Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 83053 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83053 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
He reached the bill for the additional staff hired from the village to ensure the smooth running of the event. Extra footmen, maids, and stable boys had been essential, and their hard work did not go unnoticed.
The last bill of sale was from the local modiste, for his mother’s wardrobe and accessories for this house party and the two balls. There would be no ball tonight, but tomorrow night there would be the closing ball, and the dowager countess had to be properly dressed for that one as well.
Thomas was well aware of the costs of such things, as he had learned everything at his father’s knee.
He lingered in the study long after the servants had cleared the last of the paperwork. The room still held the essence of the late earl—a blend of sandalwood and old leather that seemed to permeate the walls. As Thomas moved to leave, a faint glint of metal caught his eye from the corner of the desk. Curious, he drew open a drawer that he had never used—a remnant of his father’s era, untouched and dusty.
Inside, he found a small leather-bound journal, its cover worn and the lock unhinged. The discovery was unexpected, as his father had never been one to pen his thoughts. Compelled by a mixture of nostalgia and intrigue, Thomas settled into the heavy leather chair and opened the journal. The pages were still crisp, and the ink dark and legible. He began to read the first few entries, his heart beating with a quiet apprehension.
February 1
Felt a strange bout of nausea today, right after the luncheon with the viscount at his estate. Thought little of it at the time—perhaps the mutton disagreed with me. But by evening, my strength waned inexplicably. I’m sure a good night’s rest should set things right, but Montague pointed out that this was the second time that I have felt unwell after attending a dinner with the viscount and suggested I keep a written record of any odd symptoms I experience after our visits, if only to track if I am perhaps sensitive to one of the more exotic ingredients his chef uses.
February 12
Again, after dining with the viscount at his estate and resolving the border disputes, I was overcome with a severe headache and an unsettling weakness in my limbs. This has become a troubling recurrence. I have never been one to ail so frequently. I shall keep a closer eye on my health, perhaps consult the physician if this persists.
February 19
A disturbing pattern emerges. Each encounter with the viscount at his estate precedes these mysterious symptoms. Tonight, it was a dinner, ostensibly to discuss the resolution of the disputes. Yet, hours later, I am gripped by such malaise that it is all I can do to pen these words. I must consider the possibility of foul play. Tomorrow, I will secure a sample of my food to be tested discreetly.
Thomas paused, a chill running down his spine as he absorbed the gravity of his father’s words. The entries painted a clear picture of suspicion and fear that was entirely uncharacteristic of the man he remembered. His father had been cautious, yes, but never paranoid. As Thomas turned the page, he found the loose receipt from the apothecary—a clue that perhaps his father’s fears were not unfounded.
With the journal in his hand and a storm of thoughts in his head, Thomas sat, his heart pounding.
His father didn’t name which viscount he was referring to, but because the entries alluded to border disputes, he could only be referring to Viscount Hawthorne Polk—Victor Polk’s father. Their estate did border the Ashford estate, but it was much smaller.
Perhaps it was time to find the viscount and speak with him.
Polk and Jonathan had left the hallway about an hour and a half earlier, when Thomas was moving toward his study.
He’d thought it odd at the time that they were in this hallway, which Polk well knew housed the earl’s study and all of his papers.
What kind of border disputes were they having?
And why had his father not told him about them?
Then again, these journal entries were made only months before his father’s death, and Thomas had embarked on a tour of the continent during that time and had only been back in England for a week before his father’s untimely demise.
Something was afoot here—something that made Thomas’s stomach feel like he’d eaten lead.
He had no idea that his father and the viscount might be disputing borders.
His curiosity piqued—and his mood darkened—as he continued to read his father’s journal.
February 21
Met with Hawthorne again today to discuss the delineation of the northern border that runs along the creek. He insists the old markers favor his claim, but our maps from my grandfather’s time tell a different story. We parted with a handshake, yet I sensed his agreement was reluctant. Need to be vigilant and ensure our surveyors are thorough and unswayed.