Chapter
14
Anticipation tingled through Hannah’s system as she crossed the back lawn. Would Nolan be waiting for her today?
For the past two weeks, they’d managed to sneak a few precious moments together each afternoon and steal a few heart-stopping kisses in the cluster of bushes behind the tree, out of sight of anyone who might wander by. It wasn’t much, but it kept Hannah from losing hope that their marriage could survive this huge change in Nolan’s life.
When she turned the corner, a spurt of disappointment washed over her. He wasn’t sitting on the chicken crate as usual. She slowed her pace until she reached the tree. She’d wait here and hope that he’d show up before her break was over.
The hens in the nearby chicken coop clucked loudly, fighting over some feed no doubt. She must remember to tell Edna that Lucy, the oldest bird, wasn’t laying as many eggs lately.
A hand grasped Hannah’s waist. She let out a strangled cry and whirled around to find Nolan grinning at her. “Mickey came by so I had to hide. Though I must say it’s great fun to surprise you.” His lips came down on hers before she managed to get her breath back.
She pushed him away to gulp in some air. “Nolan Price, you almost gave me heart palpitations.” A huff of laughter escaped as he led her into the shelter of the bushes.
Hannah still couldn’t get used to his new clothing. The fine linen shirt and fancy waistcoat, the untied cravat that now hung from his neck. Even his hair was different, combed back from his forehead.
“How are things going?” It was a question she’d avoided for some time now, almost dreading the answer. Was it selfish of her to hope that he might decide not to accept this new lifestyle? That he’d go ahead with his original plan to secure the farm?
“Tedious. I’ve never listened to so many unimportant details about dukes and earls and the nobility. Never had to learn so many names of relatives and business associates.” He shrugged. “I imagine I’ll figure it out eventually, but I don’t know if it’s possible to learn everything before the ball.”
The ball. The affair that had the whole staff in an uproar. The event of the season during which Nolan would be presented to society as the earl’s son and heir. She dredged up a smile. “I’m sure you’ll do fine.”
“We’ll see.” He pulled her back against his chest. “Let’s not waste our time talking about trivialities.”
When his lips met hers, she allowed the delicious thrill to silence all the worries tumbling about inside her. Allowed the warmth of his hand on her waist to override the fact that he didn’t smell the same anymore. That the comforting scent of horse and hay and leather had been replaced by the smell of sandalwood soap and pipe tobacco. Had Nolan started to smoke a pipe?
“I miss you, Hannah. I miss Bert and the horses.” Nolan looked up at the manor house, just visible beyond the tree line. “Will I ever get used to this? Do I even want to?”
She held her breath, not daring to guess his answer.
“In a few more days, I’ll have the deed to the farm. And if things don’t go well with my father, at least we’ll have another option.”
She reached up to lay her palm against his cheek. “We need to pray, Nolan. Pray for God’s wisdom to guide you. To show you the path you’re meant to take.”
“I have been, love. On my knees every night. I don’t know how much I harder I can possibly pray.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her cheek to his, wishing she could ease his tension. “It will all work out, you’ll see. I’m sure once the ball is over, you’ll know where things stand with your father. We just need to be patient a while longer.”
Seated on King’s back two days later, Nolan inhaled the fresh morning air and released a contented sigh. Dressed in a simple shirt and trousers, his favorite cap on his head, he felt more confident than he had in the past two weeks. More certain of his place in the world.
Today he would finalize the deal with Mr. Simpson, and the farm would belong to him. Then Nolan would have the comfort of knowing that he and Hannah could walk away from Stainsby Hall any time he chose and start their life on the farm.
As he rode on, the piece of paper in his pocket rustled, reminding him of the one thing that had put a damper on his good mood. This morning Nolan had found a message on the floor of his bedchamber, obviously slipped under the door in the middle of the night.
If you know what’s good for you, stable boy, you’ll leave Stainsby Hall and never come back.
The implied threat didn’t scare Nolan, only angered him. What sort of coward would leave an unsigned threat? Only one person came to mind—one who hated Nolan enough to do such a thing. Not only was Timothy Bellows jealous that Nolan had claimed Hannah’s heart, but now that Nolan was a member of the noble class, Bellows must surely be seething with resentment. Nolan would have to keep a close watch on him—especially around Hannah.
Nolan looked up at the sky and mentally calculated the time it would take to meet Mr. Simpson, travel into Derby to conduct their business, and return. If things went well, he’d be back before Edward had even come down for breakfast.
The closer he got to the Simpson property, the more certain Nolan became that this was the path God intended for his life. After all, wasn’t this what his mother had wanted for him too?
“Promise me you’ll go on with your plans,” she’d said. “Buy your farm and marry Hannah. Live a good life.”
He’d fulfilled one of his promises when he and Hannah had wed. Today, he would fulfill the other. A measure of peace settled over him at that thought.
The only thing marring his confidence was the knowledge that Edward would certainly be upset if Nolan chose not to take his rightful place as heir. The part of Nolan that still wished to please his father cringed at the thought of disappointing him, but Nolan could not determine the course of his life based on Edward’s expectations. His talk of duty and sacrifice meant little to Nolan, since he hadn’t been raised in Edward’s world and didn’t feel the same sense of obligation, the same connectedness to the Fairchild heritage.
