My Arrogant Neighbor Told Me To “Know My Place” — So I Bought The Estate Next Door

Part 2

I stood in the freezing wind for five long minutes, watching his axe rise and fall.

I had wanted to feel triumphant, to see the arrogant Duke brought low.

But watching him bleed over a piece of wood just to avoid asking for my help didn’t taste like victory.

It tasted like ash.

I turned sharply and marched back to my courtyard.

I ordered Gary, my head contractor, to fire up the traction engine and take twenty men to the boundary.

When Gary protested that the tree was mostly on the Duke’s land, I lied smoothly.

I told him to clear my property line and that we simply lacked the precision to avoid his half of the road.

I went inside, slamming the heavy door against the biting wind.

I refused to look out the window when the mechanical shriek of my steam engine rolled down the lane.

Weeks later, the local gentry summoned me to their annual Christmas assembly to formally inspect the invader.

I wore a midnight blue velvet gown, completely devoid of any flashy diamonds.

I stood alone near a poorly drawing fireplace, letting the smoke keep the judging eyes at bay.

Mister Craig, a petty local squire, loudly mocked my industrial noise.

He called it a terrible business, letting merchant money buy up good soil.

I stiffened, ready to publicly eviscerate him with the exact plunging value of his crop yields.

A shadow suddenly fell over us.

Dan stepped forward, his eyes flat with cold contempt.

He told Mister Craig that the only change to the valley was that someone was finally fixing the rot at Oak Haven while the rest of them had ignored it for a decade.

He dismissed the squire entirely and turned to face me.

He wiped his hand on his coat, as if the squire’s fawning proximity had left a physical stain.

He looked at the dark circles under my eyes and murmured that society would drink my tea but never forgive me.

I lifted my chin and told him I didn’t require their forgiveness, nor his.

He offered a real bow this time, acknowledging that I was a force of nature.

February brought the thaw, turning the frozen ground into a greedy, viscous swamp.

I was walking the southern boundary when I heard a chaotic thrashing sound from the swollen brook.

I pushed through the bare hawthorn bushes and froze in my tracks.

Down in the churning brown meltwater, pinned against a mass of tangled roots, was a massive, mud-soaked sheep.

And wrestling with it, chest-deep in the lethal, freezing current, was Dan.

His lips were visibly blue, and the icy water was rushing dangerously fast.

He shoved the panicked animal toward my bank and yelled at me to grab its front legs.

I slid down the muddy incline, plunging my heavy skirts into the freezing water.

We hauled the thrashing beast onto the grass, both of us gasping for air.

Dan tried to climb the steep bank, but his boots found no purchase in the slick mud.

He slid back down, the current threatening to drag him under.

I scrambled forward on my hands and knees and reached my hand out to the man who had once mocked my bloodline.

Would he finally swallow his pride and take my hand, or would his arrogance drag him to the bottom of the river?