You were never afraid to want things.
What had he meant by that? Was it simply a comment on her childhood boldness, her willingness to step onto lily pads and climb trees? Or was there something more beneath the surface, some deeper significance that she was missing?
She risked a glance at Martin, who appeared entirely focused on his soup. His profile was sharp in the candlelight, the line of his jaw clean and strong. He looked, as always, perfectly composed and perfectly in control. Whatever thoughts were running through his mind, they did not show on his face.
He does not know,she told herself again.He cannot know. He would not be sitting here so calmly if he had read six years of love letters.
The thought should have been reassuring. Instead, it left her feeling strangely hollow.
Because if Martin did not know, if the letters had somehow gone unread or been discarded without examination then nothing had changed. She was still exactly where she had always been; pining over her brother’s dearest friend who saw her as the little sister
And that, perhaps, was the cruelest irony of all. She had spent a week in terror of discovery, only to realise that being discovered might have been preferable to this endless, agonising uncertainty.
At least if he knew, she would have an answer. A definitive yes or no. An end to the years of wondering and hoping and breaking her own heart with every dance, every conversation and every charged glance that probably meant nothing at all.
But he did not know. And so the torture continued.
Beside her, she felt rather than saw Martin turn his attention to his own food. But there was something different about his silence now, a weight to it that had not been there before. As though the laughter had stripped away some layer of protection, leaving something more vulnerable beneath.
Or perhaps she was imagining that too. Perhaps she was so desperate for connection that she was finding it in the spaces between words.
Chapter Seven
"Your Grace, I must say, I have always admired the way you manage your estates."
Lord Deane's voice cut through Vanessa's thoughts, rousing her back to her present ruminations. He had leaned forward slightly, addressing Martin with an eagerness that made her wince internally. The confident, relaxed man who had walked with her in the drawing room had vanished entirely, replaced by someone who seemed desperate for approval.
"Have you?" Martin's tone was politely neutral, the kind of polite that was somehow worse than outright hostility.
"Oh, yes. Everyone says that Montehood Park is one of the most efficiently run estates in England. The innovations you have implemented, the new drainage systems, the tenant improvements, the modernisation of the home farm,they are really quite remarkable, Your Grace. Quite remarkable indeed."
"I have competent estate managers. They deserve the credit."
"But surely the vision comes from the top? A good leader inspires excellence in those beneath him." Lord Deane nodded eagerly, his words tumbling over each other in his enthusiasm. "I have been trying to implement similar improvements on my own properties, though I confess I do not have Your Grace's resources. Or Your Grace's reputation for innovation. I must say that the manner in which you directed the enclosure disputes last year were extremely impressive. Most impressed indeed. Lord Haberton was just saying at the club the other day…"
"Deane." Martin's voice cut through the rambling with surgical precision. "You flatter me unnecessarily. I assure you, my talents are greatly exaggerated by those who have nothing better to discuss."
"I did not mean to…that is, I only thought…" Lord Deane fumbled, his earlier confidence evaporating entirely. His face had gone red, his eyes dropping to his plate. "I apologise if I was too forward, Your Grace. I simply wanted to express my admiration."
"Your admiration is noted." Martin took a sip of wine, his expression revealing nothing beyond faint boredom. "And entirely unnecessary."
The dismissal was clear. Cruel, even. Vanessa felt an unexpected surge of protectiveness and irritation. Lord Deane was trying too hard, yes, but Martin's cold contempt seemed designed to wound.
"I find Lord Deane's ideas about estate management quite fascinating, actually," she said, her voice carrying clearly. "We had a lovely discussion about crop rotation the other day. His approach is innovative and practical, something many landowners could benefit from studying."
Lord Deane shot her a grateful look, his shoulders straightening slightly.
Martin's expression did not change, but something shifted in his eyes, a flicker of surprise, perhaps. Or challenge.
"How wonderful," he said smoothly. "Crop rotation...positively enthralling!"
"It is, actually." Vanessa met his gaze steadily, refusing to be cowed. "Lord Deane has been corresponding with agricultural reformers in Norfolk. His theories about soil enrichment could significantly improve yields for tenant farmers which would benefit everyone, including the landowners who profit from their labor."
"I am sure it could."
"You sound sceptical."
"Not at all. I am merely impressed by the depth of your newfound agricultural expertise." Martin's smile was pleasant,his tone perfectly polite. But beneath it, Vanessa sensed something coiled and waiting. "I had not realised you had developed such a passionate interest in farming. When did this occur, precisely?"
