by Lisa Kleypas
“I expected that this drainage issue would be easily solved,” West said. “Dig some trenches, line them with clay pipes, and cover it all up.”
“It doesn’t sound all that complicated.”
“It is. It’s complicated in ways I hadn’t considered.” West shook his head. “Drainage is such a minor part of the problem that it would be a waste of money to fix it without addressing the rest.”
“What is the rest?”
“I’m not even sure yet. But if we don’t figure it all out, there’s no hope of ever making Eversby Priory profitable again. Or even sustaining itself.” He gave Kathleen a dark glance as she opened her mouth. “Don’t accuse me of scheming to have the estate sold.”
“I wasn’t,” she said indignantly. “I was going to say that as far as I can tell, the Strickland farm is more or less in the same condition as the other tenants.”
“‘Down horn, up corn,’” West muttered. “My arse. In a few short years, it’s going to be ‘Up horn, down corn,’ and it’s going to stay that way. Strickland has no idea that his world has changed for good. Even I know it, and I could hardly be more ignorant about farming.”
“You think he should turn to dairying and livestock,” Kathleen said.
“It would be easier and more profitable than trying to farm lowland clay.”
“You may be right,” she told him ruefully. “But in this part of England, breeding livestock is not considered as respectable as working the land.”
“What the devil is the difference? Either way, one ends up shoveling manure.” West’s attention was diverted as his horse stumbled on a patch of rough road.
“Ease up on the reins,” Kathleen said. “Just give the horse more slack and let him pick his way through.”
West complied immediately.
“Would a bit more advice be unwelcome?” she dared to ask.
“Fire away.”
“You tend to slouch in the saddle. That makes it difficult for you to follow the horse’s motion, and it will make your back sore later. If you sit tall and relaxed… yes, like that… now you’re centered.”
“Thank you.”
Kathleen smiled, pleased by his willingness to take direction from a woman. “You don’t ride badly. With regular practice, you would be quite proficient.” She paused. “I take it you don’t ride often in town?”
“No, I travel by foot or hackney.”
“But your brother…” Kathleen began, thinking of Devon’s assured horsemanship.
“He rides every morning. A big dapple gray that’s as mean as the devil if it goes one day without hard exercise.” A pause. “They have that in common.”
“So that’s why Trenear is so fit,” Kathleen murmured.
“It doesn’t stop at riding. He belongs to a pugilism club where they batter each other senseless, in the savate style.”
“What is that?”
“A kind of fighting that developed in the streets of Old Paris. Quite vicious. My brother secretly hopes to be attacked by ruffians someday, but so far, no luck.”
Kathleen smiled. “What is the reason for all of his exertion?”
“To keep his temper under control.”
Her smile faded. “Do you have a temper as well?”
West laughed shortly. “Without a doubt. It’s only that I prefer to drink my demons to sleep rather than battle them.”
So did Theo, she thought, but kept it to herself. “I like you better sober,” she said.
West slid her an amused glance. “It’s only been half a day. Wait a bit longer, and you’ll change your mind.”
She didn’t, however. In the fortnight that followed, West continued to remain relatively sober, limiting his drinking to a glass of wine or two at dinner. His days were divided between visiting tenant farms, poring over rent books, reading books on agriculture, and adding page after page to the report he was writing for Devon.
At dinner one night he told them of his plan to visit many more tenants to form a comprehensive understanding of their problems. With each new piece of information, a picture of the estate’s true condition was forming – and it wasn’t a pretty sight.
“On the other hand,” West concluded, “it’s not altogether hopeless, as long as Devon is doing his job.”
“What is his job?” Cassandra asked.
“Finding capital,” West told her. “A great deal of it.”
“It must be difficult for a gentleman to find money without working,” Pandora said. “Especially when all the criminals are trying to do the same thing.”
West drowned a grin in his goblet of water. “I have every faith,” he replied, “that my brother will either outsmart the criminals, or join them.” He turned his attention to Kathleen. “I realized this morning that I need to stay here a bit longer than I’d originally planned,” he said. “Another fortnight, or better yet, a month. There’s still too much I haven’t learned.”
“Stay then,” Kathleen said matter-of-factly.
West glanced at her in surprise. “You wouldn’t object?”
“Not if it will help the tenants.”
“What if I remained through Christmas?”
“Certainly,” she said without hesitation. “You have more claim to stay here than I do. But won’t you miss your life in town?”
West’s lips quirked as he glanced down at his plate. “I miss… certain things. However, there is much to do here, and my brother has a shortage of trustworthy advisors. In fact, few landowners of his rank seem to understand what they’re facing.”
“But you and Lord Trenear do?”
West grinned suddenly. “No, we don’t either. The only difference is, we know it.”
