5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

J ames Ayles, Baron Hastings, shook his head as he strode away from Miss Bane. The woman's incessant chatter and obvious disdain for country life grated on his nerves. He'd hoped for someone more... practical. Someone who understood the gravity of the situation facing his estate and his daughters.

He descended the stairs, his mind already shifting to the pressing matters at hand. The spring planting was far behind schedule, and if they didn't make significant progress soon, his tenants would face a grim winter. The thought of families going hungry under his care twisted his gut.

James pushed open the heavy oak door and stepped out into the weak spring sunshine. The air was thick with the scent of freshly turned earth and the faint tang of desperation. He could see figures dotting the fields, bent low over their work. His footmen were out there too, their fine livery exchanged for rough work clothes.

He strode towards the nearest field, his long legs eating up the distance. As he approached, he recognised young Thomas, a footman barely out of boyhood, struggling with a hoe. The lad's face was red with exertion, his hands already blistering.

"Here, lad," James said gruffly, holding out his hand. "Let me show you."

Thomas looked up, startled. "My lord, I—"

"None of that now," James cut him off, taking the hoe. "Watch."

With practised movements, James demonstrated the proper technique, his muscles remembering the motions from years past. He'd worked these fields alongside his father, learning the rhythms of the land long before he'd inherited the title.

"See?" he said, handing the tool back. "Long, steady strokes. You'll tire less quickly that way. Keep the furrows sharp."

Thomas nodded, a look of determination settling over his young face. "Thank you, my lord."

James clapped him on the shoulder and moved on, his eyes scanning the fields. In the distance, he could see other footmen distributing water to the workers, their usual crisp movements slowed by the unfamiliar terrain.

James scanned the field, his eyes catching on a familiar figure. Nell, one of his most reliable servants, was bent over a row of seedlings, her movements deft and sure. Her wide-brimmed hat, secured by a kerchief, cast a shadow over her face, but he could still see the healthy flush of her cheeks from the sun and honest work.

"Nell!" he called out, his voice carrying across the freshly tilled earth.

She straightened immediately, her face breaking into a warm smile as she spotted him. With a quick brush of her hands against her apron, she hurried towards him, her steps light despite the long hours of labour.

"My lord," she said, dipping into a quick curtsy as she reached him. "How may I be of service?"

James felt a small knot of tension in his chest ease at her eagerness. Here was someone he could rely on, someone who understood the importance of hard work and duty.

"The new governess has arrived," he said, his tone gruff but not unkind. "Could you see to getting her settled in? I fear she's..." He paused as he considered. "Not used to seeing a speck of mud out of place."

Nell's eyes sparkled with amusement, but she quickly schooled her features. "Of course, my lord. I'll see to it immediately. The poor dear must be quite overwhelmed."

James nodded, grateful for her understanding. "Thank you, Nell. Your help is appreciated, as always."

With another quick curtsy, Nell turned and hurried back towards the house, her steps purposeful and her back straight. James watched her go, a small frown creasing his brow. He hoped the new governess would adapt quickly to life at the estate. They needed all hands working together if they were to weather the challenges ahead.

As James stood in the warm spring sun, he grudgingly considered Miss Bane. The woman hadn't fled at the first sight of mud on her skirts, which was more than he'd expected given her obvious discomfort with country life.

He recalled the journey from the coach station, his lips quirking into a wry smile. Miss Bane had chattered incessantly, her crisp London accent pointing out every perceived flaw in the countryside. Yet beneath her complaints, he'd sensed a steely determination. She'd held her head high, even as the rough road jostled her about.

James had stolen glances at her profile as he drove, curiosity getting the better of him. Her dark eyes had flashed with temper and spirit, a stark contrast to the demure governesses he'd interviewed in the past. There was something refreshing about her directness, even if it bordered on impropriety.

He turned away from the field, running a hand through his hair. Perhaps he'd been too hasty in his judgement. Miss Bane might be out of her element, but she hadn't given up at the first hurdle. That, at least, boded well for her ability to handle his spirited daughters.

The sun was beginning to beat down in earnest, and James reached up to swipe at his brow, thoughts still lingering on Miss Bane. Despite her initial shock at his appearance, she hadn't recoiled from him. It was a small mercy, but one he appreciated nonetheless.

He'd seen far too many faces twist in horror at the sight of his scars. He'd agreed to take her on a trial basis, and James was not a man to go back on his word. Besides, sending her away now would only delay the inevitable. His daughters needed a governess, and Miss Bane was here, ready to begin.

