We turned our full attention to Mr. Fogg. He reached for a stack of papers that up to now had lain disregarded on a small table by his side. Sitting down again he cleared his throat portentously. “My lord.”
Martha looked at James to see how he would take the new title, but he didn’t move a muscle.
We waited tensely. I glanced at Lizzie. Her eyes were wide and excited. She sat forward in her chair, her elbows pressed hard on its arms. I hoped I didn’t betray myself as clearly. I passed my tongue along my dry lips, not daring to not break the tension by pouring myself a glass of water from the pitcher on the sideboard. I felt as wrung out as a dishcloth.
“Both of the unfortunately deceased earls had only standard wills, which were drawn up in their father’s time,” began Mr. Fogg. “I was to have drawn up a betrothal contract and two very unusual wills, as well as bringing the necessary documents to break the entail.” He glanced up at James. “I may take it this is no longer necessary, my lord?”
James answered in the affirmative. A silence followed, only broken by the sound of shuffling paper while the man of law sorted through the bulk of his papers and set them aside.
“Then we are left with the original wills. These are standard documents, only altered on the fifth earl’s marriage. Adequate provision is made for his wife in the event of the earl’s death without issue—that is a matter which we must be sure of, by the way—” He pushed his cup aside to make room for the growing pile of papers.
“You mean you wish to ensure Lady Hareton isn’t with child?” Martha was indignant. “The poor lady is distraught. How do you suggest we do that?”
“I suggest that we wait,” the lawyer replied. “No dispositions can be made until the wills have undergone probate, and by then we will know for sure. I shall, of course, expedite matters for you as quickly as possible.”
There was a pause. Eventually, James asked the question we all wanted to know the answer to, interrupting Mr. Fogg’s orderly flow. “Was Lord Hareton bankrupt?”
James clasped his hands tightly in his lap: I saw he feared the worst. The lawyer’s next words shocked us all. “Dear me, no. Oh no. I can see how you would make that error, my lord, but I can assure you Lord Hareton was most comfortably circumstanced.”
He cleared his throat again and I took the opportunity to pour some water out for both of us. I didn’t spill any, but came near to it. I didn’t think I could take many more shocks today. The lawyer accepted the glass with profuse gratitude, obviously more tense than he showed on the outside. I was glad of the drink too.
Mr. Fogg looked down at his papers once more. “The fifth earl disliked ostentatious display. When he fell in with this—ahem—new religion of his, he became determined to dispose of all his property and donate it to his minister.” He looked up at us. “The greater bulk of the estate is covered by the entail, so he could not dispose of it. He salted away his income for years, instead of reinvesting it in the estate.” The man paused, looking round with some satisfaction at the sensation he caused before continuing. We sat still, wide eyed, transfixed by his words. “I can grant you access to some of these accounts immediately, but most will not be free until probate is established. The late earl was possessed of a great fortune in cash, which could be reinvested if your lordship should wish it.”
A stunned silence fell, while we took in the startling news.
Martha found her voice at last. “Why didn’t he sell the treasures in the Abbey? Why did he leave them to rot?”
“He’d planned a grand sale, to rid himself of everything at once,” Mr. Fogg replied. “I should also tell you that a great deal of bad blood existed between the late earl and his father. I think he took some—satisfaction in seeing the treasures his father had amassed so carefully go to rack and ruin.”
So, the Abbey and all its treasures had been deliberately neglected. This whole affair had taken on a new, dreadful texture. Who would want to destroy such lovely things? What kind of insanity produced such a desire?
Martha must have been thinking along the same lines. “Then the third earl didn’t bankrupt the estate with his building projects and style of living?”
“No, my lady.” The man of law looked her straight in the eye. “He depleted some of the resources it is true, but he was a good and careful landlord and the estate is basically sound. Or was. In the last ten years many of the farms and manors have been kept short of funds for repair and maintenance, and I am informed more modern methods of husbandry would also improve matters.”
