B005R3LZ90 EBOK (20 page)

There was no money to commission portraits, anyway, until Sally and George could significantly reduce their present expenditures. That would be her first priority.

She went to her husband's library and began to pour over the account ledgers. There really was not a penny to spare. She sprang from the desk and stormed from the room, this time with the intention of conducting her own tour of the house with an eye to economizing.

In the dining room, she found that four different chandeliers were ringed several times over with expensive candles. This was far too excessive an expense. She would have most of them removed to be used in the rooms where they were more necessary. That would save the expense of purchasing new candles for months.

In the household-accounts ledger, she had noticed a rather hefty expenditure to the greengrocers. Hefty when multiplied several times a week. With all the fertile land surrounding Hornsby, everything they needed should be grown right here. Why have an ornamental parterre garden when they could have a very fine vegetable garden in its place? Surely Mr. Willingham could assign a few hands to the task. She would speak to the steward.

And by ordering that no fires be built in the daylight—except during uncommonly cold freezes—she figured they could be indulgent with night fires to warm the frigid bedchambers. A pity keeping the hearth ablaze came at so dear a cost.

And though Mrs. MacMannis had begged to be allowed to replace the scullery maid who had stayed behind in Bath, Sally decided Cook could get along with one less helper. She already had one strapping young servant to assist her. And for a household the size of Hornsby, that one could suffice.

Sally's economies were not much, but they were a start. She vowed to continue to seek ways to save money. For she was about to make a few necessary expenditures.

She returned to the library and drafted a letter to send to Bath requesting painters come to Hornsby immediately. Then she summoned the butler, and asked that he be in charge of the removal of the draperies from the viscountess's chambers to the young master's. "I should like to keep the master's old draperies in order to make clothing for the poor," she told Adams.

"Very good, my lady."

She settled back in the leather desk chair, a smile on her face. At least there would be another source of revenue soon. The sheep would be ready to be sheared next month, and Mr. Willingham said he expected an excellent price this year.

* * *

At midday George came back to the manor house for a respite, and Sally joined him at the table.

"I saw the reaper demonstrated," he told her between bites of stewed eel. "Most magnificent thing you've ever seen! That one piece of machinery can do the work of a dozen men in half the time."

It had been a very long while since Sally had seen George speak about anything with such interest. His eyes flashed with enthusiasm as he hurriedly gave her the details of the new reaper. Then he set down his fork and eyed her somberly. "The pity of it is, the invention is likely to replace the worker. What will my men do if they can't farm the land their families have been farming for generations?"

"You'll just have to find other means by which they can earn a living. Not everything can be automated."

His brows drew together as he stabbed at his French-cut beans. "Willingham says it may not happen in our lifetime, but society is poised to switch from an agrarian society to an industrialized one."

"I don't see how London can accommodate any more people," she said, shaking her head.

"While I live, no tenant of mine will ever have to breathe those blackened skies in the capital or have to beg for food or lack shelter."

Her brows arched quizzically. "Pray, I thought you loved London."

"When I was a younger man. And when I had the luxury of living in a fine town house in Mayfair. That was a far cry from how the lower classes there live. I'll not allow my cottagers to ever endure suffering like I've seen in London's East End."

"The coatless, shoeless children I've seen hawking in Mayfair are enough to give me a strong distaste for London." She took a long drink of milk, then quizzed her husband some more. "Were you able to renew your acquaintance with your cottagers today?"

He smiled. "Many of them. I'd forgotten how much I enjoy being at Hornsby."

"Hornsby's who you are."

* * *

Long after Sally had swept from the room to attend to household matters, George heard her words.
Hornsby's who you are
. She was so young to understand things so keenly.

His thoughts flitted back to this morning's ride over the estates with Willingham. "It's good to be back at Hornsby," he had told his steward.

"It's good having you back. I hadn't realized how long you'd been gone until I saw how much your children have grown."

George nodded solemnly. "Georgette's quite the little woman now."

"It's really remarkable. Georgette's a miniature of her mother, and little Sam looks exactly like you."

At the thought of Diana's beauty, a stab of pain shot through George. He should have become used to it. After all, every time he beheld his daughter, it was as if he were once again looking at Diana. "Poor lad," George said with a laugh.

"You've done well enough with your looks, Sedgewick. In fact, you're looking especially good. When you left . . . well, I never saw a more broken man. But you appear to have healed. And it's no wonder with that lovely wife of yours."

For a second, George thought Willingham referred to Diana, then he realized the man was talking about Sally. It was queer to think of Sally as a beauty, but he was oddly pleased that Willingham found her so.

When they had been young men at university, Willingham had enjoyed more than his fair share of females. Not that George and Willingham had been particularly close then. The fellow had much more shallow pockets than the privileged set George ran with. Blanks. Appleton. The twins. All of them had considerable financial resources. All that Willingham possessed was a propensity to study and a face that girls were attracted to, neither of which endeared him to George's chums.

But he had been a good steward, and for that George was grateful.

"You impress me with your choice of wife," Willingham said as they had cantered through the orchards. "The new Lady Sedgewick is not only lovely, she's also possessed of a keen mind."

George's mouth slid into a crooked smile. "She was at the top of her class at Miss Worth's School for Young Ladies, my sister is forever telling me."

They turned to ride back to the house, and George noticed that he had somehow become oddly disturbed over Willingham's obvious enthusiasm about Sally. She was, after all, a married woman. His own wife, to be sure. It was almost as if Willingham knew of his and Sally's strange relationship. Did the man hope to win Sally's heart himself? George was unaccountably miffed at the man. He did not think Willingham would be invited to any more dinners at the manor house.

