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Perhaps it was time to find the viscount and speak with him.
Polk and Jonathan had left the hallway about an hour and a half earlier, when Thomas was moving toward his study.
He’d thought it odd at the time that they were in this hallway, which Polk well knew housed the earl’s study and all of his papers.
What kind of border disputes were they having?
And why had his father not told him about them?
Then again, these journal entries were made only months before his father’s death, and Thomas had embarked on a tour of the continent during that time and had only been back in England for a week before his father’s untimely demise.
Something was afoot here—something that made Thomas’s stomach feel like he’d eaten lead.
He had no idea that his father and the viscount might be disputing borders.
His curiosity piqued—and his mood darkened—as he continued to read his father’s journal.
February 21
Met with Hawthorne again today to discuss the delineation of the northern border that runs along the creek. He insists the old markers favor his claim, but our maps from my grandfather’s time tell a different story. We parted with a handshake, yet I sensed his agreement was reluctant. Need to be vigilant and ensure our surveyors are thorough and unswayed.
Good. Now Thomas knew for sure his father was speaking of Hawthorne Polk.
February 24
The matter of the water rights came to a head this evening at dinner with Hawthorne. He proposes a shared usage agreement, but I fear such an arrangement heavily favors his lands and leaves us vulnerable during dry seasons. I must consider our estate’s future needs and not just the immediate ease of conflict. His friendly façade is becoming harder to trust.
March 1
Received a surprising proposal from Hawthorne through post today regarding the disputed well at the eastern edge of our properties. His offer is generous, suspiciously so. What is he aiming to gain with such concessions? Tonight, I find myself feeling unusually tired and disoriented after our correspondence. The pattern of my ailments following our interactions is too coincidental to ignore. Tomorrow, I shall secure the food samples discreetly as previously planned.
March 4
Our discussions have grown more frequent, and with each meeting, I feel the noose of unease tighten. Today, Hawthorne seemed particularly eager to finalize the agreements over a luncheon at his estate. The food was exquisite, yet here I am, documenting another episode of unexplained sickness. If I did not know better, I would think myself a fool for suspecting poison, but the pieces are aligning too neatly.
March 4 was the last entry.
Thomas’s father had died on March 7.
His father’s meticulous record-keeping, initially out of character, now seemed a desperate attempt to make sense of his declining health amidst these disputes. The entries not only chronicled the negotiations but painted a grim picture of malice under the guise of diplomacy.
This evening, after the men returned from the hunt, Thomas would find Viscount Polk and confront him.
14
Thomas had to tether his thoughts and remain calm as he joined his mother for luncheon.
He drew in a breath and rose from the leather chair once more, determined not to allow his mother to know of his concern. She’d been through quite enough, and he was determined not to add to her trauma.
All eyes were on him as he exited the mansion and walked toward the lawn party.
“Goodness, my lord,” Baroness Mumford greeted him. “I don’t think any of us expected to see you today.”
“I declined to join the hunt, my lady,” Thomas said, tipping his hat. “I promised my mother I would join her for luncheon.”
“What a pleasure for all of us,” the baroness said. “It is so very good to see you this day.”
“And you as well.” Thomas bowed and headed toward his mother.
