Miss Rochester, looking a trifle exasperated, met Erran’s gaze in a manner he could not quite interpret. “If you would not mind joining us, please, I would be appreciative.”
“I will happily tear her to shreds if you require,” he murmured, relishing the thought of taking apart a woman who would abandon her bereaved siblings without a single offer of aid.
Relief, delight, and a hint of mischief lit the lady’s lovely face. “Oh, you may simply witness that event. But detecting truth of matters we know nothing about may be needed.”
“Indeed.” Bowing his agreement, Erran carried his ruthless mood up the stairs, but this time it was in defense of a lady and not because the world did not comply to his sense of order.
***
Physically aware of Lord Erran’s sturdy frame brushing entirely too close on the way up the stairs, Celeste nervously put a distance between them on the way to the parlor.
Now that their long-lost half sibling had showed up on their doorstep well after they needed her help, Celeste wasn’t certain whether to rail at the fates or be wary of treacherous shoals. Since learning to survive in London had taught her suspicion, she was inclined toward the latter.
She watched with interest as Charlotte glanced around the shabby family parlor. After they’d seen this stranger alight from a carriage outside their door, Trevor and Sylvia had hidden the linen bolts and sewing baskets in spare bedrooms. Celeste deliberately opened the draperies enough to reveal the faded upholstery and threadbare carpet. She wanted to rub their sister’s face in the poverty they’d been left in.
“I would have thought a marquess’s establishment would be a little more . . . fashionable,” Charlotte mused in dismay, taking a sofa that had probably been new during the reign of the first King George in a prior century.
“Our father would have brought in new furnishings, had he survived,” Celeste said sweetly. Curious to know how much their half-sister knew about their circumstances, she didn’t expound further.
Lord Erran stood near the window behind Charlotte, apparently keeping an eye on the street while listening to their conversation. She liked that he’d accepted that she would lead the attack, if attack was necessary. But she dared not rely on him as she had relied so heavily on her father. She wasn’t about to be left helpless again.
But his lordship’s aristocratic hauteur and imposing physique lent an air of . . . security . . . that she would not have had otherwise. Every time she glanced at his glowering visage, her insides did a little dance of glee that so handsome and intelligent a gentleman was willing to linger in their company.
That was very definitely a rash and irrational reaction. He was still the enemy who would oust them from their home if he could.
“Of course,” Charlotte said with a bewildered note. “I had assumed the estate would be sufficient . . . Is that why I heard nothing from his executors? There was no estate left? I am so sorry that I did not come sooner . . .”
A year ago, Celeste would have believed her. These days, she believed few. Worse yet, she thought she detected a layer of artifice beneath the lady’s protestations. She’d never particularly noticed levels of emotion in other people’s voices . . .
She widened her eyes. Was her gift actually increasing with their residence in this house as Lady Azenor had suggested?
Celeste glanced around but no one else seemed to notice. Lord Erran merely lifted a sardonic dark eyebrow, uninfluenced by Charlotte’s sympathy. Of course, even Celeste’s own charm didn’t affect a man who responded only to logic, so he was not a reliable indicator.
“The solicitor says our father left no will, although we have witnesses who can attest otherwise.” Celeste used her best polite and helpless voice. “Until the document is located, our father’s cousin has taken charge of the estate. Do you know the Earl of Lansdowne?”
“Oh, yes, of course,” Charlotte said vaguely, waving a chubby hand. “My husband is an acquaintance. We are very rural, however, and don’t go about much in society. I’m sure Lansdowne will do everything that is proper. Perhaps my husband should apply to him to determine if we inherit anything of my precious Papa’s belongings. You say there was a witness? Could he say? I do so miss Papa’s letters.”
Or his money. He’d often sent her funds when she requested them. Celeste looked up to Lord Erran. Good thing he was standing behind Charlotte. The frown on his sun-browned visage was dark enough to scare crows. He didn’t trust their visitor either?
