by Robyn Carr
Tyson smiled cynically. “I admit, I have expected your generous invitation, my lord.”
Doré did not waste time making his departure. The coach was called, and Bevis, though a bit ragged around the edges from a late and worrisome evening, was soon atop and holding the reins. Doré shook the baron’s hand, thanked him for his hospitality, and then turned to Tyson. “I shall make use of a house a friend of mine has acquired in the city. I shouldn’t be too difficult to find if you have need of me.”
Tyson nodded, knowing that his friend intended to live in his own house and seek out Lenore Fenton. He stood in the circular drive until the coach was out of sight and then turned back toward the manse. The baron waited on the step outside the front door. “So, my lord, how long will you insist upon my residence here?”
Lord Ridgley frowned. “You wear your anger on your breast like a shield, son. For what purpose?”
“My shield, whether of anger or simple prudence, may protect me from yet another thrust of your powerful dagger. You have damaged me twice, through both money and marriage. A third time might be more than I can take.”
“You do not give yourself much credit, Tyson. You are stronger than you would have me believe. But, come along with me. You have managed a family home and farmlands for many years. I will show you the ledgers for this estate. Perhaps you will have a few suggestions before you bequeath it to Paul.”
Tyson joined the baron on the step. “It is not necessary, my lord. I am content to have the warehouse venture transferred to me.”
Lord Ridgley’s hand rose to Tyson’s shoulder, and his blue eyes hardened. “I should like you to review this holding. Unless you fear you will not understand the simple ledgers.”
“How long do you imagine it will take?” Tyson asked impatiently.
“That depends entirely on what you are willing to give to the study of this property. Come now, you are too resistant. I do this as a favor to you.”
Once in the baron’s study, Tyson was shown the ledgers and left alone with several bound books of figures, maps, contracts, and lists. He became instantly enmeshed in the study of the accounts, for the baron’s ciphering and record keeping was even more impeccable than his own. He asked to be served lunch in the baron’s study, and later, when Vieve and her father were already in the dining room awaiting him, he found it difficult to leave the work.
“You have kept careful records of your own possessions and, in addition, some of the acquisitions of others in your dominion.”
“I have,” Lord Ridgley confirmed.
“Your father has invited me to survey the records of this property that was to be yours,” he told Vieve.
“Was?” she questioned.
Tyson looked at Lord Ridgley. “We have made an agreement whereby this British soil should more appropriately be joined with Paul’s Dumere demesne, since I have land in America.”
Vieve looked at her father. “If Chappington is to be Paul’s, why do you make Tyson study the property?”
“It is a family business, Vieve. Tyson is of our family now.”
She looked between the two men, and her brow wrinkled in some confusion as if she doubted the simplicity of family ties. She finally shrugged and returned her attention to her dinner. Tyson found it odd that she had not been told of this arrangement.
“I am beginning to see why it is preferable that I focus my attention on warehousing and shipping. There is little that can be done in the country.”
“In only one day you have seen so much?” Lord Ridgley asked. “You are very apt, Captain, but please, do not make any hasty assumptions. My stable has a few good riding steeds; survey the towns and tenant lands for yourself. The records that you are studying have taken over forty years to compile. Give them a chance to show you the lay of the land with equal opportunity to see it for yourself.”
“There is a strong resemblance among your records of estate to those records of trade that I examined a few months ago.”
“Yes,” the baron said. “It is interesting, is it not?”
“Papa,” Vieve questioned, “why do you make Tyson work while he’s here? Surely he deserves a rest.”
Lord Ridgley smiled at his daughter, but peered askance at Tyson. “Your husband has a strong attraction to hard work, and one day you will appreciate his dedication.”
The baron left the study of holdings to Tyson’s private perusal, and it was not necessary to question Lord Ridgley, since his work was so meticulously laid out. Tyson took the offer of a good mount and rode the property lines of the Ridgley domain and the Dumere estate. He went so far as to talk to the citizens of the Chappington town, introducing himself as the husband of the baron’s daughter. He made the acquaintance of one knight of the realm who paid revenues to the baron and two country squires who likewise had acquired property in Lord Ridgley’s titled land. In addition, he rode the perimeters of the property of the baron’s half-brother.
Tyson rose early and retired late, but still he was distracted by sharing a bedroom with Vieve. Although she began wearing concealing nightgowns and was most often in bed when he retired and still asleep when he rose, the softness of her beside him at night and the sweet scent of her bath soaps caused him sleeplessness. Many nights he considered taking her in his arms, giving her both comfort and love, but it was the disconcerting information he was finding in the baron’s records that was holding him at bay. His shield had not been tough enough, for the baron had found a third way to bind him.
Vieve took quick control of certain wifely tasks, and this did not escape Tyson’s notice, though he made no mention of it. When she discovered that he rose early, she began to lay out freshly laundered clothing for him before she went to bed. When she observed that he preferred his bath just after luncheon, he would find his tub steaming and the bedchamber empty at that time. Although Bevis had returned, Vieve took it upon herself to excuse the servant and began to examine his clothing for mending needs herself. She assumed the task of laying out his towels and soap, even going so far as to deliver his boots to the manservant’s room over the stable for polishing. When Tyson complimented Bevis on his improved stitchery, he was corrected. “Ain’t me, Cap’n. The mum done it.”
