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“Which is no dramatic departure from how she is on a regular basis,” said Gavin.

Grace’s mouth twisted into a grimace, but she slipped around the door without another word.

Gavin let out a breath. “That was my mother.”

“I’m trying to understand how you could be her child,” she said.

“I ask myself the same thing nearly every day.”

Chapter Sixteen

THE FUNERAL OF Sir Henry Barrett and Richard Barrett was held three days after Gavin and Ina’s arrival at Oak Park. As was custom, Gavin led the mourners to the gravesite, and the women stayed at home to grieve in private. While he was glad for a reprieve from his mother’s disapproving gaze and Grace’s drawn smiles, he wished Ina could have stood with him.

If he’d asked her, she would have joined him, but he doubted she wished to incur his mother’s wrath any more than he did. He tried his best to stay by his wife’s side and protect her from some of his mother’s judgment, but it was impossible to be with her at all times.

It was on their fifth day at the house that Gavin found himself in the study, which still felt very much his father’s, staring at a list of accounts that Chase had handed him. The estate agent was sitting in a chair across the vast wood desk, waiting patiently for his decision on whether to authorize repairs to two tenant cottages that had fallen into disrepair after standing unoccupied for three years.

“Why is it that my father decided against letting them?” he asked, rubbing his brow to try to alleviate a headache.

“He was debating whether or not to send workers to dig down past the topsoil to see if there was any hint of coal in that plot of land. There was a vein found ten miles from Ashington, but there’s no guarantee what such a gamble would produce.”

“And what do you think?” Gavin asked.

The quiet, capable man thought a moment. “I believe your father was right to be cautious. Viscount Mears destroyed a good deal of his farmable land searching for such mines last season, and he has nothing to show for it.”

“Where does the viscount’s land lie?” he asked.

“Four miles south of yours.”

His land. His house. His title. His tenants. His estate manager. His servants. Everything was his, and yet nothing felt like it truly belonged to him. It was like he’d stolen into his father’s wardrobe and pulled on his clothes.

Except he could take off clothes. He couldn’t shed a title quite so easily.

His thoughts strayed to Ina as they so often did when he’d rather not be thinking about farming and accounts. She’d transformed in these past five days, he thought with a deep, leaden guilt. Gone was the impulsive, merry woman he’d fallen in love with years ago. In her place sat a woman possessed of an almost regal carriage who was shouldering a burden well beyond what was expected of her. She sat through suppers with his mother, afternoons with Grace, and evenings reading in the drawing room. Caller after caller came to pay their respects, and she accepted their condolences with a murmur of thanks. Still, the woman they all saw was Lady Ina Barrett, wife of Sir Gavin Barrett, not Ina, sculptor and Bohemian, and that worried him.

He needed to conclude his business in Ashington and take them back to Edinburgh as quickly as possible. His mother still hadn’t moved out of her rooms, so each night he stole out of his west wing bedroom and made for Ina’s, slipping into bed next to her, seeking comfort and pleasure. But he knew that staying at Oak Park any longer was likely to damage what had been growing between them. He wouldn’t sacrifice that for the world, but first he had to settle Chase’s endless list of questions and concerns. He needed to ensure that the estate could continue on with only his minimal attention and occasional visits. It was his responsibility just as it had been his father’s and should’ve been his brother’s.

For now, that meant deciding the fate of the dilapidated cottages.

“Are there families in the village who would be willing to work the land and rent the cottages if they were habitable?” he asked.

“I know of at least half a dozen men who wish for land to farm,” Chase said.

“Mining is too much of a risk with no evidence that there’s been coal found in Oak Park. Go forward with the construction.” He paused. “And see if you can arrange for a geological expert to come to the estate. There’s no reason not to explore the possibility of coal if it’s been found in the region, but we won’t gamble on it until we know with more certainty whether it’s there.”

Chase stood. “I’ll see that it’s done.”

“Thank you,” said Gavin.

The estate agent nodded, collected his papers, and left.

As soon as the door was shut, Gavin let his head fall back onto the soft leather of the chair. This wasn’t his world. Give him paper and pen and a ripping good story, and he was happy. Here he felt out of his depth and surrounded by memories he’d rather not relive.

The soft sound of a door brushing against carpet reached his ears, and he opened his eyes. Ina filled the doorway, her hand on the jamb as though uncertain whether or not to enter.

“Hello,” he said, leaning forward in his chair and bringing his hands to the padded armrests.

“I’m just checking on you. You were in here such a long time with Mr. Chase I feared he’d buried you under a stack of accounts.”