Some found the tasks drudgery; others had caught wind of the game of it, and had taken up the spirit of the thing.
It was still unclear who was for which side, but Sophia supposed sides did not matter so long as the antics were accomplished.
If there had been a clock in the foyer, it would have ticked ominously in perfect time with her pacing, which made a perfect cadence for her tapping three fingers into the palm of one hand. How could he be so hard to find in his own house? It truly was remarkable; he could be just as maddening and impossible when he was not even present.
Just when Sophia had thought the sun would surely set, Mrs. Sexton came back, her expression puzzled. “I am so sorry, Miss Anson, but it appears Mr. Roth is not at home after all. Forkes says he saw Mr. Roth riding out not an hour ago, and that he had said something about a meeting with Mr. Maxwell, the estate manager.”
Sophia grinned very slowly. “No need to apologize, Mrs. Sexton. I believe that will do quite well enough for me.”
“I think you will find, Mr. Roth, that your land is perfectly suited for farming. Several tenant farms are still in good order, but several more could easily be added.”
Larkin nodded, inhaling deeply and breathing in the rich, fresh air that seemed particular to the lands about Rosennor. He’d been out riding every day, scouring every inch of the land that was his, and, if he were honest, some of the land that was Sophia’s.
Surely nobody would truly mark the dividing line between their respective acreage. Who was to know?
“Farms, you say,” Larkin mused as his horse shifted restlessly beneath him. “Do you think I would be able to find tenants for those new farms?”
“Oh, indeed, sir,” Mr. Maxwell agreed with an eager nod. The man was young, but certainly capable and dedicated to his position and profession. “There are some farms in existence that have been allowed to fall by the wayside, and it would be only too easy for them to be brought back up to snuff. I think there are several able men with families that would leap at the chance to tenant farm for Rosennor Hall. Quite the honor, as it happens.”
Larkin snorted just once. There might have been something considered honor about working for or living on Rosennor in the past, but he could not claim there was any such now. Rosennor was an absolute mess, and the people within it a mess as well.
He couldn’t speak for the tenants, or the servants, but the master and mistress of Rosennor were the slightest bit of a mess, and that sort of thing tended to spread.
Still, he had hoped that there might be a way to bring honor and prestige and prosperity back to the place, and this might be his chance. After being holed up in his study for days going over accounts and ledgers, which seemed to be in a precariously similar state as Sir Kentworth’s will had been, Larkin finally felt he had a decent enough grasp on things to see for himself. Rosennor was not failing, not in the slightest, but it had certainly been mismanaged.
The only thing he could truly aim for now would be that having two separate owners of its lands and tenants would not lead it into further mismanagement.
He would not have pegged Sophia Anson as a woman with a head for figures, facts, or management, so he could only pray that his side of things would do enough to keep the entire estate from floundering hopelessly.
He would certainly have been declared a laughing stock for that. A man with only half an estate had let it fail because of the machinations and sensibilities of a woman. Bankruptcy with only half of the lands and estate to control.
Don’t be ridiculous.
Larkin shook himself and glanced at Mr. Maxwell. “I’ll think on that. Perhaps you might introduce me to a few of the more experienced farmers already on the land? It would help to get their take on the situation and have them advise us, as it were.”
“An excellent thought, Mr. Roth,” Mr. Maxwell replied with an approving nod. “And a very civil one. Now, about the cattle.”
“If you are going to be talking about cattle, Mr. Maxwell, then you had best be talking to me.”
Larkin took no trouble to hide his groan of dismay at the almost cheerful feminine voice behind him. How in the hell had she found out about this? How had she found them?
How had she gotten to them?
Larkin turned around as best as he could in his saddle, glaring at her. “Is that my horse I see you riding?” he demanded.