“I don’t believe I explained,” Celeste addressed his lordship sweetly, without answering Charlotte’s questions. “Papa married here in England when he was still at Oxford. He took Charlotte’s mother with him to Jamaica. She objected to the primitive society and returned to London when Charlotte was very young. Papa provided support until Charlotte married, but she has never visited with us.”
Their half-sister dabbed at her eyes with her lacy handkerchief. “Charles and I had hoped to visit this year, but the children were ill and with one thing or another, it just could not be helped. And now I’ll never see dear Papa again.”
“You cannot possibly remember seeing Papa at all,” Sylvia said with puzzlement. “You could not have been out of nappies when your mother took you back to England.”
“He will be very much missed,” Celeste said, covering Sylvia’s protest with a layer of honey. She needed as much information as she could obtain, and as lovely as it would be to shred deceptive Charlotte into snowflakes, she wasn’t in a position to burn bridges. “The Earl of Lansdowne has not been very forthcoming. Like you, he has ignored our pleas for advice.” She inserted the last malicious statement under the same tone of honey, wondering how Charlotte would react.
Interestingly, Charlotte heard only the honey. The lady continued dabbing at her eyes. Celeste sneaked another peek at Lord Erran. He was fighting a snicker. The man heard her meanness despite her charm!
If he could hear the truth behind her sweetness, that wasn’t just interesting, but frightening.
Charlotte finally looked up from her handkerchief-dabbing and widened her eyes. “Couldn’t Ashford speak with the earl? Surely his influence would persuade Lansdowne to release our funds?”
Our funds? Celeste hid a smirk of her own. Now she understood the sudden reason for a visit—the lady needed money.
“The marquess is more likely to shoot the earl than speak with him,” Lord Erran said in the same pleasant tones that she’d been using. His deep baritone, however, rumbled the walls and did not exude charm. “I’d suggest that you hire a solicitor if you think you were named in the will, but unless you think you’re due more than five-hundred pounds, the solicitor will cost more than you’ll gain.”
Five-hundred pounds! It would cost five-hundred pounds to fight for their inheritance and save Nana’s family? They could live for a lifetime on five-hundred pounds! It was Celeste’s turn to look wide-eyed, while Charlotte returned to sniffing.
Ten
Erran watched in disgust as the useless bird-wit escaped without once offering to help the bereft Rochesters. He wondered if Lansdowne might have sent the female here to find out what she could about witnesses and documents. Erran was more than pleased that clever Miss Rochester had given away nothing—which improved his humor.
He waited until he saw Mrs. Guilford depart in her carriage, then raised an expectant eyebrow at his hostess. Miss Rochester looked serene with her hands folded in her lap and her expression such that one would assume butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. But he heard the emotion beneath her controlled voice.
“ Five-hundred pounds?” she asked in disbelief and horror. “We cannot possibly find a sum so vast. How are we ever to go home and save our people from the earl’s greed?”
As if attuned to this question, Jamar quietly arrived in the doorway. As much as he would like to console his hostess, Erran had to be practical. He addressed her man of business. “You said you were a witness to the will, sir. Did Lord Rochester leave anything to hi
s eldest daughter?”
“A small sum and a portrait of her mother,” Jamar answered promptly. “He said he’d already provided her dowry and more. The rest was needed to keep the plantation running and provide for his other daughters. There is a will. I have seen it. Can I not swear to it?”
“Would your testimony stand up in a Jamaican court?” Erran asked, hoping the island would be a simpler place with better understanding.
The silence that followed said it all. If they could not win in a Jamaican court, they had no chance in a British one. An African would not hold leverage against an earl—not in that corrupt morass that was the equity court.
“The executors have filed nothing with Chancery,” Erran said into the despairing silence. “Lansdowne has merely had his solicitors draw up documents as head of the family and presented them to the banks. As eldest male and with no will to express otherwise, he has a strong claim. Do you have any idea at all where Lord Rochester would have left copies of the will?”
