by Allison Lane
“Damnation, woman! Quit transferring your understandable pique at my uncle onto my shoulders. I have no idea what he was trying to accomplish, but I cannot condone any part of that plot. Nor can I rest until the estate has repaid every shilling of the damage he caused.”
“What rot! Are you trying to buy me off so I won’t sully your name by telling the world what a bounder Lord Avery was? Well forget it! Get off Winter House property and stay off! And keep your ward away from my sister. Next time, I’ll let Ozzie deal with you without interference.”
She stalked toward home, leaving him to stare after her in puzzled thought.
He could no longer question her opposition to a match between Alice and Terrence. After everything Gareth had done, she would never believe that Terrence was ignorant of his father’s affairs. She would move heaven and earth to prevent a match that might make Alice miserable. Her siblings were more important to her than her own life. Never had he seen such maternal passion.
Rubbing the shoulder that would be purpled with bruises by morning, he mounted Jet, uncomfortably aware that his thigh was nearly as bad. And his ribs, and his arm…
He would repay her, of course, though he had never dreamed she might see the money as a bribe. How was he to counter that? He did not care if she made Gareth’s deeds public. The man deserved no better.
But he did care, he admitted as he repented pushing Jet to a trot and pulled him back to an amble. Why did he spend so much time rescuing relatives from censure if not to keep his family name clean? Disgusting as he found the idea, she had been right to challenge his motives. They surpassed both altruism and duty. If he did not take control, the inept Averys bungled even simple jobs. Inefficiency annoyed him even more than stupidity, so assuming their chores kept him sane.
Males will attack when they feel vulnerable. As he had just done. Miss Wingrave was dangerous, for she knew too much to his detriment. Never had anyone crawled far enough under his skin to discover his weaknesses – and certainly not far enough to induce ungentlemanly conduct. How could he keep her from exposing him to the world? She was neither dependent on him nor beholden to him. He felt like a gauche young fool, armorless and helpless.
Perhaps he could trade his silence about her mother’s adultery for her promise to forget Gareth’s plot and his own misbehavior. But he balked at stooping to blackmail. Besides, she would never accept his vow. She already considered him an unscrupulous schemer. Exerting your considerable charm. The strain of raising her siblings, running an estate, and countering Lord Avery had subverted her reason. Why else would she accuse him of turning a nonexistent charm on her? Unless she, too, was attacking to cover vulnerability. She had lied once before when angry. But whatever the truth, she would never believe his word long enough to strike a deal. Nor could he propose one. He had already promised to forget that affair, and could not honorably renege.
The ride home was slow, interrupted several times as he paused to adjust his seat. Self-preservation alone should keep him away from Winter House in the future. These painful return journeys made his head swim. And he could not blame Miss Wingrave. Even her attack by the stream had been entirely his fault.
Reining in again when he reached the dower house – whose back door stood open – he dragged his aching body from the saddle, only to have fury overwhelm his pain. The inside was a shambles – paneling destroyed in room after room, pictures flung to the floors, mirrors smashed. What had happened? And when? No one had been in the building since the roof had been repaired a week earlier.
That feeling of doom was growing. It could not have been a robbery, for items of value remained in every room. Nor would the Wingraves have vandalized the place, even if they knew the full extent of Gareth’s plots. What was going on?
Chapter Fourteen
“Good morning, Mr. Wingrave.” Terrence remained polite even though Michael had bumped into him as he exited the King’s Arms.
Michael blinked. “Pardon me, my lord.”
“How are your sisters?”
“They are well.”
He noted the repressive response. Michael must be another who did not approve of his betrothal. Unexpectedly irked, he was trying to formulate a set-down that would not worsen his own position when Michael turned the subject.
“How is your new steward working out?”
How like Carrington to remain silent about estate matters, Terrence fumed, ignoring the voice that chastised him for becoming so enmeshed in his courtship that he saw little else. Had Scott resigned or had Carrington replaced him? He was tired of being treated like an ignorant child. “One steward is much like another.”
