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horrible!” She stopped in dismay. “You can’t
throw people out of their livelihoods like that.” She caught Buddy’s
arm to prevent him from toppling off the log.
“The world is changing, and they must change with
it,” Warwick insisted. “We must look to the future if we are to grow and
advance.”
A young man with a face weathered by years of
exposure, Mr. Overton gestured at the fields. “I earned more from these
few acres this past year than your father made from his best tenants.”
“My father had a care for his tenants. They’re like family .”
Beatrice had never argued with anyone in her life, but she couldn’t let
people like the Widow Black be put out of their homes.
Still, Mr. Warwick’s visionary outlook hit a chord of truth. If she couldn’t live in the past any longer, how could she expect the world around her to remain unchanged?
Beatrice hid her uneasiness by brushing her skirt
down, tilting her chin up, and adopting her best aristocratic manner.
“My father managed it,” she pointed out.
As she and Mr. Warwick stared each other down, Buddy stomped through the fields as if he were as large as his father.
Impatiently, Mr. Warwick turned his back on her and
stepped to the top of a low stone wall. Hands on hips, massive legs
akimbo, he stood like a giant colossus surveying his kingdom. “I’ve seen
children with a more open mind,” he called down to her. “Why the hell
did you want me to teach you if you won’t listen?”
“He’s right, Miss Cavendish,” Mr. Overton said more
gently. “Your father operated on his cash reserves and borrowed at will.
The banks are nae likely to lend to a lady, nor to a landowner whose
profits are dwindling.”
“I can’t turn my back on friends,” she said desperately.
“They’re not your friends, Miss Cavendish. They’re
your tenants, and they know their duty. If they do nae pay the rents,
then they know the consequences.”
“Half of them haven’t paid the winter or spring
quarters,” Warwick growled from his kingly position. “If they can’t pay
you, you can’t pay your creditors.” Restlessly, he leapt down and strode
toward the next field. Buddy ran to follow him.
“Don’t make me do this!” she cried after him. “Don’t make me be the evil villain that destroys their way of life.”
But he wasn’t listening. He was relentlessly forcing her to follow or be left behind.
***
“You could sell the estate, I suppose,” Mr. Warwick
said awkwardly, snapping the carriage reins down the leafy lane between
stone fences decorated in ferns and primroses.
Bea shook her head, clutching Buddy, and hiding her
sniffles. The boy had fallen asleep, cradled in her arms. At least she
had accomplished that much.
“How did Father do it?” she finally asked. “Teach me how to read his books.”
“I’ll show you, but it won’t improve matters. You
may have cash reserves somewhere, but unless you marry wealth, you won’t
have enough to continue as you have.”
There it was again—her biggest failure. Had she
married as expected, her tenants and servants wouldn’t be in such a
predicament. And now this man knew it, too. She was a failure as a
woman, a failure as a mistress of her property.
Her father had believed women were too fragile to
deal with the tribulations of the outside world, and, judging by her own
lack of accomplishment, he might have been right.
But then, could it be that his protectiveness had
made her the weak creature that she was? If so, in what other ways might
her father have been misguided?
Could Mr. Warwick actually be right? she
wondered in horror. He and Mr. Overton had agreed on many things. Her
father’s former steward was prospering while her tenants were not, and
from all evidence, Mr. Warwick thrived too. Could her father have been
wrong?
Maybe. In which case, maybe he’d also been wrong in claiming women were fragile and helpless.
Six
Mac saw his letter to his
throw people out of their livelihoods like that.” She caught Buddy’s
arm to prevent him from toppling off the log.
“The world is changing, and they must change with
it,” Warwick insisted. “We must look to the future if we are to grow and
advance.”
A young man with a face weathered by years of
exposure, Mr. Overton gestured at the fields. “I earned more from these
few acres this past year than your father made from his best tenants.”
“My father had a care for his tenants. They’re like family .”
Beatrice had never argued with anyone in her life, but she couldn’t let
people like the Widow Black be put out of their homes.
Still, Mr. Warwick’s visionary outlook hit a chord of truth. If she couldn’t live in the past any longer, how could she expect the world around her to remain unchanged?
Beatrice hid her uneasiness by brushing her skirt
down, tilting her chin up, and adopting her best aristocratic manner.
“My father managed it,” she pointed out.
As she and Mr. Warwick stared each other down, Buddy stomped through the fields as if he were as large as his father.
Impatiently, Mr. Warwick turned his back on her and
stepped to the top of a low stone wall. Hands on hips, massive legs
akimbo, he stood like a giant colossus surveying his kingdom. “I’ve seen
children with a more open mind,” he called down to her. “Why the hell
did you want me to teach you if you won’t listen?”
“He’s right, Miss Cavendish,” Mr. Overton said more
gently. “Your father operated on his cash reserves and borrowed at will.
The banks are nae likely to lend to a lady, nor to a landowner whose
profits are dwindling.”
“I can’t turn my back on friends,” she said desperately.
“They’re not your friends, Miss Cavendish. They’re
your tenants, and they know their duty. If they do nae pay the rents,
then they know the consequences.”
“Half of them haven’t paid the winter or spring
quarters,” Warwick growled from his kingly position. “If they can’t pay
you, you can’t pay your creditors.” Restlessly, he leapt down and strode
toward the next field. Buddy ran to follow him.
“Don’t make me do this!” she cried after him. “Don’t make me be the evil villain that destroys their way of life.”
But he wasn’t listening. He was relentlessly forcing her to follow or be left behind.
***
“You could sell the estate, I suppose,” Mr. Warwick
said awkwardly, snapping the carriage reins down the leafy lane between
stone fences decorated in ferns and primroses.
Bea shook her head, clutching Buddy, and hiding her
sniffles. The boy had fallen asleep, cradled in her arms. At least she
had accomplished that much.
“How did Father do it?” she finally asked. “Teach me how to read his books.”
“I’ll show you, but it won’t improve matters. You
may have cash reserves somewhere, but unless you marry wealth, you won’t
have enough to continue as you have.”
There it was again—her biggest failure. Had she
married as expected, her tenants and servants wouldn’t be in such a
predicament. And now this man knew it, too. She was a failure as a
woman, a failure as a mistress of her property.
Her father had believed women were too fragile to
deal with the tribulations of the outside world, and, judging by her own
lack of accomplishment, he might have been right.
But then, could it be that his protectiveness had
made her the weak creature that she was? If so, in what other ways might
her father have been misguided?
Could Mr. Warwick actually be right? she
wondered in horror. He and Mr. Overton had agreed on many things. Her
father’s former steward was prospering while her tenants were not, and
from all evidence, Mr. Warwick thrived too. Could her father have been
wrong?
Maybe. In which case, maybe he’d also been wrong in claiming women were fragile and helpless.
Six
Mac saw his letter to his
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