Page 32 of The Duke’s Return (Dukes of the Compass Rose #2)

“A sight better’n you, it looks to be,” said the man as he came to the fence.

It was Mr. Fentworth, one of the quieter fellows of the lot who had been protesting the agreements.

Quieter but smarter. He’d pushed along a lot of the lads, which Julian had noticed by the second meeting.

Twice Julian’s age, Mr. Fentworth was shorter but broader with a weathered face and thick eyebrows.

He furrowed those as he looked at Julian.

“Weather’s too nice for haunts these days. What could a duke have to worry about?”

Julian let out a short laugh. “You can read me well, Mr. Fentworth.”

“Ah, we’ve argued enough to be friends, haven’t we? Please, Your Grace, call me Allen.”

“Only if you call me Southwick.”

The man hesitated and then nodded. “Very well. Southwick. Now, you know what’s a certain fix for a heavy brow?”

Julian tilted his chin up. “Don’t tell me it’s a shot of brandy.”

“And waste what I have on you?” The man smirked. “Hardly. No, I was going to say a heavier load. Like hay bales.”

“Hay bales?”

“And sheep that need to be moved.”

Looking beyond the farmer, Julian glanced into the fields where hay bales were scattered and a few sheep were penned up in a corner. Amusement spread through him. “Are you trying to get some unpaid help this morning?”

“Helping you,” the man countered. “Besides, your hands are too soft.”

“You drive a hard bargain, Mr. Fentworth. But you have a deal. Some physical exertion may be just what I need and I have a feeling you wouldn’t participate in a bout with me.”

“About what?”

Julian’s lips twitched. “Exactly. We’ll save the boxing for another day. If you have a place for my horse, then I’ll join you in this morning’s duties.”

It wasn’t the first time he had done something like this. There had been a few instances with his uncle growing up where the man had recommended Julian to learn more about his tenants. Taking it to understand their work, he spent half a summer drinking and the other half working with the animals.

“Ah, so you’re not a total fool,” Allen jested when Julian grappled with the hay. “Very good. Right over there, then, that’s where we’re putting them for loading tomorrow.”

“Are you sure it will keep dry?”

“Aye, it’ll keep. It’s hearty hay we have.”

That was the most pleasant work he did that morning, with the scratchy hay in his hands. He moved on to various other duties alongside the farmer. Allen was supposed to have his nephew helping him this summer, but the young man had broken his arm and couldn’t do much.

On they worked as the sun continued to rise. The manual labor grew more difficult by the hour, and terribly unpleasant. But he didn’t stop. Soon he had lost half his clothing, was covered in filth and sweat, and could finally think clearly.

There’s no room for thought when my muscles ache. I had forgotten how good this can feel. If only I had someone at the estate to box with regularly. Or I suppose I can do the work for my tenants when I need to stop thinking.

Every time he glanced toward his property and thought of Genevieve’s smile piercing his soul. Julian turned back toward the work.

“I don’t think we’ll get that sorted today,” Allen sighed as he stepped back from the lopsided wagon. “You can set the wheel down. Must be a devil of weight on your back.”

Shaking his head, Julian said, “I don’t mind. Let’s keep up the work. We aren’t done yet.”

“I am. It’s time for tea with the wife. You can join us if you like.”

“That’s all right. I can continue here myself, then. Perhaps I’ll have it sorted before you return,” he decided.

But then Allen came around, shoving the wheel away so he was forced to take the weight off.

The man wiped his hands with a glower. “Are you mad? You’ve already done the work of two men.

That’s enough. I can’t have you hurting yourself here; I refuse to be at fault should something happen to you.

If you’re so desperate, do that elsewhere. ”

“That’s not what I’m looking for,” Julian countered. “Nor do I want to hurt myself. Only I think we can do some more work.”

“And I said you’re done. What has you all aflutter, hm? Avoiding something? Someone?” The man added with a stern look.

It was such a fatherly gesture that Julian found himself growing apologetic.

Straightening up, he wiped his hands on a filthy handkerchief.

He cleared his throat. “You’re right. My apologies, Allen.

You know what is best here. I suppose I’m only grateful I could be of assistance and wish to do more. ”

“The best thing you can do for us is finalize those contracts and make sure we have what we need, Your Grace. And perhaps you should join us for tea. You must be as thirsty as I am.”

“I suppose so.”

Allen nodded with a knowing look. “My wife keeps the house neat and tidy as I tend the farm. It’s hard work for the lot of us. But we do what we must in this life with the lots we have. Thankful I am for my wife. Life is much better with one, wouldn’t you agree?”

Unable to help himself, Julian snorted. “That’s why I’m in this muddle.”

He thought about explaining more before halting. Inhaling deeply, he glanced warily at Allen while looking for a better explanation. He didn’t need anyone else thinking there were issues between him and his wife. That wouldn’t look well on him from any angle.

“I mean––”

“You mean you’re being a fool,” Allen told him. “You’re only in a muddle because you’re fighting it.”

That made Julian stop. “You don’t even know…”

“I’ve been married for over thirty years, Your Grace.

” Putting on a pair of spectacles, Allen couldn’t appear wiser than he did now.

“I know a thing or two about marriages. No matter your class, it’s all the same.

A partnership. You’re wasting your time complaining and dawdling about whatever the issue is because I think you already know. "

"Know what?"

Allen shrugged. "I don’t know. But you’ll sort it out.”

After Julian joined the Fentworth couple for a simple tea and biscuits that day, he took off toward his estate. The household was bewildered to find him covered in filth, but readily prepared a bath for him.

He washed up slowly as he thought about his morning with Allen.

The man clearly knew much about farming as well as marriage.

It was another example for Julian to see a doting couple.

He’d almost felt embarrassed a time or two seeing them together.

They were clearly in love between their playful berating’s and support for one another.

And then there were Allen’s words.

Stop fighting it. Stop fighting what. Fighting Genevieve? What if she is fighting it too? She is certainly fighting me on occasion. Or is that part of the problem? But then that would make me the problem…