Michael frowned in disgust. “Did you not know that Scott was arrested for theft?”
“No.” He sighed. “Carrington tells me nothing. What happened?”
Michael listed Scott’s crimes. “The new steward is Jeb Carson.”
“One of the tenants?”
“A well-informed tenant and able manager. How do you expect to run your estate if you know nothing about it?” His voice had taken on a distinct sneer.
“Unlike you, I need not concern myself,” he retorted haughtily. “That is the function of a steward.”
“And how do you know if the steward is competent? Or honest?”
Terrence’s arrogance evaporated under that pitying stare.
Michael continued relentlessly. “Scott feathered his nest for years. Was your father ignorant, or did he not care?”
“He can’t have known,” Terrence conceded with a sigh. “He was a regular pinchpenny who once had a footman transported for appropriating half a dozen candle stubs.”
“Do you wish to spend your life at the mercy of your steward?”
“Of course not, but there is plenty of time to learn. Carrington will tell me what I need to know in his own time. He is not the sort to relinquish control until he has to – but that will be years.”
Michael hesitated, finally shrugging. “Come along.” He led the way into the inn, taking a seat in a vacant corner of the taproom and ordering ale. “If you are old enough to consider marriage, then you are old enough to conduct your business affairs in an orderly fashion.”
“You don’t approve of my suit.”
“No, I don’t,” agreed Michael. “I cannot like tying Alice to a man who is ripe for plucking by every sharp in town. You wouldn’t hold onto your fortune long enough to provide for her. But I have no say in the matter. All I can do is pray that you are less heedless than you seem.”
“I am,” he vowed. “But learning about estate management is difficult. Such subjects are not taught at Oxford.”
“Of course not,” scoffed Michael. “God forfend that a gentleman’s education impart any useful information. I am almost glad that we cannot afford the university. I will take over Winter House when I finish at Eton.”
“But you will be only seventeen!” he objected.
“So? Penelope took over at that age and managed it much better than our father. She has trained me for years – and will be available to offer advice if I need it.”
Terrence shook his head, feeling untutored and naïve despite his greater age. “So she will oppose any match if I do not assume control of Tallgrove.”
“Hardly. You have the money to hire a good steward. Leave Alice out of this discussion. You should learn about your inheritance for your own benefit. Only a fool leaves his interests in the unguarded hands of others.”
“You have made your point, but we already agreed that school won’t teach me anything. Carrington will get around to it eventually.”
“Will he? Or is he another who will leave everything to his steward?”
“He has a reputation of being a hard-hearted man who attends personally to every detail. But I suspect that he will postpone any instruction, for he is another who disapproves of my betrothal.”
“We are leaving Alice out of this if you recall. Estate management is not something that can be learned in a two-hour tutorial
the day his guardianship ends. By then you will be so used to having him in charge that you may well leave him there. You had best train yourself. Penelope taught me everything I know, starting when I could barely talk. That won’t work for you, of course, but you might begin by asking Carrington how to supervise your steward. Encourage him to explain Scott’s crimes. Then talk to Carson. He will gladly teach you about Tallgrove. Get to know your tenants so they will tell you about any problems they encounter. Read books explaining the latest agricultural discoveries. Eventually you will know enough to judge your employees and discuss estate business without appearing foolish.”
“It sounds daunting. If only my father had taught me more.”
“How could he when he was so ignorant himself?”
“Perhaps Carrington will agree,” he said hopefully. “I have been trying to persuade him to let me stay here instead of returning to the university next term. I cannot face several months of separation from Alice.”
“I will be blunt, Lord Avery,” said Michael, reverting to flinty coldness. “You will be better served by finishing your education – both in and out of school – and setting your house in order. Penny wants Allie to be happy, but she is convinced that no one of your tender years can provide the security and support Alice needs. She is looking for maturity and reliability, not just infatuation, and will never approve marriage to someone with no experience of the world or how to maintain his position in it.”
