A Regency Christmas VI

by Mary Balogh, Jo Beverley, Sandra Heath, Edith Layton, Laura Matthews

  Indicating a chair beside the desk, he said apologetically, “If you would go over these with me, I would be most grateful, Mr. Thomas. You must excuse my ignorance of the proper columns for income and outgo. I fear it will be necessary for you to explain the expenses in some detail as we work our way through.”

  “Certainly, my lord.” John Thomas tapped a finger on the second of the ledgers. “Four years ago is when I began, but I’m familiar with the books for some period before that.”

  “Was Sir Lawrence perfectly rational when you began work here?”

  “Not perfectly, but much better than he is today. Or so I understand. He hasn’t actually visited the estate office for a couple of years.”

  The viscount regarded him with keen interest. “From whom do you take your direction, then? Mr. Wicker?”

  John Thomas looked perplexed. “No, sir. Miss Carruthers gives me my instructions. She’s very knowledgeable about the estate.”

  “And if Sir Lawrence’s signature should be required on some document?”

  “She is always able to procure it.”

  “I see. And has she run the estate in the way Sir Lawrence did when you first began?”

  The estate agent looked uncomfortable, inserting a finger between his neckcloth and his neck. “Perhaps I could show you, my lord?”

  “Please do.”

  It was an instructive two hours. Meacham would have given a great deal to have had William, his admirable secretary, there to alleviate the tedium of the work, but John Thomas, if more earnest and painstaking than Meacham’s own estate manager, was more than capable of clarifying any issue that remained obscure to him. The long and short of it was that John Thomas was not lining his pockets. But it became quite clear that the previous estate manager had most certainly done so.

  John Thomas would point to an expense—a new roof for a bam, for instance—and say with a frown, “You will recall that this particular roof was supposed to have been repaired five years ago. Nevertheless, last year it was found to be leaking badly and there was nothing for it but to replace it again.”

  Time and again they were forced to search in even older ledgers, and there could be no doubt that the cost of repairs then had undoubtedly been false entries. Though this was just as obviously the work of Mr. Thomas’s predecessor, Meacham’s expression became grim.

  “You will forgive my conjecture, Mr. Thomas, but it seems clear to me that this drain from the estate was going on long before Sir Lawrence’s illness. In fact, it is so obvious that I fail to understand how the baronet, even with the smallest oversight of these books, could have neglected to discover it.”

  The young man rubbed a hand vigorously across his face in an attempt to sharpen his wits. Picking his words carefully, John Thomas said, “Sir Lawrence was not in the habit, apparently, of taking particular interest in the estate. I believe he trusted his estate manager and allowed him full discretion in the matter of outlay. It was not until Sir Lawrence’s illness became obvious and Miss Carruthers began to involve herself with these matters that she discovered the problem.”

  “How long had this been going on?”

  John Thomas was not deceived by the placid tone of the viscount’s voice. He had watched Lord Meacham over the past two hours and knew precisely how quickly his companion had discovered the carefully hidden fraud. “For quite some time, my lord,” he admitted.

  Meacham was disturbed by the picture this gave him of Sir Lawrence, but there were other matters of just as pressing concern. Especially in recent years, the ledgers showed expenses to have risen in an alarming fashion. The amounts spent on repairs of tenant farms and cottages were startling.

  But Lord Meacham seldom allowed his concern to taint his air of calm acceptance. “I wish you would make these expenses clear to me, Mr. Thomas. They seem, shall we say, excessive.”

  “Because of the length of time no repairs had actually taken place to the cottages and farms, they were little more than hovels, with inadequate water supplies and unsanitary conditions. As the baronet became sicker and Miss Carruthers took over the reins of management, she deemed it necessary to correct these conditions. In the last two years we have done a great deal of work that should have been accomplished over a long period of time. Unfortunately, it’s expensive work.”

  “As you say. And I feel certain that you do not make any profit from the construction.”