James began to brighten up when he found something he could do. “Why, I’ve been interested in farming all my life. I can do a great deal on that head.”
Mr. Fogg ventured a smile. “It is what the estate needs. And this isn’t the only property requiring attention, nor is it the largest estate in the earldom. Of course, there is your own estate in Devonshire now, two more substantial houses, the house in London, and various other concerns. Most of the property is concentrated in the south of the country.”
Lizzie caught her breath and I glanced at her sharply. Her face shone with new hope.
James saw the light, and perhaps a lifetime’s work. “But it’s like our own estate only larger.” If he had been given an estate in perfect working order, I don’t think he’d have taken the news so well. With this, something he could make his own, he’d be so busy that he could adjust to his new station in life without even noticing it.
“I will make an effort to bring this house into order. I will not send for my children, not yet. I don’t wish to house them here, with the house in this state.”
“And you will need new staff, my lady?” Mr. Fogg said.
“Indeed I will.” Martha agreed.
“For the time being, I suggest your ladyship might find willing hands in the village. In old Lord Hareton’s day many of his staff came from there. They were dismissed when the fourth earl inherited. If you leave word at the inn that you will interview prospective members of staff, I am sure the response will be both immediate and swift. If you wish to engage more senior staff members, I can recommend Thompson’s in London. They provide high class servants for most of the major families in the country.”
“Splendid.” Martha brightened. I could see her mind racing ahead, as she too accepted the challenge thrown down by our sudden change in fortune.
I couldn’t take any more, I’d heard enough. I wanted to be on my own. Martha looked concerned when I stood, forcing a smile. “It’s been a long day. Do you mind if I leave you to it?”
Martha immediately stood and came to take my hand. “I’m sorry, Rose, I should have thought earlier. The shock, all you’ve done to help today—would you like dinner in your room?”
I shook my head; I didn’t want any fuss. “No. Just a little time on my own.”
I left the room, heading swiftly outdoors. I wanted some fresh air.
Leaning against the wall by the back door, I tried to think, but it did no good. My mind raced, taking me along avenues I had no desire to face. I feared Steven would redouble his attentions to me, that I would never see my comfortable home again.
And I’d fallen in love with someone impossible.
I turned and struck my fist against the unyielding wall, feeling the soft flesh lose the battle with the hard Yorkshire stone. I took it away and felt for my handkerchief, holding it against the blood welling up from the scrape. At least this was proper pain. It gave me something real to consider.
I shivered and turned to go in. I met James and Martha, coming outside to see Mr. Fogg to his carriage. Martha’s gaze travelled to my hand, swathed in my handkerchief, but she said nothing. The lawyer refused an invitation to stay, saying he should get back to York and begin his work as soon as possible. I envied him his comfortable bed and warm house.
“Thank you for these papers, my lord.” He motioned to a leather case in his hand. “I will contact you again as soon as matters are under way.”
Then he fumbled in his pocket
and drew out a piece of pasteboard. “This is the address of Thompson’s in London. You will find them invaluable in the provision of upper servants.” He gave the card to Martha with a small flourish. She took it, with a smile. “I have had some dealings with them in the past. If you wish it, I can contact them for you. They’ll send you a list of the servants they think are suitable.”
“Most kind, Mr. Fogg,” Martha replied. An impressively efficient man of law for such a ramshackle family.
He had an air of pomposity that probably came with his position in life. We watched his vehicle jolt down the drive, then returned to the house.
I found Lizzie and we went upstairs to rest, to my room, since all our bedding was there. We removed our outer clothes, loosened our stays, lay down together and slept like babies.
I awoke later when Lizzie turned over, taking most of the covers with her. When I pulled them back, it woke her, and we grinned at each other, like children waking from an afternoon nap. Lizzie got up and sat by the fire. Thanks to Martha, there were now coals in a bucket by the fire. She heaped them on the flames. It would take more than one fire to dispel the neglect, the dampness, but it was a great comfort.
