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“I will only toss and turn. I keep feeling like I am missing something—some other opportunity to save the estate.”

“If there is one, then I have no doubt you will find it. If not…” He did not need to finish that sentence.

“I cannot allow that to happen,” Mina groaned.

“We cannot change fate,” Harry said with gentle insistence. “If we do whatever we can to remedy the situation and it does not work, then Ravenshire Manor will change ownership. I will do my best to ensure the staff is given compensation and recommendations for new positions if they choose not to accept work at another of my homes. And I swear to you that your father will always be cared for; it may be an adjustment for him to adapt to a new environment, but we will make it as gentle as possible.”

Mina stared thoughtfully at her thumb as it ran along the corded muscle of Harry’s forearm and the dusting of pale golden hair there. What else could they do? She felt as if they’d exhausted all the options and her personal funds had been bled nearly dry before Harry had arrived. Her eyes danced over the ledgers and books laid out on the desk before snagging on the land reports. There were the tenant farms, grazing fields for livestock, fields left fallow for the season, but there was also the orchard. Though not a large production, Mina wondered if it still might be an opportunity she had not considered.

“What about the orchards?” Mina asked, an idea growing brighter in her mind. “Forty acres of Ravenshire land are designated orchards. I spoke to the arborist, and the trees are mature and productive. I was told the variety of apples grown is largely sold for eating, but I wonder if the land might be more enticing to someone who can use any of the less attractive fruit for cider.” She tapped her finger anxiously on the stack of parchment before her while Harry moved to stand beside her and review what she was indicating.

“So, you are suggesting we sell off the orchard?”

“At least part of it. Even twenty acres of fertile orchard will produce around two thousand pounds of immediate capital.”

“That much?” Harry asked, raising a brow in interest.

“All we need is someone with interest and funds.”

“The produce generates income, employs villagers, and supplements some of the farms; I do not believe we can do away with it entirely.”

“Then we make provisions that the current employment arrangements with the villagers remain, and what is picked will merely belong to the new owner and be used for his purposes.”

Harry seemed to mull this over before slowly beginning to nod his head. “It could provide a quick infusion of some money, but it is nowhere near enough to pay off the debts and convince Townsend to step away.

“We must make the estate profitable,” Mina said decisively. “We cannot defeat Townsend by matching his money, but by proving that the debts are not insurmountable. If we can gather enough funds to offer as temporary compensation to satisfy the debts and make an arrangement to pay off the balance over time, then it is at least something better than nothing at all.” She paused and then added, “We can try,” echoing Harry’s earlier statement. “Try” felt like the word Mina had lived by for the last six months. It had been more manageable with Harry by her side this past week, but would he wish to continue on? Part of her had been waiting for him to finally throw up his hands and walk away from Ravenshire Manor, and she wondered if that time had finally come.

Instead, Harry did what he always did. He looked at her with adoration in his eyes and agreed. “We will try.” He brought her hand to his lips and pressed a lingering kiss to her knuckles. “If there is time remaining, then we will continue to do so.”

Mina leaned forward and kissed him; she couldn’t help it. She was so grateful for this man’s forgiveness for what her father had done, and for his unwavering trust in her. With him by her side, Mina felt that anything was possible—even saving the doomed Ravenshire Manor.

“The first thing we must do is find a buyer for the parcel of orchards,” Mina said when she finally lifted her head from Harry’s.

“I think I may know just the man,” he replied, a confident smile on his lips.

CHAPTER 13

Over the next month, Mina and Harry worked tirelessly to collect any rent arrears they could from tenants who were able to pay. Those who could barter were allowed to pay in goods and livestock which could then be sold to place money directly into the estate’s coffers. Mina wrote up new lease agreements and Harry personally delivered them, lending his authority and presence as support for the new measures. Tenants were offered the opportunity to either agree or have time to move their families elsewhere. Those who chose to leave would have their lands offered to the individuals on Mina’s list of prospective tenants, with the Stinson brothers leading the way. Funds were reallocated for necessary improvements and repairs that would provide quick income—carts for the impending apple harvest were purchased and could be leased for tenants’ use as well. Waste was carved out with the replacement of suppliers to whom Mina’s father had once been paying wildly inflated prices. Unnecessary assets were also sold off. Along with the furniture Mina had already done away with, Harry was ruthless in his selection of other pieces in the manor home. Items he knew were of low sentimental and high monetary value were the first to go. Steadily, the account books were showing a profit with an even higher potential for future return. It was reassuring, but much hinged upon the sale of the orchard land.

The West Country cider Harry was familiar with was heavy in tannins and often bitter; it could be delicious when done properly. The apples grown in Kent were different. Often used for eating and cooking, they were sweeter and offered an entirely different flavor profile when made into cider. Harry had tasted one such variety at the village tavern on one of his many rides to survey the lands and meet with the tenants about the changes that were going to be made. He hadn’t expected the clearer, crisper cider offered by the barkeep, and he’d been pleasantly surprised by its balanced flavor. When he’d inquired as to its maker, he’d been informed that it was from a local man who had spent years perfecting his craft. Apparently, he owned a good portion of fertile orchard land not all that far from Ravenshire Manor, and he’d built his own horse mill and press machinery. No one knew where he’d come from or how he earned the money to purchase the land and the materials, but no one cared because he hired good local men and paid wages that were more than fair.

“They call ‘im Fox.”

“Fox?” Harry had questioned the barkeep.

“Aye, Fox. On account o’ the red hair and the nose for profit.”

It had taken Harry some time, but he’d eventually tracked down the man called Fox at his property south of Ravenshire Manor. He hoped the location boded well because it was, indeed, only a little over an hour’s ride from the orchards he hoped to sell to the man. The home was everything one might expect from landed gentry, tidy, well-made, and just the right amount of luxury. Whoever the man was and however he’d made his fortune, he could afford to live comfortably in addition to funding a business.

Two footmen materialized just as Harry reined his mount to a stop on the crushed gravel drive in far better shape than the one at Ravenshire Manor. He presented his card to the man who claimed he was a butler yet appeared far too young and a little too rough ‘round the edges to be one; eventually being shown into a formal sitting room. The space was clean and tidy, if a bit impersonal. While well furnished with elegant items upholstered in shades that complemented the grass-green papering, it was missing all the little touches one might expect when a woman lived in the home. Harry interpreted that to mean Fox was an unmarried man.

“It is not very often that an earl calls upon me in my home.” The man’s voice was slightly accented—perhaps Northern?—telling Harry he was certainly not a Kentish native. He was tall and lean with intelligent, flashing green eyes and, yes, garishly red hair worn tied back in a small queue. His features were angular and long, though Harry supposed he still might have been considered attractive in many circles. There was something dangerous about him in the way he moved with a silent grace a human should not have been capable of. It was easy to see how the man had earned his moniker.

“Then are you more accustomed to dukes or barons?” The minor attempt at a polite jest was received with silence. “Mr. Fox, I presume?”

This seemed to amuse the man, given the twitch of his mouth. “Fox is sufficient. What can I do for you, Lord Ravenshire?”

“I had the pleasure of sampling what I was told was your brand of cider a few weeks ago, and I must say I was quite impressed.”