He straightened a bit in the seat. “Your revenue will be considerably lessened from the estate this year, I’m afraid, my lady. If the weather clears, we might still get most of the crop in, maybe all of it. But every day that goes by lessens that chance. The tenants on your land need those crops to feed their families as well as pay you your share. The farmers won’t have much left over—”

“I don’t mean that!” Now she was frowning at him, looking insulted. “Do you think me such a . . . a fribble that I’d care for my income over a tenant’s ability to feed his children?”

Harry couldn’t think of anything to say. All the landowners in his experience did indeed have more concern for their income than the well-being of the people who worked their land.

She continued, “We will, of course, waive the rent monies due me for this year if the harvest fails. And I will make available loans to any farmer who might need one to see him through the winter.”

Harry blinked, startled by a sudden lightness in his heart. Her offer was more than generous. She’d removed a burden from his shoulders. “Thank you, my lady.”

She looked down at her gloved hands. “Don’t thank me,” she said gruffly. “I should have realized. And I’m sorry for being cross with you. I was embarrassed to know so little about my own estate. You must think me an idiot.”

“No,” he replied softly, “only a lady who is city bred.”

“Ah, Mr. Pye.” She smiled, and his chest seemed to warm. “Ever the diplomat.”

They crested a rise, and Harry slowed the gig to turn into a rutted lane. He hoped they wouldn’t lose a wheel in the potholes. The lane led to a crofter’s cottage, long and low, with a thatched roof. Harry pulled the horse to a halt and jumped from the gig.

“Who lives here?” Lady Georgina asked when he went to her side to help her down.

“Sam Oldson.”

A shaggy terrier ran out from around the building and began barking at them.

“Sam!” Harry shouted. “You there, Sam! Are you home?”

He wasn’t about to go nearer the cottage with that dog growling so seriously. It was a smallish dog, true, but the small ones were more apt to bite.

“Aye?” A burly man wearing a reaper’s straw hat came from the shed. “Shuddup, dog!” He roared to the still-barking terrier. “Get on with you!”

The dog tucked its tail under its rear and sat.

“Good morning.” Lady Georgina spoke brightly from beside Harry.