Leslie Lafoy (28 page)

“Ladies do not go to servants. Servants attend them.”

As Caroline’s brow slowly rose, Drayton attempted to salvage the situation, saying, “We do things a bit differently at Ryland Castle,” as he accepted a cup of tea and a paper-thin sandwich from Lady Aubrey.

“Yes, as I can see and as William has already informed me. Which is why my experience and advice in these matters is so very obviously and desperately needed.”

He nodded, pretended that he didn’t see Caroline getting ready to speak, and said, “And we deeply appreciate your willingness to share your knowledge with us.”

“Unfortunately,” Caroline countered coolly, shooting him a warning look, “we find ourselves in a bit of a dilemma, Lady Aubrey. Ryland Castle is suffering from years of neglect and requires a considerable amount of
rehabilitation. And while we have made remarkable progress to that end in the last fortnight, we have a horrific amount of work yet to do if we are to be prepared to host twenty guests in one week.”

“My dear Lady Caroline,” the woman said on a tiny, dry laugh as she handed her son a cup and saucer. “You really must begin to think like the daughter of a duke. This is a simple matter of hiring additional, temporary servants to see the house readied.”

Caroline drew a breath, quickly moistened her lower lip, and replied, “There are no extra servants to be had, Lady Aubrey. It is harvest time. Every hand in the village is already hard at work.”

“Then—”

“Every hand in all of southern England is already at work,” she went on. “Sending to London for servants is not practical. They could not arrive much before our guests do.”

Drayton held his breath and wished that Haywood would stop smirking and that if Aubrey was going to do a facer into the carpet, he’d do it now and provide a distraction.

“Obstinance,” Lady Aubrey intoned, handing Caroline a teacup, “is not an acceptable trait in a young woman.”

“Neither is refusing to accept the requirements of reality simply because they necessitate that she do something more strenuous than wave her hand in command.”

Aubrey’s mouth fell open. Haywood used his hand to hide his grin. Lady Aubrey stared at Caroline in mute shock. Drayton waited, knowing that Caroline wasn’t done with her just yet. She didn’t disappoint him.

“I truly regret that the circumstances are as they are, Lady Aubrey,” she said with gentle firmness—and, to
Drayton’s thinking, showing remarkable restraint in not pointing out that the stressful circumstances were entirely of Lady Aubrey’s making. “I would much prefer to have the time to sit at your knee and absorb all the invaluable wisdom you are understandably eager to share. But for the next week, it simply will not be possible. I have far too much to do.”

Judging by the amount of blinking and jaw-clenching that Lady Aubrey was doing, he guessed that she’d never in her life been set back on her heels quite as effectively. And he couldn’t help but wonder when she’d last been rendered speechless for so long a stretch. If pressed, he’d have to wager that it had been an eon or two.

“If I might make a suggestion?”

Haywood was wading into this? Even as Drayton swallowed down a groan, Caroline turned on the settee and brightly said, “Of course, Haywood.”

“Perhaps, while you’re otherwise engaged, Lady Aubrey could focus her social-improvement efforts on Lady Simone and Lady Fiona.”

Oh, God. No. It would be a disaster of epic proportions.

Lady Aubrey huffed. “If the one glimpse I had of Lady Simone was any indication of their general conduct, I doubt a week will be sufficient time in which to correct even the most glaring of the deficiencies.”

“Or perhaps not,” Haywood muttered.

She’d walked away from an encounter with Simone unbloodied? The Church would probably want to hear about that; they were always looking for miracles.

“If you could see that my sisters have the start of proper wardrobes,” he heard Caroline say, “I would be
eternally grateful. I’m afraid that we haven’t—” She stopped and smiled thinly again. “I
am
afraid that we
have not
had the time to make either of them more than a single, marginally serviceable gown.”

As Lady Aubrey no doubt reeled from the shock of her status being reduced to that of a wardrober, Drayton decided that Caroline had borne enough of the burden for setting the limits.

“Which reminds me,” he said, easing into taking his turn. “I’ve been meaning to say something and haven’t had a chance to talk with you. Tell me about Fiona’s shoes.”