Though he gave close attention to the baron’s accounts, he did see Vieve’s comings and goings, but when new and costly stockings replaced well-worn ones, he realized that she had gone to the town to make purchases for him. His initials appeared on new handkerchiefs and on the cuffs of his shirts. His waistcoat was brushed free of lint and hair, his frayed sleeve was darned, his torn pocket repaired.
After ten days of study, he went to his bedroom earlier than usual. She turned from her place at the dressing table, surprised to see him, and, murmuring a quiet good evening, went directly to her coffer to gather a robe to wear over her nightgown. He poured himself a drink and sat down on the settee to watch her brush her hair. His fingers lazily dropped to a white linen in a hoop; her sewing still lay where she had left it. He smiled to himself as he discovered that it was one of his shirts.
“Have I said that I appreciate your wifely talents, madam?”
“No thanks is necessary, Tyson.”
“You make poor Bevis look bad.”
She turned to face him. “He is not such a good lackey, Tyson. He told me that he much prefers work on shipboard to acting as a manservant.”
“You have been in conversation with him?” Tyson asked. “I hope he has not divulged any family secrets.”
She smiled at his discomfort. “I think he guards your past at least as well as you do yourself.”
“Vieve,” he said as she turned away. “Tell me why your father and your uncle do not have much mutual regard. They behave politely, but their hostility is obvious.”
“There is not much family love between them, and Father says it has always been thus. They come of different fathers, and Charles’s sire was a common tradesman who abandoned them both when Lady Dyana died shortly after Uncle Charles was born
. I do not know why my uncle resents my father so, especially since Lord Ridgley was left to parent Charles and see to his rearing.”
“Your father’s accounting shows a relatively large sum spent over the years to help Charles Latimer establish himself. Does your uncle show any gratitude for this?”
“It is worse than a lack of gratitude,” she assured him. “Although Uncle Charles has managed to do quite well for himself, better in fact than my father so far as money goes, he acts as if he has been greatly wronged.” Her brow furrowed as she considered this. “I have never understood how my father can continue to welcome him in our home when it is so obvious that Charles is happiest when he can belittle my father and paint him a failure.”
“Do you have any idea what your uncle owns?”
“No, but I am told he prospers.” She looked at him over her shoulder. “When you appeared with money to invest in Father’s warehouses, my uncle nearly collapsed in disappointment. It offends him whenever my father makes a modest gain.”
“Yes,” Tyson said with a frown, “I have noticed.”
There was silence in the room as Vieve finished her grooming and Tyson watched. When she was done, she approached him. “Is there anything you would like me to get for you, Tyson?”
He considered her for a long moment. His brows drew together as he observed the high-collared nightdress, her demure wrapper, and the way she tied her hair back rather than letting it flow freely down her back. It was almost as if she tried to conceal herself from him, and he knew it was the result of the way he had shamed her on their wedding night. He met her eyes and tried to smile. He pulled her hand into his and gently kissed it. “No thank you, my love. Go ahead to bed.”
She put out his morning clothes and chose a dimly lit corner to shed her robe. He sat before the hearth in the bedchamber for a long time.
He had told himself she was only a woman, and women need not linger long in his thoughts. He knew full well that her alluring body had wrapped chains around his desires, but he had not anticipated the other ties that would gently bind him. He enjoyed the sight of her graceful footsteps about their common room. He admired her ability to discover his needs even before he had himself. Her manners and actions showed him a glimmer of the loyalty she was capable of, and her gentle compliance promised many years of giving and devotion.
He had thought to satisfy himself with her body, but was stunned to realize that he wished more from her. The musical lilt of her laughter, which came less frequently now, teased his memory. The soft sound of her voice as she answered his questions without hesitation, the pride that would not allow her to cower when facing his anger, the dignity with which she bore the insult of a forced marriage wrought of a shabby beginning of their romance, and the way she yielded to his power like finely tempered steel, even when he had never been more cruel—all these things were Vieve. Here was a woman, despite the many problems that had assailed them, who could stand strong and faithful at his side, serving him as wife, lover... and even friend.
He suddenly wished that he had not cruelly rejected all those possibilities on their wedding night when she had been eager for his touch. He had lashed out at her when it was the baron who deserved his anger. But there was time ahead when he could be alone with Vieve. With that thought, he joined her in the bed and again rose before her in the morning to breakfast in the dining room.
Lord Ridgley was up, as was his custom, and as Tyson joined him, he called for the captain’s breakfast.
“I need not spend any more time with your accounts, my lord.”
“Good,” Lord Ridgley said. “Were you impressed with my record keeping?”
“Oh, yes, my lord. As well you knew I would be. I must say, my worst fears did not prepare me for what you have obviously intended from the first. I thought I was being rooked, but I did not see the full load you wished to have me carry on your behalf. Tell me, what will you do to me if I refuse?”