  John Thomas looked shocked. “Certainly not. Miss Carruthers has involved herself in the choosing of the laborers and the overseer. They’re neighborhood people, much in need of the occupation and the income. I would find it difficult to believe that anyone has so much as overcharged us a guinea.”

  “I think perhaps I should like to see these repaired cottages. Could you take me this afternoon?”

  Mr. Thomas bowed slightly. “Of course, Lord Meacham.”

  But at luncheon, when John Thomas remarked that he would be taking the viscount on a tour of the newly reconstructed cottages, Drucilla protested. “Really, Lord Meacham, John Thomas has more than enough to do this afternoon after spending the morning closeted with you. And we are expecting Lady Nibthwaite to tea. I particularly wish to present you to her. If you would be good enough to join us, I promise to show you the improvements tomorrow myself. I am thoroughly knowledgeable about them, am I not, John Thomas?”

  “Indeed you are, ma’am,” the agent agreed with a rueful smile.

  The viscount was pleased to be offered the opportunity to spend time with Miss Carruthers. He would be able to assess for himself whether her knowledge of estate matter was adequate, or exaggerated by her well-wishers, which seemed to him the more likely possibility. She was, after all, only one-and-twenty, and had been deeply involved in managing Tarnlea for several years already.

  “Very well, ma’am. I shall look forward to it.”

  Lady Nibthwaite was a thriving dowager of fifty-odd years whose more than ordinary interest in Tarnlea and its occupants had long been accepted by them. Since she had stood as second mother to Drucilla, she was well aware of the circumstances that had led to the present situation there, and though given to outrageous speech when in high flight was not likely to bruit about anything that Miss Carruthers would rather not have known by the viscount.

  Her son, Lord Nibthwaite, had recently married, and the Dowager Lady Nibthwaite had retired to the dower house, a pretty little manor two miles from his estate. This move had not distressed the elder Lady Nibthwaite in the least. “For there will be children,” she had explained to Drucilla, “and if there is one thing I cannot bear in my advancing years, it is the clutter and noise of very small children.”

  And indeed she seemed perfectly content with her new home. She had a handsome jointure and particularly devoted servants, so that her days were given over to her first love—minding the business of all the county, and especially the happenings at Tarnlea. If she had not already been invited to tea before the advent of Lord Meacham, she would surely have managed a morning call as soon as she was informed of his arrival. Mere gossip was not her intent, for she was a shrewd woman not at all reticent in passing along her very bracing advice and original wisdom.

  She found it unconscionable that such a delightful young lady as Drucilla—so fashionably fair and pretty!—should be relegated to the country without hope of discovering an eligible match. Lady Nibthwaite had done her best to introduce to Drucilla’s notice any eligible gentleman who happened to wander through the Lake District for business, pleasure, or family obligations. She could not, however, blame that young lady for her lack of interest in anyone presented thus far.

  Lady Nibthwaite’s first impression of the viscount was favorable. Her astute gaze took him in all at a glance, and she judged him to be quite an eligible parti for her dear Drucilla. She could not tell from the way they behaved toward each other whether this possibility had occurred to either of them, and she considered it her duty to make certain that it did. She set about acquiring the necessary informat
ion.

  “Have you left your wife at Meacham Court?” she asked as she helped herself to one of the macaroons for which Mrs. Kamidge was famous.

  He answered politely, if with a trace of dryness, “I am not married, ma’am.”

  “At your age? The girls in your district must be backward indeed! And do you never go to London?”

  “Several times a year, Lady Nibthwaite. And in my younger days, I lived there for long periods. You must excuse me if I mistake the issue, but I do not believe I have had the pleasure of meeting you there.”

  “As to that, I never go. Though I would have done,” she said, turning her gaze toward Drucilla, “had my wishes been given due consideration.”

  “It was not to be, ma’am, as you well know.” Drucilla poured tea into a fragile cup and passed it to Lord Meacham. “Besides, it would have been the blind leading the blind. You knew nothing of London society.”

  “We would have managed.”

