Lillian felt heat rise to her cheeks but kept her voice steady. "I could not say, Mrs. Hartwell. His Grace's intentions are his own affair."
"Of course, of course." But the knowing look in Mrs. Hartwell’s eyes suggested she had drawn her own conclusions.
The conversation turned to other matters, but Lillian remained acutely aware of every movement Daniel made, every word he spoke, every small interaction that demonstrated his commitment to remaining present in this room, among these people, despite every instinct that had to be urging him to flee.
It was, she realized, a kind of courage she had never expected from him. Not the dramatic courage of grand gestures, riding through the night, appearing without invitation, but the quieter courage of endurance. Of staying when staying was difficult. Of facing discomfort rather than retreating into isolation.
She had asked him to prove himself. He was doing so, one tedious conversation at a time.
***
The opportunity for a more significant proof came unexpectedly.
It was Mr. Theodore Crane who provided it; the poet whom Rosanne had been trapped beside at dinner that first evening. He had been holding forth on the topic of estate management, offering opinions that Lillian knew to be incorrect based on her own experience at Hartfield.
"The key to a profitable estate," he declared, his voice carrying across the drawing room, "is firm management of the tenantry. One cannot be overly sentimental about these matters. The lower classes require direction, not consultation. They are incapable of understanding the broader principles that govern agricultural improvement."
Lillian felt her jaw tighten. She had heard such views before, they were common enough among gentlemen who had never actually spoken with a tenant farmer about anything of substance, but that did not make them any less frustrating.
"I wonder, Mr. Crane," she heard herself say, "whether you have much direct experience of tenant management?"
The poet turned to her, his expression suggesting mild surprise that a woman had interjected into the conversation. "I am not a landowner myself, Miss Whitcombe, but I have observed a great many estates in my travels. The principles are quite universal."
"Are they? I have found that the most successful improvements at Hartfield have come from consulting with our tenants rather than simply issuing directives. They possess knowledge of the land that no amount of theoretical study can provide."
Mr. Crane's smile was indulgent; the smile of a man humoring a child who has said something charmingly naive. "A pretty sentiment, Miss Whitcombe, but hardly practical. Tenants are concerned with their own immediate interests, not with the long-term health of an estate. They cannot be expected to take the broader view."
"On the contrary..." Lillian began, but she was interrupted.
"I must disagree with you, Crane." Daniel's voice cut across the room, and every head turned toward him. He had moved closer during the exchange, his expression thoughtful. "Miss Whitcombe speaks from considerable experience. Her father's estate has implemented precisely the approach she describes, with results that I understand have been quite impressive."
Mr. Crane's eyebrows rose. "Your Grace?"
"I have had occasion to discuss agricultural matters with Miss Whitcombe at some length." Daniel's voice was calm, assured; not defensive or aggressive, simply stating facts. "Her understanding of tenant management is more sophisticated than that of most gentlemen I have encountered. The improvements at Hartfield have increased yields substantially while maintaining, indeed, improving, relations with the tenantry."
Lillian felt something warm bloom in her chest. He was not simply agreeing with her; he was directing the attention of the room toward her expertise, lending the weight of his title to her observations.
"Fascinating," Mr. Crane murmured, though his expression suggested he found it more perplexing than fascinating. "I had not realised Miss Whitcombe was so involved in such matters."
"She is exceptionally involved." Daniel turned to Lillian, his expression inviting. "Perhaps you might explain the method your father developed for consulting with tenant farmers before implementing changes? I found it quite ingenious when you described it to me."
All eyes were on her now. Lillian felt a flutter of nervousness, she was not accustomed to commanding the attention of an entire room, but beneath the nervousness was something else. Gratitude. Recognition.
Daniel had not claimed her ideas as his own. He had not summarized them for the benefit of the gentlemen, speaking over her as though she were incapable of explaining her own expertise. He had simply made space for her voice.
"The approach is quite straightforward," she began, and found the words coming easily as she explained the system her father had developed; the regular meetings with tenant representatives, the process of gathering feedback before implementing changes, the way this consultation had prevented several costly mistakes and improved the adoption of new methods.
The gentlemen listened with varying degrees of interest. Sir William looked skeptical; Lord Hartwell appeared genuinely intrigued; Mr. Crane maintained his expression of patronizing bemusement. But what mattered to Lillian was not their reactions; it was Daniel's steady presence beside her, his occasional nods of agreement, his willingness to add supporting observations without ever talking over her or redirecting the conversation away from her expertise.
When she finished, there was a moment of silence. Then Lord Hartwell spoke.
"Remarkable, Miss Whitcombe. I confess I had not considered such an approach, but it makes a great deal of sense. The tenants do possess knowledge that we landowners often lack." He turned to Daniel. "You say this method has been implemented successfully at Hartfield?"
"It has. I have been considering whether something similar might be appropriate for Wyntham, though I would need to consult with Miss Whitcombe further before making any firm plans." Daniel's voice was matter-of-fact, as though seeking her counsel were the most natural thing in the world. "She has a far more practical understanding of these matters than I do."
Lillian felt tears prick at her eyes and blinked them back fiercely. This was what she had wanted; not equality as an abstract principle, but recognition. Acknowledgment. The simple willingness to treat her knowledge as valuable rather than as a curiosity to be indulged.
Edward had listened to her in private and erased her in public. Daniel had done the opposite; he had struggled with his private fears, but in public, before everyone who mattered, he had made space for her voice.
