25. Chapter 25

Chapter 25

J ames sat at his desk, poring over maps and ledgers with his steward, Mr. Hawkins. The failed canal project on the neighbouring estate had thrown their plans into disarray, and they were now scrambling to find alternative routes to market for the estate's grain.

"What about the old road through Millbrook, sir?" Mr. Smith suggested, tracing a winding line on the map with his finger.

James shook his head. "Too narrow for our wagons. We'd lose half the crop before we even reached the main road."

He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples. The constant worry over the estate's finances was beginning to wear on him. His eyes drifted to the window, where he caught a glimpse of Evelyn walking with the girls in the garden. For a moment, he allowed himself to be distracted by the sight of her, her laughter carrying faintly through the glass.

"My lord?" Mr. Smith's voice snapped him back to attention.

"Yes, sorry," James muttered, forcing his gaze back to the papers before him. "What about the river? Could we use barges?"

The steward frowned. "It's possible, but it would require significant investment in equipment and men skilled in river navigation."

James drummed his fingers on the desk, weighing the costs against the potential benefits. The estate's future hung in the balance, and he couldn't afford to make the wrong decision.

"We need to consider every option," he said finally. "Draw up a detailed proposal for the river route, including all associated costs. And see if you can find out what our neighbours to the east are planning. Perhaps we could share resources."

Mr. Smith nodded, gathering up the papers. "Very good, my lord. I'll have the report ready for you by tomorrow afternoon."

As the steward left, James found his gaze drawn once again to the window. Evelyn was now kneeling beside Augusta, examining something in the flower beds. He watched as she gently guided the girl's hand, explaining something with animated gestures.

James forced his attention back to the papers strewn across his desk, but the numbers and figures blurred before his eyes. He reached for a map of the local waterways, tracing the sinuous lines of rivers and streams with his finger. The idea of transporting crops by river had merit, but as he studied the routes, his mind betrayed him once more.

The rushing water on the map morphed into the torrent that had nearly swept him away that fateful day. And there was Evelyn, racing across the fields to warn him, her skirts hitched up and her face flushed with exertion.

James closed his eyes, but the image only grew more vivid. He saw her again as she'd looked after they'd scrambled to safety: rain-soaked and dishevelled, her hair a wild tangle about her face. But it was her eyes that haunted him most—wide and determined, filled with a fierce light he'd never seen before.

He shook his head, trying to dislodge the memory. It was folly to dwell on such things. He was a widower with responsibilities, not some lovesick youth. And yet...

The scent of damp earth and rain filled his nostrils, a phantom from that day. He could almost feel the warmth of her body as they'd huddled together on the embankment, their breath coming in ragged gasps.

"Damn it all," James muttered, pushing back from his desk. He stood and paced the length of his study, willing his traitorous mind to focus on the task at hand. But every time he glanced at the map, he saw only Evelyn's face, rain-streaked and beautiful.

With a frustrated growl, James turned to the window. In the gardens below, Evelyn was now showing Julia how to prune a rosebush. Her movements were graceful, her smile warm as she guided the girl's hands. James found himself leaning closer, drinking in the sight of her.

James watched from his study window as Evelyn and the girls crouched near a flowering shrub. Julia's excited squeal carried across the garden, and he saw her carefully pluck something from a leaf. Even from this distance, he could see the triumphant grin on her face as she turned to Evelyn.

He tensed, anticipating Evelyn's reaction. Surely a London lady would recoil from whatever creepy-crawly Julia had discovered. He'd seen it countless times before—governesses who claimed to love the outdoors, only to shriek at the first sign of an insect.

To his astonishment, Evelyn held out her hand without hesitation. Julia gently deposited her find—a plump, fuzzy caterpillar—onto Evelyn's palm. James leaned closer to the window, fascinated by the scene unfolding outside.

