“I certainly will,” Drayton said.
“I’ll need a whole new wardrobe, so we’ll get started on that soon, if it suits you?”
Drayton’s face lit up. “It surely does. Just let me know when and I’ll be ready for you.”
James urged his horse toward the eastern edge of the village, where St. Michael’s church maintained its dignity despite the surrounding decline. The Saxon tower stood as a reminder of permanence amid change, though even the vicarage garden had grown wild without proper tending.
A handful of children played listlessly near the village pump, their clothes more patched than whole. They paused to stare as he passed, their thin faces curious but wary. They all knew who he was. For whatever reason, it hadn’t occurred to him that he would be the talkof the village.
He was lost in thought as he guided his horse back through the village, Drayton’s words echoing in his mind. The morning mist was beginning to lift, revealing clearer details of the decay around him. He was so absorbed in his observations that he nearly missed the solitary figure walking purposefully along the lane ahead.
A woman in a dark blue cloak, her step brisk despite the early hour. Something about her bearing made him look twice, and recognition dawned with a start of surprise.
“Mrs. Fairfax?”
She turned at his call, and he saw her face brighten with what looked like relief. “Lord Ashford. I wondered if I might encounter you.”
He dismounted, leading his horse as he fell into step beside her. “You’re abroad early. I trust you slept better than I did?”
A faint smile played at her lips. “I’m afraid sleep proved rather elusive. I found myself too restless to remain abed, so I thought a walk might soothe my nerves.”
“Have you found anything of interest?” He found himself genuinely curious about her perspective on the village. Would she see what he did?
She was quiet for a moment, her gaze moving thoughtfully over the landscape. “I feel our work extends far beyond the manor walls. This community is like a body that’s been weakened by illness—every part of it suffers when the heart fails to beat properly.”
Her insight struck him immediately. “You see it too, then. The connection between the estate and everything else.”
“How could I not? Architecture isn’t merely about buildings, my lord. It’s about the lives that shelter within them, the communities that surround them. A house without purpose is merely stone and timber. Your father’s legacy will be restored in more ways than one.”
“It was my thought exactly.”
They walked in comfortable silence for a few moments, and James stole glances at her profile in the growing light. She seemed less guarded this morning, more relaxed in his presence. The early hour and chance encounter had stripped away some of the formality that had marked their previous interactions.
“I spoke with Mr. Drayton just now,” James said. “The tailor. His eldest son has gone to Brighton seeking work. A family that served mine for generations, now scattered to the winds.”
Georgiana’s step faltered slightly. “How many such stories are there, do you suppose?”
“Too many.” The admission felt good to say out loud to someone who clearly understood. “Every empty shop, every abandoned cottage represents a family suffering because of the injustice done to my father. All these years, I didn’t think much about what effect it would have on the people who live and work here. I feel ashamed to admit it, but it’s true enough.”
She looked at him then, and he caught something in her expression that made his pulse quicken. “One must look out for themselves before they can look out after others.”
They had reached the turnoff to the manor, and James realized he was reluctant to end this unexpected intimacy. There was something about encountering her here, in the quiet morning light, that felt more honest than their formal discussions of contracts and timelines.
“Are you returning to the inn this morning?” James asked.
“No, I left a note for Cecily to come out after she’s had her breakfast. Since I’m up, I might as well get started.”
“I wish I had breakfast to offer you but without a cook, I have only a loaf of bread and a chunk of cheese.”
“I had something easier, so please don’t trouble yourself,” Georgiana said.
The manor house came into view as they crested the hill together, its damaged walls glowing pale gold in the strengthening light. Hewished they could keep walking. The realization caught him off guard—he wanted to remain by the side of this woman who saw that rebuilding was as much about mending souls as restoring structures. Well, they would spend the day together, regardless. He looked forward to it.
How strange.
The restoration of Ashford Manor wasn’t merely about reclaiming his family’s legacy. It was about breathing life back into an entire community that had withered in their absence. Every stone they repaired, every room they restored, every servant they employed would send ripples of prosperity through those empty shops and struggling farms.
Mrs. Fairfax had asked about finding laborers for their project. Now he understood that the question wasn’t whether they could find willing workers, but whether they could hire enough of them to make a real difference to the local economy. The village was full of strong backs and willing hands. They simply needed honest work at fair wages.
