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She inherited a house, a debt, and the man living in the west wing.
Letitia Vance is twenty-three, a milliner's daughter from Clerkenwell, and by the strange mercy of a dead cousin she now owns Ashgrave Hall-and everything owed on it. Adrian St. Leger is forty-seven, the former earl, ruined by his own generosity, and currently the only person alive who knows how to run the place she has just been handed.
She hires him as her steward because no one worse will take the wage. He accepts because there is nowhere to fall.
She is color and noise. He is silence and order. She cannot add a column of figures; he cannot say a warm sentence aloud. The house, the tenants, and a coal seam her cousin wants will force them into every room together.
Some inheritances are land. Some are debts. And some, if you can bear the interest, are love.
Letitia Vance is twenty-three, a milliner's daughter from Clerkenwell, and by the strange mercy of a dead cousin she now owns Ashgrave Hall-and everything owed on it. Adrian St. Leger is forty-seven, the former earl, ruined by his own generosity, and currently the only person alive who knows how to run the place she has just been handed.
She hires him as her steward because no one worse will take the wage. He accepts because there is nowhere to fall.
She is color and noise. He is silence and order. She cannot add a column of figures; he cannot say a warm sentence aloud. The house, the tenants, and a coal seam her cousin wants will force them into every room together.
Some inheritances are land. Some are debts. And some, if you can bear the interest, are love.