Sophia had neglected a true riding habit and wore only a bonnet and short coat as outerwear over her day dress, and she seemed completely nonplussed by it. She smirked at him with all the fondness one might give a rodent. “No, Mr. Roth, it is not. Mr. Taylor’s nephew is visiting the stables, and it is the horse he has brought from his own master. I asked him leave to borrow the animal, and he consented. I did take one of your side saddles, however, and that was done without permission. I trust you do not need it at present?”
Gads, he wanted to flash a wicked grin at her barbs, but that would be rather akin to admitting defeat.
“I only ride side saddle on Thursdays, Miss Anson,” he retorted, somehow maintaining composure. “But in future, please do inquire as to their availability. I would hate for one to go missing.”
Her eyes narrowed, but he saw her lips quirk and thought, for a moment, that she might smile. He wasn’t quite sure what he would have done then, but he felt the strangest combination of relief and disappointment.
Sophia turned her attention to Maxwell then. “Now what is it that you were going to say about my cattle, Mr. Maxwell?”
Poor Maxwell looked between the two of them as though the pair of them were a two-headed dragon he had simply stumbled upon. “I… Well, the time is fast approaching for market, ma’am, and none of the cattle have been selected or prepared for it, if we intend to sell any of the beasts.”
“And why were these matters not seen to in Sir Kentworth’s absence?” Sophia asked in a firm, but not unkind voice. “Surely such things had a designated executor, given his death and the time it can take for wills and legacies to be settled.”
She had a point there, and Larkin rested his hands on the horn of the saddle as he turned to watch Maxwell wrestle with the statement.
“Mr. Tanner, that is, the man who oversees the cattle,” Maxwell said after a moment of indecision, “did not feel it was his place to submit recommendations for animals that were not his property.”
“Hmm,” Sophia mused without indicating either approval or the reverse. “And what is your opinion of Mr. Tanner in these matters, Mr. Maxwell? Is he appropriately experienced in his occupation? Does he care for the animals the way he should? Is he trustworthy? Rosennor may be a farming estate, or potentially one, but there is nothing stopping us from being a leading supplier of beef and dairy for the surrounding area, if we can maintain an unsurpassed quality.”
Larkin stared at Sophia in awe, impressed against his will. Where in the world had she come from? If he didn’t know better, he would have thought she had been studying the ledgers of the estate just as he had been, which he knew to be impossible, as the ledgers were all in his office, in which room she was not permitted.
Sophia quirked a brow, reminding both men present that neither had answered her yet.
Maxwell was quick to clear his throat. “Mr. Tanner is one of the best, Miss Anson, and the cattle are particularly well-cared for. Sir Kentworth relied on him most heavily with all things regarding them, and I believe there was a tidy profit made last year from the sales in cattle.”
“Excellent.” Sophia dipped her chin in a gracious nod of approval. “If you would kindly arrange for a meeting with Mr. Tanner for me, we may quickly get Rosennor up to snuff, and her cattle ready for market.”
“Of course, Miss Anson,” Mr. Maxwell chirped, warming to her now. “I shall arrange it at once. Would you care to look over your lands? I’ve given Mr. Roth a report on his shares, and I am happy to do the same for you.”
Sophia smiled just a little, which was enough for the sun to come out. “I’ve seen them, Mr
. Maxwell. I walked every acre of them since my arrival, and have made some scrupulous notes regarding my thoughts. I wonder if I might persuade you to meet with me tomorrow to discuss these matters? I would much prefer to ride at my pleasure on so fine a day.”
Lord, but Mr. Maxwell looked as flattered as a puppy trailing after an heiress as he smiled, tipping his hat to her. “Of course, Miss Anson. I am at your service, and would be happy to provide you with whatever information you need.”
“Lovely,” came the prim reply. Then her flashing eyes turned to Larkin, and became a shade colder. “By the by, Larkin, we will need to find another companion for your mother. I’m afraid Mrs. Leach found the position not entirely suited to her tastes and abilities, and your mother was gracious enough to release her from the agreement.”
