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The news comes at the worst possible time.
The dust has barely settled on his broken engagement with Miss Edwina. Anthony is trying to make a great show of family unity, of maintaining good relations with the Sharmas and Lady Danbury. He has recently managed a few civil interactions with Miss Sharma, too, including that breathtaking informal dance among family last week.
He’s earnestly wondering about discussing a future with her, some time in the next few days or weeks or months. He’s truly beginning to wonder whether he might be able to salvage a beautiful marriage with the sister he ought to have set his cap at all along, just as soon as the scandal of his broken engagement dies down.
Into the midst of this arrives a letter from his steward.
The seasonal flooding at Aubrey Hall is worse than it’s ever been. This is England, and it’s normal for the pastures to be waterlogged in autumn, but not to this degree. Several bridges are out, fences destroyed. No human lives lost, as yet, but plenty of livestock washed clean away.
Anthony must go there at once. There’s simply no other choice. This is his duty as Viscount - if his estates are in trouble, floundering and flooded, he simply must go and see what can be done. His tenants will need his leadership at a time like this - and from what his steward writes, even a Viscount may have to get his hands dirty in a situation so troubled.
He reads the letter through once more, notes that it is dated some four days ago. That’s far slower than an express sent from so close ought to arrive - clearly the destruction extends over much of Kent between here and his home, not just his own lands.
Resolute, determined, he folds the letter crisply down the middle.
Very good. The timing is awful, but this is his duty. He’ll leave at first light.
Hmm. He’d best get on with telling his family the bad news.
…….
The ride to Kent usually takes a morning, if he is in a hurry, if he changes horses at every inn. It usually takes a day, when travelling more slowly by carriage with the family.
On this occasion, it takes three entire days.
It’s absurd. He frankly wouldn’t believe it, if he hadn’t witnessed it for himself. The fine English countryside he loves so much appears utterly ruined. Half of Kent is underwater, it seems like, and bridges are out at every turn. It’s a struggle even to change horses, as some of the best coaching inns have been entirely cut off by the floodwater.
He’s lucky to find a roof over his head and something to eat for the two nights he must unexpectedly spend on the road. He’s luckier still to be a Viscount, able to pay his way to what little luxury each inn affords. The rain which caused all this damn flooding still persists in bursts and showers, drumming against his forehead, trickling down into his eyes while he rides.
It’s the most wretched experience of his life, and he spends every moment thinking of Miss Sharma.
That’s only natural, perhaps. That’s what happens when a man is called away to face a disaster, just at the moment he was starting to allow himself to fall in love with a lady he should have noticed sooner. He’s rather angry at himself for not realising how perfectly she might match him when they very first met, actually.
So - these three days on horseback, slogging through the mud, permit him plenty of time to think. To consider how he might approach her about the future, on his return to town. To realise he won’t be returning to town any time soon in these conditions, then to recall that she intends to seek work as a governess, then to fret that he might miss his chance to speak with her of his admiration.
He hopes she isn’t attached or employed by the time his duties in Kent are through.
…….
Everyone at Aubrey Hall is pleased to see him when he arrives.
That does his soul a world of good, honestly. He’s been blaming himself heartily since that mess with Miss Edwina, then endured a miserable journey in foul conditions. It’s rather lovely to have everyone from the housekeeper to the junior gardeners visibly thrilled that he has come to lend a hand to the rescue operations and repairs.
“We’re mighty glad to see you, sir.”
“Come to help us patch up the fences, have you, my lord?”
“Bloody awful out there, ain’t it, sir?”
He lets their warm voices wash over him, feels himself start to relax. That’s an odd response under the circumstances, perhaps - he’s greeted by the news that another half dozen cattle have been reported lost.
But still - he’s calmer, now that he’s here, now that he’s on hand and ready to do his duty. Now that he actually has some hope of helping improve the situation, making a difference, rather than only learning bad news from a distance.
Far away from the chaos of the London scene and his broken engagement, this is part of the Viscount role he feels confident in.
It’s strange. Normally the journey between town and Aubrey Hall feels like an easy distance, and town society feels frighteningly close even when he retires to the country. But on this occasion, Miss Sharma might as well be in Australia, he thinks. London has never felt so far separated from his nearby home.
He’s not sure whether the floodwater or his surging feelings are more to blame for that.
…….
It turns out that the immediate rescue operation is more or less over, now, a week since the crisis first hit. So it is that Anthony decides his first task, on the first morning after his arrival, must be to ride over his land - or at least, as much of it as is accessible - and take stock. He must see how bad the damage is, but most of all he must be seen by his tenants to be taking an interest. He must meet and greet as many of the displaced families as he can and find out what their immediate needs are.
He saddles a fresh horse and sets to it.
He’ll have saddle sores for the rest of the year, he thinks. He considers himself a man accustomed to riding, but these last few days have been absurd.
He makes a mental note to tell Miss Sharma that next time he sees her, whenever he eventually manages to return to town. He thinks she’d appreciate the opportunity to laugh at him.
He thinks she’d appreciate it, if she’s not already employed or engaged by then.
He knows it’s a paltry thing to complain about, under the circumstances. A few saddle sores are nothing compared with the scale of this disaster, with tenant families losing their entire homes, with his own family’s income likely to be substantially dented in the year ahead.
But if he doesn’t focus on his sore left groin, he’s sure to start fretting about whether he will be able to afford Gregory’s education next year instead.
