Page 71 of The Pleasures of Passion
“You’re better off with corn. It’s in high demand just now.”
“Is it?” A sigh escaped her. “I confess to not knowing much about markets and such, though I seem to recall that corn doesn’t grow well in our part of Cheshire.”
“I can help you find out for certain. And also determine what other crops might be profitable at present.”
“That would be exceedingly useful. But what about drainage? And where do you get your fertilizer? Oh, and . . .”
Encouraged by his willingness to teach her, she peppered him with questions about all the things that had perplexed or confused her. He answered each one, appearing to grow more bemused by the moment.
After she voiced her concern about the feasibility of having a dairy at Camden Hall, he said, “You know more than you let on about estate management.”
“I don’t know nearly enough. But I’m trying to learn.”
“You seem to have a clear picture of what your estate needs.”
“It was hard-won, believe me. After Reynold lost so much at the gaming tables and . . . died, Delia and I couldn’t afford a manager—so it was either sink or swim. And since Reynold had never taught me how to run the place . . .” A lump stuck in her throat. “He would never have explained to me the things you did today. He didn’t trust me that much.”
“I doubt it had to do with trust. He probably just thought he should be the one to handle estate matters, so you could take care of other ones. Like raising his son.”
A harsh laugh boiled out of her. “Yes, he was so concerned about the well-being of his son that he—” She choked back the impulse to tell Niall about the suicide. “It doesn’t matter. Why are you defending him, anyway?”
“I’m not. I agree with your aunt—he shouldn’t have gambled away so much of Camden Hall, or stumbled off a bridge drunk, leaving you and his sister to handle his property without any training. An estate needs a person at the helm who knows what he—orshe—is doing.”
She narrowed her gaze on him. “And you would be fine with having the person at the helm be a woman.”
“Of course. Warren wasn’t the only one who looked after Margrave Manor, you know. Clarissa had a part in it as well. Did a damned fine job with what she handled, too.”
“That doesn’t surprise me one whit,” she said stoutly.
“Me either.” He smiled down at her. “Rather like your late husband, my sister is nothing if not resourceful.”
“Yes, but Clarissa is the good sort of resourceful. Reynold was the bad sort—he was only canny when it came tohisneeds.”
“But clearly not when it came to yours.” He searched her face. “You really didn’t know that the arranged marriage was his idea, did you?”
“No. You probably think I’m an idiot for it—”
“I could never think you an idiot. Naïve sometimes, perhaps, but not an idiot.”
“You may change your mind when you hear that I truly believed he felt as trapped as I, embarrassed to be forced into proposing to the woman who’d already refused him once.” She gazed down at the path. “I don’t know why it has taken me so off guard. In truth, nothing I’ve learned recently about Reynold should surprise me—not his secret machinations, or his losing all that money to Warren’s brother, or—”
“Warren’s brother!” Niall stopped short on the path. “What the blazes are you talking about?”
She gaped at him. “You didn’t know?”
The shock on his face made that perfectly clear. “How could I have known?”
“Didn’t Warren tell you?”
“He damned well did not.”
That’s when it dawned on her. Warren and Delia had only found out about the Lord Hartley connection right before they left for their honeymoon. That was when she’d learned of it, too.
“Which of Warren’s brothers are you talking about?” Niall persisted, now clearly agitated. “He has five.”
Goodness gracious. She probably shouldn’t have said anything. “Lord Hartley. I think they call him Hart.”
“Hart.” Niall scrubbed a hand over his face. “My cousin Hart is the one to whom your husband lost all his money? How the deuce didthathappen?”
