That man’s handwriting was nearly as familiar to me as my own. And Matthews’s sloppy scrawl was exactly as it always was.
I would need to send these bank drafts for confirmation. But I was nearly certain that Forsyth was the one cheating me.
It would be the man I hired.
Michael would never hire a man who would cheat him. He was too clever for such a thing. He would save our family from destitution without a word. Because Michael might have been viscount. Matthews knew it. The tenants adored him. Thetonloved him, not in spite of his degenerate ways, but because of them. He could do no wrong in Tom’s eyes. Even Katherine seemed to prefer his company to mine.
Turning to face my father’s portrait, still infuriatingly easy in countenance, I could not press down the feeling of disgust. It was a new emotion in connection with the man. Usually I felt sorrow or longing. But now… If he were here, he would wish Michael to be the viscount, just like everyone else. And he would be right to do so.
In four years, I undid everything Michael worked toward. And I did it without even trying.
It was impressive when you considered it that way. Without whoring or gambling, I managed to squander an entire fortune in but a few years.
Usually, one had to try to fail this spectacularly.
Twenty-Seven
THORNTON HALL, KENT - JUNE 1, 1814
HUGH
My shoulders burnedas they dragged me through the cool water. It was a refreshing change after a long, hot, and fruitless ride throughout the estate. Many of the necessary changes would be costly, and there was not enough to fund those costs, not by half. My efforts to prioritize the necessary upgrades were going poorly. Thus far, the only determination I had made was that the mill should be first. Beyond that, how did one prioritize replacing broken equipment for one farm or addressing the flooding in another? I’ve had years of education, and I could not possibly be less prepared to manage these decisions.
The sun was high and unrelenting, and when Perseus made a detour to the far side of the lake, I was all too willing to allow it. The promise of a reprieve from the heat proved too tempting to resist. Shucking my riding boots and stripping down to my shirtsleeves, I dove into the water. It was every bit as refreshing as advertised.
I learned to swim in this very lake, though I had spent less time in it than Michael and the servants’ young children. Mother found the activity undignified and ungentlemanly. On more than one occasion, I watched from the schoolroom with envy as they splashed about, laughing too loudly. Once in a while, Tom and I would sneak out to join them. It was some of the few truly happy memories I had with Michael.
Stroke after stroke, I pulled myself across the lake. Though strengthened by hours with sword in hand, swimming utilized the muscles in a different way and the resulting stretch tugged pleasantly.
Distracted as I was by thoughts of the estate, and the hypnotic rhythm of legs and arms and breath, I did not hear the frantic flailing approaching.
Without warning, my shoulders were trapped in a hot steel band. My panicked breath was more water than air. Rearing back whilst choking, shoving against my attacker, kicking and thrashing.
Nothing worked.
The terror cleared slightly, and I could see—Michael. Dragging me, yanking me, pulling me toward shore. His one-armed strokes were more slaps against the water than any sort of technique, and he was kicking frantically beneath the surface.
This side of the bank was shallower, more sludge than water, but Michael was undeterred, dragging us through the muck. Tom waded in, pulling me free from Michael’s branding hold. I collapsed onto all fours at the grassy edge, coughing and choking. There was a fair bit of swearing as well.
At my side, there was a soft, small, warm hand—my wife.
Katherine brushed my hair back from my face gently, rubbing my upper back as I hacked half the lake out of my lungs. After several minutes of shuddering, wracking coughs, I could breathe again. Turning I saw Michael, still prone on the bank.
“What the devil are you doing?” I intended for it to be a shout, but it was more wheeze, my chest still recovering from my near-drowning at his hands.
He was still taking desperate gasps as well, as he choked out, “is he breathing? Is he breathing?”
I managed to shake off Katherine and Tom, pushing to stand.
“Michael! What the hell?” That time I managed the necessary volume. He shoves himself to standing, brushing off Lady Juliet and the red-headed servant.
He grabbed both of my shoulders in his hands, grip harsh, bruising. Seemingly surveying me for injury. I was uncertain how effective his efforts were as his eyes were clouded with terror. “You’re all right? You’re unharmed?”
“Of course, I am unharmed. I was swimming. What are you doing? You nearly killed me!” He continued inspecting me for injury in spite of my rising protests.
It was Tom who interrupted Michael from his seat in the mud. “Hugh, let it go.”
I glanced his way, prepared to share some of my ire with him. It was his expression that cut through everything. His brow furrowed, and his eyes shuddered. His lower lip was clenched in his teeth, blinking back tears.
