His mind had looped through the potential problems with the estate until he feared he would go mad.
Finally, Alex had requested to see Mr. Warden. After all, Alex had ample time, and why not begin by discussing matters with the man himself.
“Mr. Warden is unfortunately away at the moment,” a polite footman informed him. “He left for Devon to attend to estate business, but he should return within a week.”
There was nothing Alex could do but bide his time and withhold judgment.
Evenifthe estate were being poorly managed and people’s lives negatively affected, it didn’t follow that Alex had to personally oversee their rehabilitation.
It was reductive to assume that theonlysolution to this problem—were it truly a problem—was for Alex to become Lord Lockheade. There would be solutions that would solve the problem without him having to assume the title of marquess. For example, Alex could insist that an entire panel of regents be appointed to oversee the marquisate’s lands until the wee heir in question reached his majority.
But for now . . . Alex sat and waited, the ticking of his pocket watch the only accompaniment for his thoughts.
Wind whistled outside his bedroom window. The footmen who came to build up the fire and assist him in sitting up for the day said there might be snow by nightfall.
An hour later, Alex finally received a brief reprieve from his boredom in the form of a visit from the Dowager Lady Lockheade.
Her ladyship swept into the room in a rush of heavy silk and Parisian perfume.
“You appear well enough,” she said by way of greeting, lifting a rather judgmental eyebrow. “Given the tales I have heard over the last several days, I feared you might have developed distemper. I wished to see for myself if your wounds had turned rabid.”
Her ladyship’s blunt words startled a laugh from him. “Nae. There is nothing medical to blame my churlish behavior on. I fear I owe an apology or two.”
“Oui. I do not disagree with your assessment.” The reproving slant of her ladyship’s eyebrows was at odds with the humor in her gaze. “You have been most ungallant to our Lady Charlotte.”
Her ladyship’s frankness was as breathtakingly brisk as the winter wind gusting outside.
“Aye. I have,” he agreed. What else was he to say? The Dowager spoke truth. “I havenae been given the opportunity to apologize, however, as I cannae quite manage walking.” He nodded toward his leg, still in its bone box. “I have tae wait for Lady Charlotte to come tae me.”
The Dowager pursed her lips, studying his leg. “It is quite the dilemma.”
A brief silence ensued.
Alex swallowed. Her ladyship’s eyebrows were truly formidable.
“Could I perhaps enlist your ladyship’s aid in this?” he asked.
Her eyebrows winged upward. “I have found patience and resourcefulness to be useful traits in a gentleman. I would never dream of interfering with their development.”
Well then.
Their conversation moved on, and her ladyship departed after another fifteen minutes.
Leaving Alex once more to stare out the window, helplessly bored.
His leg ached. Not a sharp pain, but a slow, dull throb. Of course, with nothing to take his mind off his injury, he focused on every wee sensation.
His eyes landed on the book that Lady Charlotte had left him.
Had the Dowager truly been the one to encourage Lady Charlotte’s reading of it?
And was Alex himself so bored as to read Wollstonecraft again?
He rather thought not, but his hand reaching for the book said otherwise.
He would just read a few passages. It would likely render him sleepy, and a nap would pass a few hours, would it not?
He opened to the first page and frowned.