He has decided to set out to the nearby church, first. Up at the house they explained that many displaced families have taken shelter in the churches or tithe barns until more suitable accommodations can be arranged. So he’ll ride over there, offer some encouragement, and ascertain exactly how many families are in need of lodging. He’s very much hoping that they are few enough in number that he can just invite them to take shelter in Aubrey Hall now he has arrived - clearly his steward didn’t feel comfortable making such an invitation without his approval.
As if he would have said no, under the circumstances.
Not far from the house his way is blocked by a fast-running brook. It comes as something of a surprise to him, frankly, because usually there is no stream here at all, let alone this beast halfway to a river. This is usually just a sort of damp, muddy patch on low land between trees, sometimes springing into a stream in the worst of the winter rains.
In fact - this is the very patch of mud where he and Miss Sharma fell and laughed whilst playing Pall Mall last season.
It’s utterly unrecognisable now. As he draws his horse to a halt and stares at the view before him, he can hardly make sense of it. Was he really lying there, just a couple of months ago? Can mother nature really turn the tables so suddenly?
And yet, despite all the chaos and destruction, he’s hit by another thought.
It’s quite beautiful, somehow.
It’s really rather stunning, in its way. The low autumn light dancing on the water, the leaves swirling and eddying in the fast stream, the trees leaning close to listen while their deep roots endure despite it all. He feels a monster for even noticing the beauty of it when his estate is in uproar, when the people who depend upon him are shivering in a damp church not two miles away. But all the same, beauty is captivating, isn’t it, no matter the circumstances?
This whole scene makes him think of Miss Sharma, he realises. It’s just like falling in love with her has been - chaotic and dangerous and sometimes even brutal but beautiful, too, above it all.
He misses her so much it hurts.
That makes him feel a little monstrous, as well. He has no right to miss her, not when he has caused her such distress in recent months, not when she isn’t his to miss. But all the same, he misses her.
He urges his horse carefully through the shallowest part of the brook, his mind still very much on Miss Sharma.
He wouldn’t have it any other way, he decides. He wouldn’t take back their chaotic acquaintance or even the mistakes he made and learnt from along the way. The pain and fear of such a messy courtship with a woman he never intended to love were worth it all, and have taught him so much about himself. Knowing her has brought him an opportunity to reshape his life and character in new ways, just as this flood is an opportunity to build stronger oasthouses, a closer relationship with his tenants, a more resilient herd of livestock.
Hmm. Well. There it is.
He needs to propose marriage to Miss Sharma.
This is the moment he makes the decision absolutely, finally, once and for all. This is his Rubicon - this strange floodwater brook which shouldn’t exist, where a Viscount and a diamond’s sister once rolled in the mud.
He just hopes she’s still unattached and hasn’t sailed home to India by the time he finishes dealing with this flooding and makes it back to town.
…….
Anthony has a constructive day, after that revelation.
He makes it to the church, invites those tenants to move up to the house. He finds half a dozen more families in a nearby tithe barn, suggests they do the same. He makes a careful survey of the land and decides a rough order of priorities - tenant houses first, he thinks, then barn repairs for the livestock, then fencing and equipment and walls and the like.
Oh - and roads. Roads and bridges. He had best see what can be done about reattaching this corner of Kent to all the rest of England. It’s all but impossible to get supplies and post and suchlike in and out at the moment.
He would know. It took him three days to ride here.
Aside from the actual progress he makes with his response to the flooding, he makes a little personal progress, too. He reflects a bit further on how he left things with Miss Sharma, on his firm resolve to propose marriage to her, on the frustrating distance between them.
He knows she probably won’t make it to Portsmouth to sail back to India in these conditions, and he knows that no one was seriously courting her when he left town. But all the same, this is important to him, and the last few days have taught him that unprecedented times call for unprecedented measures.
So it is that he decides to write her a letter.
It’s a risk worth taking, he thinks. He hopes she’ll read it - receiving a letter is not so scandalous as that kiss they shared on the day he was supposed to marry her sister, after all. He’s not going to post it to her directly. He’s going to send it wrapped up in a letter to Daphne and beg her to pass it on.
Daphne is the correct choice - he’s sure of that much. He knows he doesn’t entirely deserve her help in the matter of his own romance, when he was so obstructive to her finding happiness with Simon. But aside from that they have always been close, and he knows that she alone of all his siblings has a particular wish to see him happily married in a real love match.
There’s that, and there’s also the way she always looks at him and Miss Sharma. He knows Daphne won’t be at all surprised by such a letter - that’s a large part of his reason for choosing her.
Late that night, exhausted from a long day, he picks up a pen and has a go at pouring his heart onto a page.
My dearest Kate
I hope you will forgive me for addressing you in such a familiar fashion. Indeed, I hope you will forgive me for addressing you at all. I know I have no right to correspond with you as if we were on intimate terms, but under the circumstances I hardly know what else to do.
I am sorry I left town so suddenly. By now, I am sure you have heard that our estates around Aubrey Hall have been hit by the most severe flooding. A brook now runs through the mud where we fell playing Pall Mall earlier in the year. It is clear that I will be detained here for some time while we set the estate to rights. I must admit I find myself quite shaken by the situation and determined to do the best for the people in my care. I tell you this by way of explanation. Only the very strongest motivation could take me from town and your company at a time like this. I feel that we were finally learning to enjoy one another’s company without reservation or self-consciousness, and I am deeply sorry to have wasted so much time before. I see, now, that we could have been dancing and laughing together all along.