Chapter 10
“
C
ousin West,” Kathleen said a month later, fiercely pursuing him down the grand staircase, “stop running away. I want a word with you.”
West didn’t slow his pace. “Not while you’re chasing me like Attila the Hun.”
“Tell me why you did it.” She reached the bottom step at the same time he did and swung around to block his escape. “Kindly explain what deranged mode of thinking caused you to bring a pig into the house!”
Cornered, he resorted to honesty. “I wasn’t thinking. I was at John Potter’s farm, and he was about to cull the piglet because it was undersized.”
“A common practice, as I understand it,” she said curtly.
“The creature looked at me,” West protested. “It seemed to be smiling.”
“All pigs seem to be smiling. Their mouths are curved upwards.”
“I couldn’t help it; I had to bring him home.”
Kathleen shook her head disapprovingly as she looked at him. The twins had already bottle-fed the creature with a formula of cow’s milk whisked with raw egg, while Helen had lined a basket with soft cloth for it to sleep in. Now there was no getting rid of it.
“What do you intend for us to do with the pig once it’s full-grown?” she demanded.
West considered that. “Eat it?”
She let out an exasperated huff. “The girls have already named it Hamlet. Would you have us eat a family pet, Mr. Ravenel?”
“I would if it turned into bacon.” West smiled at her expression. “I’ll return the pig to the farmer when it’s weaned,” he offered.
“You can’t —”
He forestalled her by lifting his hand in a staying motion. “You’ll have to badger me later; I’ve no time for it now. I’m leaving for Alton Station, and I can’t miss the afternoon train.”
“Train? Where are you going?”
West dodged around her, heading to the front door. “I told you yesterday. I knew you weren’t listening.”
Kathleen glowered and followed him, thinking it would serve him right if bacon were eventually declared off-limits in the Ravenel household.
They paused beside the front receiving room, where workmen pulled up flooring planks and tossed them aside with noisy clatters. Elsew
here, the sound of incessant hammering peppered the air.
“As I explained yesterday,” West said, raising his voice to be heard above the infernal racket, “I’m visiting a man in Wiltshire, who’s taken over a tenancy to experiment with modern farming methods.”
“How long will you be away?”
“Three days,” he said cheerfully. “You’ll scarcely have time to miss me before I’m back.”
“I wouldn’t miss you no matter how long you were gone.” But Kathleen looked over him with concern as the butler helped him don his hat and coat. When he returned, she thought, they would have to take in his clothes again; he had lost at least another stone. “Don’t forget to eat while you’re away,” she scolded. “You’ll soon be mistaken for a scarecrow if you keep missing your dinner.”
The constant exercise of riding across the estate lands¸ walking the fields, helping a farmer repair a gate or retrieve a ewe that had jumped a garden wall, had wrought considerable changes in West. He’d lost so much weight that his garments hung on his frame. The bloat had melted from his face and neck, revealing a firm jawline and hard profile. All the time spent outdoors had imparted healthy color to his complexion, and he appeared years younger, an air of vitality replacing the look of sleepy indolence.
West leaned down to press a light kiss on her forehead. “Good-bye, Attila,” he said affectionately. “Try not to browbeat everyone in my absence.”
After West’s departure, Kathleen headed to the housekeeper’s room near the kitchen. It was washing day, the dreaded occasion when the household laundry was sorted, boiled, washed, rinsed, and hung in a drying room attached to the scullery. Together Kathleen and Mrs. Church would take inventory and order fabric.
They had only just begun to discuss the need for new aprons for the housemaids when the butler, Sims, appeared.
“I beg your pardon, milady.” Sims’s tone was measured, but the wrinkles and crags of his face had scrunched in dissatisfaction. “A tenant and his wife – Mr. and Mrs. Wooten – are asking to meet with Mr. Ravenel. I explained that he was away, but they won’t leave. They claim their need is urgent. I thought it best to inform you before I have a footman remove them.”
Kathleen frowned. “No, you mustn’t do that. The Wootens wouldn’t call without good reason. Please show them to the receiving room and I’ll meet them there.”
“I feared you would say that,” Sims said dourly. “I must protest, milady, that as a widow in mourning, your peace and quiet should not be disturbed.”
A crash from the upstairs caused the ceiling to rattle.
“My stars!” the housekeeper exclaimed.
Kathleen fought back a laugh and glanced at the butler.
“I’ll show the Wootens in,” he said in resignation.
When Kathleen entered the receiving room, she saw that the young couple were distraught. Mrs. Wooten’s eyes were swollen and tear-glazed, while her husband’s face was pale with anxiety.
“I hope no one is ill or injured?” Kathleen asked.