Nolan would always be grateful he’d learned the identity of his father, that the mystery of his birth had been solved. But life as a nobleman didn’t sit well with him. It was as uncomfortable a fit as the new clothes he was forced to wear. He doubted he could endure living that way for the rest of his life. So the question remained: should he inform Edward of his decision today or should he go through with the ball as intended and break the news afterward? Perhaps it would be kinder all around if he was honest and spared Edward the humiliation of introducing his son to his peers and business acquaintances, then having to explain why Nolan had left.
When the Simpson farm came into view, Nolan guided King down the lane toward the house, relieved to find the farmer seated on the porch step, waiting for him.
“Good day, Mr. Simpson,” he called out. “’Tis a beautiful day for a ride.”
The man rose but offered no greeting in return.
A thread of unease wound through Nolan’s system. He pulled King to a halt and slid from the saddle. “Are you ready for the trip into Derby?”
In his overalls and stained shirt, the man didn’t appear dressed for a business meeting.
Mr. Simpson shook his head. “Something’s come up, I’m afraid.” His gaze skittered to the fields beyond.
“I see. Well, I can come back another day then.” Nolan fought the rise of disappointment. He’d counted on having ownership of the property today.
The farmer came down the steps toward him, scratching the back of his neck. “There’s no easy way to tell you this, son. I’ve found another buyer for the farm.”
Nolan jerked, jolting the reins in his hand. King snorted and tossed his head. “What do you mean? I thought we had an agreement.”
“We did, and I hate to go back on my word.” He squinted off into the distance, still not meeting Nolan’s eyes. “But I received another offer. One more than double what you were willing to pay. I knew you couldn’t match the amount, and frankly”—he gave Nolan a sheepish glance—“I can’t afford to pass it up. I’m sorry, son. But business is business.”
A chill settled over Nolan. “Who made such a generous offer? It must have been someone quite wealthy.”
“Aye, that’s the truth.”
Nolan waited for him to name the buyer, but he only shrugged.
“I hope you find another property to your liking, Mr. Price. And again, I’m sorry for the way things turned out.” Mr. Simpson headed back toward the house.
“It was Lord Stainsby, wasn’t it?” The bitter words flew from Nolan’s mouth of their own volition.
King gave a soft whinny, protesting Nolan’s tightened grip.
The farmer stopped, his back rigid, then without a word, continued up the steps and into the house.
Nolan flung himself into the saddle. He didn’t need Mr. Simpson’s confirmation when his gut already knew the truth.
Somehow his father had gotten wind of Nolan’s intent to purchase the farm, and had taken steps to ensure that would never happen.
Leaving Nolan with no second option, no avenue of escape. The Simpson property had been the only one in the area that Nolan could afford. He’d cultivated a relationship with Mr. Simpson for several years now so that the man would sell to him—to someone he trusted—when the time came. Funny how integrity fell by the wayside the moment large sums of money became involved.
Bitterness clawed at Nolan’s chest. What would he do now? And how would he ever break the news to Hannah?
Nolan burst into the dining room and stomped across the floor to where the earl sat at the head of the table. Nolan glared at the footman standing by the sideboard. “Leave us.”
The young man bowed and rushed through the servants’ door.
“Is something wrong?” The earl patted a napkin to his mouth and laid it on the table. “You seem out of sorts.”
“Why did you buy the Simpson farm?” His words were raspy, his lungs still heaving from the frenzied ride back.
“I don’t know what—”
Nolan slapped a palm on the table so hard the china rattled. “Don’t lie to me!”
“Very well.” Edward pushed his chair back in a deliberate manner and rose. “It’s true. I recently acquired a piece of acreage nearby. The owner was grateful for the tidy sum I offered.”
The blood pounded between Nolan’s ears. “You don’t care about owning a farm. You only bought it because you somehow found out that I had an agreement to purchase it. Why would you do that to me?”
“I’ll admit that when one of my footmen brought it to my attention that you intended to buy the Simpson farm, I felt a certain sense of betrayal.” Edward walked slowly around the table toward him. “I thought we had come to an understanding, and yet all along you planned to leave. To become a farmer.” He stopped to level a cold stare at Nolan. “I had to assume that you were merely humoring me. That the only reason you agreed to take your place as my son was to rescue your wife’s sister.”
Nolan’s mouth gaped. He sputtered, then clamped his lips closed, because he couldn’t totally deny Edward’s claim.
“So in order to level the playing field, I removed the safety net.” Edward’s features hardened. “Although to truly level the field, I should remove the biggest obstacle of all.”
Nolan surged forward. “You leave Hannah out of this. I won’t allow—”
“Relax. I will do nothing to Hannah—as long as you continue to honor our agreement.” He moved past him. “But I will have to insist you stop your clandestine meetings by the henhouse. A definite violation of my terms.”
Nolan’s hands shook. How could his father know about that? Did he have someone spying on them? He opened his mouth, but no words came out.
“Remember, the ball is less than two weeks away. Without the farm and Hannah to distract you, I trust you’ll now have greater incentive to focus on your duties as my son.” With a haughty incline of his head, Edward strode out the door.
A volcano of fury exploded through Nolan. With an unholy roar, he picked up one of the chairs and smashed it against the wall. Fragments of splintered wood flew in all directions.
He stood in the middle of the room, his chest heaving with the force of his rage, until a footman appeared.
“I’ll clean that up for you, sir.” The frightened look on the lad’s face drained the last of Nolan’s anger from him.
Attempting to control his ragged breathing, Nolan looked down at the shard of wood in his hand and carefully set it on the table.
“That won’t be necessary,” he said slowly. “I’m responsible for this mess. I’ll clean it up myself.”