I write this letter, therefore, to tell you of my intention to pursue a most serious conversation about our future when I see you again. I beg that you will not secure employment in India while I am away, nor worse still give your hand in marriage to another. I know I have no right to make any such request. I know I have been a reluctant and rude and inconstant suitor, this last season. But I would have you know that I admire you deeply and that I was loath to leave town and your side last week.
With all good wishes
Anthony
He looks down at the letter, finished yet dissatisfied. It’s not that there is anything he would change or add. There’s no declaration of love, not as such, but that’s to be expected - he has been hopeless at grappling with that emotion for some years, now, and that’s hardly going to change tonight.
This letter just feels… weak. Feeble. Lacking in some depth or gravity. He wants her to understand that he is serious, now, and that he does earnestly and genuinely intend to do right by her after all those months chasing her sister.
Ah well. He’s no poet. He doesn’t have the skill with words or emotions to chase after her heart any better. And anyway - this whole scheme might be doomed to fail. This letter might take weeks to make it through the floodwaters, or Daphne might refuse to flout propriety, or Kate might refuse to read it, or -
Kate? Miss Sharma? He ought to remember to be proper towards her, even in his own head.
Huh. He kissed her senseless at the altar where he should have married her sister, and now he’s sending her a thoroughly scandalous letter.
Perhaps the time for worrying about propriety has passed.
…….
Anthony’s first week in Kent is quite productive.
In other words - he works too hard. He knows he’s working too hard. There’s heavy physical labour every daylight hour, helping with the repairs, and then each evening he spends some time in his study making plans for the next day, checking the finances, writing to his mother to keep her informed of the situation.
He has no idea whether she is receiving his letters. There hasn’t been time for one to get to London and back, yet, with the way the post is flagging in the floods.
By the end of the week, he’s about ready to drop dead of sheer exhaustion. He’s sitting in his study, still wearing his mudstained breeches, chewing absently on a sandwich while he tries to calculate the average annual revenue of the north farm.
He couldn’t tell you whether the sandwich is ham or beef, honestly. His thoughts are too scattered even for that.
There’s a knock at the door, and he half-chokes on a bite of sandwich in surprise.
“Come in.” He calls. No one has knocked on his study door this week. He has no family at home, and the servants and employees all see him plenty during the day.
“Evening, sir.” That’s the housekeeper. “There’s a carriage been sighted on the drive. The word is it looks like the Hastings crest, but I told the butler we’re not expecting anyone.” She phrases it as half a question.
“We’re not.” He agrees. “I understand there’s been a spot of flooding around here lately.”
The housekeeper does him the honour of laughing at his sorry attempt at gallows humour. She’s a good housekeeper like that. He ought to give her a raise, probably.
He ought to double the wages of every person on this estate, just as soon as they weather this storm.
“The carriage is on the drive whether you’re expecting it or not.” She points out, now.
“Indeed. I suppose I’ll come right down. All will be clear soon enough. Perhaps the Duke has kindly sent some men to help with the repairs.”
Is that a reasonable suggestion? Might that be what’s happened? Perhaps his brother-in-law, a good man, has heard of the disaster and sent help. That does strike Anthony as the kind of thing Simon might do.
Or maybe it’s not the Hastings crest at all. Maybe it’s someone entirely different - one of the local gentry families with a plea for help with their own flooding worries, perhaps.
He sets down his half-eaten sandwich, brushes his hands against his thighs. Then he realises that was foolish - his breeches are muddy, and rather than ridding his hands of crumbs, he’s just smeared dirt across his palms.
He pats them down against his shirt, instead, and starts striding for the door. Whoever is on the drive, they will simply have to witness the master of the house tired and muddy and dusted in crumbs which may or may not contain ham.
He slumps down the stairs more than he walks. He’s scarcely got the energy to hold himself upright, honestly. He makes it out of the front door and onto the drive just as the mystery carriage is drawing to a halt.
Yes - that definitely is the Hastings crest. Even in the dim light spilling from the house he can see that.
His footmen stride towards the carriage. Anthony stands back a little, at the foot of the steps, ready to welcome his unexpected guests as a proper Viscount.
The first person to exit the carriage is Kate Sharma.
She’s tumbling from the door, jumping down to the ground before the footman can step forward to help her. Anthony’s darting towards her, and she’s making straight for him, and he doesn’t understand why on earth she’s here but frankly he’s too thrilled to care.
“Kate? ” He calls her name, and it comes out sounding like a question.
“Lord Bridgerton.”
“Ah - yes - Miss Sharma.” He corrects himself firmly.
She doesn’t seem too concerned with the name he chooses. She’s smiling strangely at him, instead, and doing an odd sort of movement halfway between a curtsey and embracing thin air.
He manages to collect himself a little. He reaches out for her hand, presses a careful kiss to her knuckles.
Then he remembers the mud and the sandwiches and realises that may have been a mistake.
“Good to see you, brother.” Suddenly Simon is on the scene, slapping Anthony heartily on the shoulder. “We’ve been worried about you.”
“I’m quite well.” He lies smoothly.
He looks up, tries to take in what’s happening here beyond Kate. Simon is standing next to him. Daphne is walking towards them, baby Augie bundled in her arms.
“You brought your infant son out to the country in heavy flooding?” Anthony asks her by way of greeting - a particular sort of brotherly affection.