* * *

That night Sally and George ate together, and after dinner they retired to the drawing room, where George poured a glass of wine for Sally and another for himself, then he came to sit beside her on the tomato-colored silken sofa. There was not a more welcoming room in the kingdom than this, he thought. He watched the fire crackle in the hearth as he remembered how it was when his sisters and his parents had shared many a night here playing games with him.

It was very good to be back at Hornsby.

"Do you play chess?" he suddenly asked Sally.

"I do, though it's probably my worst game. I'm of the opinion that chess is a game much more readily grasped by the male mind."

He laughed. "I should have known you would have an opinion even on chess."

Her face settled into a frown. "Oh dear, I am so very opinionated. I fear I'm quite vexatious to you."

"After all this time, I think I'm beginning to be impervious to it, my dear."

"Then the voicing of my opinions is to you just so much water off a duck's back?"

He gave her a sheepish look. "I wouldn't say that. I'm sure all of your opinions are of importance."

"How diplomatic is the man I married."

Grinning, he got up, fetched the chessboard, and set it up on the tea table in front of the sofa. Then he scooted a sturdy Tudor arm chair up to it and sat down.

As their play progressed, he realized his wife had been correct when she told him chess was her worst game. She was far better at whist. Still, she played with more skill than half the men he knew.

Their play was not so serious that they could not converse while playing.

"Poor Sam," she told him, "had a wretched time last night. When I came to his chamber Miss Primble told me he had been crying for hours."

George arched a single brow. "Was he sick?"

"Oh no. It's my belief he wanted to go back to his home in Bath."

"So the unfamiliar frightened him?"

"I think so. He's doing much better today. He even got up the courage to pet Blackie and discovered how much he liked it. Then, too, his horse ride with you made him very happy indeed."

"He does love it. I've never seen him smile and laugh so much."

"Neither have I."

George moved his knight. "How did your night pass, sharing your bed with him?"

"He was an angel. He scooted up close to me, put his little thumb in his mouth, and went fast asleep."

A smile came to his lips when he remembered how Sam had giggled on the horse ride that afternoon. "Is Miss Thimble with the lad now?"

Sally nodded as she moved her pawn. "It's Miss Primble, you goose."

He jumped her pawn and deposited it alongside his swelling bounty. "Good of her to come to Hornsby. I understand at least one of the staff did not wish to leave Bath."

Sally nodded. "I've made the decision not to replace that one. An economy measure." Those huge brow nutmeg eyes of Sally's looked up at him. Did she expect he would chastise her?

He shrugged. "You will recall, I gave you free rein in household matters."

She favored him with a smile.

As the two of them sat there, the fire warming him from head to toe, it occurred to George that he and Sally were continuing the intimacy they had established during their early mornings in Bath. He stole a glance at her pensive face as she studied the chessboard, and the realization swept over him of how very comfortable he had become with this woman who had consented to marry him.

And to his complete surprise, not once all night had he given a thought to what he might have been doing in Bath tonight. He could not imagine anywhere on earth that was more enjoyable than this room tonight in the home in which he had been born. The chit he had married had once told him he needed her. He had doubted it then, but he now understood she had been right. She had made the decision to leave Bath. And it had been the right decision. He was already looking forward to the next day riding over the estate with Willingham. He had almost forgotten how much pleasure he derived from Hornsby.

His gaze met hers. "I'm glad to be back at Hornsby. Thank you."

A solemn look came over her face. "It's I who should thank you. What you just said has made me very happy."

He forced his gaze back to the chessboard and jumped her queen. "Check."

She examined the board for a full five minutes before she threw up her arms. "I must concede, my lord. There's no way to escape."

He stood up. "Let us be off to bed, then." He took a step toward the door.

"Allow me a moment," she said, "to put up these chess pieces."

He turned impatiently toward her. "The servants can do that in the morning."

"It will just take a moment. You know, I cannot leave a room untidy."

He rolled his eyes. "How different we are."

"In almost every way," she agreed.

"Then, pray, how can you tolerate me?"

She looked up at him, a smile on her face. "You have many fine qualities. A pity you hide most of them from all but me."

It suddenly occurred to him she was right. Not that he thought he had any particular qualities that could be described as fine, but that Sally did, indeed, know him better than any other human being.

As they mounted the stairs to their respective chambers, he felt a peculiar bond to her. He wanted to touch her. He casually draped an arm around her shoulders and kept it there as they walked along the second-floor corridor to Sam's room.

She stopped in front of the door and turned her face to him.

And for some unaccountable reason, he dropped a kiss on top her golden hair.

Chapter 19

George put down the book. "Time for bed, children."

As had become their custom, he and Sally had tucked in the children directly after dinner and read to them before the two of them went to the drawing room. In order to promote a deeper attachment between her husband and his son, Sally insisted that George be the one to read to them.

"Oh, please Papa," Georgette said, tugging at his sleeve, "read
The Life and Perambulation of a Mouse
to us." No matter how many times they heard that same story, neither of the children ever tired of it.

He glared at his daughter from beneath lowered brows. "But I just read it last night."

"Do read it again," Sally coaxed. "You know how they love it."

Sam, looking up at his father, nodded.

George glanced at the boy's solemn face. "Very well. Come, Sam, up on my lap."

The toddler squirmed onto his father's lap as George lifted the well-worn book and began to read.

When he finished reading, George stood up. "Now, lad, into your bed."

Sam climbed up into his big bed and got beneath the covers. Sally came and kissed his cheek. "Good night, sweetheart." She stood back and watched as George bent down and tucked the blankets firmly around his son. Unlike Sally, George was not comfortable kissing the boy. "Good night, son."

They left Sam in Miss Primble's care as George carried his squealing daughter upon his shoulders to the next room, where he tucked her in and pecked her cheek. "Good night, pet," he said.