Yet even as that feeling swelled in her heart, threatening to bring tears to her eyes (like the silly goose she was), Thea felt a barrier standing between them. She couldn’t give it a name or identify its source, but it was there nonetheless.
“What is the matter, my love?” she whispered.
His grip slackened at once, their joined hands falling apart as though her question had burned him. Some emotion flickered across his face—too swift to name—before his featuresrearranged themselves into that easy, careless smile he wore so often among others. It was the expression he summoned to charm and to soothe. The one that told everyone what they wished to hear without offering a scrap of truth beneath it.
Thea knew it well. Too well.
She managed a small answering smile, but inside her heart curled tight, aching at how completely he could shut her away even as she stood beside him.
*
Every part of Frederick longed to answer her—to let the words tumble out and tell her the whole of it as he always had before. To keep silent around his family was nothing; they never asked and never wished to hear the truth. His friends were good chaps, but they’d laugh it off. But Thea asked. Listened. She knew little about managing an estate, but her intelligence and clear-sightedness gave her an understanding that never failed to aid and uplift.
Thea was his confidant. His anchor. Remaining silent was like a sharp, gnawing ache that pressed against his ribs, demanding release.
And worst of all, he felt Thea’s hurt at his withdrawal. It was plain in the quiet tremor of her hand before he let it go, in the shadow that touched her eyes even as she tried to smile. And even without those little signs, Frederick knew her well enough to know how deeply his silence cut.
Yet his easy smile remained fixed on his face.
What choice did he have? Things might yet be set to rights; ruin was not inevitable. To tell her would only invite strain into her life and increase the chance that rumors might spread. Not that Frederick thought Thea would tell all and sundry of histroubles, but secrets risked exposure each time they stepped into the light of day.
And it was bad enough that tradesmen and creditors were beginning to grumble and her father suspected some trouble, but that was still containable. Solvable. But only if Frederick resolved the situation before the whole of society knew it.
To say nothing of the fact that Thea wouldn’t content herself with simply hearing the facts. No, she required an unearthing of all the things Frederick did not wish to discuss, digging endlessly into how hefeltabout the circumstances, although it bore no relevance to the situation: speaking of troubles never did a thing to mend or resolve.
So Frederick forced the smile, forced the silence, and held himself apart. Better she think him distant than share in the danger that loomed unseen. He would bear the ache. He would bear the hurt in Thea’s eyes. He would bear it all. Sharing the whole of the truth would only increase their pain.
Without a word, Frederick reached for her again, his fingers finding hers with a steadiness that belied the storm within.
Thea did not question it. She leaned into his side, her shoulder resting against him, as though his touch were enough to ease every doubt. In silence, they stood together, and for that brief moment, the ache in his chest loosened, replaced by something far stronger than fear: the quiet solace of knowing she was his, and he hers.
Chapter 8
The study lay in half-shadow, the pale light of morning dulled by a heavy sky. Rain had passed in the night, leaving streaks upon the tall windows, and the damp clung to the air with a chill that the cold grate couldn’t dispel. Outside, the wind rattled weakly at the panes, a hollow accompaniment to the silence that filled the room.
Frederick stood at the window, the glass blurring the view beyond. The clouds hung low and gray, painting the world in muted tones, but the garden maintained a quiet dignity with the promise of beauty waiting to rise again. His gaze followed the winding path that led around the planting beds and hedges, though he saw none of it.
“Our performance at the Spring Market was disappointing,” said Frederick, frowning at the glass once more before dismissing the expression and facing Mr. Gleason.
The steward sat before the desk, his bushy brows pulled low. “The home farm was started by your grandfather as a lark. It was never meant to be a significant source of income. And with the poor harvest last year, I would say we performed well enough.”
Taking the seat opposite the fellow, Frederick leaned his elbows on the polished desktop. “You mentioned that before, butI am afraid I still do not understand why our harvest was so poor, compared to others.”
“Tools break. It is a fact of farming,” said Mr. Gleason with a considering frown. “Happens a lot at harvest, and the smithy can’t mend them all at the same time—”
Frederick held up a staying hand, and though he was master here, the steward gave that lordly gesture a raise of his brow as an indulgent smile tickled his lips. Dropping his hand, Frederick sighed at himself; one couldn’t maintain an air of dignity when the other had seen one in short pants and leading strings.
“I understand the issue of the tools needing repairs and the limited access to forges,” said Frederick, though it seemed like bad business to have so much depending on the few blacksmiths in town. However, there was nothing to be done about it as each tool was individually forged, and thus, mending them required individual attention. “I am confused as to why we do not have extra tools on hand. It seems like a significant oversight.”
“It is,” said Mr. Gleason with a nod. “But as I said, the home farm is hardly ten percent of the estate’s income, so diverting funds into extra tools and modernizations is less important than seeing to the tenants’ cottages. There are a great deal of repairs to be made.”
Silence followed that as Frederick considered the demands of his pocketbook and the income at hand. “What else can we do to increase the profitability of the estate?”
Mr. Gleason leaned back in his seat, resting his interlocked fingers upon his stomach. “After two decades of managing Dunsby Hall, I can say with all confidence that it is operating efficiently. At present, my main concern is the issue of the tenants’ cottages. They form the bulk of your income, and without them, the estate will fall to pieces, which is far more concerning than the home farm.”
Frederick drummed his fingers against the wood and considered that. “Could we increase their rent?”
Brows leaping upward, the steward shook his head. “Their leases will not allow it. Not at this time, at any rate. And even if it were possible, I would beg you not to. Your father has already increased the at-will tenancies beyond what is wise.”