“I was very motivated.” Daphne tells him, stubborn, with a firm set to her jaw.
He laughs aloud for sheer joy, steps forward to pull his sister and nephew into a firm, muddy hug. “You are the most wonderful sister.” He tells her fervently.
“Yes. I would agree with that.” She says, all smug, evidently pleased with her scheme. “I felt a sudden need to enjoy the country air for a few weeks with my good friend Miss Sharma.”
“And I felt a sudden need to help my brother with his repair work.” Simon offers brightly. “So fortunate that I was able to escort the ladies out here. So convenient that we are all exactly where we ought to be.”
“You are not occupied with flooding at your own properties?” Anthony asks.
“You have the worst of it down here. Hastings properties are on higher land and we didn’t have such a wet autumn.”
Anthony nods, grins, shakes his head. He takes in the scene - four of his favourite people in the world, arrived to surprise him just at his lowest ebb.
“Sorry we didn’t write ahead.” Simon offers now. “We thought it would be useless - the letter would travel through the mire as slowly as we would.”
“Quite right - don’t apologise. This has been a most pleasant surprise. Although - I ought to apologise for my informal state. And - ah - I cannot really offer you dinner.” He realises, suddenly flustered.
“We aren’t concerned with such things in the slightest.” Kate says, firm. “We are just pleased to find you tolerably well under the circumstances. It must have been a very trying time for you and everyone who works on the estate.”
“Yes.” He admits. Just that one word, that short snatch of honesty.
Kate wraps her hand boldly around the crook of his arm. Daphne takes her husband’s arm, starts leading the way towards the house.
“I think a little informal supper in the drawing room would be just the thing.” She suggests.
“Indeed - I could quite fancy a sandwich or a bite of cheese.” Simon adds.
Anthony thinks he has never felt quite so overwhelmingly grateful for his family as he does in this moment. He smiles at their retreating backs, shakes his head a little, turns to raise a brow at Kate.
“I am very glad to see you.” He tells her outright. “I must admit that I am confused too - I thought you a sensible woman, but now I learn that you have travelled for days through the flooding to eat sandwiches in a cold drawing room.” He tries for a teasing tone, but he’s not sure he succeeds.
“Of course I had to come. I read your letter.” She says, as if it is as simple as that.
Ah. Well, then.
Perhaps the storm clouds are clearing.
…….
Anthony takes his breakfast early the following morning. He might have liked a more leisurely start to the day, a chance to spend more time with his guests. He barely had any opportunity for conversation with them last night when they arrived so late, ate a light meal, and went straight to bed.
But, of course, duty calls. So it is that he will be heading out to finish work on one of the damaged tenant cottages momentarily. At least he has Simon’s company to look forward to today - the Duke has offered to get his hands dirty and get stuck into helping with the repair work too.
He stifles a yawn and takes another bite of toast. All is well. The repairs are coming together nicely - this is one of the final tenant cottages to need major work - and he’s sure to get a brief opportunity to see Kate and Daphne and Augie at supper, or tomorrow, or the next day.
He hears footsteps outside the door of the breakfast room and realises that they don’t sound like Simon.
“Good morning?” He calls, curious, questioning. He thinks it’s probably Kate - it doesn’t sound like Daphne, either - but he doesn’t know her footsteps well yet.
That’s the sort of thing he’d like to learn, some time in the next few decades.
“Morning.” Sure enough it is Kate, striding into the room as if she’s on a military mission. “I’m pleased I caught you here. I wanted to ask you about something.”
He nods, gestures for her to go ahead. He wonders whether this is a question about the letter, about that promise for the future, about the exact nature of his admiration.
It turns out to be something entirely different.
“I wanted to ask whether I might take some baskets of supplies to the tenants. I know they have been hardest hit by this disaster. I do realise such a thing is usually the business of the lady of the house - but of course your mother is still in town, and your sister is nursing a young child.”
And you are the future lady of the house.
He almost says it. He almost throws the suggestion at her, almost ducks out of asking the question properly and presents it as a tease instead.
No. He ought to get on with answering her question instead.
“I’d be very grateful if you would take care of that.” He answers easily. “I suppose - I ought to say I’m glad that you are here to visit, and I shouldn’t put you to work. But under the circumstances -”
“It’s something I might do to be of genuine use in this crisis.” She concludes neatly.
“Yes. Exactly. And - ah - I do think it would be perfectly fitting for you to do it.” He dares to say.
“I hoped you might say that.” She says, with a teasing sort of grin. A coy little acknowledgement, perhaps, of the letter that brought her here.
He wonders about pushing his luck. He wonders whether this is the moment to address the elephant in the room, to ask for her heart or at least her hand.
But the next set of footsteps in the hallway do belong to Simon. Anthony would recognise his old friend’s tread anywhere. And love Simon though he does, he does not want him to stand idly by and witness his fumbling attempts at courtship.
He presses onto something more useful. “You can take the kitchen cart. I’ll find someone to drive it.”
“I can drive.”
He pauses a moment. He simply looks at her, admiring, brows raised. Of course she can drive. Of course this wonderful woman he overlooked for so long has walked in here, solved a problem, and then announced she can drive.
“Then I’ll have the housekeeper choose one of the maids to accompany you.”
“There’s no need, really.” She argues. “I am confident handling the reins, and I realise everyone is very busy under the circumstances.”
“All the same, someone will accompany you.” He insists. “There is no sense in venturing out alone in such foul conditions. I’d never forgive myself if you had an accident.”
