That surprised both men. Marshall blushed.
“My wife is truly wise,” Gideon murmured.
“But do you want me sitting boldly in the steward’s office or hiding up here?” she asked.
“Our goal is to provoke. Sit in the office,” Gideon answered.
Mia frowned. He’d grown used to the expression that meant she was working her way through a problem. “What about Lizzy Carter? Have we heard from the magistrate in Shaftsbury?”
“Not yet. It has only been three days, though.”
Marshall agreed to meet daily at three. “That leaves me mornings for other things.” He glanced at Gideon. “Harv watches time. He’ll make sure.”
Mia peered at Gideon. “Where will you be?”
“Nearby, unless I’m with Marshall, learning the work of the estate.” The words were out before he thought about them, but it felt right. The business of the ducal estate was more than reports and ledgers. It was time he learned the operation.
*
Breakfast had becomean ordeal. Tavernash never joined them; he didn’t awaken until past noon. Mia wondered how on earth he would ever manage as a country gentleman and sent a prayer of thanks he would never have the opportunity, at least not at Woodglen. His mother was another issue.
They might avoid her if they came down early, but they found new reasons to linger in bed every morning. Lady Tavernash proved to be even more spiteful when her buffoonish son wasn’t in attendance. She aimed her complaints at the house, the furnishings, the state of housekeeping, the staff, the horseflesh, and villagers who failed to give her due respect. Her most pointed darts were reserved for Marshall, who refused to turn over management of the estate to her son, by which Mia assumed she meant turn it over to her. Mia and Gideon rated primarily innuendo and sneering disregard.
Mia stopped any attempt at conversation, and so, she noted, did Gideon. Most mornings, he ate quickly, announced he had to attend “to the business of the estate,” and left the woman in a flutter to wallow in her own bile. Mia hastened to follow.
Two days after their meeting with Marshall, a message arrived for Mia while she still sat at breakfast. The address, in Selina’s ornate scrawl, surprised her. She wiped her mouth and rose. “I’ll just go read this in private,” she murmured to Gideon. He ate two bites of egg, grabbed a sweet roll, and followed her to the library.
“Problems?” he asked.
“It’s from Selina.” She scanned the missive.
He rolled his eyes. “What does she want now?”
“Me. My help. Uncle apparently told her not to bother us after the wedding but allowed that enough time has passed. She wants my opinion on her wardrobe for spring—as if she doesn’t have months to plan—and to speak to Eustace about his cruel words to her, since he obviously doesn’t listen to Uncle. Oh, and cook has not been preparing the fish course properly lately and I’m to set her straight.”
“Send her a note assuring her that she can solve her problems on her own,” Gideon said.
She glanced up at him. “I believe I’ll ride over and tell her that gently. And tell Uncle that Eustace must stop bullying his sister, since I’m not there to deflect him.” At his fierce frown, she went on. “They were kind to take me in, Gideon, and they are family. I agree that Selina must cope without me, but I can at least offer encouragement. Besides—Uncle Ludlow is one more person who needs to see that I’m thriving as your wife.”
“Is this part of the Christian forgiveness business?” he grumbled.
“You remember that? Yes, it is, as a matter of fact. My mother taught me that remembering slights does no good and poisons the soul. I don’t forgive people who’ve done me hurt for their sake. I do it for my own because storing resentment creates an ever-growing burden, a crushing weight. As I said, it poisons the soul.”
He snorted. “You’re a better person than I, in that case. Go if you must, but don’t forget your appointment with Marshall.”
She didn’t. By two, she pried herself free of Selina’s clinging, left her with some sensible advice, and promised weekly visits. She had confronted Uncle Ludlow in his study first, laying truth on him about both his children and the management of his servants. “Marriage has made you impertinent, Euphemia,” he had grumbled, looking her up and down. “At least I can see it has done you no harm. You may thank me for that.”
As she rode back to Woodglen, the Selwyn household’s issues receded. Only one part of her conversation with her uncle stayed with her. When asked why he didn’t take on the role of magistrate, he had blustered that he couldn’t possibly impinge on the duke’s rightful role. She raised the issue of Lizzy Carter and pointed out that as highest-ranking man in the shire, the duke being absent, it was his responsibility to see to the problem, not her husband’s. She’d left him sunk in thought.
Her time with Marshall went smoothly, and she went up to change for dinner. Gideon didn’t follow, deeming himself sufficiently fine for the likes of Felton Tavernash. When she came down to the drawing room to wait the call to dinner, she found Marshall deep in conversation with her husband about what she told them regarding her uncle.
“She’s right. Clavering ought to take a hand in the thing. The Carter girl deserves justice—or to be found. I’ll send him a message asking him to come round to meet with us.” At “send a message,” he glanced at Mia and colored a bit.
She’d have someone else write it. Uncle would recognize her writing. “Invite him to dinner, Mr. Marshall. He would like that,” she said. “And my cousins, too.”
Marshall muttered, “It will improve dinner.”
Gideon chuckled. “It can’t make it any worse.”
