the expense of his Andalusians? The hay and wool and milk production couldn’t keep up with the mounting debt of Seabeck. Unless his father’s will held some surprising good news, the estate was in deep trouble, and with it the livelihoods of more than a hundred people.
He feared even High Point would have to go, and that felt like the end of historic Seabeck’s long life.
Breeze, happily ignorant of these worries, set out toward the stables at her best swinging trot, and James tried to give himself up to the pleasure of the movement.
It was satisfying to see the fields he passed through greening nicely between the hedgerows. Sheep grazed peacefully under the late-afternoon sun. A dozen columns of smoke rose from the chimneys of his tenants’ cottages, promising meals for the laborers and their families. He knew those tenants. He knew how hard they worked and how loyal they had always been. He hoped they would remain loyal to their new lord. He hoped he could protect Seabeck, enable these farmers to support their families.
He lifted his gaze toward the sandstone facade of Rosefield Hall. At this distance he couldn’t make out the damage to the tiles of the roof, or the gaps where stones had fallen from the southern parapet, or the upper windows in need of reglazing, but he knew all of that was there. Thinking of the work that needed doing, and what it would cost, set a bubble of anxiety rising beneath his breastbone.
For now he tried to be grateful that the mullioned windows gleamed in the sunshine and the stone balconies above them boasted pots of flowers. The phaetons and barouches of the visitors, freshly cleaned and provisioned, awaited their owners in the drive. The lawns and shrubberies were trimmed and weeded. Dozens of servants labored to make all of that happen, servants who would now depend upon him for their livelihoods and their welfare.
He would do his best for them all, he resolved, his tenants and his domestic staff. He would do whatever it took.
He wished he knew what that might be.
James was barely awake the next morning when his mother gave her solid double knock on his bedroom door and came in without waiting for an invitation. She went straight to the window to pull the drapes open. Blinking against the flood of sunshine, James struggled sleepily to a sitting position and, since he invariably slept without a nightshirt, reached for the dressing gown his valet had left at the foot of his bed.
“Good God,” he muttered, pulling the dressing gown across his bare chest. “Mother, what time is it?”
“You shouldn’t sleep naked,” Lady Eleanor announced. “You’ll catch your death. I’ll speak to Perry about that.”
James could have retorted that unless Perry were going to climb into bed with him, that would be a waste of her breath, but he held his tongue. It was easier than arguing, and James much preferred, in all cases, the smooth path to the rocky one.
He didn’t answer her, but he did thrust his arms into his dressing gown and pull it over himself as best he could beneath the coverlet. “Has something happened?”
“I want to talk to you before the reading of the will this morning.”
He glanced at the gilt clock above the mantelpiece of his bedroom fireplace. “Mother, it’s barely seven! What are you doing out of your own bed?”
“Seeing to breakfast, of course. We still have houseguests.”
He swung his feet to the floor and tied the sash on his dressing gown. “Isn’t that what staff are for?”
It was a slightly provocative thing to say. Lady Eleanor brooked no criticism, even of her working too hard, which wasn’t unusual, but he wasn’t fully awake. On this morning, however, she let the remark pass. She settled herself into the brocaded armchair beside the fireplace with a little grunt of effort. She was, he could see, wearing her corset too tight again. He knew she hated her thickening waistline. She fought it with admirable energy, but nothing seemed to slow the expansion except tighter and tighter corsets. He was sure that couldn’t be good for her, but he knew better than to speak the thought aloud.
She leaned back in the chair, and for a moment her fatigue and worry showed on her plump features, normally schooled into rigorous composure. She said with a sigh, “The news will not be good, James.”
“You know this already?”
“I fear so.” Lady Eleanor toyed with the lace edge of the handkerchief