Page 79 of Miss Dashing
That Phillip would assign the earl a few chores was unsurprising—Phillip had been inspecting Nunnsuch at close range for more than a week—but that Nunn had apparently accepted those orders without protest was astonishing.
“We haven’t done our quarterly review of Nunnsuch’s books,” Hecate said, the only reason she could come up with for Nunn’s summons.
“Our quarterly tutorial on the care and feeding of a pretty country manor, you mean. I have managed to save back a few pounds again. This pleases me inordinately, but Lord Phillip had a different discussion in mind.”
Nunn was shy. Hecate had deduced as much years ago. He dealt fairly well with his lord of the manor duties, when he could circulate in a crowd, making small talk for a few minutes here and there, never risking more than boredom or bad jokes. He was equally capable of managing a private discussion, where formalities need not apply.
He loathed, though, the settings in between—formal suppers, where he could not escape the scrutiny of the whole table, or breakfast parlor meals, where anybody raiding the sideboard could aim verbal darts in his direction.
Phillip was shy too. What had these two shy, reserved men found to discuss that concerned Hecate? “Whatever you have to say, Uncle Nunn, just tell me. The way this week has gone, I would not be surprised if you announced a decision to take holy orders and move to Sweden.”
Nunn propped a hip on the windowsill, his gaze on the vast park. “Lord Phillip was insistent that I make my support of you known, though I have little enough to offer. You have been all that has stood between this family and ruin—between Nunnsuch and ruin—for years, and you don’t deserve the treatment your Brompton relations have in mind for you. Whatever is in my power to do on your behalf, you have only to ask.”
Lord Phillip had been insistent? When had he done this insisting, and what on earth was Uncle Nunn about? “Not all of my Brompton relations are plotting my doom. This marriage scheme is Johnny and Isaac’s doing. I know that.”
Nunn rose and took the place not behind his desk, but in the chair next to Hecate’s. “I doubt Isaac had much to do with concocting the business. He’s lazy by nature. My late countess pronounced him born to pout and sulk, but he’s certainly complicit with Johnny’s maneuvers now that mischief is afoot. Perhaps an old scheme of Isaac’s inspired this new scheme on Johnny’s part. I am sorry.”
The apology likely cost Nunn considerable dignity, but it amounted to an admission of defeat, an acknowledgment that Johnny’s machinations would achieve his desired goal. Hecate might have reached that conclusion—though last night had given her reason to rethink the whole situation—but Nunn’s astonishing declaration of support was all but obliterated when he proposed to give up without a fight.
“You owe me no apology, my lord. Let’s have a look at your books, shall we? I have not been shut up in the tower of Johnny’s choosing yet, and you might have a project or two in need of financing.”
“We soldier on, don’t we?” Nunn said, gaze on the late countess’s portrait hanging behind his desk. “Lord Phillip is likewise not one to give up. If you must look at the books, feel free. Lord Phillips has recommended Henry Wortham for the post of understeward, and with what I’ve set aside for the past few quarters, I can afford to create the position. Dear old Mr. Jamison can retire to Bristol as he has longed to do, just as soon as Henry learns to dress the part.” Nunn rose and fetched a ledger from shelves behind the desk. “The quarterly summary, for your review.”
Henry was an inspired choice, one Hecate should have seen, but she’d given up expecting Nunn to listen to her on any but financial matters. She perused the earl’s summary figures and mentally compared them to last year’s totals for the same period.
“More income,” she said, “and fewer expenses.”
“You claimed that marling and irrigating and so forth would bear fruit eventually. In fact, those suggestions have born peppers and potatoes and a lot of other garden produce. We can haul our surplus to Basingstoke and Reading in a few hours. The roads are better than when I was a youth, and both towns have grown enormously. I have become something of a gentleman farmer, despite myself.”
“And the reduced expenses?”
Nunn’s hands were behind his back again. “I don’t really care that much for Town. The hostesses are forever pairing me with silly women half my age. The old coach is quite serviceable, though Edna despairs of my sense of fashion. I’m not riding to hounds enough to matter, so why keep a dozen horses whose sole redeeming attribute is a willingness to jump the occasional stile? When one sets out to look for potential economies, one is more likely to find them.”
Particularly when those economies had been mentioned every quarter for years. But that Nunn would implement them quietly and wait patiently for the results…
There was hope for Nunn and for Nunnsuch. “Are you doing this for Charles and Eglantine?” Hecate asked. They would certainly benefit, as would their children.
Nunn nodded toward the countess’s portrait. “I do it for her. Her likeness hangs behind my desk so she can look over my shoulder as I tend to the estate. I ride the bridle paths she took such delight in, and when I at last join her in the celestial realm, I intend to be welcomed with open arms, rather than with the sort of scold only my dear countess could deliver.”
Not the motivation Hecate would have guessed, but entirely consistent with what she knew of Uncle Nunn. “You loved her that much?”
“Iloveher that much.” Nunn resumed his seat. “She would be displeased with your situation. If there’s anything I can do, Hecate, any influence I can bring to bear, you have only to tell me. One hoped you were aware of my perspective on recent matters, but Lord Phillip was very severe with me. He cited an excess of discretion on my part, an unwillingness to show any favoritism lest the family have another reason to take you into dislike.”
Nunn’s logic was sound, but his confession—that’s what this was—nonetheless hurt. “I wasn’t looking for a full-page advertisement in theTimes.You might have said something to me. An occasional word of encouragement. Some sort of acknowledgment.”
Hecate’s throat had acquired an ache. Perhaps the result of sleeping under the stars, more likely the result of Phillip seeing what needed to be done and doing it.
“I am offering encouragement now, albeit too little and too late.” Nunn seemed to hold a silent exchange with his late wife’s portrait, then he rose and went to the safe reposing behind a landscape of Nunnsuch manor and withdrew a packet of documents.
“Your young man has quit the premises,” he said, resuming his seat. “He has promised to return, and I cannot vouch for his destination, but I suspect he’s gone to Bristol.”
“Is he taking ship?” The ache in Hecate’s throat was spreading downward, toward her heart.
“No.”
“His father forbade him to see the world. Phillip was a virtual captive to the old man’s whims, but he managed… Phillip managed to make a paradise of his prison.”
Nunn considered the papers in his hand, some of which were yellowing, all of which were covered in a tidy script. “Not a paradise, but one takes your meaning. He found joy and purpose despite the ill will directed at him. Does the name Edward Ross mean anything to you?”
