t learned from the past…hasn’t worked out how to deal with an intelligent woman without driving her to disaster.
He had sworn not to become emotionally involved with a woman again, and yet here he was once more with his instincts and his intentions all awry. Very well—he would throw his money and influence at the problem. He could do it at a distance…there was no need for him to become involved.
‘Right, get back up there and go and see her lawyer. You will pretend to be the agent for someone. Let me think… I know—some newly rich manufacturer from Manchester who is buying up land while prices are depressed because of the agricultural crisis. Anonymous, of course. Assure her that her tenant is safe, because she will worry about that, and pay top price. Don’t haggle.’
*
A month later Blake tossed the deeds for Ellie’s farm across the desk to Jonathan. ‘It worked. I imagine her lawyer could hardly believe his luck, finding a Manchester manufacturer desperate to own land and willing to pay the first price he mentioned. And Harkness says it is still raining—just like it is down here, only colder.’
‘What will she do now, do you think?’
‘I have no idea. Buy an annuity and a nice cottage somewhere, one hopes. I—Yes, Turner?’
The butler came in and closed the door. ‘A Miss Lytton, my lord. Asking to speak with you. Demanding, to be more accurate. A most…determined lady. Should I tell her you are not at home?’
‘Eleanor Lytton? Here?’
‘Yes—here.’
The door behind Turner opened and Eleanor stalked in. Blake and Jonathan got to their feet. Blake only hoped he was not looking as ridiculously amazed as his brother was.
‘I want my farm back, Lord Hainford.’
‘Thank you, Turner. That will be all. Eleanor, will you sit down?’
‘Do not Eleanor me.’ She took hold of the back of the chair but did not sit. ‘You bought my farm under false pretences.’
She looked dreadful, he thought, although she had gained weight and in the process developed a figure he most certainly did not remember…
He dragged his eyes away from her bosom, which was frankly heaving with suppressed emotion, and looked at her face. There were shadows under her eyes, her skin was even paler than before, and beneath the anger she seemed desperately tired.
‘I paid a very fair price. The sale is perfectly legal,’ he said. There seemed no point in denying it. ‘How did you know I was the buyer?’
‘I was so grateful at first that I didn’t think.’ She came around the chair and sank into it.