“But Leatrice didn’t marry anyone else?”
Harry shook his head. He wasn’t about to tell Claire of the war that had gone on between mother and daughter. Lee had said that if she couldn’t marry the man she wanted then she wouldn’t marry any man. Mother had said that if Lee didn’t obey her and marry a man the duchess had chosen for her, then she’d make Leatrice’s life a living hell. Lee had said, “Better that than to marry a man I hate, as you did, and live the life you have led.” It was the last bit of defiance Leatrice had shown toward anyone. Harry knew his mother had long ago broken Lee’s spirit, for, as far as Harry could tell, his mother was stronger than anyone else on earth.
Claire left the chair and Harry immediately reached for the wine bottle. “Harry, I must have something to do. In America I was always busy.”
It was Harry’s opi
nion that all Americans were always busy. They seemed to have no conception of how to sit still and do nothing. They were either doing something or talking about what they were going to do. He’d heard that some horrid American woman bragged that she got her guests through dinner in a mere fifty minutes.
“Of course you want something to do, darling. We all need tasks to keep us busy. A man’s life is worth nothing if he does not accomplish something during his time on earth.” He had read that somewhere and was pleased with himself for remembering it. “What did you have in mind?”
Claire looked out the window. It was dark outside and the curtains hadn’t been drawn. She could see her own reflection and the handsome one of Harry lounging in his chair, drinking his wine. She turned back to him. “I want to see all of the estate. I want you to introduce me to your overseers or foremen or whatever you call them. I want you to show me how this great place of yours works, how you run it.”
Harry gave her a weak smile. He wouldn’t know a foreman of Bramley if he met the man in the drawing room. He’d have to get Charles to help him. “Of course. It will be my pleasure to show you. Anything else?” Maybe the moon delivered to you, he thought. If anyone ever hinted to him that he hadn’t earned his wife’s millions, he’d shoot the son of a bitch.
She widened her eyes. “Harry, you do manage this place and the others you own, don’t you?”
Americans and their disgusting work ethic, he thought. They all, every last one of them, believed that a man should work. It was a concept he couldn’t begin to understand. “Of course I do. It takes a great deal of my time. Has someone said something to you?”
“Trevelyan said you didn’t—” She smiled. “It doesn’t matter what he said. That’s done with now. Now I’m going to start my new life as a duchess. I have a great deal to learn and I’m looking forward to it. Could we go riding early tomorrow morning? I’d like to begin to see the estate. I mean, see it from a worker’s point of view.”
“Yes, of course you may. I’ll take you riding at first light. Or perhaps you’d like to sleep in the morning,” he said hopefully.
“No, I don’t need that much sleep. And I’d like to meet your mother, and I’d also like for you to find out whether or not James Kincaid is alive and where he’s living.”
Harry took a deep drink of wine to keep from groaning aloud. “I’m sure the man is dead. I’m sure I heard he was run over by a farm wagon. Probably wasn’t watching where he was going. Now, dear, isn’t it time for you to retire?”
“Yes, I think it is. Harry, I feel that everything is going to be all right now. I don’t know what I was doing spending so much time with that man when I could have been with you. Tomorrow I’m going to start my new life.” She put her arms around his neck, kissed his forehead as he patted her arm, then left the room.
Harry sat where he was until a servant came to clear the table. “Call Charles to me,” he said.
“I believe Mr. Sorenson has retired, sir.”
“Then get him out of bed!” Harry snapped. “He has to tell me who runs this place. And how it’s done.” He drank more wine and wondered if his ancestors had had to work this hard for the money they’d married.
When Claire awoke the next morning, she was in a state of excitement. Just thinking of spending the day with Harry was enough to make her happy. She went downstairs but was told that Harry was not yet up this morning due to the fact that he had been awake late the night before tending to estate business. The footman told Claire that Harry was usually up before the birds. Something about this statement seemed to amuse the man as he unsuccessfully tried to keep from smiling.
She waited in the entry hall for Harry and he came down, beautifully dressed and ready for their tour of the estate. He introduced her to Mr. Charles Sorenson, who was the estate agent and who would be riding with them on their tour. Claire was a little disappointed that they wouldn’t be alone, but she swallowed her unhappiness and went with Harry to the stables.
It was the first time she had seen the stables in daylight, because when she had spent time with Trevelyan he had always wanted to walk. She blocked that man out of her mind. She was doing everything she could not to think of Trevelyan, or Captain Baker.
She was surprised to see the beauty and the cleanliness of the stables, and she was shocked to see that they had running water. The house didn’t have running water but the stables did. When she saw the affectionate way the horses greeted Harry, she almost understood why.
She was properly and pleasantly surprised when Harry presented her with the prettiest little mare she had ever seen. The animal had dainty and delicate feet and she softly nickered at Claire’s shoulder. “She is beautiful, Harry, really beautiful.”
He smiled, glad to have pleased her. He was also very, very glad that yesterday she had not broken their engagement, for he had charged this horse and four others to an account that was to be paid after their marriage, after he had received her dowry. He had also bought some rather fine pictures, and a few pieces of porcelain, and a rather nice piece of fifteenth-century silver.
He helped her onto her horse and they began the tour of the estate. At first Claire asked Harry all the questions she wanted to know, but Harry, with a lovely sense of humility, always referred the questions to Mr. Sorenson. She admired Harry for not trying to make his servant feel his position was less than his master’s.
They rode for hours, going over acres of land, traveling down what must have been miles of road. Claire was introduced to gamekeepers and tenants and comptrollers. They rode through woods and gardens and fields. Everywhere they went, people came out of their houses to look at them and offer them food and, for Claire, bunches of heather and flowers. Claire ate and drank of everything and tied all the flowers onto her horse, so that in a few hours she looked like part of the landscape moving slowly down the roads. The children came out to see them and laughed with Claire when they saw her horse, then they ran to gather more of the soft purple heather to tie to the animal.
Claire enjoyed herself immensely, but there were times when enjoyment wasn’t easy. Harry was not in the best mood that he had ever been in. He would not eat or drink anything the crofters offered him. At one point he said, “I prefer my food on a plate.” When the children offered him flowers he told them to get the hell away. Claire tried to soothe him. Her father found children a nuisance and she could see that Harry did too. There was nothing wrong with that.
She also did her best not to see some other things about the estate. The stables that housed Harry’s horses were monuments of beauty, done in marble and mahogany, with brass nameplates for each of his horses. Yet the crofters’ houses—which Harry owned just as much as he did the stables—looked very much the same as they must have when the Normans first invaded England.
There were, of course, a few good houses. Claire had been glad to see these places, houses with slate roofs as opposed to thatch, two-story and heated with nice coal stoves instead of ill-vented peat fires. But as she talked to the owners of these houses she was confused. She asked them about farming, what they were doing with the acres of land they rented from Harry. Claire’s grandfather had had some farms and he had made them pay very, very well. But here she saw fields lying fallow, plows rusting in sheds, and no one working the land.
She asked Harry about this and got the perplexing answer that the men who rented the nice houses loved animals. She couldn’t understand what this had to do with farming.