“I will, Miss Hennington.”
With a nod, Octavia sat back and the carriage took off. Denham Hall would be chaos without her. She wasn’t even sure they would manage a proper meal. Cook would serve them whatever she felt like and they wouldn’t complain. It was the best they could manage.
The familiar roads around the village gave way to the countryside beyond. The trees still had their full crowns, the merest hint of yellow starting to color the earliest varieties. Around her, harvested fields looked bare. A few were still being brought in. It was a nice time of year in the country, where the crops had been safely brought in without any disaster descending. Things were prepared for market or stored for winter. Animals and farmers alike had a rest. It was also the time when London returned to tolerable. Summers were too hot and too pungent, and not of a good kind.
She should have brought a book, but she hadn’t thought of it. Normally, there was too much to do to sit down and read. And when she arrived in London, there were too many people to see, even as many of her acquaintances hadn’t returned yet. Over the next month or so, they would all make their way to London, ahead of the season.
The roads were good, but at times, the carriage was slowed because farmers were moving their harvest around. There was nothing for it but to wait.
There was an eagerness to get back to the city after such a long sojourn at Denham Hall. As her brother and father were so rude to guests, they didn’t have as many callers as they should. Everyone was more comfortable if Octavia did the calling, but there were only so many times you could call on the same people before it became dull.
And it was important to ensure things proceeded with Caius and Eliza. Caius would be miserable if things fell apart again. He’d run away for seven years last time, and no one wanted a repeat of that. Eliza was curiously independent, and to some extent, she’d had to be. No one could have foreseen how successful she’d been at it; Eliza had embraced her setbacks and made a life that had suited her. It was also true that she loved Caius and always had. As to her forgiving him for abandoning her—well, perhaps that was at the core of the problem. Forgiveness wasn’t always easy when trust had been broken, even if all parties wanted it.
As for herself, she wasn’t one for forgiving once her trust had been broken. In fact, there had been times when she’d dismissed men for the merest infraction. This was something she’d admitted about herself. Often she’d been looking for an excuse why a man wasn’t good enough. Perhaps that was because in her heart, she’d known he wasn’t the right man. Also driven by the fact that she hadn’t met any ‘right’ men. They were all silly on some level, and she’d wanted a man she respected. Still wanted. She hadn’t given up.
The problem was that suitable men didn’t grow on trees, and she’d considered quite a few of them already. She was, however, in the enviable position of being a good match for anyone. If she paid attention to a man, he typically paid attention back. There were men of good standing, but finding someone she personally felt was suitable had proven surprisingly hard.
Everyone told her she had to lower her standards, had to accept some man with his glaring flaws that she knew would drive her up the wall over time. Why couldn’t people be reasonable? Especially men. It wasn’t difficult, but yet, so many men struggled to say the right thing when they were supposed to, and to keep their mouths shut when appropriate. How was it these men managed to fare in the world while being so… unobservant?
Chapter 2
SWEAT RAN DOWN FINN’S back as he reaped proud barley stalks. Stroke after stroke, the almost mesmerizing sharp sound of the barley felling. Behind the line of reapers, women gathered the stalks into bundles while the midday sun beat down on them. Two good days and they would be done. He was exhausted—they all were.
A celebration was planned for the end. The harvest fest. Until then, there was nothing but work. Every pair of hands was needed, even his. They had to get the harvest in before the weather turned. A bad storm now and the year’s crop would be ruined. The estate could manage a bad harvest, but there were many who depended on a good year to keep them afloat.
Often, Finn didn’t mind physical work, but harvest time taxed his every strength. Still, it would be a good feeling when it was all brought in and safely stored. Even better when it was sold and delivered, and the funds delivered to his bank.
Stopping, he stretched his aching back and listened to the men around him. No one spoke, they just kept on working. The sooner it was done, the sooner they could rest. Some of the professionals hired in for the task were eager to get to their next job, working as many fields as they could through the harvest season. For himself, he recognized the luxury of only having to do one harvest.
They continued working for hours more, until it grew dark. Finally, they lay their scythes down and returned home.
Finn walked. He hadn’t wanted his horse to have to stand around and wait all day. Besides, it did him good to stretch out some of his overused muscles. His shoulders had no strength left, and his back was sore. It would be painful the next morning, as it had been for quite a few, but the soreness
