Page 18 of The Farmer Has a Wife

She found Eleanor in a tiny room off the kitchen, perched on a camp bed. The newly official Lady of Brewster Manor was impeccably dressed to be sure. But she was also sitting on a bloody camp bed trying to take notes in an agenda by the light of a very small lamp.

Danni leaned against the doorframe, folding her arms. “So, this is where you’re sleeping?”

Eleanor looked up, startled. “What are you doing here?”

“Thought I’d take a look at what my marriage bought you,” Danni said. “It’s quite a place, I’ll give you that. I think I understand just a bit more why you might want to keep a hold of it.” She scratched her nose. “Not sure about this bit of it, though.”

“It’s perfectly fine,” Eleanor said. “And it’s only temporary.”

“Mmm,” said Danni. “I’m sure there’s a hundred four-poster beds upstairs with your name on them. Unfortunately, for now you can’t sleep in them. And this… place is…” She sighed. “I’ve seen more hospitable chicken coops.”

Eleanor sniffed, having the grace to look embarrassed. “I didn’t ask for your opinion.”

“Why don’t you stay in a hotel?”

“Anonymous and horrible breakfasts,” Eleanor said. “And I like to keep an eye on the house.”

Danni shook her head. “You can’t live like this. You can come and stay at the farm with me.”

“Absolutely not,” said Eleanor, looking horrified.

Danni rolled her eyes. “There’s a spare room,” she said. “There’ll be nothing untoward. And more importantly, the farm might not be much, but it’s got four walls, a solid roof and, best of all, there’s no risk of bricks killing you in your sleep.” She tilted her head. “Well, not unless you annoy me so much that I’m the one wielding them.”

“It’s entirely inappropriate,” said Eleanor, standing up and putting her hands on her hips.

“So’s living on a construction site,” Danni pointed out. “And we’re technically married, so I’m not sure inappropriate is the word that you’re looking for. It’s very appropriate, isn’t it? Even your dead Victorian ancestors have to approve of married couples living in the same house.”

“You’d be surprised,” Eleanor said sourly. “I’m not sure two women were what they had in mind when they defined marriage.”

“Just as well that definitions can change then, isn’t it?” said Danni, cheerful now. “Come on, this is ridiculous. You can’tlive like this. There’s a spare room at the farm and it’s only a fifteen minute drive away. Your man Samson will take care of everything and you can come up here every day.”

“No,” Eleanor said again.

But just as she said the word, a loud crash echoed from upstairs. A fresh cloud of dust billowed into the tiny scullery room, covering both of them in a fine layer of debris. Eleanor coughed and rubbed at her eyes before starting to pick the larger pieces of plaster off her blazer.

Finally, she sighed and looked at Danni, her eyes large and luminous green in the plaster-white of her face. “Fine. But only until the house is safe again.”

Danni smirked. “Then I’d better get the guest room ready, Princess.”

Eleanor groaned. “I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”

“Probably,” grinned Danni. “But at least you won’t die under a pile of bricks and plaster, and there’s a lot to be said for that.”

Eleanor looked like she might not necessarily agree with that sentiment, but a fresh cloud of brick dust descended and then she was too busy coughing to argue the point.

Chapter Nine

Eleanor had never considered herself a woman of weak constitution. But as she stood in the doorway of the farmhouse’s so-called guest room, she found herself feeling slightly faint and reconsidering just how sensitive she might be.

“This is it?” she asked, slowly stepping inside.

The room was small, functional even, and painted in a cheerful shade of pale yellow that looked like sunshine. It was, however, missing a rather critical element. There was a wardrobe in the corner, a comfortable-looking armchair by the window, a rug on the floor and… nothing else.

Danni leaned casually against the doorframe and grinned. “Yep. Welcome home, wife.”

Eleanor turned to her, incredulous. “Danni, where exactly am I supposed to sleep?”

“Hey, I said that there was a guest room, not a guest bed,” Danni said. She rubbed her chin thoughtfully. “I suppose we could haul that old couch up from the kitchen. I think we’d get it up the stairs as long as we took it on a sort of diagonal sideways approach.”

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