Beatrice seemed perfect. He had let the fact that she was lovely as well as suitable cloud his judgement. Blinded by the beauty of her face and her tiny, feminine figure, he overlooked her frivolity, ignored the rapid shifts of her temper, and disregarded her need for constant attention. Hugh discovered, within a very short space of time, that Beatrice shared none of his tastes or opinions. Conversation withered between them, and Hugh’s initial admiration and love slowly died, shrivelling into cool affection and, at last, exasperation and dislike.

Beatrice brought a little much-needed wealth to the Hall, for which Hugh would always remain grateful. In exchange, the Hall offered her status and a superior position in society, but married contentment eluded them. Hugh gave her all the freedom he could afford, to entertain friends and buy dresses, but he could not make her happy. As his wife grew more discontented, he spent less time with her. Instead, he poured every ounce of energy into managing the land, struggling to pay off the mortgage that hung around his neck like an albatross.

His efforts were finally beginning to bear fruit, and the estates were in better shape than they had been while his father lived. The late Lord Thatcham had not understood that change must come to ancient estates. Mechanisation sent wealth flooding into the wool factories of the North and made old-fashioned farming methods uneconomical.

Hugh read widely, eager to join the march of progress. Beatrice laughed at him. “I cannot imagine, my dear Hugh, why you waste your time on these ridiculous new machines. Horses and labourers have always tilled the ground, and I am sure they always will.”

She tossed his latest journal aside. “In any case, these matters should be left for the farmers.”

“No.” He tried to stay patient. “The world is changing.”

He took her hand. Surely, she would love, like him, to travel. They could see the world and shape the future. He tried to convey his excitement. “Why not travel with me to the Americas? I hear the country is enormous, with fields stretching out as far as the eye can see. Would you not love to see a New World?”

Beatrice removed her hand from his and waved her fan, languidly. “Really, Hugh, why would I wish to travel amongst foreigners? We have everything we need, here in England.”

Beatrice adored parties, gaiety, jewels, and comfort. She regarded Hugh’s love of the outdoors, his desire to spend as little time as possible in London, and the hours he enjoyed drawing plans for new machines, as a bore. She was jealous of the time her husband spent with his agent, and she disliked the servants at the Hall who adored Hugh and mistrusted her.

Still, a year had now passed since Beatrice’s death. Hugh could make a new start in life. He would spend more time with John, show him the ways of the farm, and arrange for them both to visit the Americas. His spirits rose. He was a young man. Why should he not find happiness at last?