“We will have to petition the ecclesiastical court for you to act on his behalf.”
His obvious concern didn’t comfort her. “But you aren’t certain they will appoint me.”
“With Clarion endorsing you, they will.” His tone sounded less certain than his words.
She remembered the issue of her age.They are more likely to seize on the opportunity to appoint an earl Wil’s guardian if they get a look at the situation.She kept that to herself. “Then what? My request for assistance…”
“That rather depends on what you want. An estate like Willowbrook is out of the question,” he said.
It hadn’t occurred to her, but hearing him say it brought anger to her lips. “Yes. I’m not a son, and I was entirely forgotten. I understand that,” she said.
“Fanny—”
She put up a staying hand, one she slowly lowered to his lips. His very warm lips. She could feel his breath on her hand. She could—She pulled it away and called back the thought that had scattered. “I know, Eli. I know. What exactly can a forgotten bastard daughter expect?”
He took a shuddering breath and ran a hand through his hair. “The easiest is a tenant cottage. We have one open. They are clean, dry, and simple.”
“How simple?” she asked.
“Two rooms and a loft,” he said, grimacing. “The dower house…”
“Brynn Morgan said you had already planned to rent it to someone. Is it excessively grand?” she asked.
“Rather like Willowbrook here but on the Clarion estate and close to the hall. The earl had counted on the rent.” He frowned.
“The other extreme, and not available for a freehold,” she mused.
“No, definitely not. There’s also a steward’s house, currently empty because it is rather a wreck and I haven’t needed it. That is also unavailable for freehold. Is ownership what you want? Can you be specific?”
Fanny’s life had been taken from her; her dreams remained. Ephemeral things, dreams. Space enough for the three of them. A private place to write. Her writing mattered. She would not give that up.
“Fanny,” he prodded. “Tell me what you need, and then I’ll investigate how to provide it.”
“A home of my own, yes. Not one beholden to my brother. One with room for Wil and Amy but with enough space for myself, a private place to write. That’s what I want.”
“A place for your desk, is that it? A drawing room, a kitchen, and three bedrooms, one of your own with room for the desk?” he asked.
Not space for a piece of furniture. Space for my dreams. Somewhere to be myself. “Or two bedrooms. I can share with Amy if I have an office.” She met his eyes. “That’s what I need, Mr. Benson. Can the Clarion estate provide it? Because if not, we’ll use Wil’s education funds and rebuild them with proceeds from my books. There will be proceeds. I will sell them.” She held her breath, daring him to mock her dreams.
He winced when she called him Mr. Benson, but he listened, his intense gaze boring into her as if he wanted to reach into her soul. After a long moment, he nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Fanny, who prided herself on her facility with words, tossed about for the ones to explain, to make him see beyond pence, property, and furnishings. None came. She was spared the struggle by a knock on the door and Lucy’s voice.
“Can you finish tomorrow? I came to warn you Rob or David may batter the door down if you stay much longer, and I’m fond of the door to my office.”
“We’re finished,” Eli called back.
Fanny feared they were just that. Finished. He had his hand on the handle before another thought surfaced.
“Wait. What is the next step after petitioning the courts?”
He hung his head without taking his hand off the handle or turning back to her. “Paperwork. I’ll have to go to Manchester.”
He’ll have to? What happened to “we”?
*
Eli opened thedoor. There was no point in provoking two overprotective brothers over a business interview.That’s what this was, isn’t it?
