Mary Jo Putney (13 page)

“He sounds useful. Are you going to summon him to Kellington?”

“Yes, but I’m not sure he’ll come. He’s a Londoner to the bone.”

“I hope to get a chance to meet him.” Sarah spread pear preserves on her toast. “I wonder what Buckley wants to hide. His pressing desire to get your ear before anyone else sounds a little suspicious.”

“That remark is cynical but probably correct,” Rob said. “Which is why first I’ll ride the estate without his telling me what to think. Jonas is coming. Will you join us?”

“I’d like that. I’ll see if Francie can find me a riding habit that comes somewhere close to fitting.” Sarah grinned mischievously. “If that’s not available, a boy’s outfit so I can scandalize Kellington Castle by riding astride.”

Her intimate glance made him smile. She’d looked delightful in her breeches when they were haring across Ireland. She was the most intrepid female....

The door opened and his grandmother marched in looking ready to join battle. Rob got to his feet, thinking that being unconscious the night before had at least spared him from having to talk to her. “Good morning, ma’am. I’m glad to see that you’re in good health.” A cool greeting for a grandmother he hadn’t seen in a dozen years, but the best he could manage given that she’d jabbed him with her cane as if he were a dead fish.

The dowager halted, her gaze sharp as she scanned him from head to foot. He stood rigid. She’d terrified him when he was a child; he discovered that age, experience, and a newly inherited peerage didn’t entirely eliminate that. A good thing he’d shaved.

“You’re less of a disgrace than last night, but you need to dress like a gentleman even if you aren’t one,” she snapped. “I’ll summon a tailor from London since you certainly can’t be seen in public without a new wardrobe. Full mourning, of course.”

Rob’s youthful fear dissipated in a rush of pure rage, but before he could explode, Sarah stood and said brightly, “Good morning, Lady Kellington. I apologize for not being properly turned out, but since we arrived here with only the clothes on our backs, we must be grateful for the kindness of your staff in outfitting us. Being shipwrecked was an interesting experience, but not one I care to repeat.”

Tirade interrupted, the dowager glared at her. Sarah smiled with unshakable sweetness. “Would you care for a cup of tea, Lady Kellington?”

After a moment of bafflement because Sarah wasn’t cowed, the countess said testily, “Tea would be welcome. Milk and a heaping spoon of sugar.”

Since his grandmother intended to stay, Rob pulled out a chair for her, then resumed his own seat. He hadn’t finished his breakfast, and he’d be damned if he’d let her ruin his appetite.

Sarah set the cup of prepared tea in front of the dowager, then topped up the other two cups without being asked. The old woman sipped at her tea and seemed disappointed to find nothing to complain about. “You’ll need to speak to Buckley, the steward, and send a letter to our solicitors in London. They’ve been dealing with your cousin George, who assumed that the title had come to him.”

“The sooner he knows otherwise, the better,” Rob said coolly as he tried to remember his cousin. Another elegant wastrel, if he remembered correctly. A pity he couldn’t hand the whole inheritance over to George, but inheritance and entail didn’t allow that. “I assume the family solicitors are still Booth and Harlow?”

She looked surprised that he knew. “Old Caleb Booth died several years ago, so his son Nicholas now handles our affairs. He’s young, but capable.”

By Rob’s estimate young Nicholas Booth would never see forty again, but he’d do for now. If the lawyers approved of the way his father and brother had exploited the estate, he’d have to look around for a new firm. “I’ll write Booth after breakfast. Then I’ll ride out with Jonas and Miss Clarke-Townsend to survey the estate.”

His grandmother’s mouth pursed. “I assume you’ll take Mr. Buckley with you.”

“No, I’ll meet with him later.”

“What have you been doing all these years?” she asked abruptly. “Some low occupation to keep you from starving, I assume. I hope it was nothing criminal.”

“My occupation is indeed criminal,” Rob said. As his grandmother’s jaw dropped, he said, “I’m a Bow Street Runner. A thief taker and solver of problems.” He got to his feet. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to write Ashton and Booth.”

Sarah stood. “I’ll join you and write to my sister. Until later, Lady Kellington.”

As his grandmother stared in shock, they made their escape. Once they were clear of the breakfast parlor, Rob guided his fictitious fiancée to the left. “My father’s study is at the end of this wing. I presume we can find pen and paper and sealing wax there.”

Sarah took his arm as they headed down the corridor. “It must be strange to be back here after so many years.”

“Very,” he agreed. “Not sentimental strange in a way that makes me weep for my lost youth and family. Just . . . strange.” After a half dozen more steps, he added, “I know I should be mourning my father and brother, but I feel no grief.” His smile was twisted. “Perhaps there really is something fundamentally wrong with me, as I was always told.”

“Nonsense,” Sarah said briskly. “Would you have mourned if you’d just learned Jonas had died while you were away?”

He frowned. “Of course. We’re friends.”

