A Lady without a Lord (The Penningtons Book 3)

by Bliss Bennet

  No, far better to stay out of his brother’s problems altogether, and not add this potential debacle to his growing list of family failures.

  “Take care of this problem yourself, Dulcie. I am not the kind of brother to order about my own siblings.”

  “Oh, but I think you will,” Dulcie said as he dropped a heavy hand on Theo’s shoulder. “Because if you do not, a little bird just might whisper in your sister’s ear that part of her dowry has not yet been turned over to her spouse.”

  Theo’s head whipped to glare at the man beside him. “How do you know that?”

  Dulcie smiled, any momentary sadness hidden behind his artful grin. “I didn’t, not for certain. Not until your oh so revealing face told me so. Good thing you never play cards, Saybrook, for your expressions give all away.”

  Theo’s eyes narrowed. “A little bird will tell her? Say rather a sly, scheming snake.”

  But Dulcie, the brazen coxcomb, only laughed. “The tale will be as unwelcome to Lady Sayre whatever form the bearer takes. Would you have her hear it now, when you’ve only just managed to earn back her respect?”

  Theo grimaced, but said nothing.

  “I did not think so,” Dulcie said, taking his silence for assent. “Now, do this one little thing for me, Saybrook, and I promise to give a performance your people will never forget.”

  “What, we have to go through this damned pretense of a sword fight as well?”

  “Why, certainly. I wouldn’t want anyone to say I am in your debt.” Dulcie whipped his foil to the en guard position, then slashed it down with a flourish. “Bid you good day, my lord.”

  Damn the fellow for a manipulative bastard.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  “In conclusion, I thank you once again for the kind words expressed by Mr. Applewhite on behalf of the tenantry of Saybrook. I sincerely hope that my conduct in the coming years will meet with your full approval. For the happiness and welfare of you all must ever be the object of my life to promote.”

  Theo paused before the final line of his speech, gazing out on the hundreds of tenant families clustered about the back lawn of Saybrook House. All flummery, he’d thought, when Mr. Atherton and Sir John had suggested holding a ceremony to introduce him formally to his tenants. But he’d been surprisingly moved by it all, especially by the address of Mr. Applewhite, an elderly farmer with a truly impressive head of snowy hair. His ancestors had tenanted Saybrook lands since the estate was first established nearly two hundred years earlier. Applewhite had not only praised the Pennington family and its long history in Lindsey and Lincolnshire, as Theo had expected, but also boldly reminded Theo that while he had privileges as landlord, he also had a duty to advance the true interests of those who tilled the earth and herded the sheep. Landowning was not only a privilege, but a responsibility, both to his tenants and to his country.

  That anyone could think Theo capable of helping his tenants, of guiding the estate—such expectations fired him with unfamiliar zeal. If he had Harry to help him with the financial side of things, and to support him when his lack of ability presented problems, why, he had more than a passing chance of living up to their regard.

  Theo smiled, then raised his hands. “May we all share in health, in prosperity, and in all the blessings of heaven in the years to come!”

  Sir John Mather, who had been standing behind him on the terrace, stepped forward and raised an arm. “To Lord Saybrook!”

  “Lord Saybrook! Lord Saybrook!”

  Theo held perfectly still, letting pleasure and relief sink deep into his body. Even though Harry had not been here with him—preparations for the village fete that would begin later today had required her presence—he’d managed to get through his speech without tripping over his own tongue. And while he’d needed Sir John beside him when he greeted his tenants and their families earlier, to remind him of which names went with which faces, he’d soon devise enough rhymes or songs—Applewhite, cheeks like an apple, tongue with a bite—so he’d remember them without help.

  Yes, all in all, he counted it quite the successful morning. In fact, if he could get Harry to agree to announce their betrothal tonight, he might just count this day among the best of his life.

  The crowd gradually began to disperse, heading towards Oldfield and the less formal pleasures of the fete. Theo couldn’t leave yet, though, no matter how eager he was to see the wonders Harry and her fellow committee members had conjured in the village. For Sir John and Lindsey’s other local landowners expected a private celebration, too, to welcome the new Saybrook to their ranks.