“Then we must elope.”
Michael’s fist landed on the table loudly enough to draw the attention of a group of men across the taproom. “Is that the reaction of a mature, responsible gentleman? Do you honestly think Allie would enjoy life as a social pariah? Or do you care nothing for her feelings? You sound like a spoiled, arrogant child who insists on having his own way even at the expense of those he professes to love. Elopement is not acceptable in the worlds in which either of us live. Guilt would place a barrier between Alice and her family, though we would never turn against her. But society would ostracize her, especially such local high-sticklers as Lady Alderleigh and Lady Harbrough. Even if you could surmount that problem, her life would be far from easy. Your mother has hated my family for as long as I can remember. She would not accept any connection with equanimity, but an elopement would elicit perpetual disdain. How can you subject someone you love to that kind of antagonism?”
Terrence stared at the tabletop for some time, finally meeting Michael’s gaze. “You are right. I had not considered the consequences. But I never seriously contemplated eloping, either. Are you saying that marriage is a hopeless dream?”
“At the moment,” he answered brutally. “But not forever. All other considerations aside, by the time Alice comes of age, neither of you will need permission, but I don’t think it will come to that. Frankly, I believe you have the potential to be a good husband and an enlightened landowner. But you are not ready for either role at this point in your life. Your most pressing tasks are to repair the deficiencies in your education and address the problems of your estate, including what to do about your mother. Once your life is in order, you will have time to consider the future. If Alice truly loves you – and if you truly love her – the wait will harm neither of you.”
Terrence cringed at the words, though every one was true. At fifteen, Michael was a hard-nosed pragmatist who understood life’s realities better than he did. It was a sobering thought, but it spawned an idea that might convince both Penelope and Carrington. “You are right,” he admitted finally. “How did you become so knowing?”
“Living on the edge of poverty provides an incentive to improve one’s situation. And Penelope is an excellent teacher. Never forget that Alice has shared most of my education. She knows a great deal about estate management.”
“Would she think less of me if I asked her to teach me?”
“Not if she loves you.”
“Thank you.”
Terrence bade his future brother-in-law farewell, frowning as he rode back to Tallgrove and thrusting aside his lingering pique, for the message was too important to waste energy resenting the messenger. He owed a lot to young Michael.
Embarrassment heated his cheeks. Alice had asked several pointed questions about Tallgrove that he had turned aside with words that implied such topics were of little interest to a female. She must now consider him both arrogant and disdainful, a judgment too close to the truth to be comfortable. He would have to abandon such poses, at least with her. She was too intelligent to accept being treated like a widgeon, especially by one who professed to love her.
* * * *
Richard sat at his desk, but he was not working. Instead he stared into space, wishing he belonged to a family of intelligent, competent people. He was so tired of cleaning up everyone else’s messes. New problems seemed to crop up every day.
Millicent was a case in point. She had been moping for nearly a week, almost as if she had been jilted. Was it because his watchers prevented her from keeping assignations, or had Darksmith abandoned her? He suspected the latter. If his precautions were thwarting her, she would be angry rather than blue-deviled. And Darksmith must know that Richard was suspicious. He made a mental note to find out whether the man was still registered at the King’s Arms.
But he was not about to relax his vigilance. Perhaps they were feigning a separation. Millicent’s current mood could just as easily be impatience. And he could not forget that very odd encounter in the library. She had definitely been up to mischief.
Then there was that strange burglary in town last night. Someone had ransacked the solicitor’s office, taking a small amount of cash and a box of documents relating to Tallgrove Manor. The theft made no sense, for the papers were old – Gareth had used his father’s Exeter solicitor. The papers were not even unique, being local copies of ones filed elsewhere.
