Page 61 of To Swoon and to Spar
Now that responsibility was his—and he experienced a momentof fierce longing that his father had lived longer, had better prepared him to take it on. He had spent the past decade attempting to fill the gaps in his knowledge—had read books about estate management and innovations in agriculture. And he’d spent the past months carefully reviewing the estate’s finances, determined not to be the viscount who mired future generations in debt.
And yet, he thought, none of that replaced the knowledge his father might have imparted of how to bear the burden of the title, of ownership of this house and land, the weight of responsibility that fell upon his shoulders.
No book could teach him that.
He realized that Jane was watching him carefully. “Is something wrong?” she asked.
“Nothing,” he said shortly.
“Penvale?” she asked, turning to face him more fully, something in his voice clearly alerting her to some of the mental turmoil he was experiencing. She took a few careful steps toward him, and he nearly laughed at the sight—Jane, who was so rarely tentative, who hid her discomfort behind a curt demeanor and scowls, was now walking toward him slowly, a worried frown creasing her forehead.
She drew to a halt before him and reached a hand out to take his.
He let her.
And then, after a moment during which she gazed steadily at him, her eyes meeting his without any hesitation—so different from the creature Penvale had encountered in his drawing room in London a few months earlier—he spoke.
“It’s… difficult for me, I suppose. Being here sometimes.” Jane frowned but did not speak, allowing him the time he needed to say what was on his mind. “It reminds me of my mother and father—itmakes me miss them.” His voice broke at this point, and he fell silent, the only sound in the room his own ragged breathing. “And I’m here, back in this house, where I’ve always thought I belonged, and…” The words drying up, he trailed off, not knowing how to express the ache so deep within him.
“And it still didn’t bring them back,” Jane said softly.
He shook his head. “I knew it wouldn’t bring them back,” he said. “But I don’t think I realized how angry it would make me, being here without them. Realizing that my father died before he could teach me how to do this properly.”
“How to run the estate?” Her frown deepened. “The tenants seem very fond of you, and I expect some of the ladies in the village to start composing poetry in your honor at any moment.” This was uttered in tones of great skepticism, as though Jane personally questioned the wisdom of anyone who would think him worthy of such an honor, and he couldn’t help but smile at the thought. It was so veryJane. And, at some point, so many of the things he’d once disliked about her had become things that made him smile instead.
“Not the estate, specifically.” He shrugged helplessly. “It’s just that there’s no one to tell me how to be the viscount. I’ve held this title since I was ten years old, but I’ve never felt as though I really had tobeViscount Penvale until now.”
“I think you’re doing just fine,” she said. She didn’t say anything else, but she didn’t need to. Coming from her, this was effusive praise, and it warmed him as no flowery words from anyone else could have.
He squeezed her hand, and her grip tightened on his in turn.
It was an odd moment as they stood there in the afternoon light of Penvale’s study, the room silent around them, the bookcase still ajar, showing the entrance to the staircase. And he had the strangestthought—that when, on occasion over the past few months, he’d worried Trethwick Abbey was not enough to sustain him, that he needed some new goal, new purpose to give his life shape… he’d never considered this.
That the weight of Jane’s hand in his—and all it signified—could perhaps serve that purpose.
He did not say this aloud—not yet.
Instead, he held her hand and allowed himself, in that moment, to feel content.
Chapter Twenty-One
May in England! The monthof blossoming flowers, of sunny skies and fat white clouds and warm breezes. It was glorious! It was beautiful!
It was making Jane feel mildly ill.
It was not the weather itself that caused this feeling—even the most crotchety of souls could remain unmoved by the spectacular show that nature was putting on, and Jane was alarmed to discover that she seemed to be growing less crotchety by the day—but instead the event of which it was a harbinger. For the warm weather and the bright sun overhead were not a herald of only glorious springtime and a happy summer to come.
No, they were also a herald of guests.
Despite the relatively small number of invitations that had been sent, the arrival of each letter of acceptance as April trickled by had caused a sinking feeling in her stomach, even as she plastered a smile on her face to inform Penvale each time another friend wrote to express eager anticipation, et cetera. To Penvale’s credit, he didn’t seem fooled by her attempts at good cheer—on more than one occasion, he seemed mildly disturbed by it, thus informing Jane that her feigned smile was not quite credible. However, he seemed tounderstand that she wastrying,so he didn’t tease her too much about her ludicrous efforts to appear cheerful for a looming event that she found terrifying.
“It’s only eight guests,” he said one evening over dinner in the last week of April, for at least the third time that week. “It barely counts as a house party.”
“Toyou,” Jane said darkly, though she knew, logically, that he was correct, that this was not a terribly burdensome gathering to host.
He regarded her for a moment, his finger running idly around the rim of his wineglass. “If you want to call it off, I will write to them tomorrow. I’ll send a rider on a fast horse, to make certain the notes reach them in time.” Despite how appallingly rude this would be—and how utterly contrary to his own wishes Jane knew it to be—she did not doubt his sincerity.
And here, she hesitated—for was this not what she had been attempting over the past few weeks? Had this not been the entire point of donning that nightgown and leading her husband on a chase around the halls? The reduced guest list had gone some way to soothing her nerves, but she undoubtedly would be more comfortable if they were not hosting any guests at all.
