“I did. Although I know he and your family did not exactly see eye to eye.”
Anthony nodded in agreement. “No, they did not.”
They stood in silence, as if to allow the restorative moorland winds to brush away the tension that circumstances had constructed and to serve as a balm to heal the wounds time could not.
She broke the silence and looked toward him. “It is such a shame that your uncle and my father were so against one another.”
He sobered. Who knows what could have happened if they’d never fought over land boundaries? If they’d ever come to some sort of understanding, he and Charlotte might have had a different story. “I fear saying they were merely ‘against one another’ might be an understatement. It’s hard to say which one was more stubborn.”
Reticence again descended, and the wind, with its persistence and patience, urged them to continue, as if the moor itself were eager for their reconciliation—to restore a union so natural it felt like part of nature itself.
“Do you ever miss it here?” she asked suddenly.
He shifted his gaze out to the grassy expanse. “I do think of it from time to time. The mill and the land were left to me after Uncle Robert’s death, and I do intend to return to it one day, but . . .”
His voice faded away as he found it difficult to succinctly explain his opinions on the matter.
“It’s uncanny, isn’t it,” she mused, “how we both made a decision that took us away from this place, but it never really let go of us? It’s pulling us back to it.”
Us.
Such a small word, but a powerful one.
He’d just told her in the parlor that he would not bring up the day they had parted. And he wouldn’t. But he’d not promised not to make inquiries about her and her past. “May I ask you something?”
She arched her delicate brows and hesitated, as if preparing to decline, but then softened.
“How did you come to be Mrs. Roland Prior?”
Her topaz eyes grew wide, almost indignant.
It was likely a topic she did not wish to discuss. It was a private matter, and the day he left he’d given up his right to know such things. But he would never know if he did not inquire after it. And he desperately wanted to know.
At first he thought she’d refuse to answer, but then she spoke. “Actually it was quite a simple arrangement. My father’s health was failing, and he was desperate to see all aspects of his life settled. At the time he’d been in talks with the Prior Mill about working together to cut costs by selling all the wool for our tenants together. Roland was often a guest at Hollythorne House, and he took an interest in me. He and my father worked out an agreement, and we were married shortly after that.”
“It was a marriage of convenience then?” he asked with a strange hope that she would affirm it.
“No. It was not.” She smiled, as one attempting to sweeten unpleasant news. “At one time Roland was kind and charming. And handsome.”
“And were you happy?”
Her smile faded. “That is a very personal question to ask.”
“Is it?” he countered, unwilling to let the topic pass. “I think it a very natural question for one friend to ask another.”
She drew a deep breath, as if carefully selecting words. “The only thing that matters to me now is Henry and his future.”
“So the answer is no, you were not happy.”
The corner of her mouth twitched.
He stepped closer. “Henry is a fortunate lad to have such a dedicated mother. But in all this, I do hope you intend to carve out happiness for yourself.”
Eyes wide and unblinking, she inched backward, reestablishing the distance between them. “You speak of my happiness as if you knew all about what Henry and I have endured, but you forget how long it has been. If we are speaking in full honesty, then I could suggest the same thing to you. I remember you to be a carefree lad, and yet the man I see before me is anything but that.”
She was turning the tides of the conversation—another tactic of hers he remembered so well for when the situation grew too uncomfortable.
“That’s a fair observation, but if you have a question about me, then all you need to do is ask. I will tell you whatever you want to know.”
He thought he saw moisture gather in her eyes. It could be the sting of the breeze or the dust in the air. Or she could be remembering or yearning for what had been. Yet with their every interaction there was a softening of her shield—when one crack would form, allowing him a glimpse into not only the young woman he had known but also the woman she had become.
“Very well.” She lifted her chin confidently. “You told me earlier your uncle left you the mill. Are you truly earnest about returning to open it?”
He settled his disrupted neckcloth and took his hat from his head. “Very much so. But it takes capital. And that is what I am working for. But I confess the thought of returning home without my uncle, without . . . others, is a lonely prospect.”
She said nothing in response to his statement but only held his gaze briefly before looking back to the house. “I should head back. Henry will wake soon, and Mrs. Hargrave and I are going to open the Blue Bedroom today.”
“I’ll escort you.”
As they walked together back through the garden’s brambles and vines, Anthony’s mind was alive with all the things he yearned to say. He was not sure exactly how to proceed with her, but the earth beneath him was shifting, and he would have to shift with it.
At length she broke the silence accompanying them. “Do you recall any of my father’s tenants who grew wheat? Or rye?”
“Do you mean your tenants that grow wheat or rye?”
She smiled sheepishly and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Yes. My tenants.”
He chuckled. It felt good to tease her again, even if subtly. “I never worked with them, of course, but I’m fairly familiar with what was grown and where it was grown.”
She clicked her tongue and wrapped her arms around her waist as they walked. “I fear the farmers are in a difficult situation.”
“How so?”
“I’ve spent a little time with the ledger Mr. Greenwood left, and it appears almost impossible for them to make any profit. As I mentioned, Father originally made an agreement with Prior Mill for the wool, but after my father died Roland made a similar arrangement for the farmers. Apparently they must take their grains all the way to Clarett for milling. Such a long distance, and the transportation expenses are exorbitant. I might have trouble getting us out of the agreements with Prior Mill. But I can definitely work to get us out of the Clarett one.”
“Clarett, eh? I know him. He’s a good man, but you’re right. It’s a great distance.”
“If you have any advice on how to handle the mills, I’d be grateful for it. Perhaps you could look at the ledger. I fear I don’t know how to handle this situation. This was my father’s world, not mine.”
He glanced down at her as they traversed the path, and the glimmer of trust he sensed there struck him. “Aye, I’ll take a look at the ledger. But do not sell yourself short, Charlotte. You know more than you think you do.”
She shook her head vehemently. “I know nothing about the mills.”