“Just with our Jamaican solicitors,” Miss Rochester replied sadly. “There might have been a copy in his desk.” She looked inquiringly at Jamar.
“Possibly,” Jamar agreed. “But if our solicitors on the island cannot or will not provide their copy, who can we trust to search for another? And will anyone believe it should we present it to the court?”
“If a representative of a marquess presents it, they’ll listen,” Erran assured them. “It will be more difficult here where we cannot call on your island solicitors who wrote the will or any other witness but you, but I can begin the correspondence and ask for affidavits. It will just take time.”
“We do not have time,” Jamar said sadly. “The earl’s man has already begun selling off the estate’s assets.”
“He means his son and Nana’s family, as well as the others.” Trevor spoke up. “The bloody British may have made shipping slaves illegal, but it did not make slavery itself illegal. Freedom papers are easily destroyed, but black skin isn’t. That’s all the thieves need to convince others that our workers are slaves, when they aren’t.”
“They will hide,” Jamar said. “Noah knows all the caves. And there are those who can smuggle them off the island. But the land will suffer for it.”
The steward did not mention how hard that life would be for children and old people, but Erran could picture the horror of cold caves and no food.
Such tragedy put his bad day sharply in place. “This is Friday, and most men leave for their rural homes so they may celebrate Sunday services with their families. So I’ve arranged for one of your father’s London solicitors to visit here on Monday. I’ve advised him to bring all documentation giving Lansdowne control over your inheritance. With your permission, I’ll bring in Ashford’s estate solicitors to insist that Miss Rochester should be legal guardian of her siblings. A will expressing your father’s wishes would be beneficial, but perhaps Jamar can be more influential in a private setting than in a courtroom.”
“We cannot afford five-hundred pounds,” Miss Rochester protested. Her lovely complexion had grown pale these past moments.
Erran wished he could reassure her, but he could only offer his services. “Ashford pays his solicitors a retainer. Lansdowne will have to pay his. And if it comes down to bribing court clerks, Ashford will owe you rent if you allow him to occupy the lower floor. Money is not as important as people,” he concluded decisively.
And given the anarchy he’d seen in the courts today, he might as well call on his barmy sister-in-law’s stars and planets too. Moon magic was just as likely to find justice as logic and fairness.
And there was that temptation to use undue influence again. Erran gritted his teeth.
***
“My lord, this is . . . unusual.” Charlotte Guilford tugged at the bunched up folds of her gloves and glanced nervously around the coach interior. The curtains had been drawn against the last rays of sun. Her footman waited outside the closed door. The suave old man in his fashionable coat on the forward-facing seat didn’t appear dangerous. She knew him vaguely from her husband’s entertainments. She allowed her eagerness for recognition from an aristocrat to overcome any fear and waited to hear what his message had meant.
“Some things require confidentiality,” the earl of Lansdowne said in the plum tones of authority. “I hear you have met with my young cousins, the Rochesters. How did you find them?”
“Well, my lord,” she said, trying to conceal her curiosity. “The eldest is rather plain-faced and unfashionably dark, but the others will do respectably when they’re of an age.”
“Good, good,” he said, tapping a walking stick across his knees. “The eldest is probably not legitimate, you realize. Your mother was most likely still alive when she was born, as I understand it. I cannot think it best for them to remain in society. They haven’t the funds in any account.”
Startled, Charlotte nodded, taking her time to digest this news. “I had not realized, my lord. I’ve been told my father was a proper gentleman . . . .”
“Well, that is all water under the bridge. I understand they’ve had a bit of trouble. Will you be taking them under your wing?”
That, Charlotte didn’t need to think more about. “Good heavens, no. They’re perfectly set up as they are, and Charles and I haven’t the wherewithal to take on any more burdens. I had hoped my father would have left us a little something to get by on, but there seems to be no funds left.”
