Lord Avery's Legacy

by Allison Lane

  “Why would he bother talking to Mr. Williams? His firm has never handled our business. I don’t even think he works for Tallgrove.”

  “True, but that means nothing. Carrington must be asking questions elsewhere, too. He is bound to discover how vulnerable we are.”

  Michael sighed. “How bad is it?”

  “Not good.” She paced distractedly about the bookroom. “This latest mishap at the pottery will wipe out the entire quarter’s profits. I can’t understand how that clay became contaminated. The kiln near Plymtree buys from the same supplier, as does one at Whimple, but no one else has reported trouble.”

  “Could Mrs. Bender have made a mistake with the mixing and be afraid to admit it?”

  “Hardly. She is as puzzled as I, and as frantic to find out what happened. Her share of the profits is all that keeps her family out of the workhouse. You know how tiny their farm is. It could never support seven children.”

  “What will they do?”

  She resumed her seat. “If the pottery does not turn a profit this quarter, we will have to negotiate terms for delaying their rent.”

  Michael nodded. “We can hardly turn them off, but that will leave us in even worse shape.”

  “We will manage. On the positive side, the income from the ostriches is rising. Now that he is two, Sprite’s plumes are as good as Ozzie’s, and three of the new chicks are males, which bodes well for next year. Madame Dupres plans to open a second hat shop in London. She has already claimed most of the next plucking. Dealing directly allows us both to bypass the plumiers, reducing her costs while paying us more. It won’t offset the pottery deficit, but it will help.”

  “We found hemlock in the meadow this morning. Several of the sheep are sick,” reported Michael. “I set the men to uprooting the stuff, but this will delay the corn harvest by a couple of days.”

  “Let’s hope it doesn’t rain.”

  He nodded. “We must do something about the drainage near the bend in the stream. That field has gotten too boggy to grow crops.”

  “It has been a bad year all around.” Penelope sighed. Her heart broke to see Michael so serious. He should enjoy his youth like other boys instead of filling every waking hour with farming and finance. “I will not allow the Averys to destroy us,” she vowed now. “I should have expected them to continue Gareth’s crusade.” But she had thought that his obsession grew from his affair with Lucinda. Thus she had not taken more aggressive steps to protect Winter House.

  “What about the mortgage?”

  “I paid it last week.”

  “How? My stupidity had squandered the funds.”

  “Several volumes of Shakespeare. I pawned them instead of making an outright sale this time, hoping to redeem them with the pottery revenues.”

  Michael’s head bowed in defeat. “I will never forgive myself for living on your meager possessions, Penny.” The books were all hers.

  “Enough, Michael. I live here, too. We will survive. But we can no longer postpone finding a dowry for Alice.”

  “You will let her wed Terrence?”

  “No, but she must wed someone. Few men are willing to take a dowerless wife. Now, go secure the outbuildings for the night while I consider how to counter this latest threat.”

  Why did the Averys want Winter House so badly? The estate included only a three-hundred-year-old manor house in very poor condition, their own farm, and two tenant farms. All occupied marginal land. The estate could not even provide right-of-way to someplace else, for all the surrounding properties had excellent access.

  But thinking was useless. She had trod this road too many times before. Their reasons were irrelevant. She had to find a new way to resist them. But the only plan she could devise was to discharge the mortgage. She snorted. Amassing each quarterly payment was hard enough. Where could she find the balance? Long-lost relative … pot of gold … fairy godmother. She was losing her mind.

  * * * *

  Richard stared at the ostrich flock. They were gathered on the far side of the meadow, pecking at a haystack. An old barn offered shelter from storms, though the near wall had collapsed and half of the roof contained holes. The remains of a stone fireplace marked the site of an ancient cottage.

  The male’s neck seemed pinker than he remembered it, almost as if the beast were blushing. It was definitely brighter than the younger male’s. One of the juveniles chased a sibling in a tight circle, squeaking happily. But when they drew too close to their father, he hissed a warning and both instantly froze.

