Page 48 of The Duke's Only Desire

As she explained to Mr. Enfield, she had no intention of touching the formal parterres and terraces, many of which shecould see through the windows right now, covered with a blanket of snow, hibernating until spring. But there were vegetable gardens scattered throughout the park that were not being used to their full potential, most of which had been untended and allowed to go to seed. Those could be cultivated again and the excess produce given to the tenants and villagers who couldn’t grow enough of their own vegetables or afford to purchase them from the market. They would plant extra herbs in the kitchen garden, too, then dry and bag them. Then, Mr. and Mrs. Jones at the mercantile could hand out the vegetables and herbs to anyone who wanted them. Sophie had already asked Mrs. Jones if such a scheme would be possible, and the woman had nearly bounced with joy at being able to help, assuring her that she would take personal responsibility herself for their distribution.

Sophie had special plans for the orchards, too.

The home park contained several large orchards, including apples, cherries, plums, figs, mulberry, and most likely several more types of trees Sophie hadn’t yet discovered, along with berries of all kinds—blackberry, sloe, wild strawberry, gooseberry… Yet as with the vegetable gardens, they had been allowed to turn wild. Oh, certainly, the household staff would pick enough fruits and berries to put up several dozen jars of each for the manor every year, but the rest were left to rot. Such a waste! Sophie wanted to give the tenants and villagers a stake in the orchards; whoever helped with clearing and tending the trees and berry bushes would be allowed to fill their baskets with fruits during the harvest. Those who were too sick or elderly to work would receive baskets picked by the village children, who would be paid shiny new pennies for their help—coins that would then help to support their families.

It was a new purpose for the fallow field at the edge of the village, though, that thrilled her the most.

The meadow would become a commons, divided into lots and given to whomever in the village wanted a patch of land to work. Then the villagers would be able to grow their own vegetables, raise a few chickens, or perhaps even keep other livestock. The little plots of land would be theirs to do with as they wished, as if they were true landholders. More than just a way to grow a little extra food or a place to keep a milk cow, the plots would give them a sense of pride and ownership.

If everyone had a stake in the estate, from the smallest chive to the tallest tree, then they would be proud of it and work together to make it better. At least Sophie hoped so.

She fell silent, held her breath, and waited for a response from Mr. Enfield.

From his grim expression, however, he didn’t share the same enthusiasm for her plans. “Does His Grace know of this, ma’am? He hasn’t said anything to me.”

“No, he doesn’t.” And she wouldn’t let that stop her.

Sophie had hoped that Malcolm’s visit would have improved her marriage, but it hadn’t improved it so much asshiftedit. Shay continued to spend as much time away from her as possible, but now he spent his days mostly shut up in his study, pouring over the account books and dealing with repairs, contracts, and equipment problems that had been neglected since he’d inherited. In that aspect, at least, their marriage had been good for the estate—although whether because he realized he could no longer live like a self-imposed hermit or because he needed an excuse to keep busy and away from her, Sophie was afraid to guess. He ate dinners with her now, too, but always in the massive dining room and never without Henley present. He had made no attempt to come to her rooms.

So she’d come to a decision. If she couldn’t be a proper wife, then she would at least be a good duchess.

“This project is mine to oversee,” she informed him. “Malvern has no part in it.”

“I’m sorry, Your Grace.” Mr. Enfield sat back on the settee, smiling like the cat who’d gotten into the cream. Which meant he must have found a way to wiggle out of helping her. “I simply cannot carry out any work like this without His Grace’s authority. Once you speak with him—and gain his full permission—then I’d be happy to do whatever His Grace instructs me.” Relief shone in his eyes. “I’m certain you understand my predicament.”

“Yes, I do.” She folded her hands in her lap. “I understand that Ravenscroft Manor has been without a duchess for so long that you’ve seemed to have forgotten the role she can play in improving the estate.”

His mouth fell open. “Your Grace, that isn’t at all—”

“Isn’t it? You’re hoping the duke will set my plans to rights by ending them, and you believe women have no business interfering in the running of the home park and certainly not in something as masculine as agriculture or gardening. We should keep ourselves to—what did you call it?—fashion and functions.”

The instant flush on his face confirmed her suspicions.

Sophie let out a long-suffering sigh. Why did men always assume women were nothing more than precious little dolls who where incompetent in all matters not related to entertaining or needlepoint?

She rose to her feet to return to her desk and the work awaiting her. “You have my list, Mr. Enfield, and the dates by which everything needs to be finished. Please keep me apprised of your progress.”

“Your Grace.” His back stiffened, and she would have sworn she could see a sheen of perspiration break out across his forehead. “As I said, I would be happy to do whateverHis Graceinstructs me. Until then, you must take it up with your husband yourself.”

He placed her list on the tea table, then inclined his head in deference as he made his way to the door to take his leave.

“Good day, ma’am.”

Sophie stared after him, her slender shoulders slumping. But not in defeat.Thisbattle she planned on winning. She might have a husband who didn’t love her and refused to take her into his bed, who promised her everything but his affection, who wanted nothing more than the pretend marriage his uncle accused them of having—

Yet she would make her life as productive as possible, despite that.

“Starting now,” she told herself and snatched up her list.

She hurried through the house to Shay’s study, hoping to find him. The door was open, and she stopped in the hallway, a smile for him on her lips. But the room was empty, the fireplace cold. Her heart sank, and not just because she wanted his help with Mr. Enfield. She’d also simply wanted to see him.

“Henley,” she called out to the butler as he approached in the hall. “Where is His Grace?”

“He’s gone out, ma’am. He’s visiting Mr. Jansen’s farm to check on repairs.” He gazed at her with concern. “Should I send one of the grooms to take a message to him?”

“No, it’s nothing that important.” Then her shoulders truly did sag with defeat. “When you have a moment, would you please collect the tea things from the garden room? My meeting with Mr. Enfield is over.”

“Of course, ma’am.” With a nod, he hurried away.