Gregory glanced up, then stood. “Miss Brinton. May I assist you with something?”
Stepping inside, I said, “I was only wondering if you could help me with a passage from this book. It’s . . . difficult . . . to make out.”
The request was silly. I didn’t need help with the passage. I needed help knowing what to do. What his true feelings were. What mine were. And if they should matter.
“What book is that?”
“It’s this book of poetry.” His brows lifted. He probably thought me completely idiotic. I lowered the book. “Or perhaps you had a novel you could recommend?” His resulting frown made me wish I’d never come seeking him. “Or a sermon on conduct?” I lifted my brows in challenge.
Gregory glanced to the side of the room. Mr. Northam sat in a large chair, a different ledger open in his lap, a look of contemplation on his face as he studied me.
“Oh, Mr. Northam. I did not know you were here.”
“And now that you do?” He set aside his ledger. “May I assist you in your selection?”
I stepped back. “I hadn’t meant to interrupt. It is clear you are both about business matters.” I stole a glance at Gregory. He bore an odd, detached expression, as though my presence were indeed an interruption. “I will seek out my father’s recommendation.”
“I would like to assist, if you will allow it,” Mr. Northam said, rising. “I was simply obliging Williams in reviewing estate matters.”
“Oh. But those are important, are they not?”
Mr. Northam smiled his dazzling smile, the one he used to draw people in, the one that failed to evoke any emotion within me. It was the smile that guaranteed I was safe with him because I would never fall for him, especially not now that I had his cousin to compare him with.
“My cousin has developed shrewd methods for establishing what is his,” Mr. Northam said. “It is simply his follow-through that needs assistance—skills to retain what he gains. But those can be taught later; you are definitely of more import. Let’s leave my cousin to his work, shall we?” He gestured toward the door.
I glanced at Gregory and his disinterested expression. “Yes, thank you.” I preceded Mr. Northam out of the room.
Dressed for dinner in a violet evening dress, I fiddled with a hair pin while a maid spent extra time on my hair.
Mr. Northam had escorted me to the drawing room, where we discovered Lady Williams was already reading. We spent the afternoon together companionably with him reading to us for quite a while; he had a magnificent voice and was definitely a man of much talent. He’d been all attentiveness, but that would fade the moment I was secured. I could count on that. And there was no affection, no attraction between us.
With Gregory, there was definite affection and attraction, and he was honest and direct. But he was also refusing to share something with me.
I did not want to be the cast-aside woman, the one people scorned or pitied, as was my future with Mr. Northam.
Neither did I want to be misled like before.
Which would lead to the least pain later?
The answer was no longer clear.
“I’ve finished, miss.”
I blinked at my reflection in the mirror. The maid had put my hair up exquisitely except for one, thick curl at the back, which she draped over my shoulder.
“Thank you.”
She curtsied. “Is there anything else you need?”
I needed advice, someone to tell me what to do, someone who understood enough to help. But that wasn’t what she had in mind. “No, thank you.”
Having a few minutes before we were to assemble for dinner, I made my way to the ballroom. All the curtains were closed, the room dim. I wrenched open the soft but heavy curtains to every window. I needed space and light and options.
The rainclouds had cleared and the low sun streamed through the west windows, dancing across the wood floor. Following its example, I spun slowly once, twice, before pausing in the alcove to survey the grounds. With a start I realized that I loved this place, the grounds and the view. I loved this house. Everything spoke of Gregory’s good management and intelligent hand. I had not seen one disgruntled servant, one aspect of the estate in disrepair.
He was the perfect landholder, the perfect gentleman.
Mr. Northam’s estate was probably just as spectacular. I would probably love it just as much.