Lady Aubrey looked back and forth between them, but he couldn’t tell from her expression whether she was curious or insulted by a conversation that didn’t center around her.

“Fiona has a noticeable limp,” Caroline explained to her. “Until such time as we can have her examined by a physician, we have compensated for the different lengths of her legs by making her one slipper with a thicker sole than the other.”

Having fulfilled the basic requirements of civility, she smiled up at him and went on, saying, “It was a rather slapdash thing, of course, given our time constraints that first day. Simone cobbled it together using several layers cut from old book covers and huge amounts of thread. Since then, she’s been working on refining the design so that her sister’s more comfortable and less likely to tumble off the platform.”

“How ingenious of her,” Drayton marvelled. “And kind.”

“I thought so. And Fiona was absolutely delighted by even the first design, as crude as it was.”

“You know about the crow, don’t you?”

“Oh, yes. Tarban.” She met Lady Aubrey’s gaze again to say, “Fiona collects animals. She has turned the schoolroom into something of an infirmary for them.”

Just as he expected, Lady Aubrey pressed her hand to her considerable bosom, shuddered dramatically, and emitted a disgusted, “Ugh.”

“She’s a very gentle, very loving and tender soul,” Drayton said slowly, deliberately. “Great care should be taken not to bruise her.”

Caroline glanced up at him, smiled serenely and took a sip of tea.

Again Lady Aubrey reacted just as he thought she would. “One should not dote upon children. It undermines the development of their character.”

“Great care
will
be taken not to bruise her.”

“As you wish, your grace.”

Oh,
Caroline thought, reaching for a butter sandwich,
that was masterfully done, Drayton. Masterfully done. Of course, now she loathes you just as much as she does me. Not that we care. And not that it will make the least bit of difference in how long she stays.

“Pardon the intrusion, your lordship. Mr. Fanes has arrived.”

She looked up at the doorway, at the butler standing in it, and wished she’d had the foresight to arrange for an escape. Drayton wasn’t merely masterful, he was brilliantly resourceful. Especially so if Mr. Fanes was a wholly fictional visitor.

“Please see him to my study, Winfield. I’ll be there in just a moment.” As Winfield departed, Drayton placed his teacup on the cart, saying, “Ladies, please excuse me. I must attend to important estate business.”

They both nodded as they should.

“And I have to be heading off for London,” Haywood announced, returning his teacup to the tray as well. Gathering up all the biscuits and tea sandwiches he could, he smiled, said, “Lovely to see you again, Lady Aubrey,” and then took off in Drayton’s wake.

Caroline glanced between Aubrey and his mother, smiled, and silently thanked Mrs. Gladder for the advice. Yes, until Drayton married, it was
her
house, and guests remained in it at her pleasure and not theirs. And now that the basic rules had been made clear to Lady Aubrey, they could begin again.

“How was your journey here?” Caroline politely inquired. “Did you have pleasant traveling weather?”

DRAYTON LEFT THE DOORS FOR WINFIELD TO CLOSE AND
advanced toward the man waiting in front of his desk. “Sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. Fanes. Please have a seat.”

“I would prefer to stand, if you don’t mind, your grace. This won’t take long at all.”

Drayton shrugged, propped himself on the corner of his desk, crossed his arms over his chest, and cocked a brow in permission for the other to begin.

“As you requested,” he said, drawing a parchment sheet out of the leather case he’d placed on the chair, “I have drafted the document concerning Lady Caroline Turn-bridge’s dowry.” He handed it over, adding, “All it requires is your signature.”

Drayton took it, glanced over it, and then laid it aside saying, “Thank you.”

“The final report on the liquidation of her business in London arrived on this afternoon’s post,” Fanes went on,
taking a slim leather-bound file from his case and passing it over. As Drayton flipped through the pages, the solicitor added, “I have taken the liberty of perusing it and can see no problems or unresolved issues. The statements from the bank regarding her account are included as an addendum to the report itself. As you expected, the sum is not significant at this point, but will grow over time if left to accrue interest. The bank has projected the totals forward in yearly increments.”

“Thank you.” He laid it aside, asking, “And do we have a docket date?”