  Meacham, realizing that doubtless this discussion had occurred before, asked, “Is your home nearby, Lady Nibthwaite?”

  “No more than three miles. In winter it can be a difficult drive, with the snow so very likely to make a hazard of the roads, but I will most always venture forth to see my dear Miss Carruthers and Miss Script.”

  Drucilla passed the biscuits to Miss Script, saying, “And we’re obliged to you, ma’am. We would become quite secluded here in December were it not for seeing neighbors such as yourself. Do you go to your son for Christmas?”

  “Yes, for Caroline has just made a very interesting announcement.” There was a sly twinkle in Lady Nibthwaite’s eyes. “By next Christmas we are to have a new member of the family. Did I not tell you that children would come soon? How very forward-thinking of me to have settled into the dower house in good time, was it not?”

  “Indeed it was,” Drucilla agreed.

  Lady Nibthwaite, pursuing another avenue that had been traversed any number of times, expostulated, “The nonsensical boy would look for a wife amongst the Russells—you must understand, Lord Meacham, that their land marches with his—and Caroline is undoubtedly the finest of the five girls. I have nothing to say against her, but when he could have aligned himself with Miss Carruthers! I could scarcely bear to see the direction of his affections. As if Caroline Russell could hold a candle to Drucilla!”

  “Really, ma’am, you put me to the blush,” Drucilla protested. “I can think of no couple better suited to each other than your son and his bride.”

  The dowager laughed with real amusement. “You have the right of it, of course. Such a very dull man as he has become! I don’t think he inherited it from my side of the family, but there, who is to comprehend these matters? Have you brothers and sisters, Lord Meacham?”

  “Two sisters, ma’am, both married and settled in Gloucester.”

  “That is fortunate for you, if you like them.”

  He acknowledged this truth with a whimsical smile. “I do. And I am in rather a push to return to Gloucester to spend the holidays with them and their families.” Drucilla said, “You must not let us hold you here, Lord Meacham. Once you have seen the cottages and satisfied yourself as to their appropriateness, I believe you may feel perfectly safe in driving off again.” Meacham regarded her with pensive eyes. “You wouldn’t be trying to hasten my departure, would you, Miss Carruthers?”

  “Certainly not! But we do very little in the way of Christmas celebration here, you must understand, because of my father’s condition and the exp—, the thinness of company at this time of year. The longer you stay here, the more danger you court of being outflanked by the weather. We very often have storms at this time of year that make the roads impassable.”

  Lady Nibthwaite regarded her with astonishment.

  “But, my dear, that has only happened once in the last score of years! I feel certain we have no fear of heavier weather in the next week. His lordship will surely find no difficulty in returning to his home after he has spent a decent amount of time making your acquaintance. And as to the thinness of company at this time of year, you know you are always included in our plans for Christmas dinner if you would but come.”

  “I do know,” Drucilla said sincerely, pressing the dowager’s hand. “You are all kindness, ma’am. Perhaps this year Miss Script and I will allow ourselves to be persuaded.”

  But there was a hesitancy in her voice that made this seem unlikely. Whether it was because she wished to remain at home with her father, or not to intrude on another’s family circle, or for some other reason entirely, was unclear to Meacham.

  When Lady Nibthwaite rose to leave, he accompanied her to her carriage, an older but comfortable-looking conveyance that had been brought round by her coachman. Miss Carruthers and Miss Script had said their good-byes in the warm salon, so Meacham stood alone with her on the front stairs, even though he was dressed only for indoors in coat and pantaloons.

  “I recognize your partiality to Miss Carruthers, Lady Nibthwaite, so I think you may be the very person to answer a question for me. Do you not think the running of Tarnlea, both the house and the lands, along with the management of her father’s health, too great a burden for such a young person?”

  “Too great a burden?” that august woman ejaculated. “My dear fellow, Drucilla is the most capable woman I know to be doing precisely what she is.”

  “Oh, I don’t doubt that. But she has been to a deal of trouble over the state of the farms and cottages these last few years.”