“There is the unusually large lease payment for that monstrosity of an old house,” the earl said. “It represents an outrageous sum. My men of business could arrange to have those funds returned to the estate if the Rochesters could be removed. Most of it would have to be kept in trust for the young baron, of course, but I’m sure they could arrange for a living expense to anyone looking after him.”
“Do you know the cost of raising a young man?” Charlotte asked acerbically. “That alone takes a substantial sum. And I should imagine he would go nowhere without his sisters. If you are asking me to take on that chore, my answer is a firm no.”
“Your husband has a rural property in Yorkshire, does he not?” Lansdowne continued, taking a different direction instead of giving up. “It would be no great expense to set them up there, as a personal favor to me. The eldest could go as a governess and companion, I’m certain. That’s the most she can expect. If the younger one is well-looking, you can marry her off in a year or so. Would a living of a hundred pounds per annum cover the burden?”
Charlotte narrowed her eyes and tried to puzzle through what he was asking. Surely he did not think those very peculiar young people and their servants would go anywhere they didn’t like? She had so many arguments against such a challenge that she didn’t even know where to begin. So she stuck with the simple.
“You honor me, my lord, but I must think of my own family first. A hundred pounds will scarcely buy linen and put food on the table. The boy will want education. No, my lord, I fear we simply cannot take on so large an encumbrance. My husband works day and night as it is to keep our own children fed and housed.”
The earl’s stick bounced a little harder. “What if I arranged for Mr. Guilford to take a better position in the Home Office? It would mean a substantial raise in income.”
The hair on the back of her neck prickled. An earl as powerful as Lansdowne could arrange many, many outcomes—some of them unpleasant. Dear Charles was barely holding onto his position as it was. One word from an earl . . . She heard the threat, even if it wasn’t voiced.
“I see, my lord. And why would the Rochesters wish to give up their palatial home in favor of mine?” She knew she couldn’t hold out against an earl. But perhaps her half-siblings had resources beyond hers. One could always hope.
“They need to eat, don’t they?” he asked jovially. “They have no funds. They can’t have much more to sell off. They’ll see reason when it comes time.”
Gloomily, Charlotte understood the truth of this. “May I have time t
o discuss this with my husband? Would we have to take that horrible darkie giant they have for a servant?”
“The servants would be returned to the estate where they belong,” the earl said smoothly. “You may have no fear about that. Send word to my office on Monday. I’m sure you will see the benefit of looking after your young siblings.”
Charlotte saw only trouble and woe in her future, but she was already calculating the benefit of her husband’s superior position with the Home Office and realizing their rural estate in Yorkshire was a very long way from London. If she and Charles could afford to stay in London . . . she needn’t trouble herself much at all.
***
Lady Aster sent word that the new servants were on their way. Jamar stationed himself at the barred back gate to let them in. Erran took Zack into the yard to examine the possibility of inventing a better means of notifying the household when someone wished to enter.
“Wouldn’t it be simpler to just bar the house doors instead of the gate?” Zack inquired, studying the solid stone posts and the heavy oak. “We don’t need medieval fortresses any longer.”
“In this case, we do,” Erran said, studying the distance from gate to house. “We have every reason to believe there are unsavory elements who wish the Rochesters gone, and their assaults have been escalating. And with Duncan moving in . . . His accident was no accident. If someone still wants to kill him, I’d rather opt for caution.”
“I’ll have to bring my workmen in and out through the gate,” Zack reminded him. “It will delay construction if they have to wait for someone to hear them knock every time they wish to enter.”
“It will be complicated,” Erran agreed. “Perhaps after our meeting with the solicitors, the family might trust us enough that they can be persuaded to visit Iveston. I’m not certain that anything short of sending an army to Jamaica will satisfy them, but I’ll see what I can do.”
Sending the Rochesters anywhere was his devout desire. Perhaps then his life could return to the humdrum pursuit of justice through legal means, once he persuaded the judges he wouldn’t throw more tantrums.
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