  Landowners who included Henry Norton and his son George, the men who threatened to scuttle Per’s chances at a seat in Parliament.

  No, Theo would not be leaving, not until he had a chance to confront his father’s former ally. Preferably without an audience.

  Theo kept an eye on the two Nortons as he circulated through the Saybrook library, where the local gentry had gathered to raise a glass in his honor. Whenever the father and son approached him to take their leave, he maneuvered another man into conversation with them, even as he encouraged other well-wishers not to tarry and miss the delights of the fete. And by the time clock he had ordered from London, the one the clockmaker pledged had the loudest chimes ever heard, began to toll noon—he could tell because he counted each chime on fingers hidden behind his back—the Nortons were the only men remaining in the room.

  “Refill your glass, Norton? Young George?” he asked, raising the bottle of fine brandy Sir John had gifted to him at the start of the day. “I would not want my father’s most trusted friend to leave his home feeling unwelcome. Even if he insists on terming my brother-in-law a—what was it now? A seditious demagogue?”

  Mr. Norton the elder had the grace to look abashed. But his son stood his ground. “My lord. Nowhere in your speech did I hear you urging your tenants to overthrow their superiors. But Sir Peregrine Sayre has wed a woman you yourself have often acknowledged to be an impulsive, headstrong girl, and is a known supporter of political reform. And with a radical Irishwoman for sister-in-law, a woman whose own father was executed for his role in the Irish Rebellion, exerting a malevolent influence upon him, too, are my father and I not wise to fear demagoguery and sedition?”

  “Sir Peregrine is no radical, I assure you.”

  “But how can you be certain, my lord?” Mr. Henry Norton interjected.

  Theo shook his head and laughed. “Because my new brother-in-law has bent my ear so often, and at such lengths, about who should be granted the franchise and when that he’s almost talked it clean off. He has no seditious tendencies, I—”

  “But when a man falls under the influence of an ignorant, scheming woman,” George Norton interrupted, “how can we be certain that his views will not change?”

  On another day, Theo might have used his charm and humor to push the conversation in a less contentious direction. But today, buoyed by the support of his tenants and his fellow landowners, and by his own successes, he would not let the insult pass without comment.

  “Be careful, young George,” he said in a low, deliberate voice. “I may not share my sister-in-law’s political views, but I will not stand by and listen to her be so grossly insulted. Unless you are referring to Lady Sayre? If that is the case, Sir Peregrine cannot have gone too far. Or perhaps I will call for Sibilla herself. Did she not hand you an appropriately cutting set-down on more than one occasion, when you thought to take certain liberties at the Market Rasen Assembly a few years past?”

  The elder Mr. Norton shot a quelling glance at his red-faced son, then cleared his throat. “My apologies, Lord Saybrook. George meant no offense, I assure you. Our concern is for Lincolnshire, and for England.”

  “As is my own, and Sir Peregrine’s. My brother-in-law advocates change, yes, but of the gradual, not immediate, sort. And he certainly does not advocate an overthrow of our Sovereign, or of the aristocracy. I would not support him otherwise.”

  Mr. Nort
on rubbed his temple with a lined hand. “For my peace of mind, will you swear to it, my lord?”

  “If that would reassure you, sir, then yes. On my honor as a gentleman, I swear to you that Sir Peregrine is no radical. Nor will he become one, not if he desires my continued patronage and support.”

  The elder man gave a heavy sigh. “Thank you, my lord. I appreciate your condescension more than I can say.”

  Theo took up the brandy bottle and poured another dram into the elder man’s glass. “Enough to ask your son to withdraw from the election?” he asked.

  Norton glanced at his son then gave a short nod. “If you wish it, my lord.”

  “No, father!” George Norton cried, interposing himself between his father and Theo. “Would you forgive Lord Saybrook when he failed to keep his promise to you?”

  “Promise? What promise have I not kept?” Theo asked.

  “Not yours, my lord, but that of the late Lord Saybrook.”