“You’d never forgive me if I had an accident, either.” She adds smartly.
“Welcome to the family.” Simon pipes up now. “That’s how you can tell you’re truly one of us - the stubborn, affectionate grudges he holds. It’s a sign of esteem, apparently.” He teases.
It’s a bold statement - too bold for the breakfast table, probably. Anthony ought to be a bit miffed that his old friend has made such a scene about his feelings for Kate like this.
But frankly, this morning, he’s incapable of being miffed about anything.
…….
Anthony doesn’t really see Kate that evening. She’s already retired to bed by the time he and Simon arrive home.
He’s disappointed, but he tries not to behave like a spoiled schoolboy about it. The woman he loves is under his roof and supporting him by her mere presence - he ought to be grateful for that.
He’ll be more grateful when he gets a chance to speak with her about marriage.
He should have said something this morning in the breakfast room. He should have simply got on with it, taken the initiative and made the most of the opportunity. He certainly shouldn’t be so hesitant and nervous - it’s not as if she can intend to say no. She did travel all the way here merely to see him and offer her support, didn’t she?
That’s one of the most wonderful things about her, he thinks. She’s very determined, sort of fierce in the way she cares about the people around her. She’ll be an excellent Viscountess one day.
More than anything, she’ll be an excellent life partner for him, too. From time to time he needs someone who dares to care fiercely about him. He’s just self aware enough to realise that he’s prone to working a bit too hard and denying his emotions - this flooding crisis has shown him that more than ever.
He sighs, scrubs a hand over his face, and determines to eat his supper quickly.
The sooner he gets to bed, the sooner a new day will dawn.
…….
The following day sees Anthony and Simon out in the fields some distance from the house. They and a handful of tenant farmers intend to repair some fences so that the livestock can go out to graze and live their normal lives again soon. It’s not good for them to be cooped up this early in the year, with winter still not properly arrived, and besides which it’s going to cost a fortune in hay.
Anthony needs to procure more winter feed from somewhere. It’s on his list of things to worry about when the immediate crisis has passed.
It’s good, clean work this morning. Or rather - it’s filthy work, all shin deep in cloying mud, but it’s a simple hard effort of lifting, sawing, handling the mallet. It’s burning through some of his anxiety about the situation quite nicely, actually. It’s good to be busy.
He’s so concentrated on his task that he is taken aback by sudden shouts early in the afternoon.
“Look there - a cart!”
“Who’s that, then?”
“Is that Miss Sharma?” Simon adds the last, squinting into the sun.
Anthony drops his mallet, turns to face the direction they are all pointing. Sure enough, there’s a small cart rolling down the track. Then it’s stopping, some distance from where the mud worsens, and a familiar figure is jumping to the ground.
“Miss Sharma?” He calls out, already starting towards her.
“Lord Bridgerton.” She greets him, carefully crisp and formal - as if aware of their audience, perhaps.
“What are you doing here? I thought you were taking supplies to the tenant homes again today?”
“I made time to bring some refreshments out to meet you.” She gestures to the basket on the crook of her arm. “Pasties still hot from the oven, I hope, and beer on the cart. I thought you and the men might benefit from a moment to rest and eat something.”
He nearly kisses her. Honestly, he does. He is so very close to wrapping her in his arms, heedless of the mud and the bystanders, and pressing his lips to hers.
With a great effort, he settles for an overly fervent kiss on her hand instead. She’s still balancing the basket of food, and it makes for a messy, clumsy gesture, but it doesn’t greatly bother him.
She’s here, and he has shown her he’s grateful for her presence, and that’s all that matters.
“Won’t you stay and eat with us?” He asks now. “We have had precious little opportunity for conversation since you arrived at Aubrey Hall.”
“I am sure we will have more time together as the crisis begins to abate. It is not as if I am rushing back to town while the roads are still flooded.” She points out.
“All the same - I wanted to say that - that I have noticed. That I would speak with you more, and that I believe there is an important conversation we must have.” He insists, stubborn.
She looks at him a moment, quiet, considering. It’s a bit unnerving, honestly. He is accustomed to having playful, argumentative conversations with her. He’s learnt a lot about silent, thoughtful understanding in the precious few conversations they have shared since she arrived at Aubrey Hall.
“Of course I will stay and eat with you.” She says at length. “I didn’t mean to say that I don’t wish to speak with you. Obviously I do. I mean -” She breaks off, shakes her head.
“You mean?” He prompts, brows raised. If that’s her stumbling towards a sort of compliment to him, or confession of her feelings, he damn well intends to tease it out of her.
“We both know why I came all that way with your sister. Now stop teasing and eat your pasty.” She tells him, firm, reaching for her own pasty and biting off a hearty chunk.
Grinning, smug, he does as he’s told for a change. He loves arguing with Kate, yes. But under the circumstances he’s willing to enjoy this victory quietly.
…….
The following morning he finds Kate in the breakfast room early again, and once again she has a thoughtful suggestion.
“I wondered if I might have your approval to do some work in the gardens. The head gardener tells me that I might usefully help to get the kitchen garden back in order so there is food on the table next spring.” She offers.
“Hmm. I find you strangely meek this morning.” He teases her, pouring a cup of chocolate and pushing it towards her. He knows she prefers that to English tea. “It’s not like you to ask for approval before doing what you think best.”
