“Is your report on the north tenancy included in this stack or the other one?”
Henderson blinked. “The other one, Your Grace.”
“Bring it this afternoon.” James looked at the papers before him. “And Henderson.”
“Your Grace?”
“Thank you. That will be all.”
Henderson inclined his head, gathered his things, and left without another word.
CHAPTER 6
Dinner at Ashbourne that evening was, by any measure, a civilized affair.
The dining room was well-lit, the food was excellent—at least the cook had not given her notice—and the company was familiar enough that conversation required no great effort.
William sat to James’s right, Cecily across from him, and Isadora at the far end of the table with the composed, slightly distant expression she had worn all day, which James had noticed and said nothing about.
She had not looked at him directly since breakfast.
He had noticed that too.
“The east wing needs significant repairs,” William was saying, in the tone of a man who had walked an estate that morning andhad some things to say. “The third floor, particularly. Have you had the roof assessed?”
“My steward is arranging it,” James replied. “Along with approximately forty other things that apparently could not wait until my tenure as Duke was more than three weeks old.”
“It never waits,” William said, without any sympathy. Ever since James became Duke, he had been especially insufferable. “You learn to do three things at once and be grateful when it’s only three.”
“Encouraging.”
“I do not deal in encouragement. I deal in accuracy.”
“So I have always found.” James reached for his wine, took a sip, and set it down.
Across the table, Cecily was speaking quietly to Isadora about something—the nursery schedule, he thought, or possibly the gardens. She had returned from her tour of the gardens that afternoon, looking impressed. Isadora was listening with the attentive composure of a woman whose thoughts were entirely elsewhere and who was managing not to show it.
Almost managing.
He looked away.
“The tenants seem steady,” William continued. “The Hargrove situation is more pressing than Henderson let on, but manageable. The north field boundary dispute?—”
“William,” Cecily said in the tone she used when she was trying to steer her husband from something he could spend the entire meal discussing. “James looks as though he has heard enough about the north field boundary today.”
William considered this. “He’s going to have to hear about it eventually.”
“Tomorrow is eventually,” Cecily reasoned pleasantly.
William looked at her for a moment. Then he picked up his fork. “Fine.”
James looked at her gratefully. For the first time that day, he found himself almost smiling.
The table settled into the comfortable half-silence of people who knew each other well enough not to require constant conversation. The candles burned steadily. Outside, the summer evening was still light, the long dusk of late June stretching the day past when it had any right to continue.
James looked at Isadora. She was cutting her food with very focused attention, devoting more concentration to the task than it strictly required. She had eaten perhaps a third of what was on her plate. She was still not looking at him.
He reached for his wine, glancing at her above the rim.
