BENCHLEY LOOKED down his beak nose at Amy standing at the edge of Greystone’s quarry.
“My lady, do you not think you’ve seen enough?”
She scanned the site once more, smiling at the view of the quarrymen dotting the stepped-down ledges. The blows of their hammers rang through the air as they toiled in the hot sun. She watched a huge slab of dimension stone begin to crack away from the face, mentally adding its value to Greystone’s ledgers.
“It’s doing well,” she murmured, satisfied. Treading carefully on the uneven ground, she made her way down the rise and back to the two-seater caleche.
Benchley trailed behind. “In your condition, I cannot imagine why you insist on dragging yourself all over the estate. I shall take you home now.”
“Nonsense—I’m with child, not ill. I haven’t yet inspected the sheep.”
She tried to hoist herself onto the seat, then convulsed in laughter, holding out a hand for his help. “Gad, I think my girth has doubled since Colin left for France. I’ve been wondering if he’ll recognize me upon his return.” At Benchley’s wide-eyed look, she couldn’t resist shocking him more. “I’ve also been wondering how a babe this size can possibly fit out of me, but Lydia assures me it will work.”
The tips of Benchley’s ears turned red. He picked up the reins and clucked at the horse.
“I try not to think about it too much,” Amy added brightly.
“Excellent plan,” he choked out, staring straight ahead.
During the thirty-minute drive from the quarry perched on one side of Greystone to the grazing fields bordering the other end, Amy digested what she’d seen. Though but a small portion of Greystone’s income, the tiny quarry it was named for was producing well. Sky-high stacks of newly cut wood from the estate’s abundant forests waited to be sold. The crops were coming in nicely, though she was glad Colin would be home for the harvest—she hadn’t a clue what to do about that.
She’d brought the ledgers up to date, delighted to discover that Greystone had become self-supporting and then some. There looked to be a small profit due in the fall. She wondered why Colin had seemed so worried; did he not realize that?
She could hardly wait for him to come home so she could tell him. She missed him fiercely, his reassuring smile and the heavenly feel of his arms around her, especially when she lay alone at night in their big bed. She missed him more than she missed working with gold and diamonds.
Marry come up, she loved him. When he made it home, she’d tell him so—a million times. Maybe he would have missed her, too. Maybe he’d be truly happy then.
The caleche rolled to a halt. While Benchley went off to hail a shepherd, Amy lowered her ungainly body to the ground. She perched carefully on the low fence and swung her legs over.
As she ambled through the pasture, the long summer grasses seemed to undulate on the rolling hills. Their fresh scent tickled her nose. It was quiet out here, the silence broken only by the occasional bleat of the sheep. When a lamb came toddling up and butted his head against her skirts, she reached down to let him lick her hand.
“Lady Greystone?”
“Yes.” She turned and smiled at the shepherd; no apple-cheeked nursery rhyme boy, but a grown man much older than she. “I trust the sheep are doing well?”
“I…” Lifting one weathered hand, he removed his cap and rubbed his bald head. “Do you know anything of sheep, my lady?”
“No. No, I don’t. But—”
“That youngster there has bluetongue.” He kicked a pebble and pulled the cap back over his brow. “I’m sorry, my lady.”
“Sorry?” She looked down at the fluffy animal nuzzling her hand. “Bluetongue?”
“An illness. Swelling of the nose and lips, bleeding in the mouth, and—”
“Mucous,” she finished for him, wiping her palm on her skirt.
“My lady!” Benchley rushed to unearth a handkerchief and thrust it into her hands.
The shepherd knelt to pry open the lamb’s mouth. “See?”
“Bluetongue.” Amy took a deep breath and wadded up the sticky handkerchief. “Or bluish-tongue, anyway. What does it mean?” She ran her fingers through the animal’s thick wool. “Are they all ill? Surely we can still shear them come time?”
The man rose slowly. “Those that still live.” With a sad smile, he patted the lamb on the head. “More than half of the ill ones have died already, and more fall sick every day.”
“What?” Amy’s heart sank. The profit she’d calculated depended on projected income from the wool. She’d assumed the production would be consistent with last year’s. “Can’t you make them get better?”
“I know of no treatment.” He shifted on his feet, took the cap off and replaced it again. “Lord Greystone, he keeps up with the newest ideas, but he hied himself off to London and has yet to return.”
“Did he know of this?” Perhaps this was why Colin had seemed so melancholy.
“No. He left before it started. It spreads very quickly.”
“Oh,” Amy said blankly. “Thank you.”
“My lady.” The shepherd bowed and touched his cap. She would never get used to that deference, she thought vaguely as she watched him walk away, the lamb following at his heels.
“Dear heavens,” she breathed, making her way back to the caleche. “Colin will really be unhappy now.”
“Pardon, my lady?” Benchley raised a hand to help her up.
“Nothing, Benchley. Just talking to myself.”
Her stomach felt leaden at the thought of Colin’s homecoming. Now instead of greeting him with good news, she’d be reporting a sure loss of income and the need to replace expensive livestock.
She couldn’t stand it, she thought as she plopped onto the seat. She really couldn’t stand it. After all the work he’d put into this land, now to be saddled with her and a baby on the way, plus unexpected monetary problems…well, it just wasn’t fair.
Colin deserved better than this. After all he’d done for her, was there nothing she could do for him?
She folded her hands over the mound of her stomach.
Yes, there certainly was.