“But,” she continued, sobering, “as I have said, I need toobserve. And you do seem to make a habit of disappearing just as I arrive.”
He exhaled slowly.
“It is not evasion,” he said. “It is discretion. This is work, Miss Belle—and not mine alone. Tenants might not wish their affairs made public. My accounts are not for general scrutiny.”
She nodded. “Of course. And I will keep that in mind. But as we have discussed, their interests are part of this story as well. Your stewardship of them—how you conduct that work—is precisely what I intend to show.”
A pause.
“Without that,” she said gently, “there is nothing of value for me to write.”
Silence settled between them.
At last, Julian spoke. “Very well.”
Her eyes widened—just slightly.
“I’ll make some allowances,” he said at last, his tone controlled. “You may accompany me in the morning—at sunup—when I attend to estate matters. But understand this: if I step away, you will not follow. And you will not presume any particular access to me beyond what I allow.”
She studied him for a beat, then nodded. “That is reasonable.”
“As for the staff, you may ask your questions when appropriate. But you won’t push those who wish to keep silent.”
Another nod. “Understood.”
Some of the tension eased in his chest.
Miss Belle drew a steadying breath. “And—I should say, I am aware I can be… a bit much. My sisters remind me of it often enough.” She stared at the floor with a rueful smile. “And I like to keep busy. When I am left alone too long,” she added lightly, “I begin to… find trouble.”
Her gaze lifted to his then—not apologetic; not entirely innocent, either.
The implication hovered between them.
Lonely, then.
The realization sat poorly with him.
“I have,” Julian said after a moment, clearing his throat, “perhaps not been the most welcoming of hosts.”
Before she could respond, the door creaked open.
Wallace froze mid-step upon seeing Miss Belle, color draining from his face. “Forgive me, Your Grace, I did not realize?—”
“No matter, Wallace,” Julian said briskly. “This conversation was overdue.”
Miss Belle flushed. “Oh—I was just?—”
“You may clear this,” Julian added, nudging the barely touched treacle tart toward the edge of the table. “I won’t be finishing it.”
His gaze flicked to her. “And you are forgiven, by the way. I don’t suppose I should expect you or anyone else to keep her from traipsing about the manor. Even her own father finds her impossible to contain.”
But Miss Belle didn’t so much as bristle at his assessment. Her attention had drifted to the tart.
Ah.
“Something you would like to say, Miss Belle?”
“It’s only that I left mine… and it’s your fault, you know. Being so rude as to abandon your guest.”