“There might be an unpleasant confrontation with Carstairs,” Stephen warned. “I could take care of it for you, if you like. Then you could come after Carstairs has been removed.”
“No,” she said. “This is my responsibility. I will handle it.”
Stephen smiled, approvingly, she thought, and handed her back into the carriage.
No footmen came running to the carriage when they drew up before the house. No one appeared when the party disembarked. It took several minutes before anyone opened the door in response to their repeated knocks. When the door was finally opened, it was leaned on by a somewhat disheveled individual in shirtsleeves who peered bleary-eyed at the newcomers.
Lady Talmadge sailed in with a slight nod to the doorkeeper. She was followed by Clara, accompanied by Susan. They, in turn, were followed by Bancroft and Perkins, the larger of the two grooms. Collins, the other groom, remained with the horses.
“Have someone bring in the luggage and take it to our rooms,” commanded Lady Talmadge, taking off her gloves as she looked critically around the hall. It was pleasantly shaped, she thought, though the housekeeping left much to be desired. “Then summon Mr. Carstairs.”
“Bring in… summon…” the doorkeeper began to sputter. “Madam, who do you think you are?”
Bancroft stiffened but Lady Talmadge held out a hand to restrain him while she turned slowly to look at the doorkeeper. She saw a paunchy fellow looking somewhat the worse for wear. It appeared that neither he nor his clothing had been in the vicinity of soap and water for some time. She looked at him until he began to shrivel. “I,” she said, “am Lady Talmadge, the owner of this estate. Are you by any chance employed here?” Her tone suggested that if he was, it might not be for much longer.
“Employed?” He looked affronted. “I should say not! A guest. Robbie’s guest. And he never said a word about you coming here. You never come here. Are you sure you were expected?”
“Obviously not.” She looked around again and shook her head. “Where is Mr. Carstairs?”
“In bed, of course, like the others. Made rather a late night of it. Only reason that infernal banging of yours woke me was that I fell asleep down here. I say, are you really Lady Talmadge?”
She looked at him, and he shriveled again.
“Robbie’s not going to like this. Not one bit.” He shook his head.
She sighed. “I suppose there are some servants in this place?”
No sooner had she spoken than an older man appeared, buttoning his vest with one hand and smoothing his hair with the other. He had apparently heard at least some of the conversation for he promptly said, “My lady, I am Blenkinsop, the butler here. I regret that we were unprepared for your arrival.” Having gotten that far, he paused, unable to think what to do next.
“Blenkinsop?” Clara started to giggle, but Bancroft put a hand on her shoulder and she stopped.
“Well, Blenkinsop,” Lady Talmadge said, “would you have our luggage taken up to our rooms.” When the butler blanched, she said, “There are habitable rooms, are there not?”
“Yes, of course, my lady, but Mr. Carstairs’ friends…”
“Will be leaving.” She finished the sentence for him. “Immediately. Susan, you can oversee the distribution of the luggage and the preparation of the rooms. Clara, you may go with her.”
Susan drew herself up and a militant gleam came into her eyes. Clara seemed to suspect that she was going to miss some excitement, but the prospect of choosing her own room appealed.
“And then, Blenkinsop, if you would rouse Mr. Carstairs and direct him to meet me in the steward’s office…” She stopped at the look of confusion on Blenkinsop’s face. “Mr. Carstairs does conduct the estate business, does he not?”
“Oh, yes, my lady, but he uses the library.”
“Of course.” She smiled slightly. “Then you will direct me to the library and instruct Mr. Carstairs to report to me there immediately.”
As the party swept out after the butler, the doorkeeper could be heard muttering, “Robbie ain’t going to like this. Not half he ain’t.”
*
The library was a square room, paneled in oak, with long windows leading to a terrace. Books occupied a few shelves, but did not intrude themselves on the space. In the center of the room was an enormous desk with a high-backed throne-like chair behind it.