“Under the circumstances I thought it sensible to do so.” She counters. “An equal and opposite situation to the tenants’ baskets, perhaps. I wanted to know then that you would not take it amiss if I attended to the duties of the mistress of the house. And now -”
“Now, as future mistress of the house, you wish to be sure that I will not object to you getting your hands dirty in the garden?” He dares to ask.
“My thoughts exactly.” She agrees easily, as if that implication they might marry one day is nothing new. As if she’s been confident in her destiny since the moment she received that letter.
Well, then. If she can act calmly around such a revelation, he will do his best to match her.
“If there is work you might usefully do in the kitchen garden, I’d be grateful if you’d do it. But I believe I do have one objection.” He tells her, carefully light.
“Oh?”
“If you are to be occupied with cabbages all day, I fear that means you won’t be popping out to bring us some food and your fine company in the afternoon. I rather enjoyed seeing you yesterday.” He tells her honestly. He can feel himself getting braver in owning his emotions, little by little, in the days since that revelation by the brook.
She smiles warmly at him. “Indeed, I fear I won’t manage to do that every day. But now I know how much you appreciated it, I will do my best to arrange something similar later in the week.”
“It would seem you have something of a talent for making domestic arrangements in a crisis. The housekeeper is raving about how helpful you have been, the cook makes pasties for your schemes, the head gardener wants your help with cabbages -”
“Not specifically with cabbages. With the kitchen garden as a whole.” She corrects him sharply.
He lets silence fall, simply grins at her a moment. There’s something rather lovely about having his favourite person’s company at the breakfast table.
She speaks up again, warm and teasing. “Do you know - I think that might be the first compliment you have ever openly paid me. A talent for domestic arrangements in a crisis. What an original courtship.”
She means her words in fun - he can tell from her tone. But all at once he’s gulping, blaming himself, wondering how on earth to go about putting that right. He ought to say something about her beauty, and then press on to a formal discussion of marriage. He ought to get the matter settled, once and for all, so that -
“Brother. Miss Sharma.” Daphne bustles in, Augie mewling and balanced on her hip. “I do hope I’m not interrupting.”
“Not at all.” Anthony lies through his teeth.
“We were speaking of cabbages.” Kate offers.
He pauses a moment, considers what he might comfortably say in front of his sister. He’s clearly never going to manage to speak fluently of love with her sitting right there, but all the same…
“Perhaps we might both finish our tasks earlier today and spend some time together this evening.” He suggests to Kate desperately.
“I’ll do my best. It does sound as if the gardens need a great deal of attention.” She hedges.
Of course. Naturally the gardens need a great deal of attention, and he is an inept suitor, and he desperately needs to learn to take advantage of time alone with Kate before they are interrupted by family or circumstance.
He’s never going to secure her hand in marriage at this rate. Perhaps in a decade’s time they will still be sitting here, teasing about her role as future mistress of the house, with no wedding date in sight.
“You could come and join me at my tasks if you finish before me.” She offers now. “I might like to be surprised by your company, just as you enjoyed my unexpected visit yesterday afternoon.”
“Yes. Definitely. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” He agrees at once.
She might like to be surprised by his company? There’s a thought to keep him warm in the fields today.
…….
Anthony and his party set something of a record that day, he thinks, for the fastest fence ever repaired. He’s rather keen to speed on towards the afternoon and surprising Kate in the kitchen garden.
Is it a surprise if she is expecting him? Perhaps not. But he thinks, if nothing else, she might be a little taken aback by just how soon he arrives.
He finds her digging a drainage ditch between root vegetables, mud all up her legs in a dress far too short for her.
He can’t just see her ankles - he can see her calves. Half her legs are on show. This must be an old dress of Daphne’s, perhaps - Kate is quite considerably taller than her.
He tries not to stare as he strides over there.
“Kate?” He calls, quiet enough for only her to hear. There are other folks out working in the gardens today, but none nearby.
“Anthony. Hello. Are you finished with your work already?” She sounds faintly surprised.
“We - ah - worked briskly. I was keen to get over here and see you. How are you?”
“To be frank, I’m exhausted.” She admits with a shaky laugh. “I’m quite accustomed to riding and being out of doors, but apparently gardening is heavier work than I realised.”
“I can see you’re managing perfectly well, but perhaps I might be able to lend a hand?” He offers carefully. He doesn’t want her to be affronted or patronised or -
“I was hoping you’d say that. Here - help yourself.” She points to a pile of tools nearby.
He picks up a spade. He’s spent a good deal of time handling a spade in recent days, what with fences and drainage ditches and the like. He thinks he’d quite happily never touch a spade again when all this is through. The blisters on his hands might take years to heal, he thinks, just like those saddle sores.
Huh. He never did tell Kate about that. But really, he ought to take advantage of this opportunity to formalise some details about the future.
Only - he truly was looking forward to a friendly conversation with her about saddle sores. He was very much looking forward to that, in fact. And since saddle sores and romance strike him as incompatible, if he chooses to mention the saddle sores, he’ll just have to postpone his proposal for a future opportunity.
He might, perhaps, be a little nervous. He knows it’s foolish to be nervous - he knows she has already as good as declared her intention to be his wife - but all the same…
“I have found myself quite humbled by the physical exertions of recent weeks, too.” He tells her. “I quite sympathise with your realisation that gardening is heavy work. Why, on my very first morning here as I was riding out to the church I remember thinking I must tell Kate about my saddle sores.”