My sister wiped her hands on a nearby cloth and turned a face of beatific bliss to me. “The world is our oyster now, Rose love. It’s London and society for us.”
I sat up in bed, stretching my arms high above my head. I felt much better for the sleep. “I can’t help thinking something will change. I’m not sure I want all this.”
Lizzie laughed. “You must be mad. We can enter society at the highest level now. We can have all the beautiful things we want. We can pick and choose, Rose. Pick and choose.” Her voice trailed off, as her imagination took hold.
I interrupted her reverie, hugging my knees for comfort. “I’m not sure I want all that. After all, I’m twenty-five and all the clothes in the world won’t hide that. I’ll still be an old maid. Just a richer one.”
“But you’ll be a fresh face, Rose. You have maturity and grace and—things like that. And if you don’t take, you’ll be able to set up your own establishment, if you want to.”
That hadn’t occurred to me so far, and I had to admit, it did put a rosier glow on our new station in life. I would no longer have to squeeze into a corner of an overcrowded mansion, looking after my younger siblings, nephews and nieces. This was the common lot of a dependant, unmarried woman of my station in life. Good for nothing, trained for nothing but how to be a conformable wife. Independence would atone for many things I now stood to lose.
Lizzie must have seen my expression change. “There, now. I knew you’d see the advantages after you’d rested. Rose, I won’t be hypocritical, not with you. We didn’t know the last two earls and while I would never have wished such a terrible fate on them I cannot be sorry that the title has fallen to us.”
Lizzie smiled encouragingly, the smile warming her face to enchantment. It was to her own merit that she set no store by such tricks.
I smiled back. “No one will look at me twice, next to you.”
I was not being overly modest. Merely honest. Lizzie had everything required of a modern beauty—small stature, with clear skin, limpid blue eyes, hair like spun silk and a charming personality. I had always known that. From the moment of her come out, young men fell at her feet. She knew it, too.
“You have your qualities, Rose. You’ll find someone.”
“What? A widower wanting a comfortable partner?” I didn’t want that. “Do you know such a man?”
In preparation for our next year’s London visit, my sister read every newspaper and magazine she could lay her hands on. She rejected politics and news in favour of society gossip. She studied prints of society notables until she could recognise them on the street—not that any of them ever came to Exeter, the centre of our social world. She’d be well prepared to explode upon the London scene, and she would probably capture the heart of a duke in the first month. I wished I could be more like her, confident and charming, but her success didn’t make me jealous. She was my sister and I loved her. She had always been generous with her expertise, helping me to choose the right fabrics for my clothes and showed me how to ply my fan flirtatiously, but it didn’t help. I was too tall and plain for flirtation.
“Have you read anything about Lord Strang and his brother?” I asked her now.
“Oh yes,” Lizzie said.
I sat up in bed, hugging my knees. “Tell me.”
“Why the sudden interest? Can it be you feel a sudden interest in one of them? Has Mr. Gervase Kerre’s charms reached even your stony heart?”
I managed a laugh, trying to keep our conversation light. “No, it’s just that when one meets them face to face, it becomes more interesting.”
“Yes, of course.” A gleam in her eyes belied her docile agreement. She settled down in the chair and told me their story, or as much of it as could be gleaned from the papers she pored over. “Well, twelve years ago when they had both just turned eighteen, a terrible scandal erupted when the Honourable Gervase eloped with their neighbour, Lady Boughton. They ran away to France together. After six months, the families prevailed upon Lady Boughton to return. She lived apart from her husband for a year before he finally forgave her. Lord Southwood is a stickler for propriety, and he refused to let his son into his presence again, so Mr. Kerre took the Tour. He went first to Italy, then went on to India, where he engaged in various speculations. He returned to England at the beginning of last year, enormously rich.” She looked at me, her eyes shining. “Still not interested? The family seemingly reconciled. But when he returned, he resurrected the scandal. Until Lord Strang offered for Miss Cartwright the papers were full of it.”
