Kissed her.
And heaven knew he’d thoroughly enjoyed it.
He’d been tempted to stay at Houghton Manor simply to see if he couldn’t manage to dance with her again. Hold her in his arms again. Kiss her again. But reality had continually crashed down around him. He had a debt-riddled estate to see to and another failing estate toreturnto in time to pay a staff he could not afford to keep on. It wasn’t that he was choosing business over pleasure. The state of his finances tossed winter-cold water on any ambitions he had where Gillian was concerned. A man who hovered a breath away from debtors’ prison couldn’t entertain the possibility of building a life with anyone.
He hadn’t that option. He hadn’t a future to offer her.
So he’d left.
And now he was in North Riding, pretending he knew how to assess the state of a property. The house, a Tudor-style building with a diamond-paned bay window in the front, was still standing. There didn’t appear to be any sections falling to pieces. The grounds were simple but seemed well maintained. He would take Gillian’s advice and ask his coachman to offer his thoughts on the stables. The rest of his information would have to come from the only staff the house currently had: a groundskeeper, who also looked after the home itself.
Scott knew of Mr. Strickland only from having seen his name on the report he’d received from his man of business and from a single correspondence in which he had informed the man that he intended to look in on the property.
A man in well-worn, homespun trousers and a threadbare coat stood just outside the front door of the modest home.
“Are you Mr. Strickland?” Scott asked, approaching the spot where he stood.
The man nodded and offered a small bow. “Welcome to Thimbleby, sir.”
“I depend entirely on your expertise, Strickland,” Scott said. “Tell me everything you feel is pertinent for me to know.”
“Do you want the storm first or the rainbow?”
“Difficulties needing to be addressed are best not procrastinated.”
The man seemed to appreciate that bit of wisdom. He showed Scott inside. The house had the slightly dusty, musty smell of a place that was not used often but also wasn’t neglected. Strickland had clearly seen to the cleaning and upkeep.
Scott was shown to a decent-sized drawing room, not as large as the one at Houghton Manor but larger than the sitting room at Brier Hill. It was clean and well preserved. He wasn’t certain about the state of furniture, as everything was under covers.
“Close up the parts you aren’t using,” Gillian had said. That approach had been taken here.
“Do the chimneys smoke?” Scott asked. It was an effective means of determining not only if there were issues with the flues but also whether Strickland had thought to build low-burning fires now and then to address the mustiness in the house.
“Ain’t been anyroaringfires in years. But the embers we get going don’t cause any smoking.”
There was a mystery in that answer. “We?”
Strickland nodded. “My son, Ned. He helps around here.”
“How old is he?”
“Fourteen, Mr. Sarvol. He works hard.”
“I’ve not seen him listed among the staff here.”
Worry entered Strickland’s eyes.
Scott held up a hand. “He is fourteen years old and doing work, but he’s not on my list of employees, which means he is likely not being paid. He ought to be.”
Relief replaced the worry. “I was afraid we was in trouble.”
Scott offered a smile, hoping to convince the man that he could be trusted. “I had wondered how you managed to do all this work on your own. I don’t begrudge you having family here. But the boy deserves to be paid for the work he does.”
Scott intended, upon returning to Sarvol House, to implement some of the adjustments Gillian had suggested. Doing so, he hoped, would allow his inheritance from his father to last a little longer. Thenextquarter day would place less of a strain on his finances. First, though, he had to make certain he paid the people he owed wages to, including Mr. Strickland’s son, and determine how drastically he could reduce the staff while still keeping his properties as functional as possible. And then he needed to pay down his debts. And fund repairs. And find some source of income. Each task felt more impossible than the last.
“Please, continue with your tour,” he said. “And don’t leave anything out. I need to know the true state of things.”
His forthrightness and his decision not to exploit the man’s son’s labor earned him a great deal of trust. He was, quite suddenly, inundated with more information than he had expected to hear.