“Clara,” he said quietly.
She looked up.
“Yes?”
“I am sorry about the orchard.”
Her fingers paused.
Then she finished tying the handkerchief.
“So am I.”
He swallowed.
“I shall replace every tree.”
She shook her head.
“They will not be the same trees.”
“No.”
For a moment, grief moved across her face.
Then she looked toward the village.
“But they may provide shade for children who have not yet been born.”
Julian felt something shift within him.
He had spent years thinking of property as a collection of figures.
Acres.
Rents.
Mortgages.
Obligations.
Clara saw it differently.
To her, land belonged not merely to the person named upon a deed, but also to the memories it held and the lives it sustained.
He looked at her.
And understood, with a certainty that frightened him, that he was falling in love.
The rain eased shortly before dawn.
Mereford survived.
Six cottages suffered serious damage. Two barns were flooded. A footbridge was swept away, and several acres of cultivated ground lay beneath mud and debris.
But no lives were lost.
The old relief channel had carried the worst of the water away from the village.
By morning, the river had begun returning to its banks.
Julian stood in the schoolhouse doorway, exhausted and covered in mud, watching the first pale light spread across the fields.
Clara appeared beside him with two cups of tea.
“Mrs. Calder insists you drink this.”
He accepted one.
“Does she?”
“She said you looked as though you might collapse.”
“An unfortunate resemblance.”
“She was rather firm.”
“I have discovered that most of the women in Mereford are rather firm.”
Clara smiled.
Julian looked toward the meadow.
The orchard was damaged.
Several trees had been uprooted.
The garden wall had collapsed.
Clara followed his gaze.
For a while, neither spoke.
Then Julian said, “I owe you more than I can repay.”
“No.”
“You gave up something precious.”
“To save something more precious.”
He looked at her.
“Nevertheless, the estate shall bear the cost of restoring the land.”
Clara considered.
“That will require money.”
“Yes.”
“Money you may not possess.”
He gave a weary smile.
“Then I shall have to discover how to obtain it honestly.”
She laughed softly.
Julian reached into his coat.
He withdrew a folded paper.
“I found this last night.”
Clara looked at it.
“What is it?”
“A letter from my brother.”
Her expression changed.
“Matthew?”
Julian nodded.
“Mr. Grady brought it to me after we opened the sluice. He said Matthew had given him instructions concerning the old channel, shortly before he died.”
He unfolded the paper.
The handwriting was bold and untidy.
Grady,
If Vane proceeds with the proposed northern works, see that the old relief gate remains sound. I do not trust the new embankment calculations, and I have warned him twice. The meadow must remain capable of carrying the excess water. The lives below the bridge depend upon it.
I intend to examine the accounts myself when I return from London.