Lady Talmadge’s nose wrinkled at the smell of stale cigar smoke lingering in the room. She drew the curtains and flung open the windows while Blenkinsop scurried off to find Carstairs. She walked slowly around the room, looking at the shelves. Then she looked at the desk. “I don’t even see any account books. I believe it is now your turn to take charge, Stephen.”
He had been standing in the center of the room, taking it all in as well. “Not take charge,” he said with a smile. “Merely to provide some assistance.” He opened the drawer in the center of the desk and moved things around until he found some keys. In response to her look of surprise he shrugged. “It’s the usual place to keep keys.”
Then he turned his attention to the cabinets beneath the bookshelves. “I don’t see our friend exerting himself overmuch, so I would expect the current books to be in the closest cabinet.” He tried a few keys until the lock opened, and then gave a satisfied grunt. “Good. Both sets.” He picked up half a dozen books, looked them over quickly, and set two of them on the desk.
Alice leaned over to look at them. Then she frowned.
“Notice anything?”
She looked up to see him grinning. “They have the same dates.”
He nodded. “Quarter Day is not long past. He had to create the set to go with the report he sent to your brother. Shall we see how he did it?”
It did not take long, and it was really quite simple, though a bit curious. Some income that appeared in the real accounts, like the income from the tolls, never reached the fictitious ones. And expenses that were listed in the fictitious accounts, like repairs to the cottages, never appeared in the real ones.
At the same time, the fictitious accounts showed far more income from rents and agriculture than the real accounts showed. So much more that the final difference was not above three hundred pounds. A goodly sum, but not more than the income of a prosperous shopkeeper might be.
“How very strange,” said Alice. “He could surely have stolen far more.”
“Indeed, he could.” Bancroft was frowning at the accounts. “I do not understand it.”
Alice had just seated herself at the desk with the books side by side in front of her when they heard the commotion. A number of people seemed to be running down the stairs. There were angry voices and slamming doors. Then the door to the library opened and Perkins came in, holding a man by the arm.
“Beg your pardon, my lady, but this gentleman is Mr. Carstairs. He didn’t seem to believe me when I told him you wanted to see him and he was trying to leave.”
Lady Talmadge thought that Perkins managed a remarkably innocent expression.
“Let go of me, you oaf,” said Carstairs. He pulled his arm free and straightened his jacket. “I was simply seeing my guests off. I am sorry, my lady. Had I known you intended to visit Longwood, I would have seen that everything would be ready for you.”
“I am sure that you would,” she said, looking at him thoughtfully. He was a small man with a pouter-pigeon chest. Most surprising, he had a moustache. She had never seen a man with a moustache except for those odd soldiers who came to London with the tsar for the peace celebrations. Cossacks, she thought.
Carstairs was looking increasingly nervous. She was surprised that she had that effect but then she realized that Stephen was smiling at him. That smile would have made her nervous, too.
“This is my cousin, Mr. Bancroft. He has been explaining your rather imaginative bookkeeping system,” she said.
“Now, I can explain,” Carstairs began.
“Can you really?” she asked. “I confess to a considerable amount of curios
ity.”
He glared at her and then burst out, “Do you have any idea how long I have been here? More than 20 years, that’s how long. And do you have any idea how often the late earl came here? Never, that’s how often. Never an inquiry, never a word of praise or blame, nothing. All he wanted was to have the income deposited to his account.”
He stepped closer to the desk, shaking a finger at her. “Did he want to hear about it when I warned him that the end of the war would mean a drop in agricultural prices? No, he did not. Did he want to hear about it when I told him the tenants wouldn’t be able to pay the rent increase he demanded? No, he did not. I suggested the toll road years ago, but he wouldn’t hear of it.”
When the steward put his fists on the desk and leaned toward her, Bancroft stepped up, about to pull him away, but Lady Talmadge raised a hand to stop them both. “Mr. Carstairs, I think we will need to have a lengthy talk. Please be seated. Perkins, tell Blenkinsop that we would like some tea, and also some breakfast for Mr. Carstairs.”