“A beautiful summary.”
Lizzie laughed. “Oh, I went and read it all when I knew they were to be here.” She leaned back in her chair. “Lord Strang, meantime, has tried every extravagance he is capable of, but he didn’t actually step over the line. He dresses beautifully and has affair after affair, but he never stays with any of the women for long. Wherever he is, trouble seems to follow. There have been scandals aplenty. Whenever you read about an elopement, a suspicious death, or a theft, he always seems to be there. I think he’s more dangerous than his brother and now we’ve come into the title, I shan’t look in their direction for my matchmaking.”
“Lizzie.”
“What? You want me to be less than honest with you?” She gazed at me, wide-eyed, lovely. “I thought we agreed a long time ago we would always be honest with each other.”
She was right. Lizzie even knew about the mess with Steven. She’d implored me, for months, to sever all connections with him, but she’d told no one else, as she’d promised at the start of the flirtation. I knew I could trust her.
Therefore, I told her of my strange feeling. “After the accident, I felt something I’ve never experienced before for anyone. When I look at him, I feel weak, excited and very, very nervous.”
I didn’t look at her as she asked, “Who? Gervase Kerre?”
“No. His brother.”
“Oh dear.”
I met her gaze. “I’ve decided to do what I can to avoid him. I’m sure it’s only the shock or something like that. I’ll recover.”
“I hope so. It’s the only thing you can properly do. I know it’s not incurable. Do you remember Mr. Jameson, last year?” The previous year Lizzie had been encouraged and then let down by a callow youth of our acquaintance. Martha had had hopes, but he dropped Lizzie in favour of a richer prospect. I wished him joy of it now, as only I knew how much Lizzie had suffered from this humiliation. She’d held her head high for months afterwards. I nodded, to show I remembered him. “Well, though I thought I would die of love for him, it passed in a month or two. I might be rather shallow, I suppose, but I’m not the only person this has happened to. Truly, Rose, life does go on afterwards. Now, all I want is to flaunt myself in front of him as Lord Hareton’s sister and show him what he turned down.
I will, you know.”
I didn’t doubt it. “He deserves it.”
“Try to retain your own self in his presence. It will pass, I’m sure of it. Despite Lord Strang being contracted to someone else, he’s trouble.”
I had to agree with her. It sounded as if the brothers were trouble. I should fight to overcome my stupid weakness, keep it to myself. There would be plenty of opportunities to come, and this one was foolish, not to be thought of.
Chapter Six
I awoke early the next morning. I dressed, careful not to disturb Lizzie where she lay with her arm flung out on my pillow, the epitome of sweet disorder. I’d promised to help Martha after breakfast, but I needed some fresh air first. Mainly because it was the least overgrown part of the gardens, I took the path of least resistance to the stables.
The double doors to the coach house lay open, and the groom was about, busy about his duties in one of the loose boxes. I heard him singing softly, though I couldn’t distinguish the song. I went to look in the coach house, at the end of the run of horse boxes, and there, in the dim light, was the ruin of the family coach.
My curiosity got the better of me as it so often did, and I went in to take a closer look. I examined the vehicle carefully, curious to know what had caused such a terrible accident. It was easily the worst carriage accident I’d ever seen. I walked slowly around it.
It had been put back on its wheels, but the rear end reeled back drunkenly on its chassis and tipped the front end high into the air. Clearly, the suspension had given way. Like the rest of the late earl’s possessions, it had been allowed to deteriorate by simple neglect. The once proud monogram on the doors had been all but obscured by the passage of time; the leather seats inside were cracked and split in places, the discoloured stuffing protruding. The floorboards were scuffed and there were none of the usual items to help with comfort on a journey one would expect to find in any family vehicle, much less one which belonged to an earl.
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