A movement in the distance caught his eye. James looked up to see Farmer Giles approaching, accompanied by a man carrying what appeared to be large rolled papers under his arm. The sight made James sigh inwardly. He recognised the man as Mr Wilkins, the surveyor he'd hired to assess the possibility of improving the estate's irrigation system.

James squared his shoulders, pushing thoughts of Miss Bane and household matters aside. He couldn't afford such distractions now, not when the very future of his estate hung in the balance. The farmers needed his full attention if they were to weather this crisis.

He strode forward to meet them, his face settling into the stern mask he wore like armour. As he stepped out to meet Farmer Giles and Mr Wilkins, James silently hoped Miss Bane would prove capable of managing on her own for now. The estate's problems couldn't wait.

James winced as Mr Wilkins pumped his hand with enthusiasm, the man's grip surprisingly strong for one who spent his days poring over maps and figures.

"My lord, I cannot express how thrilled I am to present our findings," Mr Wilkins gushed, his eyes alight with excitement. "We've discovered opportunities that could revolutionise your estate's productivity!"

James extricated his hand, nodding politely. "Indeed? Well, let's hear it then."

Mr Wilkins unfurled his maps with a flourish, spreading them across a nearby wooden table. James leaned in, his brow furrowing as he studied the intricate lines and notations.

"As you can see, my lord, we've mapped out a comprehensive irrigation system that would significantly improve water distribution across your fields," Mr Wilkins explained, his finger tracing the proposed channels. "But that's not all. We've learned that your neighbours to the east are planning a shipping canal. If we act quickly, we could connect to it, opening up new trade routes for your estate's produce."

James felt a twinge of unease. The idea was bold, certainly, but the scale of disruption to his tenants' lives... He glanced at Farmer Giles, noting the older man's furrowed brow.

"It's an intriguing proposal," James said carefully, straightening up. "I'll need time to consider the implications."

Mr Wilkins' face fell slightly, but he nodded. "Of course, my lord. But I urge you not to delay too long. This opportunity won't last forever."

James clasped his hands behind his back, his mind already racing through the potential consequences. The canal could indeed bring prosperity, but at what cost? He thought of the families who had worked this land for generations, their lives intertwined with the rhythms of the estate.

"I appreciate your thoroughness, Mr Wilkins," James said. "I'll review your plans in detail and consult with my tenants. We'll reconvene once I've had time to weigh all factors."

As Mr Wilkins gathered his maps, James turned to Farmer Giles. The old man's weathered face was etched with concern.

"What do you think, Giles?" James asked quietly.

Giles scratched his chin. "It's a big change, m'lord. Might bring good, might bring trouble. Folk 'round here, they don't take to change easy."

James nodded, feeling the weight of responsibility settle heavily on his shoulders. He would need to tread carefully, balancing progress with tradition, the needs of the estate with the lives of those who called it home.

James turned instinctively towards the manor house, its stone walls rising in the distance. His gaze softened as his thoughts drifted to his daughters. They were still young, their laughter echoing through the halls, their mischief keeping the household on its toes. But time was relentless, and soon they would be grown women, in need of security and independence.

The weight of responsibility settled more firmly on his shoulders. He wanted—no, needed—to leave them a legacy they could be proud of, an estate that would provide for them long after he was gone. The thought filled him with renewed determination, steeling his resolve.

James squared his shoulders and turned back to Mr Wilkins, who was still hovering nearby, hope etched on his eager face.

"Mr Wilkins," James said, his voice firm with decision, "I'll need more information before I can make a final choice. Present me with detailed facts and figures. I want to know exactly how much we could ship and what prices we might fetch in better markets. Leave no stone unturned in your analysis."

Mr Wilkins' eyes lit up, and he nodded vigorously. "Of course, my lord! I'll have a comprehensive report on your desk within the fortnight. You won't be disappointed, I assure you."

As the surveyor hurried off, practically tripping over his own feet in his excitement, James allowed himself a small smile. The man's enthusiasm was infectious, even if his ideas were daunting.

James cast one last glance at the manor house, thoughts of his daughters spurring him on. Whatever changes might come, he would face them head-on, for their sake. After all, everything he did was for them—they were all that he had left.

James blinked, realising Farmer Giles had asked him a question. He shook his head, embarrassed at his momentary lapse in attention.

"I beg your pardon, Giles. My mind wandered for a moment. What were you saying?"