  Richard shook his head. If only his wards were so obedient. A chirp from the largest female sent all the youngsters trotting toward the barn. An innocent chick chattered for all the world as if he were complaining about having to pay for his siblings’ stupidity. What strange creatures. And they belonged to Alice. If Terrence persisted in marrying the girl, he would have to take charge of the birds as well. Who ever heard of such a dowry?

  A gust of wind lifted his hat and carried it over the gate.

  “Damnation!” Lock himself had fashioned the curly-brimmed beaver. Richard should not have worn it today, for it was more suited to Hyde Park than to surveying a country estate. But now it was caught on a clump of sedge ten feet away. The birds ignored it, too intent on eating to bother with a passer-by.

  He surveyed the meadow, torn between pique and prudence. They were obviously accustomed to people, for the haystack had not been there on his last visit. And the field was large – a hundred yards by fifty.

  Dismounting, he led Jet out of sight and tethered him to the hedgerow. Then taking a deep breath, he slipped through the gate and tiptoed across the short-cropped grass.

  Another errant gust picked up his hat and tumbled it into the corner, twenty feet to his right. He followed.

  With a suddenness that left him stunned, an eddy whipped the hat into the air, swirling it toward the barn. A female with a cloth wrapped around her neck appeared out of nowhere, gleefully chasing it. But he spared no thought for her. The red-necked male raced, hissing, directly for him, its terrifying speed completing the journey in three seconds flat. Richard froze, feeling the blood drain from his head. The bird skidded to a stop a yard away, lowered its head to eye level and spread its wings.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Richard watched the bandaged female pick up his hat, then cock her head as if considering what she had found. Tossing it into the air, she caught it before it hit the ground, then gleefully did it again. He would have laughed if he had not been facing an angry bird two feet taller than himself. Two angry birds. The largest female had joined her mate, gurgling and displaying in turn. Except for the one playing with his hat, the others had followed their youngest siblings into the barn.

  The male puffed out his throat to produce a roar much like the lion that had once graced at the London Exchange.

  “Easy, fellow,” Richard murmured, slowly backing until the hedgerow stabbed his shoulders. All foliage had been stripped from the inner side.

  Another roar assaulted his ears.

  “I won’t hurt you,” he assured the bird, trying to make his voice sound soothing and calm.

  He sidestepped toward the gate. The male followed suit. They sidled again, and again. And again. Just like a country dance. He chuckled.

  But the ostrich was not amused. Its head suddenly butted his arm.

  He flinched.

  The female pawed the ground, drawing his eyes to her feet. Two toes, one with an alarmingly large claw. A weapon like that could inflict horrible damage. Her legs were more powerful than those of his horse – something he should have expected from an animal with such speed. But he hadn’t thought about it.

  Stupid!

  The male pecked at his shoulder, ripping his jacket and knocking him into the hedge.

  Richard managed to stay on his feet and suppress the oaths that sprang to his lips. Was the bird truly dangerous, or was it playing with him in the same way that the smaller female played with his hat? It wasn
’t a question he dared put to the test.

  The ostriches gurgled and chirped, bobbing their heads as they discussed the intruder. The female’s beak widened into an evil grin.

  Idiot! he scolded himself. His imagination was running away with him. He would be better served by turning his mind to escape. He sidestepped once more. The male smashed its head into his side.

  Damnation! The gate beckoned, barely fifteen feet away. It might as well have been in China. But perhaps if he remained motionless long enough, the ostrich would lose interest. Did birds suffer from boredom?

  Ten minutes later, he decided that the question was irrelevant. Whatever the bird’s intentions, it was dangerous. Even if it was playing, the result would be the same.

  His growing mass of bruises, the gash in his arm, and a possible cracked rib contributed to that conclusion. So did the kitten. It had wandered around the corner of the barn, playfully stalking a wind-blown leaf. The creature would not make that mistake again. The younger male poked his head outside. The kitten bounded away, but two steps and a kick dispatched the animal, which the bird promptly consumed. Whole. Richard choked on horror as the bulge descended that grotesque neck.

