He nodded. “I had the document checked over by mylegal man, and I have every right to throw that brute Glover off the property.”
She clapped her hands. “Oh, that would be wonderf—” She broke off. “But what about that poor downtrodden woman and those little children? I can’t see Glover putting himself out to support them if he was put off the farm. He’s the type to look after himself first, and abandon them to their own devices.”
Hart smiled. He knew she’d react like this. “I’ve been giving that some thought. The farm is Danny’s by right, and though he doesn’t want to live there now, it would be to his advantage to own some property in the future. I can transfer the property permanently into his name, and rent it out to the Glovers.”
She nodded. “I suppose that’s the sensible thing to do. I just wish... But there are the children to think of. And though the man is a brute, I’ve never heard Danny say anything bad about the woman.”
Nor much good, Hart thought, but he supposed the woman was too downtrodden to withstand her husband’s orders. “I could offer them tenancy of the farm, but only in Mrs. Glover’s name. Then, technically at least, she would be in charge.”
Her eyes lit up. “What a marvelous suggestion, Hart. Horrible Glover will then have to defer—at least in theory—to his wife, and if he leaves, she’ll still have the security of a home.” She sobered. “But I think you should talk about it privately with Mrs. Glover before you do anything. Just in case Glover reacts badly and takes it out on her.”
He nodded. “Good idea. You can come with me. She’ll probably feel more comfortable talking to a woman. But I’ll tell the boys about their relationship at teatime. I think they’ll be thrilled to find they’re half brothers. I’ll discuss the question of the farm with Danny too. He’s young, but he’s shrewd.”
Chapter Twenty-two
You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope... I have loved none but you.
—JANE AUSTEN,PERSUASION
A month. They’d been married a month already. George found it hard to believe. In some ways it felt like they’d been married forever; in another it felt just a short time, the time had flown so swiftly.
It wasn’t quite an anniversary, but she thought it deserved a little celebration.
After all, she had promised to rub, cherish andoléhim. There had been quite a lot of rubbing—she grinned to herself—and the cherishing had been lovely too. Now it was time for some celebrating.
She woke early and chivvied him out of bed for a dawn ride—and not the kind he wanted. “On horseback,” she said, and he’d groaned and turned over. And then, grumbling, got out of bed.
It was a perfect late summer morning and the ride was glorious. On returning home, she went upstairs for a quick bath, and he went into the library where his mail awaited him.
Joining him at the breakfast table, she noticed he looked rather grim. “Is anything the matter?” she asked.
He nodded. “I have to return to London. I can’t stay down here any longer. I have important things to deal with and I can’t attend to them from here.”
“You’re leaving?”
He nodded. “In the morning.” He barely looked at her, just frowned at the documents on his right. He rarely brought correspondence to the breakfast table.
A cold lump formed in her belly. “Tomorrow?”
He glanced up. “Yes. I’m sorry if you don’t like it, but this little sojourn, delightful as it has been, must come to an end.”
The lump hardened, and something was blocking her throat. “What about the boys?”
“What about the boys?” But it wasn’t really a question. His blank look confirmed that as far as he was concerned the boys were her business.
George’s porridge congealed slowly in the bowl. He was saying it was over. The honeymoon—the honey month—was over. And he was returning to his life in London, and she was going on—to what?
And the terrible thing was, this had been her idea. She was the one who in the settlements had specified a house of her own, a house in the country, separate from the duke. She hadn’t done anything about looking for a house yet.
“Can we stay here for a while? The boys and I?”
His brows snapped together. “Here? You want to stay here?”
She nodded. “I don’t have a house of my own yet. I suppose we could go to my uncle’s place, Ashendon Court, for a while, if you don’t like us staying here.”
He stared at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. “No, stay here as long as you like,” he said coldly and returned to his correspondence.
“If you’ll excuse me,” George blurted, “I have things to do.” She hurried from the room and made for the privacy of her bedchamber—only she didn’t have a bedroom of her own. There was no privacy here. Everything in it evoked his presence.