The old farmer's weathered face creased with understanding. "No worries, m'lord. I was just askin' about the new seed we tried in the south field. Reckon it's time to check on its progress?"

James nodded, grateful for the farmer's patience. "Yes, indeed. Let's head there now."

As they walked, James tried to focus on Giles's words about crop rotation and soil quality. But his thoughts kept drifting back to his daughters, to the sound of their laughter echoing through the manor's halls.

Unbidden, the memory of smoke filled his nostrils, acrid and choking. James clenched his fists, fighting back the familiar wave of panic that threatened to overwhelm him. He could almost hear the crackle of flames, feel the searing heat on his skin...

"M'lord? You alright there?"

Giles's concerned voice cut through the haze of memory. James realised he had stopped walking, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

"I'm fine, Giles," he managed, forcing a smile that felt more like a grimace. "Just... remembering something."

The old farmer's eyes softened with sympathy. He didn't pry, for which James was grateful. Instead, Giles pointed to a nearby field where green shoots were just beginning to push through the soil.

"Look there, m'lord. That new wheat's comin' up strong."

James latched onto the change of subject, grateful for the distraction. He strode towards the field, focusing on the task at hand. Yet even as he bent to examine the tender shoots, part of his mind remained on high alert. It was as if listening for the distant sound of his daughters' cries.

The lingering scent of smoke seemed to follow him, a ghostly reminder of all he had lost and all he still feared to lose.

"Growing strong," James said, running his hand over the tiny green shoots.

James straightened, brushing soil from his hands as he considered Giles's words. Perhaps having Miss Bane in the house wasn't such a terrible notion after all. Another set of watchful eyes could prove useful, especially with his daughters' penchant for mischief.

"Aye, m'lord," Giles continued, a sly grin creeping across his weathered face. "Speakin' of new arrivals, I hear there's a fresh face up at the manor. A new governess, is it?"

James nodded, his expression neutral. "Indeed. Miss Bane arrived just this afternoon."

Giles chuckled, his eyes twinkling. "A comely lass, is she? The young lads about the estate will be right pleased to have another pretty face to admire, I'd wager."

James opened his mouth to dismiss the notion, but found himself pausing. He hadn't really considered Miss Bane in those terms. His mind drifted back to their first encounter, recalling her appearance with a newfound awareness.

Dark eyes, flashing with spirit and indignation, chestnut curls that seemed barely contained beneath her bonnet, skin so pale it seemed to glow in the afternoon sun, a stark contrast to the muddy lane they'd travelled...

"I suppose," James conceded reluctantly, "the young men might find her pleasing to look upon. She's certainly... striking."

Giles's grin widened, but James quickly added, "Not that it matters. She's here to educate my daughters, not to catch the eye of every farmhand and stable boy."

Despite his stern words, James found his thoughts lingering on Miss Bane's appearance. He shook his head, annoyed at himself for such frivolous musings. There were far more pressing matters at hand than the new governess's looks.

James turned away from Giles, pretending not to notice the knowing look in the old farmer's eyes. He focused intently on the young wheat shoots, running his fingers over their delicate stalks again, testing to see how they sprang back.

"We should check the drainage in the lower field," he said gruffly, desperate to change the subject. "With all this rain on the dry soil, I worry about flooding."

But even as he spoke, James found his thoughts drifting. Miss Bane's face swam before his mind's eye, unbidden and unwelcome. He saw again those dark eyes, wide and startled like a doe's when she'd realised who he was. The memory of her indignation, the flush of colour in her cheeks, stirred something in him he thought long dead.

James clenched his jaw, irritated by his own foolishness. He'd locked away such thoughts years ago, after the fire. His heart was not his to give; it belonged to his daughters and to the estate. There was no room for pretty governesses with flashing eyes and sharp tongues.

And yet...

He shook his head forcefully, as if to dislodge the image of Miss Bane from his mind. It was ridiculous, this fixation. She was here to teach his girls, nothing more. He had no business thinking of her in any other capacity.

"My lord?" Giles's voice cut through his reverie. "Are you quite alright?"

James realised he'd been standing still, staring blankly at the wheat field. He cleared his throat, embarrassed by his lapse.

"Perfectly fine, Giles," he said, his voice perhaps a touch too stern. "Now, about that drainage issue..."

As they walked towards the lower field, James silently berated himself. He was the Baron of Hastings, not some lovesick youth. He had responsibilities, duties that required his full attention. He couldn't afford to be distracted by a pair of dark eyes, no matter how bewitching they might be.