“Why, he accused poor Jessop of holding a horse back in races and tried to have the poor lad—” Hugh broke off, biting his lip to keep from setting more of Muldrow’s faults before Beatrice. He did not even tell of the suspicion that Muldrow deliberately lamed young Jessop’s favourite chestnut the night before the race, so that poor Jessop failed to win the badly needed prize money. The poor boy had to leave the University at the end of the year.

Such reticence mattered little to Beatrice. Hugh saw his exasperation reflected in his wife’s face. “I will try to make your life more pleasant,” he said, at last, keeping his feelings under control. “Say what you would like.”

“I would like to leave this dark and dingy old house and go back to London,” Beatrice snapped. “I hate it here. I hate you, this horrid house and everyone in it.” She stamped her neat little foot and flounced away to her room, leaving Hugh seething with an impotent fury.

Next morning, Beatrice rode out for the last time.

Hugh’s head ached. These memories were no more conducive to happiness than the recollection of his behaviour with Philomena. Too distraught to remain in the house for a moment longer, he made his way to the stables and, in the familiar rhythm of so many evenings, soothed his spirits by settling the horses quietly in the boxes. Thunder’s uncomplicated pleasure in his master’s presence quietened Hugh’s agitation. He gave every horse additional rations, for this was, after all, a holiday, stroked Thunder’s nose and leaned awhile on the black stallion’s neck.

At last, away from the responsibilities of the Hall, the demands of the family, and the unsettling presence of Philomena, Hugh’s head cleared. He must control himself better. His conduct today had been unforgivable. His mother and sister would forgive him. They always did. Even poor John was used to his angry humours.

But what of Philomena? Hugh groaned. How could that child ever forgive him for forcing such unwanted attentions upon her? He should not have indulged his longings by spending time in the woman’s company. As they walked through the fields this morning, Philomena had enchanted him. He had overlooked every lie, needing to trust her. Why had he allowed this ridiculous attachment to an unknown female?

Hugh scrubbed his face with his hands. He would salve his conscience with a kind gesture. He made his way to the kitchen where Mrs. Bramble was busying herself in the larder. “Tonight’s meal was delicious. Thank you.”

“I am glad your lordship enjoyed it,” she said. “I hope the beef was to your lordship’s liking. I have asked Mr. Jones to undertake the hanging of the meat, rather than Addison.”

The two farmers carried on a long-term rivalry over competing butchery skills. Hugh hardly cared which one currently had the honour of slaughtering cattle from the herd for the dining table, but the welfare of every tenant was important.