Page 49 of Marrying a Reluctant Lady
“The farmers are on their way, my lord.”
“Very good,” Owen answered, his throat tight. He was not afraid of addressing the tenants—he'd had to practice oratory at college as part of his preparation for the law. But he still felt a flutter of nerves as the crowd arrived. There were ten of them—suntanned farmers in straw hats and leather trousers, grim expressions on their faces.
Owen stepped forward so he was facing them. He coughed again, and then, from somewhere, words began to flow.
“Tenants of Ivystone,” he began. “I am pleased to have you assembled here because I need to report an error. The rents due for this year are exactly the same as those due last year. The raise in the rents was a misreading of a document on the part of my steward.” He didn’t turn around, but he knew Barrow was standing there and he could sense anger directed at him. “The rent stays as it was. I believe that you have already delivered that sum to the estate, and I thank you. It is much appreciated, and I trust that it will prove an investment for you, as, when the state of Ivystone improves, yours will rise with it.”
He heard muttering at the statement about Barrow, butat that about the state of Ivystone improving, there were a few murmurs. Nobody shouted or threw anything, and he was grateful. He glanced around.
“You work for your earnings. You work hard, in all weathers, and earn your living by the sweat of your backs. I am glad to have you working here at Ivystone, and I assure you that the part due to the estate will not be wasted. I guarantee that what you give to Ivystone will be given back to you, in one form or another. My word as a gentleman vouchsafes that.”
This time there were mutterings, but the positive sounds were louder than the negative ones, and Mr. Brewster, who seemed the unofficial representative, cleared his throat.
“Thank you, my lord,” he murmured. His voice was rough as if he felt awkward. “But what about the matter of the stream?” he inquired. More men started to mutter as he spoke.
“The flooding?” Owen guessed. The stream that separated the estate from the next one had a tendency to overflow. It could ruin the grazing on several of the farms. As far as he knew, a wall had been built to divert the water. No complaints had been brought to him.
“Yes, my lord. The flooding caused problems this year. Three farmers could not use their fields.”
“I was not aware of that,” Owen answered sharply. He felt his hand make a fist. It didn’t seem possible that such a serious matter had escaped his notice.
“There was damage to the wall last year,” Mr. Brewster continued. “We would like to know what will be done about it.”
“The wall will be mended,” Owen said at once, though his throat felt sore. He didn’t have money to bring stone in, or the experts to work with it. He had no idea how he was going to repair the wall, but he had to try.
“Thank you, my lord.”
Owen took a deep breath. He looked around. The discontentand anger that had been written on several of the farmers’ faces had waned. Now all he could see was a hesitant look, as if they weren’t sure whether he could be trusted. He took a deep breath.
“Your complaint will be addressed. I thank you once again for your contributions.” With that, he turned around and walked back to the cart. He heard Barrow hurrying to catch up and he didn’t turn around. When he reached the cart, he paused there, back still turned on him.
“Why was I not informed?” he demanded, not turning around.
“My lord! I am certain that I must have mentioned it somewhere. In the ledgers, perhaps. And besides, the farmers often complain.”
“The farmers are our wealth,” Owen spat the words at him, turning to face him. “You say you are managing the estate’s wealth, but you do not report that to me?”
“My lord, I did not wish to bother you. The funding...”
“That is for me to decide,” Owen replied, his voice low and deep. He glared at Barrow and the fellow flinched. Owen straightened up and turned to climb into the cart.
“Yes, my lord,” Barrow replied. He climbed into the cart and Owen gestured to the driver, who hastily got up to take up his post, and set the cart in motion.
Owen didn’t speak until they returned to the estate. He alighted from the cart and walked briskly up the stairs. Mrs. Crane was in the hallway, but Owen hurried past, too angry from what he’d learned to stop and talk.
He walked up to the drawing room and heard someone step across the floor. He paused, his breath flowing out in a rush.
“Ophelia?” he inquired. His heart soared, his voice light.
“Owen. You came back early.” She stepped into the doorway, and he could smell the rose-petal scent of her and his tension lessened somewhat.
“I did,” Owen agreed. He walked to the fireplace. He leaned on the marble surround, staring at the flames. His hand moved into a fist, clasping and unclasping. He heard Ophelia draw a breath and he sighed, trying to release the tension that held him so tightly.
“It was a difficult meeting,” he explained. He paused. Ophelia had done wonders with the household books—if anyone could spot whether or not Barrow had written a note about the wall in the ledgers, it would be her. Besides, perhaps she could see something he could not—some way of finding funding for the repairs the farmers needed. “But if I may, I would ask you for something.”
“You would?” Ophelia looked up at him, her blue eyes wide and bright, round with surprise. He cleared his throat. She looked so lovely, and he needed to stay focused.
“Yes. I have need to find some information in the ledgers. Might you look over them for me? Only if you have a moment,” he added, glancing at the table where she had been sitting. She might have been working on her poetry. Another thought occurred to him, one that had formed in his mind a few days ago and that he had now decided on. “But first, I want to show you something.”