But Richard’s sense of trouble continued to grow. There were too many oddities at Tallgrove – Scott’s blatant thievery, Terrence’s involvement with Alice, Millicent’s liaison, Gareth’s plots, Mathilda’s antagonism, vandalism, burglary… Were any of them related? Maybe Scott had an accomplice who was seeking revenge. Darksmith perhaps? That might explain his reluctance to compromise Millicent. Yet Darksmith had arrived before Scott’s arrest.
Richard’s head ached. He disliked mysteries, especially when they smelled of danger.
Cawdry appeared in the doorway, a sheaf of papers in his hand. “The report on Winter House, my lord.”
“Thank you. Anything more on the missing Tallgrove file?”
“No, and it seems a pointless theft. I examined it last week. The firm has not worked for the estate since it passed into Avery hands.”
“Gareth’s grandfather acquired it as part of his wife’s dowry, I believe.”
“No, he inherited it from the third Marquess of Carrington. It was originally the second marchioness’s dowry. The burglary is peculiar, though. No one had looked at those records in well over a century until Lord Avery asked to see them eighteen months ago.”
Richard frowned. Gareth must have checked that file just before he initiated his plot against Winter House. “Thank you, Cawdry. Do you know if Darksmith is still in the area?”
“He caught the stage to Exeter five days ago. He is well-known at the Golden Stag, though no one knows his direction, and he did not stop there on his return. But Jeremy Jacobson – the squire’s son – claims to have spotted him in Plymtree yesterday.”
“Do any heiresses live near there?”
“I do not know.”
“Find out. If he is stalking someone else, we can forget about him once we warn the girl’s family.”
“Very well, my lord.”
Bidding his secretary farewell, he picked up the Winter House report.
In 1327, Baron Chesterton received Tallgrove Manor from the crown along with his title. Fire destroyed the fortified house in 1498, but the seventh baron rebuilt on the same site. In 1636, the thirteenth lord abandoned the h
ouse to his mother and future dowagers, building the larger, more formal manor that served Tallgrove today. Ten years later, he made the mistake of backing Charles in his fight against Parliament and was killed at Naseby. His wife and daughter fled to her parents’ home to escape retribution. Cromwell awarded Tallgrove to one of his own supporters.
Richard frowned, turning the page. This was supposed to be a report on Winter House. The second page seemed even less to the point, being the history of his own family. He skimmed rapidly down the sheet.
When Charles II assumed the throne after Cromwell’s death, he granted the title Marquess of Carrington to one of his staunchest allies. Carrington’s heir assumed his father’s old title of the Earl of Winston. In 1680 Winston married the only child of the ailing owner of Tallgrove Manor, receiving the estate as part of the girl’s dowry. Her father moved into the dower house. Five years later Winston needed to house a harridan aunt. Rather than endure her megrims, he built her a residence out of sight of the manor. His father-in-law died the following year, leaving the dower house vacant.
Not long after Winston acceded to the marquessate and moved to Carrington Castle, his fortunes reversed. He was the first of the Averys to exhibit the family characteristics of weak will and financial incompetence. To cover bad investments, he sold the Tallgrove dower house and three small tenant farms to a wealthy merchant, deciding that his aunt’s house would make a better dower house if one was ever needed.
Richard smiled. That explained why Lady Avery thought that the Wingraves were connected with trade. Before her marriage she had researched the Avery family history, which dated back to the Conqueror. She would know that the second marquess had sold Winter House to merchants and would have extrapolated the rest.
The third Lord Carrington was no more canny than his father, but he was proud of his youngest son – who won a viscountcy in 1746 – so he gave Tallgrove to the boy.
As for the lost slice of the estate, the merchant did not enjoy his new acquisition. Shortly after the purchase, he died. His son lacked both business acumen and character, losing the property in a card game to Jake Winterbottom, youngest son of a viscount. It was he who named it Winter House. But despite three marriages, he produced no heir, eventually bequeathing the estate to his niece Lucinda, who used it as a dowry when she married Walter Wingrave.