She splutters out a startled laugh. “That seems an unusual conversation to pursue with a lady.”
“Our conversations are often unusual.” He argues. “I thought you would appreciate the wind taken out of my sails. I think of myself as a strong rider, but it turns out four consecutive days in the saddle are too much for me.”
“Only because you are out of practice. I know you ride a good deal - but think of it, if your time was less occupied with your duties and your family, and you had the opportunity to ride even more often, you might spend four consecutive days in the saddle by choice.”
He hums, nods a little. There’s a sort of picture forming in his mind, of a future where his siblings are older and he is less tied to their care, of himself as a more confident and carefree Viscount who allows himself more time to simply ride outside for pleasure.
And in this picture-perfect future, of course, a certain future Viscountess is riding at his side.
“I think I would ride more if I lived here, primarily, rather than in town. But at this stage my siblings require that to be our primary residence so they can go out in society and have their piano lessons and so on. They are all of that age where such things are necessary.”
“You say that as if you intend to live here when they are more independent.”
“Yes. I think of this as my true home. I would - ah - prefer to raise my own children here, at least while they were very young.” It feels like a dangerous conversation to pursue while he digs between parsnips, but he knows Kate will catch him if he falls.
“A good idea.” She says quietly.
Would you join me in that?
It would be so easy to ask, wouldn’t it? This must be the perfect moment to ask the question, to open the conversation, to settle once and for all the details of their future.
But he hasn’t the courage, or the words. He doesn’t want to ruin this easy atmosphere. He ought to concentrate on the carrots, and there might be eavesdroppers, and anyway, Kate is exhausted.
He could make a thousand and one excuses. The truth is, he simply can’t manage it, just now.
…….
He needs a plan.
That’s what he decides, as he takes a bath later that evening.
They have all finished their tasks for today now. Their plan is to take some time to wash and change, then to meet for an informal evening of supper and perhaps some card games or light conversation in the drawing room. By that time, Augie will be asleep, and the four adults will have a little opportunity to relax and unwind.
So it is that, while he scrubs dirt from between his toes, Anthony sorts through his ideas.
He needs to arrange an opportunity that he can’t weasel out of, where he can’t lose his nerve, where there are no interruptions nor eavesdroppers to make him uncomfortable. He simply needs to orchestrate the perfect context, so he can get on and ask the all-important question.
He’ll invite Kate out for a ride. Tomorrow morning they will go riding together and he will propose marriage.
There - it’s as simple as that.
……
That informal evening in the drawing room is the best evening of his life.
It’s simply perfect in every conceivable way. All four of them chat together, for some of the time, and he takes great joy in seeing that the woman he loves really has grown closer with his sister and brother-in-law in recent days. They’re a happy family party indeed.
But best of all are the moments where they break off into two couples, where each converses quietly only with the person next to them. Anthony and Kate are sharing a couch, sitting rather closer than propriety permits, but Daphne and Simon have been strangely unconcerned with such niceties since they made the bold decision to bring Kate here for this visit.
Anthony might dare to have a proper conversation with his sister about that, one day. He might ask exactly how much of that letter she has read, or whose idea this visit even was.
He might ask that, just as soon as he’s asked Kate a more pressing question.
He needs to get on with arranging that perfect ride for tomorrow morning. He gathers his courage, reaches out to cover her hand with his own.
She greets that gesture with a smile. That’s reassuring, he decides. There’s something really rather lovely about sitting quietly on a couch with his intended and holding her hand. The whole experience is quite steadying.
He never realised love could be like this.
He never realised it could be so solid and comforting, so unlike the grief and stress which made him so afraid of love when he was younger. Indeed, even two weeks ago, when he had that moment of revelation by the stream, he didn’t realise his relationship with Kate might turn out like this.
He thought, then, that loving her was the beautiful chaos of a stream in spate. But he knows better now. He knows that loving Kate isn’t the raging torrent - it’s the trees leaning close to listen, their roots running deep.
With that thought he finds the courage to set things in motion.
“I thought we might go out for a ride tomorrow morning, just the two of us.” He suggests. “A chance for some privacy and to see how repairs are progressing on more distant parts of the estate.”
“A fine idea.” She agrees at once. “I suppose if I am to be mistress of this estate I ought to get to know it better.”
He’s so profoundly encouraged by that, so grateful for her faith and trust and optimism. She has simply got on with embracing her future role this week, while he’s still faffing around trying to find the words to set it in motion.
He gathers himself and presses on.
“About that - I wondered if this ride tomorrow might grant us some privacy to discuss the future.”
“Is there anything left to discuss?” She asks, perhaps halfway to arguing. “You have been quite plain that you intend to propose, and I have been very clear that I intend to accept. Might we simply press on and consider the matter settled?”
He sits there, silent, blinking at her in stunned joy for a moment or two. And then -
“I love you.” He tells her, by way of reply. What other reply could he possibly make to such a wonderful sentiment?
It’s funny. After all these months of their acquaintance, all these days he has spent waiting for the perfect opportunity to speak of his feelings, in the end that confession just came to him as easily as breath.
She’s good for him. She makes him stronger and braver, yet softer and more emotional, too.
He dares to look up and meet her eyes. She’s blinking back tears, he realises, and yet smiling the widest smile he’s ever seen. Perhaps he makes her more emotional, too. It’s an odd sight to see her so overcome.
“Kate? Are you quite well?” He prompts her, squeezing her hand.
