Page 68 of In the Prince's Bed
“Then why did I agree to your scheme?”
“Because deep down youwantedto marry me, and it gave you an excuse to be with me.” With a grin, he glanced down to where her hand lay on his arm. “And because you can’t keep your hands off me, any more than I can keep mine off you.”
With a sniff, she withdrew her hand, but he caught it and lifted it to his lips, pressing kisses against her gloved palm and each fingertip until her eyes softened, and she smiled. Only then did he release it.
“Sleep well, sweetheart. Because we won’t get much sleepafterwe’re married.”
She was still blushing as he left. It took all his will to order the coachman to “go on,” when all he wanted was to toss her in the carriage and carry her off with him to Gretna Green.
That wouldn’t be wise, considering what was at stake. Men were hanged for kidnapping heiresses. So he’d have to resign himself to a few more restless nights while he imagined their future wedding night.
His pleasant thoughts of such delights only lasted until he reached the hotel, where he was accosted by a surprise visitor awaiting him in the lobby.
“Emson!” he exclaimed as his aging butler approached. “What are you doing in London?”
Emson had stayed at Edenmore when many of the other servants left. They’d feared Alec might not turn the place around after it had been neglected for so long. “Mr. Dawes sent me to fetch you home.”
Dawes was the new steward. Alec’s blood chilled. “What’s wrong?”
With a glance at the other men milling in the lobby, Emson drew him outside. “It’s that dreadful Mr. Harris in Ipswich. He’s returned early from his trip to Scotland to see his sister. Mr. Dawes rode over there yesterday to fetch the new tillers and plows you ordered for the barley sowing, but Harris says he wants his money in cash, or he’ll not release them.”
“But his son agreed to let me have them on credit.”
“As it happens, Mr. Harris had left strict instructions not to allow anyone from the estate to purchase on credit anymore, but young Master Harris says—”
“That I talked him into it, which is exactly what I did. Harris’s son appreciates the difficulties a man might find himself in.” He sighed. “Very well, I’ll write a note explaining that I’m now engaged to marry an heiress. If he can only wait a while longer for his money—”
“A note won’t convince him, my lord. You must come yourself. ’Tis the only way. Mr. Dawes says if you don’t get the new plows—”
“I know—I can’t plant that new strain of barley in my untenanted fields. And the tenants won’t try it in their own fields until they see me succeed with it. If I’m to expand the farms and increase all our incomes, I must improve their yields.”
“Mr. Dawes says that the seed must go in the ground now, or it will be another year before he can try it.”
“Without those tillers, they’ll never get that soil turned. Blast, blast, and double-blast.” Perhaps he shouldn’t have been so eager to hire a new steward with modern ideas.
But what else could he do? His “father’s” old steward had been stealing him blind, something Alec had figured out within two days of taking over the estate. And the tenants, burdened by increasing rents and low yields, were too beaten down to try anything new—they considered themselves lucky if they eked out a living.
The new steward was trying to change all that, but though the tenants had hated the old steward, they hadn’t yet come to trust the new one. Or Alec himself, for that matter. And they weren’t alone, judging from Harris’s behavior.
Alec dragged his fingers through his hair. Damn, what to do now? If he could order the equipment in the village of Fenbridge near the estate, he could use his lordly influence to intimidate the merchant into doing as he wished, but the village was too small to provide such things.
Unfortunately, the owner of Harris’s Fine Agricultural Implements in Ipswich was immune to influence. He supplied half the landowners in Suffolk—so he would hardly squawk if an impoverished earl withdrew his business.
“How can I improve an estate when no one will even give me the chance?” Alec bit out. “Harris doesn’t trust me, my own tenants don’t trust me—”
“That is not entirely true, my lord. But you must realize that with your being off in town, some of the tenants think—”
“I’m my ‘father’s’ son. But I have no choice. I have to marry—it’s the only answer. Which means I have to be in London right now.”
“Not if you want your tillers, my lord.” Old Emson always spoke his mind with impunity, and for good reason. He’d left service years ago, after marrying. But when his replacement had left, too, the old earl had begged Emson to return until matters improved at Edenmore. He was still there, and since he worked for a mere promise of pay, he felt free to say exactly what he thought.
Alec sighed. “Very well, I’ll come.”
“It should not take more than a day. Then you can return to London. If we post through the night, we can be there by late morning.”
“Yes.” And after Alec finished dealing with Harris, he could be back here day after tomorrow in plenty of time to take Katherine to the Purefoy ball. But he’d miss dinner with her tomorrow night, blast it. “We’ll take the carriage. It’ll be faster, and I can get some sleep before I face Harris tomorrow.”
“Buying carriages now, are we?” Emson said dryly. “My, my, how we’ve come up in the world.”