  “But George, you know it was only the most informal of agreements.” The elder Mr. Norton laid a hand on his son’s arm. “Nothing was ever put down in writing.”

  George Norton waved a hand at Theo. “If his word is to be trusted, why should not yours?”

  “Why not indeed? Come, Mr. Norton, sit down and tell me what the late Lord Saybrook promised you.”

  Theo’s words seemed to have calmed the pugnacious George. Both he and his father took a seat by Theo’s desk.

  “You were just a child at the time, my lord,” Mr. Norton began, “so you may not recall, but your father once purchased a bit of land from me. My family was in some financial difficulty, and our property, encumbered as it was, could not be further mortgaged. The only solution seemed to sell.”

  Theo nodded in sympathy. Wasn’t he facing the same situation himself?

  “I was loath to give up any part of the estate, though, and argued bitterly with my brothers over it. Your father, friend that he was to all of us, intervened. He offered to purchase the land, with the understanding that upon his death, it would revert to our family.”

  Theo frowned. “But there was nothing in his will about any such bequest, was there?”

  “No.” Mr. Norton gave sad smile.

  “Why did you not mention it with me after my father’s passing?”

  “Because as soon as your year of mourning was over, you asked him to give up his seat in Parliament,” George accused. “And if he had spoken of it then, would you not have regarded it as a demand for compensation for acceding to your wishes? Many would say it would only be his just due, after serving your family so faithfully over the years, but not my father. No, he would not give anyone the least grounds for accusing him screwing or squeezing for money that was not rightfully his.”

  “I am no suck-purse, my lord,” the older man added, chin raised high.

  “Of course you are not,” Theo said. “No one who knows you would ever think such a thing.”

  “So you will give us back the land?” the younger Norton said in a rush.

  “George! Do not be so precipitate. The late Lord Saybrook may have included the property in the entail.”

  Theo leaned forward in his chair and clasped his hands between his knees. Yet another debt weighing on his estate. And a debt of honor, too. But surely, today of all days, it might be possible to turn the problem into an opportunity.

  “There is no entail. I am free to dispose of any land as I wish. I am not certain, though, it would be in the best interests of the estate, or its people, to give away any property without due recompense. But I have been considering selling some property of late.”

  The elder Mr. Norton clutched the arms of his chair. “Would you consider selling ours back to us?”

  Theo smiled. “If you would offer me a fair price.”

  Mr. Norton smiled back. “The same as your father paid. Eighty acres at thirty pounds per acre. A total of two thousand four hundred pounds. I have the record of it right here in my pocket.”

  One. Two. Three. Four. Theo counted out the numbers, tapping his fingers against his knee in what he hoped the Nortons would take for a simple physical tic. Two is less than four. He might secure a better price elsewhere, but maintaining good relations with his neighbors and allies was far more important. And even two thousand and some-odd pounds would go a long way toward discharging his debt to his sister and Per.

  “We are in agreement,” he said as he stood and held out his hand. “I will have my solicitor draw up the papers directly.”

  An unfamiliar sense of accomplishment washed over him as Mr. Norton, and then his son, took his hand to seal their bargain. He had done it, fixed at least a part of his financial problems. And without the help of his brothers, or Haviland, or even Harry. He wouldn’t wish to make a practice of it, making business deals without their advice, without Harry’s far stronger head for sums and figures. But to know he could, upon occasion, handle such a thing on his own, well—his lungs expanded to their fullest with his deep, satisfied breaths.

  As he shook Mr. Norton’s hand, a strange tapping sounded from the passageway behind him..

  “Forgive me for interrupting,” said Lord Dulcie as he flicked the tip of a rapier against the doorframe. “But you’ve a promise of your own to keep, Saybrook. And I am certain you would not wish to disappoint your dear, dear sister, would you?”

  Theo’s jaw clenched. Damn Dulcie and his tauntingly veiled threats. But he would not let such a self-satisfied peacock put a damper on his spirits this day. No, Theo was done hiding, done dancing to others’ tunes.