Lord Ridgley frowned. “I don’t know how households are managed in your country, Captain, but in mine we are careful to keep our accounting private. It is dangerous to tempt a servant with any exciting information.” Their eyes met, and they stared at each other for a moment. “Finish your breakfast and we will go for a ride.”
Tyson let the baron lead the way, riding with him over the rolling hills, past the ancient trees, across the countryside that composed Chappington. Although Tyson had surveyed the land, he had not ridden to the top of the hill that the baron chose to ride toward. The sky was a deep blue, and the sun shone brightly on the fall day. The fields were either brown or barren, the trees dulled to their winter hues of brown, orange, yellow, and red, and the air brisk and revitalizing. As the baron reached the top of the hill, he dismounted.
Lord Ridgley turned full circle in his appraisal of his land. The neat little town with one road running through it and fields behind it stood to the north. Chappington Hall was to the east, the old keep to the west, and to the south was the coast. The rocky coast was out of sight, but far into the distance where the sky seemed to reach the ground there was a slight haze that was the ocean. “Can you look at all this and deny the beauty of it?” the baron asked.
Tyson’s jaw felt tight. “I concede its beauty, my lord, but I am hard set to know why you chose me as the man to trap.”
Lord Ridgley sighed. “Tyson, I am not so clever as you think. I did not seek you out for this, but had you known what your generous investment would mean, you might have declined. I am an old man; I will not live much longer. My brother had almost ruined me and I was close to defeat. Your money made the difference.”
Tyson laughed bitterly. “Oh, what a difference. Your records are good, my lord. Your brother has run off and bought out most of your neighbors, including the land surrounding your own son’s newly acquired estate. He has profited from every accident that occurred; I think you believe he had the warehouses burned. He was damn close to wiping you out completely. Why haven’t you had him arrested?”
“I have no proof. He may keep some record of payments to scoundrels for illegal acts, but you may rest assured, he does not let me survey his accounts. It is not illegal to have money and to buy property.”
“But your own brother must pay the majority of your revenues.”
“Two squires and a knight pay me on behalf of tenants. Charles thinks he is clever to have these agents and that I don’t know who the real owner is. But the countryside is poor. The tenants have their own problems with fires, death among the people and livestock, meager harvests. And I can only go to the tenants themselves for rents and revenues; the law protects the owner of the farmlands from paying revenues from his other businesses. In addition, a ship and two warehouses have been lost. Thus, my misfortune has been crafted by my own brother.”
“Why do you stand for it?”
“How do I stop him?”
Tyson smiled cynically. “Do not play me for a fool. I know you have a plan. What does he want?”
“My title,” Boris sighed. “My lands, my life, my comeuppance.”
“Why?”
“He sees himself as greatly abused; our mother died, his father absconded with whatever movable wealth he could carry, and Charles was dependent on me for everything. He has always hated me for that.”
“Jealousy? It can’t be as simple as that.”
“Perhaps it is my fault. I was sixteen when our mother died, and though I thought I was doing my best, I did harbor great anger at what had befallen me. My entrance into noble circles was marred by the gossip of my noble mother who, once widowed, began an alliance with a carpenter, drawing him into her home and giving him a son. My mother was forty years old, Charles’s father was twenty. The man did not even stay long enough to see my mother buried. I suppose I let my resentment show to the boy, for he was alone to bear the insult and the pain it brought me.
“But I spared nothing to see him do well. True, I have denied him the one thing which he felt was his due. He wished to be my heir,
to become the baron of Chappington, but I reserved that for Paul.”
“How long have these thefts and accidents been taking place?”
“I have suspected him for fifteen years. As I grew older and nearer death, Charles became bolder in his assaults. I am quite sure that he has done me harm during the past two years.”
“Does Paul know the extent of this?” Tyson asked.
“He only knows that his uncle prospers as our own wealth declines. I had planned to tell Paul that I thought Charles responsible for many of our miseries, but then you arrived with money to invest.”
Tyson laughed at the irony of it all. “Yes, and my arrival and my money did its part to throw Charles Latimer’s great design into the gutter. I arrived when your brother was nearly in control of you.”
“And now,” the baron said, “he will either cease in his plan to destroy me, or he will forge ahead.”
Tyson looked at the baron with cold eyes. “He moves ahead, my lord. Your brother has already been hard at work looking for my weaknesses. I saw no need to mention it earlier, but there was even a fire deliberately set on my ship.”
Boris raised his brows, but chuckled ruefully. “Somehow, that is more what I expected.”
“You are amused? Had I invested with anyone else I would not be required to end a long family feud to save the sum. You did nothing to warn me, you did nothing to caution me, but pulled me into your crisis with much malice. Just what is it you expect me to do?”
“Beat him for me,” Lord Ridgley replied easily. “I know you are clever enough. Charles must have records, and now that someone has come from America to save my family, he will become careless and desperate. Spy. Cheat. Set him up for the fall.”
“Why have you not used the talents of your own son to help you with this problem?”
“Paul may have the heart for such a battle, but he has neither the money nor the diligence.”
“And so it must be me?”
“I took a careful look at you, Captain. You are capable of dealing with Latimer. You have enough devious enterprise of your own, and you have the money to push him over the edge.”