She certainly hadn’t objected to the kiss he’d initiated in her dressing room the day he left. Had her maids not been just on the other side of the door, he would have taken more time to truly appreciate having her in his arms, her murmur of pleasure driving him mad. That sound filled his dreams, echoed in his thoughts.
And writing. He’d filled the music composition sheets Ashley had sent over with his other things, and had Gilroy purchase more. Though he’d written several new songs and worked on new arrangements of old pieces, there was one tune in particular he couldn’t quite get. The melody teased at the edges of his memory but refused to come out to play.
“Gambling that I can finally stay awake for a few hours, I’ve asked my steward to meet with me this morning,” David said. “Here.”
“Didn’t go so well last time you went to his lodgings. Or rather, tried to go there.”
David tried not to wince. His bruises were mostly gone, he had no broken bones, and his forearm only hurt if he bumped it. Or touched it. Hell, it still ached. But he wouldn’t trade those days with Ashley for anything. And he’d protected another woman without dressing up as a character from folklore.
His gut churned, though, almost dreading his appointment with Ogden. It had now been over three weeks since their last meeting. How badly had things gotten out of control, how chaotic? His father had always met with his steward weekly when in London, and at least three times each week when at the estate, scheduling time between rehearsals. After finishing at university, Philip had regularly joined in on those meetings, learning how to manage the estates he would one day inherit.Shouldhave inherited.
Instead, David had been thrust into the role of earl, woefully unprepared.
“I have students coming for a voice lesson. You’re welcome to stay though you might want to go to the coffee house. Mr. Grantham and his son have not a drop of self-consciousness and no trouble with volume, but they have yet to grasp the concept of pitch.”
David saluted him with his teacup. “I admire your fortitude in taking on such a challenge.”
“Have to do something to afford the coal bill now.”
“Still no word from your patron?”
Liam grimaced. “The knocker is still gone from his door.”
* * *
David closed the accounting book his steward had brought and sat back in his seat, trying to conceal his shock. “Everything looks like it’s on schedule and within budget. The planting, everything.” His father, and later Philip, had gone out to the fields to personally oversee the planting every spring and the harvest every fall. Since he had inherited, David had done the same, swinging a scythe with his field hands or filling the seed drill. He had only come to London this spring and missed lambing season and the planting because of a bill in the House of Lords that affected water rights near his estate.
“Thank you, my lord,” Ogden said, as he raised his cup for a refill. “I was right worried when you missed our last meeting, but Mr. Westbrook explained about your sister’s emergency. I hope all is well now?”
Sister’s emergency? Oh, right. The other lie Liam had told to cover for David’s absence. “Yes, thank you.”
Ogden thanked the serving girl and blew on his coffee before taking a sip. “I just kept going as I thought you would want.”
“You did exactly as I would have asked.” So well, in fact, David wondered why he was even needed. Was it possible he’d been keeping the man on too short a leash the last two years?
Ogden was a few years older than David’s father and had overseen Ravencroft holdings for more than two decades. Reference letters from his previous employers that sang his praises were among the documents in Father’s library, yellowed and fading. The work Ogden described in the account books spread before David was done just the same as when David had gone out to the fields every day the last two springs, working until he fell into bed at night utterly exhausted, or stayed up all night with the shepherds, checking on the pregnant ewes and helping deliver as needed. “Except for the planting of the north field. Why did you switch crops there, and move the sheep to the east field?”
Ogden’s face lit up. “I’ve been reading journals on farm management and studies about increasing crop yields.” He dived deep into a current theory on crop rotation and soil amendments. David was only half-listening, reminded of Ashley’s journal documenting her experiments to increase yields for the academy’s kitchen.
From the corner of his eye, he noticed a young woman wearing the green uniform and mob cap of a maid had joined Gilroy at his table, her back to David. They sat at adjoining corners of the table rather than across from each other, their heads bowed in close conversation. Gilroy tipped his head back to laugh and rested one hand on the woman’s shoulder. Beneath the table, she had one hand on his knee.
“– if it doesn’t work, we can always go back to the way your father, God rest his soul, arranged the crops.”
David held up a finger as he perused the last column in the accounting ledger again, and compared it to last year at the same time, and then the year before, and the year before that.
Yes. It felt right.
Church bells and a choir of angels should accompany this monumental shift in his mindset.
He flattened his palms on the scarred, scratched tabletop and braced his back against the chair. “Not only do I want you to continue with your current plan, I want you to hire an assistant. Continue to research. Document everything—the yields, the investment of time and materials, all the variables and results.” He took a deep breath and released it along with his tight control over the estate that had consumed so much of his time and physical and mental energy since inheriting the title. “Send me updates when you have something to share. We’ll meet monthly instead of weekly. Unless you feel the need to meet sooner.”
Ogden’s eyes grew wide while David spoke. “Yes, my lord. Thank you!” He held his hand over his chest and seemed to blink back tears. “I suggested to your father about changing things around, but every year he said he liked things the way they were.”
“Show me it’s a good idea or prove that it is not.” David tapped the account book. “You’ll want a separate journal for your research notes. Make sure the assistant you hire has neat penmanship.”
Ogden again expressed his surprise and gratitude, and how much he appreciated Ravencroft’s trust in him. With the account books safely tucked in his leather satchel, he whistled as he exited the coffee house.
David ate another biscuit, reveling in the feeling of a crushing weight lifted from his shoulders. Midway through another cup of tea, he decided to tackle another task that had seemed insurmountable just a fortnight ago. Back at Liam’s apartment, he penned a note, sealed it, and handed it to Gilroy. “You don’t have to go. I understand if you don’t want to complete this errand.”
