“You come strolling along when the morning is half—”
“I have not finished. Margaret’s children are now my children, and they are at risk of harm in a manner that is not to be borne. Your hayfields can rot, our brothers can become entangled with all the wrong women, and your botanical scheme can bugger itself until I know those girls are safe.”
“Then tell me how in the hell Dorning Hall—”
“You maunder on about your damned botanical scheme, but the sachets and tisanes don’t grow, harvest, or package themselves. I watched Margaret in her herbal yesterday evening, brewing up a tincture that can save a man’s life. It’s exacting work, taking patience and skill that require years to develop. She is better at concocting medications and blending scents than you or I have ever been at anything. If you want her expertise and my support, then you will need to hire a steward for Dorning Hall. Hartley might be interested, though he’ll require supervision.”
Hawthorne hadn’t arisen that morning intent on delivering an ultimatum, but the words were overdue. If Margaret hadn’t come along to literally pluck him from the hayfields, he would likely have gone on for years exhausting himself for the sake of grown siblings and bawling sheep.
Casriel’s gaze was on the field, on the Weller lad driving the wagon slowly down the windrow.
“Is Margaret better at her simples than we are at arguing?”
“We’re having a discussion,” Hawthorne said. “When the fists fly, then we’re having an argument. You are frustrated with the lack of progress regarding your brilliant idea—and it is a brilliant idea—but I refuse to be like our papa.”
“The late earl was held in high regard, Hawthorne.”
“So is the present earl, but Papa was more concerned with the damned Latin name for pennyroyal than with whether his family missed him. That’s all we saw—a man always leaving, always wishing to leave, always eager to go away and find another damned exotic fern. I don’t want to be that man. He wasn’t happy, his family missed him, and he was a fool to value his ferns over his family.”
“He had a passion,” Casriel said, though the words sounded as if they’d been memorized.
“I have a passion now too,” Hawthorne said, “and her name is Margaret Dorning. She gave me her perfume recipes, Grey, gave them to us, but I can’t make sense of them any more than Margaret would know how to shear a sheep. What she does is art, and we need her, and she needs me, and that means you don’t get to need me anymore.”
That verbal punch connected. Hawthorne saw the impact of the blow in the consternation in Casriel’s eyes.
“I can’t need you as a brother?”
“Don’t be an idiot. You can’t need me anymore as your underpaid and overworked land steward, salvage manager, chief farmer, mender of fences, blacksmith, veterinarian, head shearer, digger of ditches, layer of hedges, et cetera, et cetera. I will help whoever you eventually hire any way that I can, and you can always need me as a brother. I will certainly prevail upon you in the same capacity, but I need to be Margaret’s husband now and a papa to Greta and Adriana.”
Hawthorne did not want to lose his oldest sibling’s regard, did not want awkwardness or hard feelings, but how he and the earl went on was partly in Casriel’s hands.
Casriel took out a flask and tipped it to his lips. “Beatitude told me I should tread lightly.” He passed the flask over.
“She told you not to be an ass.” The brandy was good quality, not like the watered spirits Bancroft Summerfield served. Hawthorne enjoyed a good, long pull and passed the flask back.
“Your Margaret really has a miracle salve that can soothe the injuries of haying?”
Casriel was choosing truce over discord. Wise of him, though a round of fisticuffs wouldn’t have gone amiss either.
“She has such a salve, and yes, we can package it for sale. She and I discussed that last night. Margaret favors recipes with simple ingredients because they have predictable results, but those results also rest on consistency in the preparation. If, for example, you harvest a plant after a heavy rain, the recipe might not be as effective as if you harvest in the midst of a dry spell. Plants growing in a water meadow can have different properties than the same species growing in a shady wood. The same flower—”
Casriel pitched the flask at him. “You’ve made your point. Are you ready for tomorrow’s call on Bancroft?”
“I am.” Thanks in part to his brothers, who would always be his brothers. “Margaret is sending a note today asking Miss Fenner to pack as discreetly as she can.”