  Dear Lord! He had been incredibly stupid to enter the birds’ domain. How could he hide that fact? His position in the family would be badly undermined if this fiasco became known. For eighteen years he had successfully hidden his fears and inadequacies, building a reputation as someone who could solve any problem. If his facade of competence ever cracked, disillusion would cast every Avery into a morass of confusion.

  Which turned his thoughts to Miss Wingrave’s insolence. She had actually hinted that his help was sometimes unnecessary. How dare she criticize situations of which she knew nothing? Especially after denouncing him for doing the same thing. Granted he should have researched her stewardship before chastising her, but at least his was an honest mistake. How was he to know the details of raising exotic animals? Which returned his mind to his immediate problem – escaping so he could keep his predicament a secret.

  Richard sidestepped, then bit off an oath as another blow landed on his shoulder. This was worse than sparring with Jackson, for he could make no move to defend himself. At the rate he was progressing, he would be unconscious long before he reached the gate. Any hint of motion invited renewed attack. His waistcoat gaped where buttons used to be. One sleeve of his jacket was in tatters. A long scratch marred his left boot.

  “Ozzie!” Penelope’s scolding voice exploded across the meadow. “What are you doing?”

  Ozzie turned toward the gate, emitting a screech that made Richard jump. The bird glared at him and hissed.

  “Don’t move, my lord,” she warned, striding across the meadow.

  So much for keeping this a secret, he grumbled silently, torn between relief and chagrin. But she did not seem to think he was in imminent danger. She walked up to the bird who had caught his hat – which now lay in a mangled heap on the ground – and murmured soothing gurgles. The female promptly abandoned Richard to investigate.

  “What are you doing?” he asked, evoking another hiss from Ozzie.

  “Be quiet, my lord,” she warned as she removed the bandage from the bird’s neck. “She is mending nicely,” Penelope informed the female, holding up a jar for the bird’s inspection. Smearing salve on the injury, she covered it with a new linen strip, then rubbed the mother’s neck and scratched her head.

  Finally she approached the corner where Richard still cowered. “Enough, Ozzie. You’ve had your fun. I think we should consider him harmless.”

  The ostrich hissed.

  “He won’t hurt you, Ozzie. There is nothing to fear.” Draping her arm around the bird’s neck, she nuzzled it with her head. “Walk very slowly toward the gate, my lord,” she instructed in the same soothing tone. “Do not show fear.”

  He needed no further invitation. Drawing in a deep breath, he took a step forward.

  “Easy, fellow,” she murmured, tickling Ozzie’s chest.

  Richard sauntered toward the gate, Penelope and the bird matching him step for step.

  “Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?” she scolded the ostrich.

  Ozzie gurgled.

  “You should be. It is very bad form to corner a marquess. People have been transported for lesser offenses.”

  Ozzie emitted a sound that might have been a snort.

  “It is true that he is odiously arrogant, but that is no excuse. I expect better manners from those under my care.”

  Ozzie hung his head to the ground and gently waved it back and forth.

  “All right. I forgive you, and he will, too. Particularly as he had no business invading your home without an invitation. Such bad ton, but he will never repeat his offense. Slip through the gate, my lord. Then freeze.”

  Ozzie blinked those long lashes – which at close range proved to be narrow feathers – and stared until Richard’s skin crawled. But he did exactly as ordered. With a last rub on Ozzie’s neck, Penelope followed.

  “Not a word, my lord, until we are well away,” she said softly, though her eyes snapped with anger.

  He followed her, leading Jet, until they reached Tallgrove land.

  She glared. “You are a fool!”

  He knew it but was not about to admit it aloud. Especially to someone who already thought badly of him. “My hat blew over the gate.”

  “Imbecile! What do you know of ostriches that makes you think you can wander into their compound with impunity?”

  “They were nowhere near the gate.”

  “Would you have entered the pasture holding that bull Lord Avery bought last year?”