A lengthy talk it was, indeed. With no oversight or interference from the Earl of Talmadge, Mr. Carstairs had grown accustomed to thinking of the estate as his. So long as he sent along the expected income, no one questioned his decisions. He began to relax as the countess and her cousin listened without comment. As for the house, well, the earl never visited. It seemed foolish to leave it empty. It was, he pointed out virtuously, easier to make certain all necessary repairs were made if he was on the spot, so to speak.
And the repairs to the tenants cottages? The repairs that had not been made?
Well, he had lowered their rents, hadn’t he? And then, he realized the earl was growing older. It might not be long before his heir took over, a stranger who might pay more attention. He decided he needed a bit of a nest egg, so to speak, in case he had to retire suddenly.
Alice’s fingers tightened on the cup she was holding. “How pleased you must have been to discover that the estate had passed to a woman.”
Carstairs suddenly realized he had relaxed perhaps too much, and began to voice stumbling apologies. Alice waved them away.
“Enough,” she said. “I must think on this. I will give you my decision in the morning. You will not mind sharing the grooms’ quarters tonight, I am sure.”
He offered no objection at all, and bowed his way out with Perkins holding his arm once more.
After dinner, Clara went off to bed in a mixture of exhaustion and excitement. She had finally chosen her room and was torn among the half-dozen color schemes she had devised. A tea tray had been brought into the small parlor where Alice and Stephen were sitting. She eyed it dubiously and then looked at the decanter half-hidden in a corner.
“Do you know, I think I would like a brandy,” she said.
Stephen poured two glasses and brought her one. “Does that mean you have decided what to do about Carstairs?”
“Yes. It was foolish of Talmadge to leave him here on his own for so many years. Foolish and unfair. It is no wonder he began to think of the estate as his own. I would not punish him for the deceptions he employed to keep Talmadge satisfied. At least he ignored the order to raise the tenants’ rents. However, there remains the deplorable state of those cottages. I cannot allow him to profit at the tenants’ expense.”
“So?”
“So I will not have him imprisoned. However, he must leave and hand over his nest egg. I can use it to make repairs immediately, and there are doubtless other improvements that will benefit the estate.”
Stephen smiled at her, and she smiled back. “Does that mean you approve of my decision?”
“No, I applaud it,” he said. “A mixture of justice and mercy.”
She collapsed back in her chair with a whoosh. “I was not at all certain I could do this, you know.”
“You were not, but I was.”
“But you offered to do this for me, to deal with Carstairs and”—she waved her hand—“and everything.”
He shrugged. “I knew you could do it, but I was not certain you knew that. I didn’t want to force your hand if you weren’t ready.”
“It was easier, having you here. Not only because you trusted me. I suspect it was also easier making people obey me when I had a large, strong man standing beside me.”
Stephen threw back his head and laughed. “Do not underestimate yourself, Alice. You had that foolish fellow who opened the door and Blenkinsop trembling in their boots when you sailed in so majestically.”
“Did I really?”
“Indeed.”
“That’s good to know, because I was trembling in my boots as well.”
*
The next two weeks were spent in constant activity. Repairs were undertaken, tenants were met, neighbors came by and offered welcome, and moments were snatched to enjoy the beauty of Longwood’s situation. Stephen sent for his assistant to come and supervise until decisions were made about the administration of the estate.
By the end of the first week Alice had decided that Longwood would be her home. Actually, she had decided the moment she first saw it, but she did not want to admit that she had decided so impulsively.
Of course, much of the pleasure she found here was brought about by Stephen’s presence. They worked well together, they were comfortable together—more than comfortable. Clara found in him a father she had never known. He protected them both, but he never smothered her. She knew she could rely on him whenever she needed help, but he never tried to take everything out of her hands. He never assumed he knew what she wanted, what she needed, better than she did.
What she wanted…
That was becoming complicated.
She would look at him, standing at his ease, so strong and solid, so comfortable in his strength. She would start to imagine what it would be like to be held by that strength. She would look at his hands, his strong, gentle hands. She would start to imagine what it would be like to be touched by those hands.
