He’d instituted several of the changes to his crops Grey had suggested, but so far those hadn’t helped. When he’d mentioned that to Grey, his brother had said it would take time to see results. While Sheridan could understand that, surely their more abundant harvest this past autumn should have increased their income. Sheridan had even read up on ways to sell his property’s viable resources, like timber and game, and had begun auctioning off items that might turn a quick profit, but while it had helped slow the bleeding, it hadn’t stanched it entirely.
Damn it all to hell.
Sheridan shifted in his chair to stare out of the French doors at the courtyard garden. When he’d first seen the study, after his family had arrived from Prussia, he’d thought it badly designed. The room was long but not very wide across, a width that was reduced by the bookshelves lining either side. Since the door to the hall faced the glass doors to the garden, the only place to put a desk was off to the side of the French doors. That meant the desk chair faced away from the garden.
Over time he came to realize that the room had certain practicalities. Since the courtyard had a lot of light, which the glass doors let into the study, he could often see well enough in summer not to even need a lamp or candle until long into the evening. And if he turned in his chair, he could watch the robins and warblers come to bathe in the fountain or revel in the cool dark green of English ivy growing up the walls. These days, he spent a great deal of time seeking comfort in his little glimpse of the outdoors. It didn’t substitute entirely for his morning rides, but it helped.
Today, however, it wasn’t doing the trick. There was too much at stake for the gardens to soothe him. He had to find a way to improve the estate’s income—his tenants and servants depended on him. But Uncle Armie’s overspending had sunk Armitage Hall and its surrounding properties in a well so deep, Sheridan began to fear he would never be able to dig it out.
Someone at the entrance to his study cleared his throat. Sheridan looked up to see his father’s man of affairs standing in the doorway.
“You sent for me, Your Grace?” William Bonham said.
“Bonham! Good, you’re here. Come in, come in. I have something to tell you.”
Bonham entered the room warily. “Nothing bad, I hope.”
“Not any worse than what’s been going on for the past decade or so.”
“That’s good, I suppose,” Bonham said with a look of profound distress.
At least the man recognized the gravity of the situation. Sheridan stood up behind his massive desk. Like so many of the furnishings for both Armitage Hall in Lincolnshire and Armitage House here in London, it was unnecessarily extravagant and ornate. When Sheridan had the chance, he meant to refurbish the place and replace the rococo-style pieces with furniture that had clean lines and simple designs. But that would have to come much later, once he’d reversed the downward spiral of the dukedom’s holdings.
He gestured to the chair in front of his desk. “Please sit. I’m a bit too restless to sit myself.” After Bonham had taken a seat, Sheridan added, “I’ve come to a decision.” He swallowed the resentment he felt whenever he thought of what he was about to do. “You were right. I must sell the best of the mounts in Uncle Armie’s—my—stables. The sale will provide the estate with much-needed funds for the long-overdue renovations on the tenant cottages.”
Sheridan paced behind the desk. “And we won’t need so many mounts for riding anymore anyway.” A pang hit his chest that he ignored. “Though I still say we should keep a few of the Thoroughbreds. The stud fees and prize money they bring in practically pays for their upkeep.” Even if they didn’t make great saddle horses.
“That’s a wise course of action, Duke,” Bonham said. “I know your uncle amassed a truly spectacular display of horseflesh, but having such a large stable isn’t practical.”
“I agree, much as it pains me to admit it.” He dragged in a heavy breath. “So you’ll arrange for the auction at Tattersall’s?”
“Of course. But it will take a few weeks, if that meets with your approval.”
“I expected as much.” Sheridan picked up a long sheet of paper from the desk and walked over to hand it to Bonham. “I’ve made a list of which horses are to be sold. I thought we should do two auctions, starting with the ones here in London and then later selling the ones in the country.”
“If you wish. Although I still suggest—”
“That they all be sold in one big auction. I know. I remember what you said.” He braced one hip against the desk. “But I’ve spoken to other sporting gentlemen at Father’s club, and they say it can be just as efficient, maybe even more so, if the auctions are done separately.”
“They’re your horses, Your Grace, so of course you should handle the sales any way you see fit.”
Bonham sounded offended, damn it. Sheridan had obviously been too sharp with him. “I do appreciate your advice, Bonham. You know that, right?”
“I do.” An awkward silence fell between them. Bonham shifted in his chair. “I hope you and your family are well. I understand several of you were out last night with the duchess.”
Sheridan bit down a sharp retort at the man’s particular mention of Mother. Bonham was just being polite. “We were.” Then he paused as something occurred to him. “How did you know about that?”
Bonham’s cheeks reddened. “From the newspaper. There was mention of a social affair thrown by your brother at Thorncliff.”
Bloody hell. “Yes, well, it was rather impromptu and casual. A relatively small crowd.” So why did he feel guilty about not inviting Bonham? It hadn’t even been Sheridan’s party, blast it, and it wasn’t as if Bonham had been at the charity performance.
He hadn’t, had he? God, if he had, then he must be terribly insulted.
The man nodded, almost as if he’d heard Sheridan’s thoughts, which was ridiculous. “Oh,” Bonham said, “and the article mentioned that you and Miss Pryde are about to be wed. Congratulations, Your Grace.”
The bottom dropped out of Sheridan’s stomach. Who the hell had told the newspaper that lie? Vanessa would be none too happy. The courtship was supposed to be just to make Juncker jealous, not to link Sheridan and Vanessa so irrevocably that their parting of the ways down the line would damage both their names and reputations.
Bonham wasn’t finished, unfortunately. “It’s none of my concern, I realize, but I must say it’s very brave of you to take on a wife, given your present financial difficulties—”
“You’re right—it is none of your concern.” When Bonham paled, he added, “Nonetheless, it might set your mind at ease to know that Miss Pryde has a substantial dowry.” He was probably exaggerating a bit, but Bonham’s concerns irritated him.
Apparently, his words did set Bonham’s mind at ease, for the man’s expression cleared. “Well, that is fortunate. It sounds like a wise decision indeed.”
Sheridan hadn’t meant to imply he might marry Vanessa, but his usual reticence about his personal life kept him from telling the fellow otherwise. “Glad that you approve,” he said sarcastically.