“Then I would appreciate it if you’d take a look at the stacking job Martin Weller is doing. He’s seen you do it for years, but that’s not the same as earning your seal of approval.”
They retrieved Casriel’s rake and walked side by side across the field, and then Hawthorne climbed the ladder to the top of the haystack. The whole of the shire rolled away in gentle green undulations, while the scything crew took up a lilting, happy song suited to the rhythm of their labors.
Chapter Twenty-Six
“Calm and cheerful,” Hawthorne said, kissing Margaret’s cheek as he handed her out of the coach on the Summerfield front drive.
Oddly enough, she did feel calm and cheerful. Hawthorne really could make love three times a day, or three times a night, and that was after spending hours in the fields and taking her for a family supper at Dorning Hall.
“I have never had such an escort before,” she said as grooms led away the horses that Valerian, Sycamore, and Oak had ridden. Casriel had made the journey with them in the family’s crested traveling coach pulled by a foursome of matched grays.
“We are retrieving our lost lambs,” Hawthorne said. “Let my brothers make their little displays, for if Bancroft respects anything, it’s appearances.”
“And money,” Margaret muttered.
“For which,”—Hawthorne winged his arm—“God be thanked.”
Hawthorne had anticipated that fact, much to Margaret’s relief. The Dornings individually hadn’t much money, but they’d pooled resources for the sake of the children and were about to exert their collective influence in Bancroft’s direction.
“Speak of the devil,” Hawthorne murmured as Bancroft emerged from the front door, Miss Pepper at his side.
“If it isn’t our local luminary,” Bancroft said, bowing in Casriel’s direction. “I do apologize for quitting Town without taking a proper leave of you, my lord. I will be sure to return this call forthwith, so we can tidy up that little matter of the water meadow.” He patted Miss Pepper’s arm in a manner that made Margaret’s flesh crawl.
Hawthorne, looking every bit as lordly as his titled brother, bowed to Miss Pepper. “Miss Pepper. Given that Mr. Summerfield’s manners are apparently on holiday, allow me to make the requisite introductions to several of my siblings. I believe you already know Valerian, so may I make known to you Grey, Earl of Casriel, whom it is my pleasure to call brother.”
Bancroft turned a shade of pink reminiscent of wilting carnations.
“Perhaps you could order some refreshment for your guests, Bancroft,” Margaret suggested when the introductions were complete. “The roads are dusty this time of year.”
“I could use a lemonade,” Miss Pepper said. “Shall we repair to the garden? That way, the children can join us.”
Or perhaps Bancroft’s complexion was more the color of the salvia in the urns on the front terrace.
“We will have ample time with the children on the coach ride home,” Margaret said. “But refreshment would be appreciated. I’ve also brought some medication for Mr. Pepper.”
“Margaret,” Bancroft said, “marriage has apparently addled your wits. I have not given permission for the children to leave Summerfield, and your little potions and poisons aren’t welcome here.” His smile was positively venomous.
Margaret curled her hand around Hawthorne’s arm and smiled back. Honestly and happily, because for once Bancroft’s games were doome
d to fail.
“Might we,” Casriel said, studying the handle of his walking stick, “continue this discussion inside, Summerfield, like civilized adults?”
“Of course,” Bancroft said, offering his arm to Miss Pepper, but that good woman had already taken the place at Valerian’s side. “Inside, then. The formal parlor will do, and if the ladies would like some lemonade, then by all means, I will ring for lemonade.”
His tone was a touch too jovial, his manner too bluff.
“What manner of medication have you brought for my father?” Miss Pepper asked when the assemblage had crowded into Bancroft’s guest parlor. Hawthorne remained standing beside Margaret’s chair, there being inadequate seats for so many guests.
“Digitalis,” Margaret said. “It’s made from the foxglove, and—”
“And it’s the very tincture that killed my brother,” Bancroft said. “Really, Margaret, must we air this linen now?”
