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How things had fallen apart.

CHAPTER 8

The brilliant swath of orange and pink evening sky gave way to the nighttime chill and inky blue of night by the time Harry had warmed his bones with a bath, changed into fresh clothing, ate a meager supper of cold chicken, bread, and cheese, and cooled his temper. He was not a volatile man by nature—in fact, more than one of his instructors at school had remarked that he was quite meek for a future earl—but if he had learned one thing from Mina when they were children, it was how not to allow himself to be pushed around. More than one lad at school made the mistake of assuming Harry’s silence was weakness rather than a combination of careful observation and restraint. The fuse to Harry’s temper was long-burning, but it was not indefinite. A spark had caught when, after his father had been in his grave for only two weeks, Harry had received a very concerning letter. At first, he’d been convinced it was nothing more than a clerical error that could be remedied by a swift reconciliation of the account books. After he requested the information be gathered and confirmed by his solicitor, it became clear that something truly was amiss. While the accounts of Ravenshire Manor were not abundant, they’d appeared comfortably steady. Almost too steady. When one actually took the time to parse out the ledgers and compare them with receipts and dates, it was clear even to Harry, who’d never enjoyed his maths lessons, that something was very, very wrong. Leaving orders to continue compiling the accounts from prior years and investigate the depth of the Ravenshire debts, Harry had set off for Kent to see for himself the damage that had been wrought.

Somehow, facing Mr. Fletcher had been far worse than Harry had ever anticipated, and in ways he’d never expected.

“A pleasure to see you, Lord Ravenshire! And you appear in such good health. Have you returned from visiting little Viscount Ashcombe at Eton?”

Fletcher hadn’t recognized him as Harry…he’d looked at him and seen his father. Harry used to take solace in his belief that he was nothing like his cold, distant sire. All that had shattered within the first two minutes of the confrontation with the man. Had he really come to resemble the late earl so closely?

Harry had been so taken aback that the storm of indignant rage that had driven him thus far was eclipsed like the sun behind a massive thundercloud.

When Mina had claimed her father was suffering from senility, part of Harry had wanted to believe it was just an excuse to save him from prosecution for his theft, the damages his poor accounting had caused, and the debt incurred against Ravenshire Manor thanks to his neglect. What he hadn’t anticipated was that there might be some truth to it. At the very least, he needed to see what Mina had to say about it all; he owed it to their longstanding friendship to listen. If, at the end of it, Harry determined that her father had knowingly and maliciously set out to ruin the estate, then Harry would have to deal with that fact accordingly. He was the Earl of Ravenshire now, and the responsibility was his.

Harry heaved a deep, weary breath before exiting his chamber and striding down the hallway to the stairs. What little he’d already seen of Ravenshire Manor was in desperate need of a good cleaning and would benefit from some repair. Time had done its job and, when he’d been advised that so few staff remained, he understood why some tasks had been abandoned in favor of more necessary ones. For example, he hadn’t been in residence since the night Mina had told him she was to be married and sent away; the furniture had been covered, and the room had remained undusted and closed up for years. It would take several days of dedicated cleaning and airing to set it to rights, but at least the shadow-like cats roaming the halls had done their job well, and it didn’t appear rodents had nested. The furniture remained untouched, unlike some of the other rooms where some pieces he distinctly remembered owning—a table here, a painting there, a chair or two—were inexplicably absent. He made a mental note to inquire about them.

He bypassed the dining room and, finally, came across one of the maids as she swept leaves from the foyer. “Emily, was it?” Harry asked.

The girl snapped to attention, nearly dropping the broom, and bobbed a curtsey. “Yes, my lord.”

“Would you please locate Miss—” Harry caught himself, “Mrs. Brown and have her sent to the study?” Using Mina’s married name caused a bitter taste to fill his mouth, but it was the proper thing to do. She hadn’t been Miss Mina Fletcher in years, and it was wrong to address her as such.

The girl dashed off to locate Mina, and Harry strode into the study. It wasn’t a room in which he’d ever spent a great deal of time. It was a largely masculine space with dark wood and heavy furniture, but it was otherwise impersonal. Harry could recall seeing his father working at the large desk less than five times. As a matter of fact, the stacks and rows of papers organized on the desk were the busiest he’d ever seen. The slight lingering scent of sugar and spice underscored just who had adopted the space. He couldn’t help but inhale deeply, savoring the hint of herself that Mina had left behind.

An elaborate map of England was mounted on the wall to the left of the desk, and Harry approached it to examine its details. Rivers and lakes, important villages and churches were all marked with artful strokes of ink. His eyes traced the main artery leading from London to Kent, tracing it like the lifeline it was. His eyes snagged on the town of Woolrich—the place Mina had called home. Even when he’d resided in London, she had been even closer to him than Ravenshire Manor. So close, and yet so very unattainable.

Not for the first time, Harry tortured himself by wondering if she’d been happy in her marriage. Had it brought her as much joy as she deserved? Had her husband appreciated the light she brought to the world?

“You requested to see me?” Harry spun at the sound of Mina’s gentle voice. The sight of her made his heart race all over again. She’d changed from the drab grey gown she’d worn earlier to a muted purple frock. Again, it was devoid of an excess of ribbons, beads, lace, and other details, but she looked no less beautiful in it. The cap sleeves were simple; the skirt flowed elegantly with the sway of her generous hips when she moved.

“I see you’ve done away with your feather,” was all Harry could think to say when confronted with Mina’s unconscious beauty. She’d never been a woman who needed to try to be anything. She was naturally intelligent; even when she’d been traipsing through the woods, she’d possessed an innate confidence and grace greater than any woman who had to learn those skills.

“I beg your pardon?” Mina screwed her face up in confusion.

Harry made a vague gesture to his own head. “The quill. You had one stuck in your hair when I last saw you.” His cheeks heated when he heard his own words and realized how stupid they sounded. Leave it to him to make himself into a fool all over again.

“Oh.” Mina pressed a hand to the back of her head as if to reassure herself that she had, indeed, removed the quill and repaired her hairstyle. Dark curls caressed the curves of her cheek and tickled the back of her neck. How Harry wished he could run the locks through his fingers, pluck at them and watch them bounce. “It did not match my ensemble,” she said so matter-of-factly that it took Harry a moment to recognize the jest she’d intended. He smiled in reply. She was offering him a bit of peace—an opening for them to have the discussion that so sorely needed to take place.

Harry took a cautious step forward. “I don’t know; there have been worse things in your hair. Leaves. Sticks. Hay.”

“A lizard,” she added wryly.

“Through no fault of my own,” Harry said with a chuckle, advancing several paces closer to where Mina stood.

“You flung it onto me!” She gestured frantically, pantomiming how the lizard had been catapulted in her direction.

“Unintentionally!” Harry insisted. “Those bloody Sinson boys dropped it on my head first.”

“Those bloody Stinson boys,” Mina agreed with a dramatic sigh and rolled her eyes to the sky. A warmth had begun to thaw the air between them, inviting in the companionship they’d once shared. He hoped this boded well for the discussion he planned.

“We will revisit the sins of the Stinsons another time; for now, I believe there is a conversation in order.”

“I suspected as much,” Mina replied, her smile dimming.

Harry turned to the desk and gestured to the orderly stacks of ledgers and correspondence collected there. “I’ve not examined what you have here, but it is clear that you have been doing a great deal of work.”

She nibbled her full lower lip for a moment before answering with a soft, “I have.”