  “So I should think, the condition they were in! Quite shameful it was. Not that I wish to speak ill of those who can no longer defend themselves, but there it is.” Lady Nibthwaite had moved toward her carriage as she spoke. The door was being held open for her by a servant, and as she appeared ready to be handed in, Meacham elegantly provided this service, but could not restrain himself from asking, before the door was closed upon her, “Would you be able to advise me as to why Sir Lawrence neglected his tenants even before he became ill?”

  The dowager settled a blanket over her legs. “The past no longer concerns me, sir. It is the future—Drucilla’s future—that is of the utmost importance.” “I am not here to make Miss Carruthers’s life more difficult, ma’am. It seems to me that I may very well be able to alleviate some its ... tedium.”

  “I believe you could.” Lady Nibthwaite regarded him with keen eyes. “Understand that though I believe Drucilla perfectly capable of the tasks she has undertaken, the onerous charge has severely limited her life, and will continue to do so if changes are not made. But any rearrangement of the situation at Tarnlea must take into account her sincere affection for her father and her need to see past neglect corrected.”

  Meacham bowed in acknowledgment of her assessment and stepped back. She gave an imperious tap on the ceiling of her carriage, and the coachman urged the horses forward. The viscount, frowning slightly, watched until the vehicle had disappeared around the bend in the carriage drive.

  Coming back into the warmth of the house, he could not help but picture the two Tarnlea ladies alone in the large dining room on Christmas, with no outward sign of its being a day different from any other. A distinct melancholy gripped his mind. Miss Carruthers, Meacham felt, was not meant to dwindle away in obscurity in the country. Without a doubt she was meant to be the laughing, delightful hostess of some large family party of her own.

  Meacham wondered briefly if perhaps one of his sisters could present Miss Carruthers in London, even at this late date, but his common sense acknowledged the impossibility of the scheme. Miss Carruthers was not likely to leave Tarnlea, with her father mentally deranged and the burden of both the household and estate management on her shoulders. There was a great deal more to be set right at Tarnlea than he had suspected when he began the two-hundred-mile drive there, and very little time in which to do it.

  The following afternoon Drucilla took the precaution of donning her most fetching riding habit and bonnet, which were a deep shade of blue she
knew to be flattering to her fair looks. The viscount had been gone for the entire morning and had arrived back at Tarnlea only in time for lunch. There had been a number of parcels in his curricle, the disposal of which he had arranged for with Hastings in a murmured discussion in the entry hall. Drucilla was extremely curious as to what Lord Meacham might have bought, but she could not feel it would be polite to ask him straight out, and her efforts to be circumspect at luncheon had failed entirely to produce the slightest clue.

  Lord Meacham smiled appreciatively at her riding costume, and handed her up onto her mare with a grave gallantry. This was in every way the opposite of that gauche twelve-year-old she’d met so many years ago. As was his capability with a horse. He had chosen to ride her father’s favorite horse, a large roan stallion that only the most competent of the stable boys even attempted to exercise.

  Sir Lawrence, by some quirk of mind, had continued to ask after the horse, Standish, and Drucilla liked having him exercised where her father could watch from his window. She looked up now to see the baronet’s white head pressed against the glass, and she waved a cheerful hand at him as she said, “I trust the lads have warned you about Standish, Lord Meacham. He’s a bit of a handful.”

  “So I’m told.”

  Drucilla’s own horse, a small gray mare, was well behaved and wonderfully smooth gaited. Since Meacham held back his horse so that she could lead the way over the lightly snow-covered ground, she had a chance to witness his superb control of his animal. Standish did not like following other horses and champed at the bit to be off with his rider. Meacham handled his prancing and sidling with a firm hand and neither annoyance nor alarm.

  Once in the pasture, Drucilla allowed Glory to stretch out into a canter and then, with an encouraging look from Meacham, into a gallop. Standish could have outdistanced the little mare easily, but Meacham held him in check, side by side with the gray mare.