The Marquess and the Midwife (*On Hold*)

2 Kyrie

I had been staring at the numbers on this ledger for so long that my vision was beginning to blur. I blinked, shaking my head, and leaned over them, trying my best to refocus and muttering a curse for whoever saw fit to jot these down in the tiniest handwriting they could manage. There was a number next to the word wheat but was that how many bushels we had in store or how much money we spent to acquire it? Did we not grow our own wheat? I sighed, squinting and drawing closer to the page to decipher the symbol before the digit. Was it one of currency or a denotation I still wouldn't understand?

"You'll get wrinkles around your eyes by the time you're thirty if you keep that up," someone spoke suddenly and I felt the draft from the suddenly open doors of my office before I looked up to find my sister sweeping in, chiffon skirts whisking through the air around her as she came to settle in front of my desk, hands clasped together at her front.

I leaned back in my chair and rubbed my eyes with a sigh.

"Do we grow wheat?" I asked.

"What?" she replied, blinking at me in surprise. Clearly, that wasn't what she had expected me to say.

"Do we grow our own wheat or do we buy it?"

"I haven't the faintest idea."

"Nor do I," I said with a sigh and slammed the ledger shut before looking up at her again. "What is it, Grace?"

"The season is starting."

I stifled a groan.

"You'll be needing a new wardrobe, of course. You can't be seen wearing anything you wore last season. I'll be needing to reestablish relationships with the local baker and florist since I am to remain at Wentworth," Grace said and I frowned.

Grace had a family of her own. The Earl of Strafford and two beautiful children, my beloved niece and nephew. And she was spending all these time away from them for me, to return to our ancestral family home and assist me in finding a match. I felt horribly guilty every time I thought of it. Last season had been an utter disaster. Despite being declared the most eligible bachelor of the season, I hadn't managed to find a single woman that captured my attention. Perhaps I was too picky. Perhaps I was too young to possess much of an interest in marriage at all. It didn't matter.

Because my father saw fit to add to his will that, upon his death which had occurred just before the beginning of last season, I shall not inherit a cent until I marry and procure for his estate a proper Marchioness. My father had a way of somehow always knowing what was going to happen but whether he foresaw my own pickiness before it had occurred or simply didn't trust a single young man to properly handle the responsibilities of Marquessate alone, I wasn't certain. Regardless, I had three years to marry or I would forfeit my inheritance. Grace knew and that was why she had sacrificed so much of herself to help me remedy my situation and find myself a wife. So the least I could do now would be to assist her with her planning and follow her into town.

"Whatever you need, sister, as always," I said and she smiled.

"You'll try this year, won't you?" she asked, her voice somewhat softer than before.

"I tried last year, Grace."

She raised a brow.

"I did," I argued as I stood and rounded the desk to meet her on the other side. We began walking out of the office and toward the front door where she likely already had a carriage waiting to take us into town.

"Kyrie, you did not call upon a single lady," she chided me.

"I assessed them all for suitability in public. The lot of you incessant mother hens plan so many of those damned balls that there was no reason to visit anyone outside of them knowing I'd see them again in a matter of days."