Page 36 of The Gentlewoman Companion

He vaguely recalled his mother and Miss Thorpe discussing the book in the boathouse. “Even Mr. Pope’s version may not be suitable for a young lady’s reading.” The tale was licentious, violent, and irreverent.

“Well, if young ladies were better educated rather than sheltered, they would not fall into such scrapes. The double standard for men and women does not serve females, and Chaucer seemed to understand this. Profound for something written centuries past.” Her eyes were animated in a way he had not seen before. When she rode a horse too fast or urged the donkey to unlikely speeds, she revealed her enthusiasm for a thrill. This was different. It was the light of understanding the world in a new way. He respected that, having thoroughly enjoyed his own studies.

Though not well-versed in the philosophies his mother subscribed to, he honored his mother’s opinions. “You may be right, and I know my mother will enjoy discussing it with you.” He crossed the street to Mrs. Gibson.

“It’s a pleasure to see you, my lord. You’ve become a man since I last saw you.”

“How do you do, Mrs. Gibson?” He hoped he had her name correct.

“Well enough. Mr. Hunsaker collects rent this day each month. He’ll be gone for hours yet.”

“Can I ask you something?”

She nodded, folding her arms over the windowsill.

He didn’t really know where to begin. “Are the tenants happy?”

“For the most part.”

“Is there anything I should know?” he asked.

“What sort of thing?”

“Problems?” He lifted his palm, not knowing the questions to ask.

“Some drink too much gin, you know. Leads to laziness. We lose workers to London. Tenants squabble. Some try to cheat or steal. The usual things. But nothing to worry about. Mr. Hunsaker does his job, and Lady Halverton picks up the rest.”

He nodded slowly, trying to digest all she had said. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Gibson.”

His mother handled the rest. How much did she do, exactly? He climbed beside Miss Thorpe, and she turned the donkey toward home.

“Miss Thorpe, does my mother…help Mr. Hunsaker run the estate?” he asked.

“I dictate her letters, and some relate to the estate.”

“How did I not notice?”

“You’ve been away. Busy doing lord-ish things.”

“What does that mean?” He had just returned from London!

“You are too far removed to understand common things.” There was laughter in her voice.

“You are not common yet seem to grasp what I cannot.”

The corner of her mouth turned down. “I am not so genteel.” Some of the light in her countenance dimmed.

He could not shake the feeling that she had some hidden sorrow, deeper than the death of her mother, more painful than her father’s manipulation. He could think of no way to ask what darkened her countenance.

“I must admit to being nervous when I discovered my mother had obtained a companion, but I have since grown to appreciate your…” He did not know how to describe her light. “Joyful spirit.”

“I am glad you see it that way.” But she did not sound pleased.

“You resist compliments.”

“Gallop!” she shouted, and Ranunculus lowered her head and charged forward, thus ending their conversation with a donkey’s attempt to run. He sighed and endured the ride. He’d trusted her with his confidences. Why did she not reciprocate? She shut him out, and he did not like it.

When Lundbrooke came into view, he shouted over the rumbling cart, “I thought we were friends.”