Page 6 of The Hired Hero
The steward shot him an appraising glance. “Aye, milord, I have no doubt about that—you ain’t at all like the previous earl.” He heaved a sigh. “Well, if you’re serious, the tenants will most likely come around. They’re good folk and not afraid of hard work. Perhaps it won’t be impossible to set things right.”
Davenport nodded grimly. “Bring me your list first thing tomorrow morning, and we’ll decide where to begin.” With that, he turned his mount away and spurred the big black stallion into a canter toward home.
After dismounting by the stable, he sighed and loosened his cravat before crossing to the walkway that led to the manor house. His shirt was damp with sweat, and his worn riding coat showed the effects of a long day spent in the saddle. A rueful glance at his mud-encrusted boots drew another sigh—he was hardly the picture of a titled gentleman, he thought with an ironic smile.
But he didn’t give a damn about appearances. All his thoughts were fully occupied with the myriad things that needed to be done to restore the run-down estate to rights. The first task was to pen a letter to his banker in London. His own carefully managed funds should be sufficient to satisfy the most pressing demands of the creditors and still leave enough to begin putting things in working order. With prudent management, hard work and a little luck…
The front door was opened by a rotund man of less than average height. His wiry hair seemed to defy all efforts with a brush—it stuck straight up from his head as if he had recently encountered a manor ghost. That, combined with his rather large eyes and pinched mouth, gave him a perpetually startled look. But at least, noted Davenport, there was no longer a stab of fear in the other man’s eyes every time he approached.
“Good evening, Fields,” said the earl.
The butler bowed. He was still having trouble finding his tongue. “G-Good evening, milord,” he finally stammered. “Y-You have a visitor.”
The earl exhaled a long breath and ran a hand through his wind-blown locks. He hadn’t bothered with a hat, and his hair, worn longer than was fashionable, was as dusty as the rest of him.
“Who is he?” he inquired.
“Actually, it’s the C-Countess of Davenport, milord. I put her in th-the library.”
“I trust you lit the fire.”
The butler nodded.
“Very well.” He let out another breath—along with a silent oath. At the moment, he wasn’t feeling up to facing his brother’s widow. What he really wanted was a hot bath and a bottle of brandy.
But it had to be done.
He walked down the corridor and opened the library door.
“Halloo, Julian.” She was still as lovely as when they had first met, though her mouth seemed harder and more careworn, and her eyes were perhaps a shade duller. “I apologize for coming unannounced.”
“You are always welcome here, Helen.”
Her smile was fleeting. “You are…too good.”
Davenport crossed to the mahogany sideboard and poured himself a stiff brandy. “May I get you anything?” he asked, gesturing to the sherry.
She shook her head, her gaze dropping to her hands, which were lying knotted in her lap.
He stared into the fire and took a long swallow from his glass.
“Actually, I’ve come to say goodbye,” intoned Helen.
The earl looked around with a start.
“I have a small property in New Forest, near Lymington, and a modest income to go with it. I inherited it through my mother, and it was one asset Charles couldn’t touch.” She paused, trying to control the emotion in her voice.
“You may always think of this as your home,” he said quietly. “The dower house can be refurbished?—”
“No!” cried Helen. “This was never my home! And I don’t wish to be a reminder of…” A fraught pause. “You have borne more than any man should have to bear.” Her voice broke. “The lies, the ugly rumors that have blackened your name! Don’t think that I’m unaware of what I owe you.”
“It isn’t necessary…”
“Yes! Yes, it is! Julian, please let me say it aloud. It is only your willingness to take the blame for many of Charles’s excesses that allows me to appear in Society without being cut directly by all my acquaintances, and my daughter to grow up without hanging her head in total shame.”
“Helen…”
Tears welled up in her eyes. “I’m glad I never bore him a son,” she whispered. “I’m glad Highwood went to you, who deserves it so much more than any seed of Charles’s. Though heaven knows there are probably more than enough of those in the area.”