“Yes, your grace. The first trial begins two weeks from today. The second three days after that.” He produced more papers from his bag and handed them over, explaining, “Your summonses were delivered to my offices yesterday.”

“So the Crown has decided to try them separately?”

“Yes. The prosecutor will be the same for both actions.”

Three days apart, huh? It certainly gave a new meaning to the concepts of swift and certain justice. “He obviously expects them to proceed quickly.”

“Actually, your grace, given the overwhelming volume and strength of the evidence against them, he expects the men to plead guilty and throw themselves on the mercy of the bench the eve before a jury is selected. Not that mercy is likely. He believes the judge will impose the fullest penalty the law allows.”

“Which would be?”

“Life imprisonment, your lordship. With their assets and accounts seized by the court to be counted toward full restitution.”

Eighteen years of bold thievery amounted to a great
deal of restitution. “Do you know anything of their family situations?” Drayton asked. “What would become of their wives and children if they’re incarcerated?”

“I can make discreet inquiries, if you would like, your grace.”

“Please do,” he instructed, nodding slowly as he considered and weighed all the facets of the situation. “And prepare documents deeding their homes and personal possessions back to them.”

Fanes drew his shoulders back and softly cleared his throat before saying, “As your solicitor, I am bound to point out the consequences of such a magnanimous gesture. While it’s true that their London bank accounts contain the lion’s share of the ill-gotten proceeds, forfeiting the houses and personal possessions will have a considerable impact on the court’s effort to make you whole. A negative impact, sir.”

Drayton shrugged. “I won’t be known for putting women and children out on the street. I don’t care what it costs to act with good conscience.”

The man apparently needed a few moments to consider the notion, but eventually he quietly sighed. “It is your decision, your grace.”

“Yes, it is, and I’ve made it. Please draft the documents. I trust that you’ll advise me if my testimony isn’t required by the court?”

“I will, sir.”

“Then it seems that we’re concluded for the day,” Drayton observed, coming off his desk. “Thank you, Mr. Fanes.”

“My pleasure, Lord Ryland,” he said with a crisp bow.

Drayton watched in silence as the man picked up his leather satchel and headed for the study doors—which, of
course, opened like magic as he drew near them. Leaving Winfield and the footman to see the solicitor on his way, Drayton looked down at the papers the man had delivered.

The summonses were of no concern; either Thompson and Rudman pleaded guilty and made his testimony in court unnecessary, or they didn’t. Justice would be served one way or the other. The papers for Caroline, though . . . He picked up the report on the liquidation of her business and turned to the summary pages. The sum total of her mother’s life and the first twenty-three years of Caroline’s were paltry, less than half of what his annual commission had been as an artillery officer. Even if left untouched and allowed to grow for twenty years, it wouldn’t amount to a third of what had been spent just on the new draperies for Ryland Castle. She could never live on it. Not well, not as she deserved.

He picked up the dowry settlement and read it through, noting the sum and the terms under which she could have access to them. The former was substantial, the latter simple and short; if she didn’t find a husband in two years, she could have her dowry and do with it as she pleased. If she wanted to open another dress shop, she could afford to make it the biggest and best in all of England. She could go her own way for the rest of her life and never want for a thing.

Drayton considered the line on which he was to sign, binding himself to the agreement they’d made that first morning as they’d done verbal battle across the counter of her shop. Not once since then had she mentioned the conditions she’d set for their truce—even while more than living up to her pledges. He was honor bound to sign the thing, to keep his word just as she had hers.

But he didn’t want to. Deep in the pit of his stomach,
misgivings and sadness and worry churned and coiled into a cold knot. It was the strangest, most inexplicable mixture of emotions. Especially considering that he knew full well that Caroline’s life was hers, the decisions affecting the course of it entirely hers to make. She deserved the freedom to make choices that would make her happy and the dowry settlement gave her that. He should be relieved to know that she wouldn’t be forced into a loveless or—even worse—an abusive marriage to avoid poverty.

So why, he wondered, staring blankly at the document in his hand, did he want so badly to toss it into the fire and deny that he’d ever agreed to have it drafted?