Properly attired for the weather, Lewis quietly left the house and headed across the lawn to the woods that gave the estate its name. Mist hung between the trees and the ground was damp underfoot, for all the world like a scene from a Gothic romance. Something fluttered among the branches. A twig crunched beneath his boot. The small sounds were amplified by the dense silence that pervaded the woods. The mist limited his vision to the closest trees and the well-trodden path ahead. The silence grew intact once again. Lewis was alone, with only his thoughts for company.
This would not do. Although he was avoiding Jilly, she was still with him, her words circling his peace of mind.
She was in the wrong. He felt no guilt in thinking that. He loved her. He desired her happiness. He supported her finding her place at Oakwoods. But she was going about it in entirely the wrong way. He had thought she would trust him to let her know where the line was and would harken to him showing her when she had crossed it.
But she did not.
Lewis did not know how to proceed without putting out the light that was at the very heart of her. How could he guide her to blend into his life without making her feel she was giving up hers? If Philip had still been alive, none of this would have mattered. They would have lived in their own home, away from Oakwoods, with a few servants whom Jillian could have treated like family if she wanted to. It wouldn’t have mattered if she broke a few rules.
And yet…
Even then, he would have put his foot down when it came to inviting a maidservant to tea. Really, what had Jillian been thinking?! Surely, she must understand that she could not act on every impulse?
His mother had warned him. Lord Howell had warned him. But Lewis had been convinced he’d known better. Was he wrong? Surely, it was just a matter of finding balance. They had enough love to conquer anything.
Didn’t they?
Perhaps this walk in the woods was not such a good idea, after all. His thoughts, far from distracted, were able to focus entirely on Jilly and their quarrel. He had no solution for their disagreement, nor did he want to dwell on it.
With this in mind, Lewis took the first fork in the path, leading out of the woods and along the fence that separated the farmland from the estate proper. The path widened into a cart track and then still further to form the main avenue—if such a grand word could be used—between the tenant cottages. Lewis could see the single-roomed buildings emerging from the mist, one by one, as he passed their humble doorways.
He was very surprised, indeed when, as the shifting pocket of visibility revealed the next dwelling, he saw his father and Mr. Cooper, the land steward, at the stone step of the small home’s only entrance. The sound of Lewis’s boots was muffled in the cloying damp, yet both men looked up as he approached.
“This is well met indeed, Lewis,” his father said. “We were just discussing necessary repairs to the roof. It would do you good to see how these things are managed.”
“As I was saying to his lordship,” said Mr. Cooper, “we would need to remove all the broken tiles first before replacing them. Once we know how many are required, we can order them and assign the necessary labor to complete the task. It could take a few days or weeks, depending on the availability of stock.”
“Where do we order them from?” asked Lewis.
“Houghton and Co.”
“And where will we house the tenants until their home is habitable again?”
The steward seemed to have trouble processing the question. He turned to Lord Bradford for assistance, but none was forthcoming. “Er…” he said before falling silent once more.
Lewis did not like what the lack of answer implied.
“We do house them elsewhere, do we not?” The question was for his father, since Cooper clearly took his cue from his employer.
“Don’t be naïve, Lewis,” his father answered stiffly. “They pay rent for this cottage, so this is where they stay.”
“But there’s a hole in their roof!”
“And we are repairing it. At no cost to them, I may add.”
“I should think not.” Lewis scoffed. “These buildings are our property and therefore our responsibility.”
Lord Bradford lowered his chin and looked at his son as if over the rim of a pair of spectacles. “Even a baron’s money must be carefully managed,” he said. “And the rent we receive barely covers the upkeep of the structures. It is not so mercenary an enterprise as you seem to suggest.”
“But it’s November,” persisted Lewis. “The heat from their fire will be lost to the sky. They can barely afford to keep their fire going as it is.”
His father sighed. “I see you’ve been getting to know our tenants. A commendable use of your time. I only wish you would show an equal interest in our bookkeeping. It might give you a more balanced outlook.”
“I would learn everything you wish to teach me, Father. But it can mean little if you will not hear my concerns.”
“What would you have me do?”
“What about a temporary solution? Perhaps a sheet of canvas held down with stones. Anything to help keep the heat in and the elements out.”
