He sought a neutral topic. “Your family will be staying with relatives in Manchester?”
She was looking down at her rings. “Yes. An uncle.”
“What kind of man is he?”
“A tradesman. A stocking-maker. Far below your touch.”
He wished she’d look at him. “You’d be surprised. Is he involved with the new manufactories?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’ve never been there?”
“I’ve visited.”
“Then you must know something of it,” Bryght said, fighting an alarming desire to shake her.
“No. I had no interest in such things.”
“Such manufactories are the way of the future.”
She faced him then, but with hostility. “The strength of England will always be in the land.”
At last he had a spirited reaction. “Or under the land.” At her look, he said, “Coal.”
“Nasty stuff!”
“But valuable,” he countered. “So, if you believe in the land, what do you know of it?”
He expected her to have to admit ignorance, but being Portia she surprised him.
“I am a believer in the intensive use of manure on the land, and the rotation of crops. At Overstead we have used many of the improvements recommended by Mr. Tull and by Viscount Townsend, with excellent results.”
“How excellent?”
“Our yield per acre has risen from twelve to eighteen bushels, and should continue to increase. Our breeding program increased our production of quality meat by twenty percent per carcass.”
He almost laughed. He did admire a woman who knew her subject. “It’s as well I’ve bought us an estate, then.”
She stared at him. “You’veboughtone?”
“Didn’t you think I had the money? It’s called Candleford Park. You can have a free hand in the managing of it. I know little of such things.” Talk of money had reminded him of something. He dug in his pocket, brought out a pouch of guineas, and tossed it in her lap. “Trelyn gave that to me as your mighty lord and master.”
She clutched it. “Thank you, but you are not my master.”
He decided he would not leave her untouched tonight. Unless she fought and screamed he was going to seduce her, break through this icy shell, and find Hippolyta.
When they arrived at Malloren House, the whole staff was out to congratulate them and to welcome Lady Bryght. Bryght wished them at the devil but went through the motions. Portia, he noticed, even managed to smile and he loved her for it.
Then he could take her to his study, a room he hoped she remembered well and fondly.
He eased off her cloak then drew her into his arms. “Lady Bryght suits you. You shine like a candlelit window in a winter storm.”
He felt her shiver, and prayed it was with desire. But when she looked up at him, he saw only bewildered pain. “Promise you will take me to Overstead,” she whispered.
Abruptly he let her go. “For God’s sake, Portia, is this some kind of test? Fetch me the horn of a unicorn? Tomorrow we go north,” he said firmly. “Later we will visit Overstead.”
Chapter 23