  He reddened, abashed. “Of course no—”

  “Of course not,” she echoed. “You know from long experience how dangerous bulls can be. I doubt you would wander into a pigsty, either. So what in the name of heaven were you doing climbing into an enclosure containing twelve birds, at least six of which are bigger than you. Ozzie tops out at eight feet and weighs more than twenty stone.” Her eyes raked his six-foot, twelve-stone frame with disdain.

  He shivered, then exploded in fury over revealing his fear. “Yet knowing their ferocity, you endanger the neighborhood by keeping them. Or will you use them to blackmail Terrence into marrying your sister? Did you threaten to destroy Tallgrove unless he did your bidding?”

  “I will attribute your hysteria to your harrowing experience,” she snapped. “You have no business trespassing on my estate, and no business bothering my animals.”

  “I didn’t think that—”

  “You didn’t think. Period,” she interrupted his defense.

  “They did not seem to bother you.”

  “They have known me since birth. Yet that does not make me entirely safe. It took more than an hour the other day before Ozzie would let me examine Fluff’s neck. You are lucky to have escaped serious injury. The males of most species will attack, especially when they feel vulnerable.”

  “But these are birds,” he objected again, ignoring his earlier impression of a close-knit family group.

  “Fool! Have you never been attacked by a jay? Or a gull? Or a rooster? I still bear scars from a childhood encounter with just such a fearsome beast. Think about the difference in size between Ozzie and a rooster.”

  He flinched, tethering Jet and leaning gingerly against a tree, hoping his relaxed air would blunt her antagonism – though if he were honest, he needed the support. His head swam. Black spots teased his eyes. “You are right. I was a fool to enter unbidden. Thank you for rescuing me. Has anyone else fallen foul of them?”

  “No. Few come across them, for they are surrounded by my own land except for the boundary with Tallgrove. I impressed on Terrence and Millicent early on that they were never to go near the ostriches. I would have mentioned it to you, but I thought you had more sense.”

  “They have never escaped?”

  “Never. They could, of course, if they really wanted to. Ozzie is certainly capable
of kicking the gate down. He put a hole in the barn when he was barely six months old and became irritated at being confined.”

  “Out there?”

  “No, our current barn. That was when I moved them to the meadow. But as long as they are well fed, they seem content.”

  “What do they eat?”

  “Anything that grows – or moves, for that matter.” She rubbed Jet’s nose. “They are not particular. Mostly they exist on plants. You saw the hedgerow. And the grass is shorn as short as the sheep leave it. But they also eat small animals and insects. I doubt there has ever been a rat or mouse that survived more than a day in their shelter.”

  “One of them ate a kitten just before you arrived.”

  She shrugged. “It is not the first time. Now, suppose you explain what you were doing on Winter House land in the first place.” Her eyes again flashed as she abandoned Jet, the ostriches, and her softened tone in one fell swoop.

  “Curiosity,” he admitted. “I came to watch the ostriches.”

  “Curiosity,” she echoed skeptically. “And is it curiosity that made you poke your nose into my other business?”

  “What—”

  “Don’t lie,” she snarled. “I know you have been investigating our finances, our ancestry, and now the estate itself. Did you think that exerting your considerable charm in Exeter the other day would lull my suspicions and give you an advantage? Well, be warned. I spent years countering your uncle’s plots. I won’t succumb to yours, either.”

  “I have no wish to force you out.”

  “Pardon me if I don’t believe that, my lord. You have yet to speak the entire truth on any subject. Nor has Terrence. He must have seen Alice as the means to coerce us into giving up the estate. It wouldn’t be the first time it has been used as a dowry. But I won’t even consider it.”

  “Terrence believes himself to be in love and knows nothing of his father’s activities. I only found out about them a couple of days ago. I don’t approve.”

  “Of what? My refusal to sell?”

  “You are hysterical,” he charged, leaving the support of the tree to loom over her.

  She stood her ground. “Not at all. You so-called gentlemen are all alike, willing to say anything in the pursuit of your goals.”