Larkin frowned at that. His mother was never gracious with the companions, and she raged every time one of them left. She was finding it harder and harder to trust anyone when they all abandoned her, and Sophia would know that well, as his mother was housed in her wing of the house. It was likely that his mother had added to Mrs. Leach’s unhappiness, if not been the direct cause of her sudden departure.
This was why he had not been particularly pleased to have his mother in the house while Sophia was also in residence. Life with his mother could grow complicated, and it was a headache to have anyone else involved.
What his mother wanted was for Larkin to take care of her, and it just was not possible for him to do so in the manner she wished. Not if he were ever to have a life of his own.
The guilt surrounding such an admission never sat comfortably on him, but he had learned over the years that if he could not be honest with everyone in the world, it was the least he could do to be honest with himself.
He nodded at Sophia without emotion. “Thank you. I will take that into advisement and act accordingly.”
Understanding passed between them as she nodded tightly in return, and Larkin felt, only momentarily, a warm burst somewhere beneath his ribcage.
He might not know what he was going to do with his mother yet, but there was someone else who understood the magnitude of the task before him.
Somehow that was comforting.
“Well, I’m off,” Sophia said as she flicked the reins. She clicked her tongue and the horse skipped into a gallop, carrying her away from them without another word.
Larkin watched her go, pursing his lips a little. Sophia Anson was a puzzle, and time would only tell if he hated this puzzle and tossed it aside or was fascinated and wanted to put it together.
Mr. Maxwell cleared his voice behind him. “Excuse me, Mr. Roth, but if you are needing a companion for your mother, I believe I may know a few women from the village suited for the task.”
“That sounds marvelous, Maxwell,” Larkin replied, barely looking at the man, but nodding in acknowledgement. “Send them to the estate for an interview if they have interest, will you? I’ll see each of them this week.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Roth. Now, shall we see to your sheep? And you have a goat as well.”
Larkin’s lip curved in a humorless smile. “Do I, indeed? How fortunate.”
CHAPTER 8
Sophia had often thought herself to be a young woman of remarkable patience and endurance. A woman not easily riled, who could exude calm, behave in a collected manner, and who possessed many of the finer qualities necessary to inspire all who knew her. Most of the time, she felt she succeeded in this.
Today was not one of those days.
She had been pushed beyond her limits, and she feared the limits of all human decency.
“Larkin Roth!” she bellowed with all the force and air capacity her frame allowed.
The echoes ricocheting off of the walls of Rosennor had an oddly satisfying ring to them.
The silence that followed it had an offsetting disgust attached to it. If there had been crickets in the house, their chorus would have been the only sound. As there were none, there was no music to accompany the complete lack of response she currently had.
Fuming, Sophia clenched her fists and marched down the only corridor on this floor she was permitted entrance, which unfortunately went in the opposite direction of where she needed to go, but there was no course but to follow the rules she and Larkin had set up in the house. After all, she wasn’t about to allow him in her wing of the house just for the sake of his convenience and taste.
He was creating enough trouble staying where he was.
She huffed up the back stairs of her wing, and marched down the endless corridor of guest rooms, wondering why he had a whole gallery while she had scads of rooms that would never be used. She had a deep love for art, though she had minimal skills in it herself, and she would have loved nothing more than to slowly meander the gallery for the sheer pleasure of the thing. But no, she could only barely remember the place, impressive as it was, from their first tour. Her own wing of the house had limited artwork, and she had enjoyed what was there to the full.
Until today.
“LARKIN!” she thundered as she rounded the last of the bed chambers into the smaller corridor that connected the addition to the main of the house.
Two maids appeared from one of the rooms extending from the corridor, giving Sophia a worried look before scurrying away from her.
She couldn’t follow them; she had reached the limitation of her abilities to tread, and any further steps beyond her present position would be trespassing, and she would not put it past Larkin to bring in a magistrate to prosecute her for such a crime.
She made a face and rubbed her thumbs anxiously over fists, her legs trembling with her rage. “LARKIN!”
“For the love of blessed Christendom, woman, will you cease with your incoherent screeching?” came the roar of pure indignity and irritation from just down the corridor.
