Page 2 of Their Wildest Dreams

She left through the door nearest the gallery. It was cooler there and mostly dark, with only a lamp burning near the stairs. Harriet walked toward it, trying to put Benedict from her mind. She ought to have been pleased that he would speak to her father about the Harpers. Instead, she was angry because he could do so when she could not, and angrier still because some part of her had known it when she raised the subject with him.

Taking a long moment to collect both her thoughts and her temper, she faced the unfortunate realization that she’d need to return to the small gathering sooner rather than later. She’d already been absent for far too long. Turning once more to make her way back, she noted a widening arc of light at the end of the corridor as the door to her father’s study opened farther down the passage. Harriet stopped. Selby’s voice carried into the gallery.

“You have had time enough, Alderley.”

The pleasant manner he wore in company was gone. Harriet stepped back from the light and remained still.

“The Oxfordshire property has not sold,” her father said. “If you will allow me until spring⁠—”

“No,” Selby snapped, his tone cold and unwavering. “I offered you an extension last year. You used it to take on more debt.”

“I had no choice… Repairs had to be made. A Season had to be provided for Harriet and another will have to be provided for her sister!”

“There is always a choice,” Selby stated, sounding both condescending and irritated at once. “You simply have not cared for those available to you.”

Harriet moved closer to the door. She knew she ought not listen, but there was something in her father’s voice she had never heard before.

“The eastern farms are worth more than the sum you advanced,” he said.

“Not in their present condition.” Selby’s reply was smooth. “The south meadow has failed twice. The tenant cottages require repair. The road is almost impassable in winter. You cannot improve any of it because you have no money, and you cannot obtain more money because every unentailed asset you possess is already pledged.”

Harriet pressed a hand to the wall. Some of what he said was true. That did not make the satisfaction beneath it less ugly.

“Those families have been Alderley tenants for generations,” her father said.

“Then they have had generations to make themselves profitable and under Alderley tenancy have failed to do so. There is a commonality there that needs to be remedied.”

“What do you intend to do with them?”

“Whatever best serves the land once it belongs to me.” There was the rustle of paper. “The notes come due on the first. If they are not paid, I will take possession under the terms you signed.”

“And the house?”

“That will depend upon how cooperative you are over the eastern boundary.”

Harriet closed her eyes. The eastern farms, the south meadow and then, perhaps, Alderley itself. Her father had not merely been economizing. He had been trying to keep them from seeing how close they were to ruin.

Selby left the book room a moment later. Harriet retreated into an alcove before he passed. He did not see her. When his footsteps faded, she looked through the open doorway.

Her father stood behind his desk with both hands braced upon it, his head bowed. He seemed older than he had in the drawing room. Smaller, somehow. Harriet had spent years resenting him for refusing to listen when she spoke about the farms, the repairs and the tenants. It had never occurred to her that by the time she began asking questions, the answers might already have been beyond him.

She returned to the gathering by another corridor. Benedict was still near the windows. His gaze found her almost at once, and his brow furrowed as if he saw something in her face that concerned him. Harriet looked away before he could approach her.

For once, she had no desire to argue with him.

Chapter

One

Lord Alderley came to Denham shortly after breakfast the following morning.

Benedict had expected the visit, though not for the reason that brought it. He had intended to speak with the viscount about the south meadow and had spent part of the morning reviewing what such work would cost. The figures remained on his desk when Alderley entered the library carrying a leather case.

The Earl of Denham was with him. That, more than Alderley’s strained greeting, warned Benedict that this was not a discussion of drainage.

“Sit down,” his father said. “Alderley has something to tell us.”

The viscount did not sit. He placed the case upon the desk and removed several folded documents. “Selby holds notes against Alderley amounting to nearly forty thousand pounds. They fall due on the first of next month.”