Chapter
15

The loud clang of Bert’s hammer striking the anvil sounded as Nolan entered the smithy. Still seething with resentment over Edward’s treachery, he found himself in dire need of Bert’s wisdom. Perhaps his friend could help him make sense of the mess his life had become.

Nolan’s first instinct had been to take Hannah and Molly and leave Stainsby immediately. Yet, even in his heated state, he realized the futility of that plan. Though he still had the money he’d saved to buy the farm, it wouldn’t last long, and in the meantime, he had nowhere to live, no means to provide for the women in the long term. He couldn’t just rip them out of their security here on a whim of temper.

“Nolan, hello.” Bert set down his tool and wiped his hands on his apron. “What brings you out here at this time of day?”

Nolan crossed the stone floor and leaned against a wooden post, inhaling the smell of fire and hot metal. “You’re busy. I shouldn’t have come.”

“The work can wait,” Bert said mildly. “But I dinna expect you can. I can see something’s troubling you.”

Nolan had only spoken to Bert once since he and Hannah had returned to Stainsby. Unlike Edna, who couldn’t keep a confidence to save her soul, Bert was the one person Nolan trusted with the news of their wedding, knowing he wouldn’t even tell Franny if Nolan asked.

“Is his lordship giving you a hard time then?”

“That’s an understatement of monumental proportions.” Nolan lifted a metal spike from a pile of tools and turned it over in his hand, unable to hide his bitterness. “He bought the Simpson farm out from under me. Offered double my price. Of course, the man couldn’t turn down that much money.”

Bert came forward and laid a hand on Nolan’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, lad. That was a rotten thing to do. But it tells me his lordship is scared.”

“Scared?” Nolan sneered. “I don’t think anything scares that man.”

“You’d be surprised.” Bert turned back to his workbench and picked up a set of tongs. “When a man has so much at stake, he sometimes takes extreme measures to hold on to it. Especially someone like the earl, who’s used to getting his own way.”

“That doesn’t excuse him trying to manipulate me.” Nolan blasted out a loud breath. “I don’t know what to do, Bert. I don’t think I’m cut out for this life. And if it means I’ll turn out like him, then I want no part of it.” He threw the spike back onto the table. “But where am I going to find another property I can afford within the next few weeks?”

Bert moved to the brick hearth, where several pieces of metal glowed in the fire. “Running away might be the easiest thing to do. But staying and figuring this thing out, now that takes real courage.”

“Are you calling me a coward?”

“Nae. Just a mite hot-tempered and quick to jump to conclusions.” Bert wiped his forehead with his sleeve. “Have you considered the bigger picture of what being the earl’s son could mean?” Using the tongs, he repositioned the metal, and then set the tool down to fix Nolan with a pointed stare. “Think of the good you could do for the servants and the tenant farmers. What better advocate could we have than someone who’s lived in our shoes?”

“An advocate? To improve the conditions of the workers, you mean?”

“Aye. Not that Stainsby is a bad place to work. But there are always improvements that could be made.” A sheen of sweat shone on Bert’s flushed face. “For instance, it seems to me that staff members who spend their whole lives here should be rewarded for their service. I’ve asked his lordship several times about starting a collection for us older workers—a retirement fund, if you will—but he’s never taken the request seriously.”

“Haven’t you saved for the future, Bert?” In the past, Nolan had questioned Bert as to when he planned to stop working, but the man had always avoided answering.

Bert shook his head. “Not enough. Not with having to help support Franny’s widowed sister and her crippled niece. The truth is I’ll probably have to work till I die—if I’m able. Speaking of which, I’d better get back to it while I still have a job.” He bent to pick up the hammer. When he straightened, a look of alarm leapt into his eyes. He swayed and clutched the workbench.

“Bert!” Nolan rushed to steady him.

“I’m all right, lad. Just stood up too quick is all.” He waved off Nolan’s help. “Think about what I said before you burn any bridges with his lordship. Bridges you might need one day.” He turned back to retrieve a piece of metal from the fire.

Nolan glanced around the meticulous smithy, the place Bert had made his own for over thirty years. Perhaps Bert was right. Perhaps Nolan hadn’t considered the bigger picture, too focused on his own selfish desires. As the earl’s son, he would have the opportunity to affect many lives here. Not only his and Hannah’s, but Bert and Franny’s, as well as all the servants and the tenant farmers who relied on Stainsby for their livelihood. If he could manage to put aside his resentment, he might be able to use his influence with his father to affect some positive changes for the people he’d grown up with.

With a quick wave to Bert, Nolan left the smithy and made his way back to the main house. For the first time, he forced himself to consider that losing the farm might have been part of God’s plan to show him his true path. A path he hadn’t intended to take.

Perhaps Nolan owed it to himself—and to God—to put his best effort into seeing if this was where his destiny truly lay.

Hannah paced the grass beneath the elm tree, trying to quell her growing apprehension. More than twenty-four hours had passed since Nolan’s meeting with Mr. Simpson, and she hadn’t seen or heard anything from her husband. She couldn’t shake the sensation that something had gone horribly wrong.

Had the earl discovered their secret meetings and put a stop to them? It wouldn’t surprise Hannah if he had sent some of the servants to spy on them.

Perhaps that was it. But then why did Nolan not get word to her somehow?

A rustling in the bushes beyond the tree had Hannah’s heart leaping with breathless anticipation. He’d come after all. Finally she would be wrapped in his arms, receive his intoxicating kisses, and find out exactly what was going on.

The bushes parted, and Mickey Gilbert stepped out.

Hannah’s stomach swooped. She grasped the base of the elm tree to support her.

“Sorry, Hannah. It’s only me.” Mickey gave a shrug. “Nolan asked me to tell you he’s sorry he couldn’t come and to give you this.” He held out a folded piece of paper.

She took it from him with shaking hands. It contained bad news, she was certain.

“I’ve got to get back. If you want to send a reply, leave it in the barn. I’ll see that Nolan gets it.” He tipped his cap and bounded off through the foliage.

Hannah lowered herself to the chicken crate and bit her bottom lip. Lord, please help me accept whatever Nolan has to tell me.

With trembling fingers, she opened the paper.

Dearest Hannah,

I’m afraid I have some unpleasant news. Mr. Simpson has sold the farm to someone else for a higher price. Words cannot express how disappointed I am, as I’m sure you are too.

I also have to tell you that Edward has somehow discovered our meetings and has put a stop to them. He claims it’s in violation of our agreement. So, for Molly’s sake, I will abide by his wishes.

Have faith, my love, and try not to worry. Once the ball is over, if Edward does not accept our marriage, I promise I will come up with another way for us to be together.

Until then, remember how much I love you.

Yours, Nolan

A tear dropped onto the paper. Hannah sniffed and took out a handkerchief. She wiped her cheeks and then blotted the page lest it ruin Nolan’s words.

Poor Nolan. His dearest dream of owning the farm—gone. How could Mr. Simpson go back on his word like that?

Hannah swallowed the sour taste on her tongue as the bitter truth became apparent. She’d bet a month’s wages that Lord Stainsby was behind the loss of the farm. How had he discovered Nolan’s intention? Did the man have spies everywhere? And if so, how could she and Nolan ever fight such relentless efforts to control their lives?

Hannah folded Nolan’s letter and shoved it deep into the pocket of her apron with the firm resolve not to allow fear to overcome her. Tonight she would write a note of encouragement to Nolan, reminding him of her faith in him, and drop it off at the barn for Mickey to deliver tomorrow.

No matter how dire things seemed, she needed to trust that God was on their side and that everything would work out according to His plan.