Larkin himself appeared then, jacket slung over one shoulder, his brow furrowed as darkly as the color of his hair, which was just the slightest disarrayed. Unfortunately, this was a rather attractive look for him to bear, even amidst the fury, and the flutter of appreciation in her stomach only made Sophia feel rather ill.
Imagine finding one’s enemy attractive.
“You are despicable,” Sophia spat, partly to her own inclinations, but mostly to him. “The vilest of all creatures, and I cannot begin to think how your mother managed to avoid smothering you while in your youth.”
“Oh, bite your tongue, Sophia,” Larkin told her with a wave of his hand as he lazily leaned against the wall, at least ten feet away from her, safely on his side of the building. “You can curse me to Hades some other time, I’m very busy and your caterwauling is holding me up. What is your complaint?”
Sophia’s lip curled in a snarl of its own accord. “You removed every piece of artwork in my part of Rosennor. Every single one.”
Larkin smirked. “I have, yes.”
Impossibly, he showed no remorse or shame. Not an inkling.
“Why?” Sophia demanded, after several attempts to get the small word out.
“Simple,” came his easy reply. He gestured in the direction behind him. “I have the gallery. You do not. Heretofore, the artwork belongs in the gallery.”
At this, Sophia grinned, though there was no hint of joy in it. “But I have the furnishings in the gallery, do I not? So, you cannot put anything in there without my approval.”
“And the art work you complain about cannot hang in any of your rooms without my approval,” Larkin retorted with a note of sharpness, surely a defensive one for the unforeseen attack.
“So, you might as well put it back in my rooms of the house,” Sophia said with a shrug, her smile turning less malevolent and more mischievous. “It is the only wall space you actually own.”
Larkin straightened and pointed a finger at her. “Don’t touch the gallery, Sophia. I mean it.”
She sighed and clasped her hands before her in a show of innocence. “If only I was permitted passage through the gallery. I m
ight be able to survey the artwork currently belonging in it, and see if it suits my tastes or the grandeur of Rosennor. As it is, I must only guess and do my best unseen.”
“No.”
Sophia raised a brow. “No?” she repeated.
He shook his head at her. “No. No, you cannot pass through the gallery. No, you cannot manipulate the terms of the will. No, you cannot object to my handling of my belongings, and no, you cannot bellow for me at your heart’s content and expect me to present myself.” He snorted softly, looking her over. “If you had a heart to make content, anyway.”
Ire and fury roared to life within her again, and her hands fisted even more tightly at her sides. “You’re a wretch and a plague of filth, you know that?”
Larkin bowed jauntily. “And the same to you, my dear. Mind your footing, you’re getting rather close to my side. Now if you’ll excuse me, I must interview more candidates for my mother’s companion. I’m beginning to think you are the one running them off.” He turned and walked down the corridor away from her, whistling to himself.
“I’d run you off, if I could,” she muttered darkly. With a groan of irritation, Sophia whirled from the landing and hurried back towards the stairs she was permitted to traipse, then slipped out of a side door into the cool spring day. She paused to inhale and exhale the crisp air, then shook her head and began to walk without any direction at all, her pace as quick and agitated as her thoughts.
Rosennor was a lovely, grand old estate, and its lands were lovely, grand, and old as well. If she weren’t raging with fury, she might have taken a moment to properly appreciate it. As it was, it was a faint acknowledgement as she strode out onto them.
Living with Larkin Roth was proving to be more of a trial than she had ever expected, and she hadn’t exactly prepared to enjoy every moment as it was. If she had another option, she would have taken it, but there was no way she could conceivably look after her interests in this will and not live on site. She wouldn’t have trusted Larkin for a single moment to honor the will without her observation. He might have sold everything that was hers without her knowledge and thought himself well within his rights to do so. He had little enough respect for her or anyone else to care about the details of such things.
The Rivals of Rosennor Hall (Entangled Inheritance Book 3) Page 9