Evelyn's laughter floated to him on the languid summer breeze, light and melodious. She bent her head, examining the caterpillar as it inched across her skin. The expression on her face made James's breath catch in his throat. It was the same look of wonder and delight he'd seen when she'd first encountered the beehive—a mixture of curiosity and joy that transformed her entire countenance.

He found himself captivated by the sight. Evelyn's eyes sparkled as she pointed out the caterpillar's markings to the girls, who clustered around her, equally entranced. Her cheeks were flushed with excitement, and a stray lock of hair had escaped its pins, curling against her neck.

James realised he was gripping the windowsill, his knuckles white. He forced himself to relax, but couldn't tear his gaze away from Evelyn. She was so different from what he'd expected—so much more. The way she engaged with his daughters, encouraging their curiosity about the world around them, stirred something long dormant within him.

As he watched, Evelyn carefully transferred the caterpillar back to a leaf. She knelt beside the girls, pointing out where it might build its cocoon. Her enthusiasm was infectious, and James found himself smiling despite his best efforts to maintain his usual stern demeanour.

Like a great dog, James shook himself all over and at last managed to pull back from the window. Inwardly, he cursed himself without any real conviction for insisting that his study be in a room so near the gardens, thinking that it would be a comfort on days he was trapped indoors.

James finally surrendered to the restlessness that had been plaguing him. With a sigh, he pushed back from his desk and rose to his feet. The sudden movement caught the attention of his two hunting dogs, Brutus and Caesar, who had been dozing near the fireplace. Their heads lifted in unison, eyes bright with anticipation.

"Easy, lads," James murmured, crossing the room to where they lay. He knelt beside them, running his hands over their sleek heads. Brutus, the older of the pair, pushed his muzzle into James's palm, while Caesar's tail thumped eagerly against the floor.

The familiar warmth of their fur beneath his fingers soothed James, grounding him in a way that poring over ledgers and maps never could. He scratched behind Brutus's ears, eliciting a contented groan from the old dog.

"What do you say we stretch our legs, eh?" James asked, his voice low and conspiratorial. Both dogs perked up at the suggestion, Caesar rising to his feet with youthful exuberance.

James stood, his knees protesting slightly. He realised with a start how long he'd been hunched over his desk, lost in a maze of figures and worries—and distracting thoughts of Evelyn. The dogs pressed close to his legs, their excitement palpable.

As he reached for his walking stick, James's gaze was drawn once more to the window. The afternoon sun bathed the gardens in a warm, golden light. He could just make out Evelyn and the girls in the distance, still engrossed in their explorations of the natural world.

A part of him longed to join them, to share in their wonder and laughter. But he pushed the thought aside, reminding himself of the countless tasks that demanded his attention. Still, as he turned towards the door, dogs at his heels, James couldn't quite shake the image of Evelyn's radiant smile from his mind.

James strode across the fields towards the Wilkins' farm, his boots sinking into the soft earth with each step. Brutus and Caesar loped ahead, their noses to the ground as they searched for interesting scents. The crisp spring air carried the promise of new life, a reminder that lambing season was fast approaching.

Absently, James plucked a sturdy stick from the ground and tossed it ahead. Caesar bounded after it, while Brutus, ever the more dignified of the pair, merely watched his younger companion with what James could have sworn was a look of disdain.

As he walked, James's mind wandered. He found himself thinking of Evelyn, as he so often did these days. The way she'd looked in the garden, her face alight with wonder as she showed the girls a caterpillar. It was a far cry from the prim London lady who'd first arrived at his estate.

He shook his head, trying to dislodge the image. There were more pressing matters at hand. The upcoming lambing season would be crucial for the estate's finances. With the failed canal project and the uncertainty in the grain markets, a successful lambing could mean the difference between a prosperous year and a lean one.

Caesar returned with the stick, dropping it at James's feet with an expectant look. James obliged, throwing it again, this time towards a copse of trees in the distance. As he watched the dog race after it, he couldn't help but envy the animal's single-minded focus. How simple life must be when one's only concern was the next throw of a stick.

