Chapter Eight

Aaron could not fathom collecting receipts week after week and not writing anything down. Not one line in a ledger. Nothing. Lady Celia’s embarrassment had been clear, and he didn’t wish to make her think that he was upset, but he was worried about the state of finances for the earldom.

Lady Celia’s quick exit from the dining room had made Aaron feel like he’d received a blow to the gut. He hoped to the good Lord that he hadn’t caused her to cry again. Blast it all. As Miss Kate talked about her favorite horse in the Banfield stable, he inspected the food he’d piled onto his plate. He couldn’t get the image of Lady Celia’s flushed cheeks out of his mind. Or how her open neckline had exposed a smattering of freckles across her collar bone.

He took a bite of food, not tasting it at all. He had to refocus on matters of the estate. He’d worked with enough solicitors to know that sometimes an inheritance could be more of a curse than a blessing. If an estate wasn’t profitable, or at the very least could not support itself, then it became subject to parceling off land to the auction block.

Aaron gave up on eating and set down his fork. He realized Miss Kate was still talking about a particular horse. Laws, the young woman could chatter. “Might we join Lady Celia?” he said, hoping that his interruption wouldn’t be perceived as rude.

He felt as if he already had enough strikes against him at Banfield.

Miss Kate smiled. “Celia is like this. She disappears sometimes.” She shrugged. “She did it as a child too. Would be gone for hours.”

“Does it have to do with her poetry writing?”

Miss Kate looked surprised. “Lady Celia doesn’t write poetry.” Then she wrinkled her brow. “Although it would explain the ink stains on her fingers that I’ve spotted more than once. How did you know? Did she tell you?”

Aaron couldn’t elaborate that he’d seen the same ink markings on Lady Celia’s fingers in the middle of the night.

Just then, the woman herself came into the dining room. Her complexion hadn’t yet returned to its creamy paleness, and Aaron wondered if she was still upset. Aaron rose to his feet.

Lady Celia gave him a quick glance, then said to Miss Kate, “Are you ready?”

“I am.” Miss Kate pushed back her plate, so Aaron reached over and helped her up from her chair.

Aaron followed the women out of the dining room and up the grand staircase. Lady Celia gave a very thorough tour, telling him of each room and former occupants. When they reached the corridor of paintings, they stopped before each one as Lady Celia spoke of each relative. She was certainly well-versed in her family history.

Miss Kate interjected with small tidbits of village lore, and Aaron found himself smiling at a tale of Lady Celia’s father when he was young and was known to be found asleep in the strangest places. “My father said that once he’d found the young lord asleep in the vicarage stables when his parents were on a visit.”

“He always was a night owl,” Lady Celia. “Read through half the night.”

The fondness in her tone was unmistakable, and Aaron had to stop himself from saying, “Like father, like daughter.” It was clear she’d cared deeply for her family, and he couldn’t help but think that a woman like her would be a caring mother. Was it too presumptuous of him to think she’d dearly value each child?

The final suite of rooms they entered on the upper floor had been Bartholomew’s.

Lady Celia walked the perimeter of the room, touching items lightly as she passed by each one. She paused near the bed and rested her hand on the deep green coverlet. “My brother said that he didn’t want to move into the master suite until he was married. So he continued to occupy his childhood rooms.”

Miss Kate walked over to the window and looked out, while Lady Celia described some of the changes the suite had gone through over the years. The emotion in her voice was unmistakable, but she kept her chin lifted and her gaze focused on the opposite wall. Aaron found that he was paying attention to Lady Celia’s tone of voice and mannerisms more than he was hearing her describe things.

Aaron knew he had to stop staring at her, so he walked about the room a bit, reluctant to touch anything. It was an odd feeling to be in the room of someone who’d passed away. He felt a distinct emptiness, almost loneliness. A boy, then man, had once occupied this space, living here and breathing here.

“And you are welcome to my brother’s clothing,” Lady Celia said when he paused in front of the wardrobe.

Aaron turned to look at her. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears as she kept her hands clasped together. He had the sudden urge to cross to her and take her hands in his. To tell her that he wouldn’t wear one stitch of her brother’s clothing if she didn’t want him to.

Aaron didn’t answer for a moment, then he simply nodded his head. Lady Celia blinked, but it didn’t clear the sorrow from her eyes. He hated seeing her sad.

Miss Kate turned from the window. “Someone is coming along the road. It looks like my father’s carriage.”

So Aaron was about to meet the vicar, and while they headed down the staircase, he wondered how much comfort the vicar had brought to Lady Celia in her time of mourning.

When Vicar Jones stepped down from his carriage, Aaron greeted the portly man with shrewd green eyes. Jones practically wheezed his way up the steps. Miss Kate must take after her mother, because there was not much to compare between father and daughter.

“Won’t you stay for lunch?” Lady Celia asked when the vicar arrived in the foyer.

“Of course, Lady Celia,” Vicar Jones said, regarding her with a pitying look. “I hear your days are numbered.”

Aaron furrowed his brows, thinking the vicar was quite abrupt for a man of the cloth.

“I will travel to my aunt’s after Christmas,” Lady Celia said.

Her tone spoke of determination, yet Aaron detected a forlorn note as well.

The vicar had already moved his attention to his daughter, his tone significantly softening when he asked, “Kate, you are well?”

“I am, Father,” Miss Kate said.

Again, the vicar surveyed Aaron. Would everyone in the county come to inspect him?

“Wonderful,” the vicar said. “Now, I’ve business to discuss with Lord Banfield. We will see you ladies at lunch.”

Aaron thought the vicar was being too dismissive of his daughter and Lady Celia, but he didn’t know the vicar well enough to argue the point.

“Come to the library,” Aaron said. “Would you like refreshment?”

Vicar Jones nodded. “Refreshment would be welcome.”

Stanley followed along.

“This is a . . . house dog?” the vicar asked, glancing with distaste at Stanley.

“He is,” Aaron said.

It seemed that Mrs. March was already fully aware of their guest and almost as soon as they sat down, she bustled in with a tea tray.

“Thank you, Mrs. March,” Aaron said.

Vicar Jones barely gave the woman a nod.

What a strange vicar—one who was meant to be serving those in his realm, but certainly didn’t have much in the way of a kind word.

The vicar picked up one of the scones and took his time spreading on butter, then jam.

Aaron had to wave away Stanley more than once. Aaron suspected that the dog had enjoyed a scone or two in the kitchen.

After a rather large bite, Vicar Jones chewed, then said, “Lord Banfield, I’ve come to warn you.”

“Warn me?”

“Gossip has already spread that you are an unmarried man, with young women always in attendance.”

“I only arrived two days ago,” he said. “Since Lady Celia was here, alone, we sent for your daughter to be her companion. I don’t see anything untoward—”

“I am not saying I agree with the gossips,” Vicar Jones said with a wave of his hand. “I wanted you to be aware. People—women especially—will say the first thing that comes to their minds, accurate or not.”

Aaron wondered if the vicar drank brandy and if it would be rude to pour a glass in front of him. “Surely you can explain if the need arises,” he said. “I’m happy to explain as well, but I can assure you—”

“All the assurances in the world won’t make a difference.” The last bit was a mumble and Vicar Jones took another hearty bite of his scone.

When the man was finished chewing, Aaron said, “Then what can be done? Should I go door to door—”

“Nothing of the sort,” the vicar said, picking up a second scone, then fixing his narrow, green eyes on Aaron. “You must marry as soon as possible. It is the only solution.”