She lay awake at night and wondered what it would be like with a strong young man to share her bed. Her husband’s visits to her bed had been infrequent and brief and, to be honest, boring. She wondered what it would be like with someone else. She wondered what it would be like with Stephen.
*
She was so much more than simply beautiful. She was wonderful. She had stepped up and taken charge with common sense and sympathetic understanding. The tenants could hardly believe their luck. He was so proud of her that he thought his heart would burst.
She was ready now to take on the world. She could spend her days here or go to London for the Season. Whatever she wanted.
He would remain back at Kelswick, her brother’s steward. Always a friend, though she would no longer need him. Still, he would have the memory of these weeks here, these weeks when he had been able to pretend that he was not simply a steward, that they were a family, he and Alice and Clara.
Not really a family, of course. He was lying here alone in bed, alone and longing.
Ah, Alice!
Chapter Ten
Sussex
The hawthorn was blooming. Hedgerows were white with flowers, and the sweet scent filled the air along the road. Kate stood there, her face lifted to the sun, drinking it all in—the scent, the warmth, even the sounds. There was a bird singing. She had heard it here before, but it was not a familiar sound, not a song she had heard in Yorkshire. One of these days, she would have to ask someone what it was, that little bird singing in the hedge.
She smiled as she realized what she meant. She wanted to know the name of that bird because this was where she was going to stay. This place was going to be home. Mr. Prufrock was going to take her on as an assistant and eventually sell her the shop—she was sure of it. She would be able to stay here, she would have a home of her own, she would have Aunt Franny, and she would be happy.
Feeling content, she set out on the chalky footpath on the bank above the lazily flowing Ouse River. The shade trees were on this side, with a water meadow on t
he other side allowing a clear view of a chalk cliff on the Downs. Someday soon, she would walk this footpath all the way to its end, wherever that might be. She had always gone for long treks in Yorkshire, sometimes on errands and sometimes for the sheer love of exploring.
Walking was something she had missed in London, where the only time she left the house was to go to the market. Humphrey had insisted that it wasn’t safe for a young woman to wander around London alone. For all she knew, he was right. Heaven knew London had not proved safe when she stayed indoors.
Lewes and its environs, however, seemed perfectly safe. Sussex was a haven of safety. Here, she no longer had to be on her guard all the time. When she walked here, she not only felt safe, she felt happy. Yes, this was a place where she could be happy. More important, she was free.
That freedom was a bit of a problem. Now that she had escaped her brother, now that she had taken her future into her own hands, she was free to determine what that future would be. But, she had come to realize, any choice she made meant that other futures were no longer possible.
Once upon a time, she had dreamed of marriage. Not a nightmare marriage like her mother’s, where the wife was nothing more than an unpaid servant, and—even worse—a servant who could not leave. When she had been old enough to understand her mother’s situation, she had urged her mother to leave. But vows were vows, said Mama. The fact that her husband ignored his did not mean she could ignore hers. By the time his death set her free, Mama was too ill to leave.
Now that she was old enough to see the world realistically, she knew that without a respectable portion she could have no hope of the kind of marriage she had dreamed of, marriage to an honorable gentleman who would give her a respectable place in society. Even if she had a decent dowry, she had no family to bring her into society, to see that she was introduced to the right sort of young man. Worse than that, the sort of young man she had once dreamed of marrying would probably recoil in horror when he heard about her brother. And if he did not recoil, his family would.
To be honest with herself, the real problem was Ashleigh. If she had never met him, perhaps she could consider marriage as a solution to her problems. Since she was in no position to turn up her nose at a solicitor or tradesman, marriage would have been possible, with the pearls providing an adequate dowry. But now? When every night she dreamed of Ashleigh, when she longed to be in his arms, when he filled all of her dreams, how could she ever consider marriage to someone else? It would be horrendously dishonest, a violation of her vows before they were even spoken. She could not be that dishonorable.
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