The formal gardens of the house sat lush with the late summer bloom. It was more formal than was fashionable. This he knew, but he didn’t care. His grandmother had designed this garden, and they had kept it diligently as she’d intended since—even as he’d never met the woman. Family was important, even more so now that he’d run out of them. The memories were precious, and he tried to honor their work as much as he could, even this unfashionable garden. It was still beautiful.
“Mr. Fuller?” he called as he entered the house.
“Yes, my lord,” the aged man replied, appearing in the doorway to the main hall. “Should I have a bath prepared?”
“Yes, good,” Finn said. His whole body was covered with dusk and bits of stalk, which itched when he cooled down. He could swim in the stream, but a nice soak in a warm bath was more soothing on his muscles than a brisk swim. “How are we doing with the preparations for the fest?”
“The butcher has agreed to prepare the spit for roasting.” It was always a popular option, the center of the party.
“Good.”
“Reverend Thompson, and his gang of madams, are organizing some of the activities.” Mr. Fuller had over the years had a falling out or two with the women of the village, and he alternatively called them the terrors of Lesser Wilkeston. In fact, even Reverend Thompson didn’t argue with them when they were set on something. As for himself, he’d always depended on charm when having to deal with them, and it worked well most of the time.
Going upstairs, he sat down heavily as the bath was filled. Steam rose as the boiled water was poured in. “I think I’m getting old,” Finn said as he rose and undressed, straining aching muscles.
Mr. Thompson harrumphed. “You don’t know what old is yet, my lord. One day you will, and you will rue the words you just uttered.”
Finn groaned as he stepped into the bath, the warmth shocking his body then radiating into his muscles. It felt as if he had no strength left. What he needed was to scrub the barley dust off his skin and hair, but all he managed was to sit there.
Wouldn’t it be lovely to have a wife to fuss over him at a time like this? The companionship of a wife was something he’d begun to crave a short while back. Prior, he’d felt he was too busy to deal with the demands, a determination brought on by some of his liaisons. His view that women were demanding and grasping had resulted after one particularly regrettable relationship, and after, he’d stayed clear of the whole topic. It hadn’t been helped by the unhappy marriages he’d observed elsewhere.
But age had mellowed him, and made him wiser. There were successful marriages, and even some of the men who lamented their burdens weren’t nearly as miserable as they professed. The happiest of marriages weren’t the ones giving themselves to dramatics, they were quiet and calm, their happiness hidden in small actions and considerations. It was just that they were drowned out by the dramatics.
Then one day, Eliza Hennington had walked in and demanded he treat her like she deserved to be treated. Quietly confident and unbending in her demand, he’d seen something in her he hadn’t seen in others. She’d drawn his interest as no one had before. When they’d met, she’d been his tenant for a warehouse he owned in London, and still was.
For a while, it seemed she’d been a good match for him, even as her reputation was being threatened. A disastrous situation she was handling with strength and dignity. But the husband who’d caused her so much grief had swept her away in the end. It had been disappointing.
For a while, he’d been angry with her for relenting to the man who’d caused her so much grief, that she was being loyal to a man who didn’t deserve it. He wouldn’t have been so forgiving. The man had threatened her livelihood after initially destroying her life based on false accusations. How could he respect someone who would do something like that to a woman as lovely as Eliza?
For all intents and purposes, Eliza had chosen to remain with her husband. Finn hadn’t entirely deserted her, and not just because she was his tenant, but in case this husband truly didn’t deserve the chance she was affording him. A leopard didn’t change his spots, in Finn’s experience, so he wasn’t convinced of this man’s intentions. Perhaps some other stupid reason would have the man balk and he’d run for the hills, yet again.
A future with Eliza depended on this man divorcing her. If he refused to do so, things would be very complicated. It wouldn’t be unheard of that a man set up family with an abandoned woman, but it would be deeply unfair to Eliza. A solution would have to be pursued, and by solution, it would entail this man, Lord Warwick, to agree to divorce her.
It would all be complicated, but Eliza had the gentle strength that would make the perfect wife, even if her delinquent husband didn’t see it. And at its core, Finn liked her—enough to endure such tribulations. The idea of a happy marriage was something worth fighting for when it was within reach.
Having recovered slightly, he urged his muscles to move, washed his arms, and poured bowlfuls of water over his head. It would be nice to have a wife—someone who commiserated with the hard work of a harvest. Maybe even gentle fingers kneading the muscles of his shoulders.
The desire was growing stronger, but not to the point where he would choose a woman he wasn’t sure would be a good match. No marriage was better than a bad one.
“For the dancing, should we do so in the
