Trentworth clapped him on the shoulder. “I am pleased you agree. I think so, too.”
The day was a fine one for April with the sun shining brightly, a mild temperature, and the promise of green grass running along the fence line.
The two of them had taken Trentworth’s coach to a friend’s estate on the outskirts of London to look at the horse.
Winston was honored his friend had asked his opinion. Since their marriage last autumn, Winston had felt rather forgotten by both Trentworth and his sister. The two clearly enjoyed their time alone together and only occasionally attended social events. Perhaps the coming months would be different.
However, Winston knew better than to complain, especially to Trentworth. His Grace would only suggest Winston take a bride of his own.
The very idea of marrying made his stomach twist. Taking a wife was in his eventual future, of course. He had no intention of avoiding his duty to provide an heir for the Linford line. But shackling himself to a wife felt like it would mark the end of his life rather than a new beginning.
How could he believe anything else after watching—or rather, enduring—his parents’ tumultuous marriage?
Unfortunately, he well knew he had many traits similar to his father. Hardly a week went by when someone didn’t mention it. How could he expect a different relationship with a wife when he had the same tendencies toward stubbornness and selfishness as his father? Even Eliza had mentioned it on more than one occasion.
No, he thought as he shook his head. Better that he postponed marrying for several more years. He was only two and thirty and could easily wait another decade if he wished.
“What?” Trentworth asked, eyes narrowed. “Why are you shaking your head? Have you changed your opinion about the horse?”
Winston managed an easy smile despite the unsettled feeling lingering in the pit of his stomach. “Nothing of the sort. I suppose I am still amazed by the wedded bliss you and Eliza seem to have. It is rather odd, given our history, don’t you think?”
Trentworth scoffed, turning his attention back to the mare. “It is not odd in the least. You need only look around to see other happy couples.”
“Humph. I beg to differ. Have you not seen Lord Farnsworth? He is more than miserable, as is his wife.” Winston scowled. “I can name half a dozen others without even trying.”
“Linford, I think you are searching for proof of what youwantto see.” His friend turned to face him. “In fact, I would go so far as to say that I think you’re scared.”
“Scared?” Winston was aghast. Or at least he feigned as much. Better that than agree with Trentworth’s conjecture. “What could I possibly be frightened of?”
“Love.” The duke’s grin only worsened the queasy feeling in Winston’s stomach. “I am standing before you to tell you how wonderful it is. Not always easy, perhaps, but wonderful. It takes effort. A lot of it to be honest, but it’s worth the hard work.”
Winston bit back a quick retort to choose his words carefully. “For you, obviously. But not for all.”
That truth was depressing, yet Winston knew it for a fact, proven by the pitifully few relationships he’d had over the years. They had each ended disastrously, and he had no one to blame but himself. For him, taking a wife was a necessary evil but little else.
“I realize your parents soured your view on married life,” Trentworth began, “and I can’t claim to be an expert when we haven’t yet seen our first anniversary.”
“Good point.” Winston scowled as he turned away from the pretty mare to gaze across the rolling fields of the well-maintained estate. “I don’t know that you should be handing out advice.”
“I only do so because your sister and I want you to be happy.” Trentworth paused, causing Winston to look at him, certain his friend had more to say. “And you are not.”
“Nonsense.” Winston denied the claim with a wave of his hand. “I am quite content.” He chose to ignore the voice in the back of his head that called him a liar.
“Content sounds like settling. We want more for you than that. Deliriously happy would be far better.” Trentworth cleared his throat. “And then there is the matter of the management of your holdings.”
Winston muttered a curse under his breath and turned away once again.
“You can’t think to leave the care of the estate and other properties to your steward for much longer.”
“Why not?” Winston protested. “He’s doing a better job than I could hope to.”
Silence greeted his response until at last he glanced at his friend, dreading the sight of disapproval on Trentworth’s face. He hated disappointing his family and friends, as well as himself, but knew his limitations.
The feeble attempts he’d made to improve the estate soon after he’d inherited had only proven he didn’t know what he was doing. The few times he had tried since then confirmed it. Hadn’t he suggested a different manner of rotating crops last autumn since the price of wheat was declining, only to have the steward point out all the reasons why that would be unwise?
He didn’t care to look a fool, nor did he want the tenants and others who depended on the title to suffer because of his ineptitude.
His father had been a poor teacher when he’d bothered to try. And their long-time steward had dismissed Winston’s laughableattempts to learn more about managing the holdings, telling him that he needn’t worry about such details when he was far better suited for a life of leisure, just like his father.