Page 10 of Bedded Under The Christmastide Moon

She had plans, and they had naught to do with poring over old ledgers in the dusty steward’s cottage—and everything to do with capturing Brigham’s notice.

Mellie only hoped she knew what to do with his attention once she had it.

Chapter Five

Brigham adjusted his position in the rickety chair his estate steward, Briars, used when maintaining the ledgers for Hockcliffe. The seat was too hard, the back too straight, and the location too far from Mellie. But again, he’d spent the last five years keeping his distance from her…a simple few minute’s ride by horse was far closer than London—or the wilds of Scotland. He glanced at the empty hearth, debating the merits of starting a fire to ward off the early morning chill. There was no doubt he’d be at the steward’s office for some time as he was finding it difficult to rein in his thoughts long enough to study the accounts.

There was something else...someone else he’d much prefer to study.

Instead, he was in Briars’ office, and Mellie was likely still abed, gaining her final hour of restful sleep.

Tenant dues. Crop rotation schedules. Staff allowances. Kitchen receipts from the market.

It was all a haze. Turning another page in the accounting ledger for the crop sharing land nearest the village, Brigham attempted to concentrate on the columns neatly scripted on the paper.

Corn was in high demand, while wheat and barley had seen a decrease since last winter. The oat crop had suffered a major catastrophe when an unidentified insect contaminated the fields closest to the manor. The livestock had been kept clear of the land and moved to the east for grazing before being herded inland toward Oxford and away from the coastal breezes that still managed to make their way to Hertfordshire.

Briars was a shrewd asset to Hockcliffe Manor and the Whitmore family as a whole. His detailed accounting made it possible for Brigham to surmise how his estate was doing in just a glance. For many years, that was all the time Brigham could allot to the scrutiny of his ledgers.

However, if Brigham were to make a smooth transition to his country seat, he must needs better educate himself in the ways of his property.

It was no different than collecting data, compiling research, and proposing a reform bill.

He only need apply himself to the task at hand.

Yet his thoughts continued to return to another task that was much overdue and should demand his attention over all else.

Mellie.

Her happiness. Her comfort. Her well-being in every form.

It had taken every ounce of strength he possessed to keep from seeking her out the night before—at her meal or later in her private chambers. He was up at first light, prowling the hall in hopes she’d exit, and he could gain another view of her splendid beauty.

She hadn’t left her room…and Brigham knew, for the time being, it was for the best. Until he could gain a firm hold of his longings, it was not advisable for him to allow his emotions to overtake his good sense. There was much he owed the woman and lusting after her like a randy London dandy fresh from University was not one of them.

He leaned back in his chair and massaged his temples, though the light pressure gave no relief to his aching head.

They need speak of the grave matters between them; namely, Brigham’s need to cast himself at her feet and beg her forgiveness before anything could develop anew. Be it a renewed friendship or the resurgence of the closeness they once shared, he would not hedge his hopes on either. It was just as likely she’d grown accustomed to her life of solitude and wished naught for his presence at Hockcliffe.

He need remember the folly of misplaced confidence. Had he not learned a severe lesson over the last several weeks?

The fact that he’d come face-to-face with the woman he’d once known was what had thrown him off course, given him pause, and incited a long dormant lust he hadn’t known still burned so strongly within him.

Brigham glanced at the windowpane next to the door of the cottage as the sun rose ever higher in the sky. No matter how much time he spent away from Hertfordshire, he never grew accustomed to any other sunrise. Something—or someone—kept his heart at Hockcliffe. His time at University had been no different, as he’d counted the days, the hours until he was free to journey home. Was it the place or Melloria who tethered him to this land?

If she’d agreed to accompany him to London after they wed, would the need to return here still be as strong within him?

It was said that home was where the heart lay, but Brigham could not understand the bonds linking him to a woman who did not know she held his heart. And he would not delude himself into thinking her heart was meant for him.

He would not question his decision.

Pushing back his chair, Brigham strode to the hearth and stared into its sooty, cavernous cove. Hockcliffe was where he belonged, where he should have remained, and where he needed to be to find his future. So many years had been squandered chasing after dreams and aspirations that, while vitally imperative to England’s future, shouldn’t have overshadowed his duties at home: to his wife, his servants, and his land.

Worse yet, it was only now, in the aftermath of his failure, that he realized Mellie was more important than any calling in London. In the blink of an eye, everything in town had been stripped from him—it had all disappeared—and he was left with only one thing… Mellie.

With shaking, unsteady hands, Brigham piled the logs high in the hearth and spread the small twigs and sticks at the base before turning to collect the flint from its place. As he struck the metals together, a sense of rightness filled him. Using his hands to produce something as basic as a fire for warmth had his confidence increasing.

He could do this. He could admit his failures, confess his betrayal, and beg for Mellie’s forgiveness.