He had spent 5 years trying to stop the bleeding of his estate, riding from farm to farm, exhausted, angry, and alone. He had never thought to look closely at the man holding the bandages. “Finch has been with my family for 20 years,” Samuel murmured, anger vibrating beneath his quiet tone. “A parasite can live in a host for a lifetime if the host doesn't bother to check for a pulse,” Hannah replied. She stood up, rubbing her temples.

Fire him tomorrow. Send the magistrate after him for the missing funds. I have already drafted the writ of dismissal. She slid a crisp piece of parchment across the desk.

Samuel stared at the writ. Then he looked at his wife. She had a smudge of black ink on her chin. Her posture was rigid with exhaustion.

She wasn't asking for praise. She was simply doing the job they had tacitly agreed she would do. Samuel picked up the quill resting by the inkwell. He signed his name at the bottom of the writ with a vicious decisive flourish. “Done,” he said.

He looked at her, the shadows in the room making his sharp features look carved from stone. “What next, Hannah? Next,” she said, blowing out the oil lamp, plunging them into the moonlight filtering through the dusty window. We fixed the roof because I refuse to sleep with a bucket at the foot of my bed.

By December, the biting Yorkshire winds howled around Holly Park, rattling the window panes. But inside, for the first time in a decade, the house was warm. Firing Mr. Finch had sent a shock wave through the county. When Hannah took over the disbursement of funds, she didn't hire a new steward.

She did it herself. She bypassed the corrupt local suppliers, negotiating directly with the coal merchants in Sheffield and the timber mills in Leeds. She paid the house staff on time in full coin rather than the promissory notes Finch had used. Loyalty, Hannah knew, was not bought with smiles.

It was bought with a living wage. The staff of Holly Park moved with a new frantic devotion, which was why Dowager Duchess Augusta's surprise letter in mid December did not induce a panic. Dearest Samuel, the letter read. The damp of London is unbearable.

I am bringing Clara, Colin, and a small party of 20 acquaintances to Holly for the hunting season. Do try to have the guest wing habitable, though I have warned everyone to bring their heaviest furs. We arrive on Thursday. It was a siege tactic.

Augusta knew the estate was strapped for cash. A party of 20 aristocrats meant roaring fires in every room. an endless flow of French wine, five course dinners, and a small army of valets and maids to quarter. She intended to bankrupt them and humiliate Hannah in one stroke. When Samuel read the letter at breakfast, he crushed the parchment in his fist.

“I will write back and tell her the roads are impossible.”

“Don't,” Hannah said, buttering her toast. “Let them come.” Samuel looked at her like she had lost her mind.

“Hannah, we cannot afford to host 20 members of the ton. We are barely breaking even on the winter harvest.”

“We cannot afford not to host them,” she countered, her dark eyes entirely calm. “If you turn them away, your mother wins. The rumors that Holly is destitute will destroy your credit with the London banks. They come, we feed them, we smile, and we show them exactly who runs this house.”

When the four heavy carriages bearing the dowager duchess's crest arrived 3 days later, Augusta stepped out, expecting chaos. She expected shivering footmen, and the smell of boiled cabbage. Instead, the massive front doors were thrown open by a line of immaculate liveried footmen. The entrance hall was radiating heat from a roaring fire.

The smell of roasted pheasant and hot spices drifted from the kitchens. Hannah stood at the top of the stone steps. She wore a deep green velvet gown, unadorned, but cut perfectly to her frame. She looked every inch the Duchess. “Welcome your grace,” Hannah said, offering a small, polite nod.

I trust the roads were not too punishing. Augusta's eyes narrowed into slits. She swept past Hannah without a word, her eyes darting around, searching for a flaw. She found none.

For the next five days, Augusta and her guests tried to break the household. They demanded hot water at three in the morning. They sent back perfectly cooked meals, claiming they were cold. They tracked mud into the drawing rooms.

Hannah absorbed it all like a stone wall taking a light rain. The hot water arrived in 3 minutes. The meals were replaced instantly. The mud was cleaned before it could dry.

The staff, fiercely protective of their new mistress, moved like phantoms, executing her orders flawlessly.

The turning point came on the sixth day. A heavy blizzard had swept in overnight, dumping two feet of snow across the moors. The hunting party was trapped indoors, playing cards and drinking Samuel's brandy. At noon, a young boy, blue lipped and trembling, hammered on the kitchen doors.

He was the son of Elias, one of the tenant sheep farmers on the eastern ridge. The roof caved, the boy sobbed to Mrs. Higgins. The snow took it. Me mom is trapped and the flock is freezing.

When Hannah heard the news, she didn't send a footman. She didn't write a note. She walked straight into the main hall, ignoring the aristocrats lounging on the sofas, and pulled on a heavy wool riding cloak and leather boots. Samuel, who had been listening to Lord Hastings complain about the price of cigars, stopped mid-sentence.

“Hannah, what are you doing?”

“Elias's roof collapsed,” she said, tying the cloak tightly at her throat. “I need three strong men from the stables, shovels, and the heavy cart.” Clara let out a delicate gasp.

“You cannot go out in that, Hannah. You are a duchess. Send a servant.” Hannah stopped with her hand on the heavy iron door handle.

She turned back to look at the room full of silk and velvet. “A servant cannot authorize the emergency release of estate timber to shore up a falling beam, Clara,” Hannah said coldly. “And a servant cannot pull a woman from the rubble fast enough. I can.

” She pushed the door open, stepping out out into the howling white vortex. She didn't get 5 ft before a large warm hand clamped down on her shoulder.