  “I’ll be with you in a moment, Dulcie. Mr. Norton, George, will we see you both at the fete this afternoon?”

  “Yes, my lord. My wife would never forgive me if we did not visit Mrs. Hawley’s booth before she sells out of her famed gingerbread,” Mr. Norton said.

  “Then I will wish you good morning. Parsons will see you to the door. Dulcie, a word.”

  Dulcie, who had been about to follow the Nortons, turned back to Theo with a sly smile. “Do not tell me you’ve misplaced your sword, Saybrook? Or forgotten the time of our match? Two of the clock, it is to be—all you must needs do is listen for the church bells to ring once, then again. Quite easy, really. So easy, even a simpleton could manage.”

  “I am not a simpleton, Dulcie, despite any belief you may have to the contrary. A simpleton would give in to extortion, thinking to escape further harm, not realizing that taking one step back in fear will only lead a bully to demand for another, and another.”

  “Ah, you’ve let today’s adulation go to your head, haven’t you?” Dulcie swung the rapier in a mocking circle about that head, whipping a little too close for comfort. But Theo stood his ground. “Not wise, Saybrook, unwise, to think you can renege on our agreement without consequence.”

  “If you tax your memory, I believe it will tell you I never agreed to this damned duel, or to persuade my brother to paint your charming visage. If you want Benedict to paint your bloody portrait, then you will have to persuade him yourself.”

  “Ah, feeling your oats, are you, Saybrook? But will you be so sanguine after your sister hears of your mismanagement of her dowry?” Dulcie flick the tip of the sword against Theo’s waistcoat. “For I cannot, in all good conscience, promise to hold my tongue much longer.”

  Theo shoved the rapier away with his arm, then yanked, pulling the sword from his hand and jerking the shorter man to his knees. “Please, do not trouble your delicate conscience, my lord. I will save you the distasteful task of telling my sister. Tonight, after the fete.”

  Dulcie rose, brushing away imaginary dust from his pantaloons. “Ah, the affable lion finally rears rampant. Forgive me for doubting the Saybrook coat of arms still accurately reflected the character of the family.”

  “Threaten me, or any member of family again, Dulcie, and you’ll soon find out how sharp are the claws and teeth behind my affable front.”

  Theo held out the sword, hilt forward, to his opponent. Dulcie
stared at it, then at him, for a long, considering moment. Then, with a quicksilver smile, the annoying man grasped the hilt and, with a quick snap of his wrist, flourished it in acknowledgement. After giving a crisp bow, he backed from the room, as if he were a loyal subject and Theo his liege lord.

  Even though it was meant at least in part as mockery, Theo could not help but feel that Dulcie now regarded him with more esteem than he had before the day had begun. And if Theo could persuade a man as hard to win over as Lord Dulcie that he was truly worthy of respect, could the rest of the world be far behind?

  “Watch yerself there, miss!”

  Harry ducked as a burly laborer hefted a plank off his wagon and swung it close to where she stood, lost for a moment in wishing. Not for the chance to ride a wooden horse on the round-about the man was in the midst of assembling on the Oldfield village green, as did the knot of children who swarmed the magical construction, their faces bright and eager. No, contrary creature, she longed not to be in bustling Oldfield, but back at Saybrook House, standing by Theo’s side as he was formally welcomed by the Saybrook tenantry and acknowledged as their new lord. Or at the very least, cheering him on from the crowd, showing him with her smiles and huzzahs how she admired him, how proud she felt to be counted amongst his friends. How honored she would be if, after all his successes today, he still wished her to become his wife.

  But instead, here she was in the village, making sure that the fete which would follow proved just as successful. From just after dawn, she had bustled between the tents and booths that clustered around the green, directing the tradesmen and performers to their temporary shops and stages before the day’s festivities began in earnest. She should be taking pleasure in the task, following as she was in her mother’s footsteps as lady of the hour. But during any lull in the work, no matter how brief, her eyes turned toward Saybrook House. As if simply by staring she might bring the wanted sight of Theo into view.

  “Miss Atherton? Miss Atherton, where is the thespian troupe to pitch its tent?”