“Very well. Entirely well. I - I love you, too. Obviously I do. I would hardly have accepted your sister’s strange invitation otherwise. So - perhaps we might consider the matter settled?” She presses.
“Perhaps we might. Indeed - yes. I suppose we are now engaged. But all the same, before we tell anyone, I would like the opportunity to speak with you at length about our plans. Everyone will ask us when we intend to hold the wedding, and where, and all manner of questions.”
“Then let us consider it our secret for tonight and discuss such arrangements in the morning.” She agrees.
She leans a little closer into his side, too. It’s the smallest gesture, just the weight and warmth of her snuggled more firmly against his shoulder, but it sends a thrill right through him all the same.
He’s an engaged man - again - and yet this time he knows he has got it absolutely, perfectly correct.
There’s something he wants to say and do to make that abundantly clear.
“There’s a blacksmith in the hamlet on the eastern edge of the estate. I thought we might see what he can do about a ring.” He suggests. “I will buy you finer jewellery in town in the future, of course, but I thought we might prefer to seal our engagement sooner rather than later.”
“I see I have persuaded you to my way of thinking - a certain eagerness to get this all settled.” She teases.
“Indeed. And - I suppose - I thought it would be fitting to get you a ring especially of your own from the local blacksmith to celebrate these days we have spent together sealing our engagement, rather than giving you the same ring I gave your sister.”
Oh. She’s smiling tearfully again, looking all overawed with her heart in her eyes. This is a most fascinating development. He was more or less aware she intended to accept his proposal, to be sure, but he never dared to dream she had such a depth of feeling for him.
“Kate?” He asks again. Is he going to end up asking after her health often, during these next few days or weeks while they confirm the details of their engagement?
“Stop looking so shocked.” She chides him, reaching across to pat fondly at his thigh with her other hand. “A lady is allowed a few happy tears to mark a new engagement.”
“It’s hardly new.” He argues cheerfully. “I made my intentions clear some days ago now.”
“Hmm. I do believe you are using my own argument against me.” She notes drily.
He grins. He’s rather happy, for the record. Kate wants to marry him - wants it so badly she’s getting all emotional about it - but she wants to keep teasing him and enjoying his company as they have always done, too.
This is destined to be a very happy marriage, he decides.
…….
He greets her with a kiss at the stables the next morning. It’s the first kiss they have shared since that one before the altar on the day he almost married her sister.
This is a very different kiss. It’s passionate and involved, yes. But it’s also comfortable, and confident, and long and loving and really rather tender.
He’s looking forward to a lifetime of kisses like this one.
“I do rather adore you.” He informs her, totally matter of fact, as they pull apart at last.
“I can beat that. I’m utterly besotted.” She counters quickly.
They’re both laughing, now, hands clasped as they walk down the stable block. They’ll never be able to tack up a horse like this, let alone two, but Anthony’s not about to be the first to let go.
They do manage to separate eventually, for long enough to ready their horses and mount up. They ride out in high spirits, all warm laughter and easy affection.
They’ve barely made it through the gate when Anthony eagerly opens the subject.
“So - shall we start with where we wish to marry, or when?” He asks.
“My preference would be a wedding in town so my mother and sister can easily be there, but I understand that you might want to marry here quickly under the circumstances.” She offers, with a sweep of her hand which somehow includes the flooded countryside, their scandalously unchaperoned ride, and even his broken engagement, he thinks.
“Not at all - I see no need to rush this or hush it up. I want a proper celebration to mark our happiness. And besides - I think that’s the least you deserve after all that mess with your sister. I refuse to hide our love out here in the country.”
Hmm. She’s doing that tearful smile again, but she’s nodding eagerly, agreeing that she would rather like a proper, public wedding to celebrate their love story but didn’t feel able to ask for it.
That’s interesting, he thinks. Because if there’s one thing he knows about Kate Sharma, it’s that she’s able to do anything she puts her mind to.
…….
They tell Simon and Daphne later that afternoon, when the whole party manages to gather for some refreshments and a moment of rest together. Even Augie is here, although Anthony supposes he will be too young to understand the excitement.
Strictly speaking, they don’t end up telling Simon and Daphne. It’s all a bit of a beautiful foregone conclusion, rather like the engagement itself.
“We have some happy news which will not surprise you.” Anthony informs his sister and brother-in-law, in a solemn tone, while Kate takes a seat at his side.
“Ah - how shocking.” Simon offers, all bright and jovial.
“I perceive that Miss Sharma is wearing a ring.” Daphne notes.
“Yes. Do you think you might call me Kate, since we are to be family?” Kate asks.
Anthony laughs. “What we are trying to tell you is that we are now officially engaged to be married.”
“Finally.” Simon says, then turns it into an odd sort of coughing noise as Daphne swats playfully at his arm.
“We didn’t want to rush you.” Daphne explains. “We know your courtship has been a complicated one and we were determined to be patient with you both.”
“Daphne was determined to be patient. I was all for locking you in the pantry together.” Simon tells them.
That has the whole party laughing and embracing, a warm mess of congratulations and joy.
And when the embraces are through, Anthony welcomes Kate back to his side with a kiss. That’s acceptable, he has decided, since they’re among family. He intends to welcome her back to his side with a kiss every time they are more than five feet apart for all the rest of his life.
After all - they belong side by side. They belong close together, facing everything the world can throw at them as one. That’s what he’s learnt since the floodwaters rose.
They can handle any storm, as long as they face it together.