The Wilkins' farm came into view, a tidy collection of stone buildings nestled in a small valley. James could see old Tom Wilkins in the yard, checking the fences of the lambing pen. The farmer waved as James approached, and James raised a hand in greeting.

He needed to focus on the task at hand. The estate, his tenants, his daughters—these were the things that should occupy his thoughts. Not a pair of bright eyes and a laugh that seemed to chase away the shadows that had cloaked his heart for so long.

James approached the field where Farmer Wilkins stood, his eyes scanning the flock of sheep grazing contentedly. A sense of satisfaction washed over him as he took in the sight of the ewes, their sides swollen with the promise of new life.

"Good afternoon, my lord," Wilkins called out, touching his cap in greeting. "Come to check on our woolly friends, have you?"

James nodded, his gaze still fixed on the sheep. "They're looking well, Tom. Heavy with lambs, I see."

Wilkins beamed with pride. "Aye, that they are. Should be dropping soon, if I'm not mistaken. It's been a good year for feed, and it shows in the flock."

"Mmm," James murmured absently, his mind already racing ahead to calculations of potential profits and the impact on the estate's finances.

The farmer's voice cut through his musings. "The young ladies will be pleased, I reckon. Nothing quite like seeing the little ones frolicking about."

James blinked, caught off guard by the mention of his daughters. For a moment, he saw them as they had been years ago, squealing with delight at the sight of newborn lambs. The memory brought an unexpected pang of nostalgia.

"Yes, I suppose they will," he replied, his voice gruff to mask the sudden emotion. He cleared his throat, forcing his thoughts back to the practical matters at hand. "What's your estimate for this year's crop, Tom?"

As Wilkins launched into a detailed assessment of the expected lambing numbers, James found his attention wandering once more. He couldn't help but wonder how Evelyn might react to the sight of the newborn lambs. Would she share in the girls' excitement, or would she maintain the prim demeanour of a proper London lady?

The image of Evelyn, her face alight with wonder as she cradled a tiny lamb, rose unbidden in his mind. James pushed the thought away, irritated by his own distraction. He had more important matters to consider than the fancies of a governess.

James abruptly cut off Farmer Wilkins mid-sentence, his patience wearing thin. "Thank you for your time, Tom. I'll be in touch about the lambing arrangements."

Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and strode away, leaving the bewildered farmer in his wake. Brutus and Caesar fell into step beside him, sensing their master's agitation.

As he made his way back across the fields, James found his thoughts in disarray. He'd come out here to clear his head, to focus on the estate's needs, but instead, he felt more scattered than ever. The upcoming lambing season, the grain shipments, the estate's finances—all of it seemed to blur together in his mind, overshadowed by thoughts of...

James shook his head forcefully, as if he could physically dislodge the image of Evelyn from his mind. This was becoming intolerable. He couldn't afford such distractions, not with so much at stake.

But as he walked, a realisation slowly dawned on him. Perhaps the reason for his distraction was not what he'd initially thought. It wasn't some foolish infatuation—no, it was simpler than that. He still owed Evelyn a debt for saving his life during the flood. The weight of that unpaid obligation was what was truly bothering him.

James felt a surge of relief at this revelation. Of course, that was it. He was a man who prided himself on meeting his obligations, and this unresolved debt was gnawing at him, throwing him off balance.

Well, there was a simple solution to that. He would repay Evelyn for her bravery, and then everything would return to normal. He'd be able to focus on his work again, free from this constant distraction.

As he approached the manor, James's stride lengthened, fuelled by his newfound determination. He would settle this debt, and then he'd finally be at peace. Everything would go back to the way it was supposed to be.

He ignored the small voice in the back of his mind that whispered doubts about this plan. After all, what could he possibly offer that would adequately repay someone for saving his life?

James strode back towards the manor, his mind racing with newfound purpose. The solution had come to him like a bolt from the blue—the only gift truly worthy of Evelyn's actions was the chance at a new life. It was so obvious now that he wondered how he hadn't seen it before.