“It’s the very tincture,” Margaret went on, calmly and cheerfully, “that gave my Charles several more years of reasonably good health. The dose must be administered carefully, under the direction of somebody knowledgeable. Unfortunately for Charles, Bancroft was not such a party, and misuse of the medication resulted while Charles was here with Bancroft at Summerfield.”
Miss Pepper slanted a glance at Bancroft. “You weren’t with your husband when he died, ma’am?”
“I was at Summerton with the girls,” Margaret said. “Bancroft was here at Summerfield with Charles. Though I’m sure it was an accident, Bancroft had no idea how dangerous the medication can be and gave Charles far more than was safe. Bancroft admitted those sad facts to my current husband, but I don’t think we need to go into that now. Charles was not doing well, and with a heart ailment, the end can come suddenly.”
Bancroft was on his feet. “Margaret, I will not permit you to slander me in my own home, to cast aspersions and falsehoods on my name, when it was your confounded concoction that cost Charles his life—I have never in all my days beheld such gall. If you think I will allow a pair of innocent children to resume residence under your roof, you are much mistaken. Much mistaken, indeed.”
He was so skilled at dancing on that edge between outrage and hurt feelings, and such a credible liar.
“Bancroft,” she said gently, “it was an accident. You were trying to do as Charles requested, I’m sure. You needn’t castigate yourself for a human mistake. Trained physicians are still learning how to use digitalis safely.”
“But I had nothing to do—”
Casriel cocked his head. “Are you implying that my brother is a liar, Summerfield?” The earl spoke softly, even cordially.
“I’d take exception to that,” Valerian said with equal good manners.
“As would I,” Oak added. “Pity, when family can’t be honest with each other.”
“I don’t particularly care if Summerfield wants to spout lies,” Sycamore said. “I’ll leave that to you lot, but I would prefer that those who frequent my gaming establishment pay their vowels before they leave Town on short notice. I do believe these are your notes of hand, aren’t they, Summerfield?”
He withdrew a sheaf of folded papers from his pocket and set them on the low table.
Bancroft was no longer choleric, but rather, a greenish-pale color. “How did you…?”
“I am the proprietor of The Coventry,” Sycamore said. “You enjoyed my hospitality for several nights not long ago, and then I find that you’ve decamped for an extended repairing lease at the family seat. You apparently do this every spring and rotate your custom to a different club when next you come up to Town. Fortunately for you, I’ve made a wedding gift of these debts to my brother and my new sister-in-law. They will doubtless be more forgiving about collecting than I would be. Was somebody about to order some lemonade?”
Sycamore’s brothers beamed at him as if he’d just recited the entire royal succession perfectly. Margaret beamed at him too. The sum owed was substantial for a man who had little cash, and debts of honor were to be paid promptly. At Hawthorne’s request, Sycamore had ferreted out gentlemen holding Bancroft’s notes and purchased them at a discount with funds Hawthorne had put together with some aid from his brothers.
Money very well spent.
Bancroft wasn’t beaming. In fact, he was looking a touch dyspeptic.
Miss Pepper picked up the piles of IOUs and leafed through them. “You left London without paying these, Bancroft?”
“I wanted to show you my home, to escort you here personally and see that all was in readiness for your visit.”
“It takes two minutes to write a bank draft. How will you pay these?”
“He can’t pay them,” Margaret said. “Because Bancroft was late to get his sheep shorn, the prices dropped by the time he moved his wool to market. He’s behind on his tenant repairs. His crop yields are down because he refuses to marl. He’s fallowing a third of his acres rather than a quarter because he still won’t shift to a four-crop rotation, and his drainage ditches back up after every heavy rain, so he’s lost some corn to flooding.”
“And,” Hawthorne said, “he won’t plant turnips for winter fodder.”
Miss Pepper’s gaze was pitying. “And you think you can manage children, Bancroft?”
Bancroft for once had no glib lie, no charming deception to offer in reply. Margaret had scooted to the edge of her chair, intent on gathering up the children and leaving, when Bancroft spoke.
