Page 17

Mr. Bradley opened his ledger to a page filled with neat columns of figures. "It has, Your Grace. The tenant farmers and field laborers have received the fifteen percent increase in their weekly stipends. However, several neighboring landowners have expressed considerable irritation over the matter. Sir Arthur of the adjacent parish claims your generous wages are drawing his best farmhands away from his wheat fields."

George let out a low scoff as he pulled the payroll ledger toward himself. "Sir Arthur is a miserly fool who starves his workers and wonders why his crops rot in the soil. If he wishes to retain his hands, he may match my wages or watch his fields go fallow. See to it that all wages for the Cavendish staff are paid in full by noon today, Bradley. I will not have a single man in my employ worrying over his family's bread."

"Right away, Your Grace," Bradley replied.

"In the future, run matters through Mr. Pembroke and have him report to me. Now, Mr. Pembroke," George said, turning his focus toward the solicitor. "What is this urgent matter regarding land acquisition that brought you riding down the pre-dawn darkness?"

Mr. Pembroke adjusted his spectacles before spreading a large, hand-drawn topographical map across the desk. "It concerns the Westwood estate, Your Grace. As you are aware, the property borders our western boundary directly along the River Wey. Old Sir William passed away three weeks ago, leaving his heir in substantial gambling debts in London. The young man has placed the entire estate—three thousand acres of prime arable land, two hundred acres of mature timber, and a fully operational mill—upon the market for immediate sale."

George leaned forward, his elbows resting on the desk as he scanned the detailed map. "Westwood... If Cavendish acquires those three thousand acres, we consolidate the entire valley under one mantle. It would give us complete control over the river's water rights, allowing us to double the output of our flour mills while eliminating the costly transit tolls Sir William charged our tenant wagons."

"Precisely, Your Grace," Mr. Pembroke affirmed, pointing a thin finger at a highlighted red boundary on the parchment. "It is an extraordinary opportunity to consolidate Cavendish holdings for generations to come, especially now that you have just started to cement your family's place in society. It would increase our annual agricultural yield by nearly twenty percent and provide ideal grazing land for the new sheep herds. I am sure that your heir would be quite glad to come into such great wealth at birth."

Why do men think that wealth gained must be for family standing and heirs? Oliver is heir enough and provided the Duchess abides by my rules, my social standing is secured.

"What is the catch, Pembroke?" George asked, scoffing slightly. "You did not ride two hours in the cold rain merely to present me with a pleasant triumph. What is the asking price?"

Mr. Pembroke cleared his throat nervously, adjusting his collar before replying. "The heir's solicitors are fully aware of how desirable the land is to the Cavendish estate. They are demanding twenty-four thousand pounds in cash, to be settled within thirty days."

The room grew silent, save for the crackle of the hearth fire. Bradley gasped softly at the astronomical figure, while George remained entirely motionless, his dark brows drawn together.

"Twenty-four thousand," George repeated slowly. "It is an exorbitant demand. The young man is attempting to clear his entire London gambling debt in a single stroke at my expense. The land itself, even with the timber rights and the mill, is worth no more than eighteen thousand in the current market."

"Indeed, Your Grace," Mr. Pembroke agreed cautiously. "However, Sir Arthur and a commercial syndicate from London have also expressed interest. If they purchase Westwood, you will lose the river rights, and a rival enterprise will sit directly upon our western border. Purchasing it, even at an inflated price, secures your absolute dominance in Surrey."

George stood up from his chair, pacing slowly toward the tall windows of the study, his hands clasped firmly behind his back.

"No," George stated firmly. "We will not pay twenty-four thousand in cash. To pull together such a massive sum within thirty days would restrict our ability to fund the planned tenant housing renovations and the drainage projects on the eastern farms."

"Then you intend to pass on the purchase, Your Grace? I would strongly advice against that, and if I may speak openly, I am sure Her Grace would not approve of such ceding," Mr. Pembroke asked, looking somewhat disappointed.

"Consult the Duchess? Mr. Pembroke, I believe I have handled business before my departure with great ease, no? Or do you have other opinions that would, pray tell, place you in my position?"

George spoke firmly, forcing the solicitor into fear-stricken silence, and all he could do was shake his head.

"Good," George retorted. "As you have pointed out, the heir is desperate for money to satisfy his creditors and cannot wait months for a commercial syndicate to raise capital. And since Sir Arthur does not possess eight thousand pounds in cash, let alone twenty-four, we hold the absolute advantage, Pembroke."

Mr. Pembroke leaned in, intrigued. "What is your strategy, Your Grace?"

"You will return immediately and present his solicitors with a non-negotiable counteroffer," George commanded. "We will offer sixteen thousand pounds in immediate cash to settle his pressing debts, coupled with a guaranteed annual annuity of eight hundred pounds paid to the heir for the next ten years. Furthermore, we shall assume the liability for the three outstanding tenant mortgages on the Westwood property."

Will Helena approve of this plan? Or am I just making Oliver's life and hers more difficult?

Mr. Pembroke's eyes widened as he quickly calculated the figures. "Brilliant, Your Grace! By structuring the payment through an annuity, we reduce our immediate cash outlay by eight thousand pounds. Meanwhile, the heir receives the immediate cash he needs to avoid debtor's prison, alongside a secure income he cannot gamble away in a single night!"

"And the tenant mortgages, Your Grace?" Bradley inquired curiously. "Does that not add to our financial burden?"

"It grants us immediate legal control over the farmers working that land," George explained with a calculating smile. "They will become Cavendish tenants, and I shall reduce their interest rates by two percent. They will be far more loyal to this house than they ever were to Sir William's shiftless son. Draft the formal proposal at once, Pembroke. Give the heir forty-eight hours to sign or inform him that we shall withdraw from negotiations entirely and leave him to his London creditors."

I should put about four hundred acres directly in Oliver's name, and… I suppose leaving Helena with sixty acres would be a fair bargain. But doesn't she deserve more from me?

"It shall be done precisely as you command, Your Grace," Mr. Pembroke replied eagerly. "A masterstroke of estate management, if I may say so."

"It is merely sound business, Pembroke," George replied coolly, sitting back down at his desk. "See to it that the papers are dispatched by express courier before noon."

With crisp bows, both Mr. Pembroke and Mr. Bradley exit the study, leaving George alone in the quiet room. George picked up his quill to review the farm repair receipts, but as the room grew still, his focus began to fracture.

He remembered the look in Helena's green eyes when he had handed Oliver to her in the nursery. The raw, searing vulnerability, the unspoken hurt, and the unmistakable fire of passion that she had made no effort to conceal. He knew she thought about the kiss, the sweetness of their connected lips and the momentous ecstasy of their bodies pressed together.