Thank goodness for his loyalty, she thought, fastening up the long hem of her riding habit. Without him, she and Manfred might never be allowed to enjoy their solitary rides.
Walking up the path from the stables, she passed through a small grove of trees and into the large, open lawn. Crossing the wide space, she kicked the head off a dandelion, sprinkling her skirt with bits of grass and dew.
I must speak to Bill about bringing the sheep here to trim the grass, she reminded herself before passing through a gate in the low stone wall surrounding the garden on the other side.
Wandering down the gravel path through the semi-formal plant beds, she saw the house rise up in front of her, its many windows reflecting the morning sun. She removed her right glove and grazed the top of a large rosemary bush with her fingers before snapping off a sprig and inhaling the tangy scent. All the troubles she’d forgotten during her ride came rushing back, especially Charles’s letter.
‘His estate.’ Julia threw the rosemary sprig on the ground, crushing it beneath her half-boot. ‘What does he know of running Knollwood?’
She’d burned the hateful parchment after reading it, watching with delight as the neat script crumpled and charred in the flames. However, all the burned letters couldn’t stop her brother from claiming his inheritance.
Pausing at the small pond in the centre of the garden, she stared into the dark water. Goldfish flitted beneath the glass surface, failing to disturb the reflection of the thick clouds passing overhead.
Why should he have Knollwood? Tears of frustration stung her eyes. He’s never taken an interest in it the way I have.
Nor did he appreciate all her hard work to keep it prosperous. Only Father and Paul had ever recognised it, but with Paul serving with Admiral Nelson’s fleet and Father—
No, she commanded herself, refusing to cry. Tears would not help her deal with Charles.
Heading up the garden path, she passed her mother’s cherished rose garden, then hurried up the stairs of the column-lined stone portico leading to the back sitting room.
‘Good morning, Miss Howard,’ Davies, the butler, greeted, pulling open the large French door.
‘Good morning.’ She handed him her gloves and he held out a small paper-covered parcel.
‘This arrived from Mr Charles Howard.’
‘My book.’ She tore off the wrapper to reveal a leather-bound copy of The Monk. ‘I can’t believe Charles sent it. He’s always so concerned about not disturbing my delicate female mind. It’s fortunate he doesn’t know the half of what Paul tells me.’
‘Yes, very fortunate indeed,’ Davies solemnly concurred. He’d been Paul’s valet when Paul still lived at Knollwood, making him well acquainted with her brother’s nature and most of his escapades.
‘Has Uncle George returned from London yet?’
‘Captain Russell arrived a short while ago to collect Percy and speak with Mrs Emily Howard. He’s returned to Creedon Abbey to see to the repairs.’
‘Uncle George was here and didn’t wait for me?’
‘No, miss, but it appears we are to expect another gentleman.’
‘Who?’
‘Mrs Howard did not say, but she instructed me to open Paul’s room for him.’
Julia chafed at the news. ‘When is he arriving?’
‘This afternoon.’
‘Thank you, Davies. Please tell Mrs Howard I won’t be joining her for breakfast.’
‘Yes, miss.’
Julia walked down the hall to the study, determined to avoid the breakfast room no matter how many lectures it might create. What right did Emily have to make decisions at Knollwood? The maids and footmen were stretched thin enough with Uncle George staying here and all her stepcousins’ demands.
Crossing the study’s large, woven rug, Julia sighed. Emily, as Charles’s wife, had every right to invite whomever she pleased, even if it did mean additional work for Julia and the staff. For a moment she imagined herself mistress of her own home, free to make decisions and live without her brother’s censure, then dismissed the thought. Once Charles took control, he’d soon realise the limitations of his estate management skills, or return to London for Parliament in the spring, leaving Knollwood in Julia’s hands once again. Or so she hoped. Her brother had a habit of being very stubborn.
She sat down behind the large, mahogany desk situated at the far end of the study. High bookcases lined one wall while south-facing windows with a view of the garden dominated the other. A tall, wooden bookstand supporting a fine atlas stood guard near the window, flanked by two leather chairs. Her father had decorated the room, choosing every element down to each book. From here he conducted all family business, patiently bearing Charles’s sermons about the proper education for Julia, dealing with one of Paul’s many near scandals or teaching Julia to run Knollwood.
It’d happened by accident, after she’d fled here one day to avoid drawing lessons. Sitting with her father while he reviewed the figures, she’d asked questions and he’d answered them, noticing her interest. The next day, he’d invited her to join him again and it became their habit. In the afternoons, they’d ride the estate, speaking with the workers and learning their methods and the land. Then, one day, he told her to do the figures, allowed her to sit in the room while he met with the overseer and gave her correspondence to read and answer. No one in the family except Charles questioned her strange education and Father would laugh him off, saying he wasn’t about to lose his best manager because she was a girl.
Julia smiled at the memory, then opened the large, leather-bound ledger. Settling herself over the accounts, she reviewed the figures, wrinkling her nose at the increased expenditures brought on by her stepcousins’ visit. Closing the ledger, she gathered up the large bundle of letters resting on the corner of the desk. She read through the missives, the minute details of the dairy and reports from the tenant farmers helping her forget the excitement of the morning.
Chapter Two
The study door swung open, startling Julia, and her pencil slipped, leaving a dark mark across two rows of figures.
‘Yes?’ she answered testily as Davies entered the room.
‘Captain Russell and his guest have arrived.’
Tossing down the pencil, she sat back in the chair, needing just a few more minutes to finish balancing the accounts. ‘They’re early.’
‘I believe they are on time.’
She looked at the windows, finally noticing how the sun and shadows had shifted in the garden and the room. ‘How long have I been working?’
‘All morning, Miss Howard.’
‘Then I’d better hurry and join them or I’ll never know a moment’s peace with Emily.’ Closing the ledger, she stood and started for the door. ‘Though I know Uncle George won’t mind my being late. He isn’t one for formality.’
‘Excuse me, Miss Howard...’ Davies coughed ‘...perhaps a change of dress is advisable.’
She stopped, inspecting the riding habit skirt, her loose hair falling over her face. Bits of leaves stuck to the honey-coloured fabric, making the damp hem noticeable and emphasising the creases along with the habit’s older style. She hardly ever wore this habit, but she’d soiled her better one yesterday by taking Manfred over a fence and through the mud on the other side. Had she seen the puddle, she wouldn’t have jumped him.
‘I’ll never hear the end of it if Emily catches me greeting guests in such a state. Where are they?’
‘The morning room.’
‘Do you