“I am the legal guardian of those children,” he said, making no pretense of pleasantness. “I have ample authority to do with them as I please.”
This was the weakness in the plan. The idea had been to air the truth regarding Charles’s death, wave the debts around, snatch the girls, and hope that—without Miss Pepper’s good offices—Bancroft would desist from his foolishness.
No such luck, apparently.
“Bancroft,” Hawthorne said, “don’t be a bigger fool than you already have been. You are merely a co-guardian, an unusual situation, but there’s royal precedent for leaving a woman in charge of young children. Margaret was Charles’s choice to raise the children, while you are an impecunious bungler with airs above his station. The children can either be raised by a lady of true distinction, or they can suffer your ineptitude. You will have to take us to court to settle the matter, because the girls are already waiting for us in the garden. Their luggage is strapped to the coach.”
Was he bluffing? Margaret went to the window and saw Fenny, both girls, Ambers, and Captain strolling between the flowerbeds.
“I sent a note to Miss Fenner as well,” Hawthorne said. “An afterthought to your epistle.”
A brilliant afterthought.
“You stoop to purloining children?” Bancroft sneered. “You are nothing to those girls, Dorning, and as long as I—”
“As long as you owe me a considerable sum,” Hawthorne said, “you’d best guard your tongue. Casriel is on good terms with your magistrate, and you can bound over for debt as easily as I can.”
“Debts of honor,” Bancroft shot back, “are not actionable in a court of law.”
Sycamore tugged the bell-pull. “Don’t I know it, but Casriel and I had a little chat with your London landlord, a few of the better establishments on Bond Street, and the coaching inns that rent out teams to you between here and Town… At the risk of offending the ladies, Summerfield, your arse is waving in the breeze. If we must, we’ll buy up those debts as well—the rest of those debts.”
Two footmen and two grooms in Dorning livery had joined the party in the garden, stationing themselves at the compass points like an armed escort.
I love you, Hawthorne Dorning. To have married a man who could think ahead, plan for contingencies, and achieve an objective was wonderful.
Miss Pepper rose. “If everybody will excuse me, I’d like to… look in on my father.”
“Take this,” Margaret said, extracting a corked bottle from her reticule and a folded sheet
of foolscap. “I’ve written out detailed instructions. The medicine is safe enough if used as directed. I’m happy to call again if you have questions, or you can pay us a visit at Summerton.”
“You can’t do this,” Bancroft said when Miss Pepper had left. “You cannot march into my house, make off with my nieces, threaten me with dire consequences over a few minor obligations, and expect me to docilely yield to your threats.”
“Why not?” Margaret asked. “I yielded to your threats, and you backed them up with nothing more substantial than lies, greed, and meanness. You are in debt up to your ears, and that is a poor reflection on your fitness as a guardian of house pets, much less of your nieces.”
Ash Dorning, the brother who had read law, had opined in a letter to Hawthorne that Bancroft should never have been given authority over the children’s funds. Bancroft was in theory his nieces’ heir, and thus his interest in the money was conflicted.
Margaret would have happily raised that issue, but Hawthorne put a hand gently on her shoulder.
“Bancroft, you are taxing my wife’s considerable patience. Here is how we will proceed. You will consent to have me appointed as co-guardian in your stead, of the girls and of their funds. When the courts have issued the appropriate orders, I will, with Margaret’s permission, tear up your notes.”
“That’s blackmail,” Bancroft spat. “That’s trading my legal authority for—"
“That’s the best offer you’ll get,” Margaret said, marching up to him. “And the best idea I’ve heard all day. Charles would be ashamed of you, and you should be ashamed of yourself. You either yield to Hawthorne on this, or you will lose Summerfield and whatever credit you still have. If I have to call an inquest into Charles’s death, I will call an inquest.”
Casriel, Oak, Cam, and Valerian were on their feet as well.
A Lady of True Distinction Page 32