“No, milady,” Mr. Wooten replied, while his wife bobbed a curtsy. He twisted his cap back and forth as he explained that one of his hired workers had encountered a pair of trespassers who had identified themselves as representatives of the railway company.
“They said they was surveying the land,” Wooten continued, “and when I asked by whose leave, they said Lord Trenear himself gave them permission.” His voice turned unsteady. “They said my farm would be sold to the railway company. I went to Mr. Carlow, but he knows naught about it.” His eyes flooded. “My father left this farm to me, milady. They’re going to put tracks on it, and plow under my fields, and turn me and my family out of our home without so much as a farthing —” He would have continued, but Mrs. Wooten had begun to sob.
Shocked, Kathleen shook her head. “Mr. Ravenel mentioned nothing of this, and Lord Trenear would not do such a thing without first discussing it with his brother. I am certain this claim is baseless.”
“They knew my lease was up,” Mr. Wooten said, his eyes haunted. “They knew exactly when, and they said it wouldn’t be renewed.”
That gave Kathleen pause.
What the devil was Devon up to? Surely he could not be so heartless and cruel as to sell a tenant’s farm without notifying him.
“I will find out,” she said firmly. “In the meantime, there is no need for distress. Mr. Ravenel is firmly on the side of the tenants, and he has influence with Lord Trenear. Until Mr. Ravenel returns – in only three days – my advice is to carry on as usual. Mrs. Wooten, you really must stop crying – I’m sure such distress isn’t good for the baby.”
After the Wootens had departed, taking little apparent comfort from her reassurances, Kathleen hurried to the study and sat at the large desk. Fuming, she reached for a pen, uncapped a bottle of ink, and proceeded to write Devon a scathing message, informing him of the situation and demanding to know what was going on.
For good measure, she added a none-too-subtle threat of legal action on behalf of the Wootens. Even though there was nothing a lawyer could do, since Devon had the right to sell any portion of his estate, it would certainly seize his attention.
Folding the message, she tucked it into an envelope and rang for the footman to take it to the telegraph office of the local postmaster. “I’d like this dispatched right away,” she told him. “Tell the postmaster that it’s a matter of the utmost urgency.”
“Yes, milady.”
As the footman departed, the housekeeper appeared at the threshold. “Lady Trenear,” she said, looking vexed.
“Mrs. Church,” Kathleen said, “I promise, I haven’t forgotten about the washing book or the aprons.”
“Thank you, my lady, but it’s not that. It’s the workmen. They finished plumbing the master bathroom.”
“That’s good news, isn’t it?”
“So I would think – except that now they’ve begun to convert another upstairs room into an additional bathing room, and they must run a pipe beneath the floor of your room.”
Kathleen jumped to her feet. “Do you mean to say there are men in my bedroom? No one mentioned anything of the sort to me.”
“The master plumber and carpenter both say it’s the only way it can be done.”
“I won’t have it!”
“They have already pulled up some of the flooring without so much as a by-your-leave.”
Kathleen shook her head in disbelief. “I suppose it can be tolerated for an afternoon.”
“My lady, they say it will take several days, most likely a week, to put it all back to rights.”
Her mouth fell open. “Where am I to sleep and dress while my bedroom is torn apart?”
“I’ve already directed the maids to convey your belongings to the master bedroom,” Mrs. Church replied. “Lord Trenear has no need of it, since he is in London.”
That did nothing to improve Kathleen’s mood. She hated the master bedroom, the place she had last seen Theo before his accident. Where they had argued bitterly, and Kathleen had said things she would regret for the rest of her life. Dark memories lurked in the corners of that room like malevolent nocturnal creatures.
“Is there any other room I might use?” she asked.
“Not at the moment, my lady. The workmen have pulled up the floors in three other rooms as well as yours.” The housekeeper hesitated, understanding the reason for Kathleen’s reluctance. “I’ll direct the maids to air out a bedchamber in the east wing and give it a good cleaning – but those rooms have been closed for so long that it will take some work to turn it out properly.”
Sighing, Kathleen dropped back to her chair. “Then it seems I’ll have to sleep in the master bedroom tonight.”
“You’ll be the first to try the new copper bathtub,” the housekeeper said, in a tone she might have used while offering a bonbon to a sullen child.
Kathleen smiled wanly. “That is some consolation.”
As it turned out, her bath in the copper tu
b was so lovely and luxurious that it almost made up for having to sleep in the master bedroom. Not only was it deeper than any bath she’d ever been in before, it was crowned with a full roll edge upon which she could rest her head comfortably. It was the first bath she’d had ever taken in which she could lean back and submerge herself all the way up to the neck, and it was heavenly.
She stayed in the bath for as long as possible, lazing and half floating until the water began to cool. Clara, her lady’s maid, came to wrap her in soft Turkish towels and settle a clean white nightgown over her head.
