Page 24 of Revenge

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Later, Edward met me at the foot of the stairs, wearing a green waxed jacket with a flat cap, looking every bit the English country gentleman. An insulated tartan bag was slung over his shoulder, which I assumed contained hot chocolate. I glanced around for signs of Blake and Henry, but they were probably in their room or in Edward’s study. It didn’t matter. I’d already dented Blake’s ego and intended to push him up my priority list for what he had said to Rita.

I took Edward’s arm, and we walked out of Elder House into the crisp evening. The sun had long set, and a thick layer of frost covered the entire campus, making it look magical, all lit up by old-fashioned lamps on iron posts. While we strolled, Edward told me the history of all the buildings, including International House, which had been built during the Regency period. His recounting of the history of the estate was so enthralling, I forgot to ask why he had dismissed Coates’ complaint about the rowdy students.

We continued beyond the campus, where we stopped at a huge, timber vehicle shed by a road that stretched out into the distance. Inside were mainly farm vehicles, but Edward opened the passenger door to a jeep.

“Do you have your license?” I stepped into the four-by-four and settled into its worn, leather seat.

He smirked. “Not yet, but I’ve been driving since I was thirteen.”

I spluttered. “Isn’t that illegal?”

“Not on private property.” He jumped into the driver’s seat, turned the ignition, and the engine sprung to life with a roar.

I fastened on my seatbelt, and Edward drove me through the estate, his floodlights on at full capacity. Marissa had been right about it being larger than Central Park. In the dark, I made out stables, a vast amount of farmland, cattle, sheep, a huge fishing lake, and several patches of forest. Within all of this were a number of buildings, which included accommodation for some of the estate’s employees.

He turned his head toward me. “Does it impress you that I’ll own all of this one day?”

I tilted my head to the side. “The grounds are impressive, and I think whoever owns them will be lucky to have access to such a vast estate, but am I impressed that you’ll inherit it? No.”

“May I ask your reasons why?”

“When I was growing up, my mom taught me the value of hard work.”

“She was a model, wasn’t she?”

“That’s one of the hardest jobs a person can get. Early starts, long, irregular hours, not to mention a strict diet to look right for the camera. She recommended I find a less grueling career where the salaries increased with age and experience, and not the other way around”

“I hadn’t thought of it that way,” he murmured. “But she did marry Rudolph Trommel.”

“At a very high price,” I replied, heart sinking at the thought of her forgetting me. “Trophy wives have to sacrifice a lot for their rich husbands. I lived at home until Mom remarried. After that, she sent me away to school, and I barely saw her.” A lump formed in my throat, and I swallowed hard. “That’s not going to be me.”

“What do you want to do?” He turned the jeep off the road, and up a bumpy hill.

“Write,” I said as the vehicle jerked me from side to side. I gripped both sides of my seat and tightened my stomach muscles. That much was true, but I’d be damned if I revealed to him my desire for a career in journalism. “I love Hemingway, Orwell, and Twain.”

His lips quirked into a smile. “You’ll become a novelist?”

“Why not?”

“It’s an honorable profession.” We hit a ditch, and Edward reversed a few feet then put his foot down on the accelerator, revving up the engine to a roar and powering through the dip in the terrain.

“How about you?” I asked. “Will the Duchy allow you to have a career?”

He grimaced. “The estate is vast and includes properties within the county. If I hired a management company to take care of all the assets, there’d be very little to reinvest.”

“That sounds like hard work.”

“It’s why I’m taking Economics, Law, and Accounting. They’re subjects that will prepare me for managing the estate”

I would have asked whether his father was helping, but Henry had mentioned that his mental health had taken a decline soon after the death of his mother. Who was running the estate now? Last term, after our shopping trip, I’d asked who lived in his house, then Edward wouldn’t get out of the limo for ages.

The terrain flattened, and we soon joined a road that led to a dozen of the largest greenhouses I’d ever seen, alongside a field, and to the edge of a forest, where a man wearing a hardhat and protective clothing threw large pieces of wood into a huge, metal barrel.

When we got out of the jeep, the man doffed his cap. “Good evening, Mr. Edward!”

“Good evening, Shanks,” he replied. “How are the twins?”