He had not expected Rose to alter. Nor Weartham, for that matter. But Weartham had changed just as its mistress had. Two days ago, he had turned into its gates and felt soothed by its familiarity, but that familiarity had been an illusion. In numerous small and subtle ways, it had been transformed. And Rose was its undisputed monarch. The servants treated Gil like a deeply honoured but not quite trustworthy guest. One who might pocket the silverware if not carefully watched.
Whilst at first glance little had altered at Weartham, the changes were everywhere. New farm buildings, renovations to the tenants’ cottages, wholesale changes to the crops being planted. Even the gardens had been tampered with. These changes were disconcerting, causing him to misstep and lose himself several times a day. Rose’s appropriation of the earl’s rooms was particularly irritating.
She ruled the small principality of Weartham as regally as a queen. And the nearest thing she had to a consort was her steward and favourite, Will Anderson. It was plain to Gil there was something more than friendship between them. From his travels around the estate, his discussions with his tenants, his review of the account books, he knew that they spent a great deal of time together. Will’s crabbed handwriting alternated with Rose’s elegant loops in the accounts books. Yesterday, when he’d been rifling in the drawers of his father’s desk, he had found another small notebook that seemed to record Rose’s daily thoughts.
Speak to Will tomorrow about the north meadow.
Ask Will to speak to the grooms about the horses’ feed.
Will and the Misses Wright for dinner Thursday evening.
Wherever Gil looked in the books, he saw Anderson’s writing or his name. And Rose almost spoke to him as if he were master here. Or rather, as if to spare him the awkwardness of pointing out he was not master, while Anderson himself was formal and slightly aloof. A man on his dignity.
Had anything occurred between his wife and Will Anderson? Although he was sure they had not lain together, Gil wondered endlessly if they had been intimate, and if so, how intimate. After just two days, it seemed to him that the question had been circling round and round his brain forever.
He had brought this on himself, and he well knew it. He had stayed away from Weartham determinedly for five years and allowed his young wife to run the estate. He had given her free hand to choose her own steward. He would look ludicrous if he objected to her spending time with Will Anderson now, and he had no intention of behaving ludicrously.
But that didn’t mean he had to allow them to be alone together.
Not for the first time, Gil wondered if Rose had feelings for Anderson. He would not ask her, but he knew there was something. He could sense it. Rose’s manner toward Anderson was careful, Anderson’s coolly distant. Even very slightly affronted…
He was interrupted from his reverie by Rose herself when she appeared in the doorway of the library. He looked up from the account books with an expression of polite enquiry when she said his name. From behind his façade of disinterest, he took the opportunity to stare at her. His gaze travelled over her without any noticeable reaction, but as he looked, he stored every tiny detail away. She wore a sprigged muslin gown. She looked fresh and summery despite the steely grey of the autumnal sky. Her breasts looked rounder and fuller than before. Probably a result of her pregnancy, he told himself. It was an effort to put the too-fascinating thought of her breasts from his mind.
She had reddened slightly under his gaze. “I hope I am not interrupting you? I just wanted to ask you something.” She smiled uncertainly, her tone apologetic. Part of him felt like a monster to see her so tentative. Another part of him felt it was only right.
“Yes?” He disguised his discomfiture with terseness.
“I wanted to know when will I—we, that is—return to Weartham from London?”
He frowned at her. “I don’t know, Rose. Perhaps not for a long time. Why do you ask?”
She walked fully into the room then, closing the heavy door behind her. “I had wanted to let Will know,” she said. “I need to speak with him about next year. We had planned a number of small improvements, but we will have to see how the next few months go. I had been planning to discuss these matters with him in more detail after Christmas, but I’m conscious I may not be here.”
For a moment, Gil merely stared at her disbelievingly. Will Anderson again! He was all Rose seemed to think about! Gil could feel a slow, hot anger beginning to build inside him. He almost welcomed it after the suffocating politeness of the last two days. He let it permeate his whole body, clenching his fists as he stared at her with hard eyes.