“While your father and brother were not your friends. I see no reason to go into mourning for two men who treated you abominably.”

Rob blinked as he ushered Sarah into the study. “For a well-brought-up young lady, you have some radical thoughts.”

“I just dislike hypocrisy. Your brother sold you to a press gang, for heaven’s sake! You’re entitled to celebrate his departure from this mortal coil.”

“I find that a very soothing thought.” He surveyed the small room, which was dark and shabby. There was a double desk, several chairs, and not much else.

“Not a cheerful spot,” Sarah observed. “Did your father spend much time here?”

“I’m not sure. My only visits were to be dressed down and told why I wasn’t worthy of my noble name.”

“Charming.” Sarah opened a drawer on one side of the desk. “Pen, paper, and ink, as you said. Plus a small notebook and some pencils. But this study will need work if you want to use it regularly.”

“What an appalling prospect,” he murmured.

Seeing his expression, Sarah said, “You can choose a different study. A house this size must surely have more pleasant rooms.”

“That’s a good idea. I always liked the library. It’s sunny and has a fine view of the sea. Perhaps I’ll set up an office in one end.”

“You’re an earl now,” Sarah said. “Since there are plenty of disadvantages, you might as well enjoy the pluses, such as working in the library if you like.”

His mouth quirked. “It will take time to get used to that idea after being on my own and keeping life simple for so long.”

She smiled as she settled on her side of the desk. “I promise you’ll adapt, and find much that you like about your new position.”

As he sat on the opposite side of the desk, he hoped glumly that she was right.

“F
rancie, can you find me a riding habit that more or less fits?” Sarah asked when she tracked the maid down. “If not, a boy’s outfit so I can ride with Lord Kellington.”

Brown-haired and bright-eyed, Francie was about Sarah’s age, and a cousin of Jonas. Looking mildly scandalized, she said, “I can find a habit, though it will be old and oversized. You should not meet the tenants for the first time dressed as a boy!”

The first time would be the last time because in a few days Sarah would be gone, but she didn’t argue the point. “I’ll be delighted with any habit you can locate, Francie. Will you act as my lady’s maid as long as I’m here? I need a miracle worker!”

Francie laughed. “With pleasure, miss. Come up to the attics with me. I know just where to look.” She turned and headed toward the attic stairs.

Sarah followed, grateful that Jonas had enlisted her help. Like her cousin, Francie was good natured and capable. And, it appeared, during boring moments in her time as a servant, she had explored the attics and had a good idea of what was stored there.

Once they’d reached the second attic, Francie headed unerringly to a dusty trunk and dragged it over by a small window. “Here, if I recall correctly.”

She lifted the lid and pulled out masses of green velvet. As she shook it out and held it up for inspection, she said, “Old but in good shape, and not too far off your size.”

“Francie, you’re a genius!” Sarah said fervently. “Are there any riding boots down there?”

“Yes, though they’re rather battered.” Francie handed the habit to Sarah, then dug in the trunk again. “Here’s the matching bonnet. Ah, boots. Will these do?”

Sarah judged the size. “A bit large, but they’re better than no boots at all. Now to get dressed. Lord Kellington will be impatient to look over the estate.”

As they headed for the steps, Sarah decided this was a good time for some questions. “What do the people here think about the new earl?”

“It’s a shock, miss, what with everyone assuming he was dead,” Francie replied. “Some folk, like my cousin Jonas, knew him when he was a boy and they’re glad to see him alive and the succession settled.”

When Francie seemed unlikely to say more, Sarah said, “You said that was ‘some folk.’ What about the others?”

When Francie hesitated, Sarah said, “Please, Lord Kellington won’t punish people for what they’re thinking, but he needs to know what he’s facing here.”

They’d arrived at Sarah’s room, so Francie held the door open for her. Once it was closed behind them, she said reluctantly, “The late earls, his father and brother, always spoke badly of him. They said Master Rob was a thief who stole from his family and an incorrigible rogue with no sense of what was proper. Good riddance to him.”

Sarah nodded grimly as she kicked her slippers off, then turned so Francie could unfasten the back of her gown. “I rather expected that. If the opportunity presents itself, you might suggest people give him a chance. They’ll be pleasantly surprised.”

“Jonas said Master Rob was fair and honorable to a fault.” Francie lifted off Sarah’s gown, then dropped the riding habit over her head. “Cousin George Carmichael, the one they thought was the heir, visited once. Every maid in the house learned to step lively around him if she didn’t want to end up with a black and blue backside.”

“He sounds dreadful.” Since Francie had finished lacing the gown, Sarah sat on the chair and tugged on the riding boots. They were loose but adequate.

“Not only a pincher, but he never showed a lick of interest in the estate, either.” Francie smoothed out the green velvet. “The skirt is too long so walk carefully, but that won’t matter once you’re mounted, and the color is fine on you.”

Sarah turned and scanned her image in the mirror. The green was indeed a fine shade for her. Her appearance was fairly decent for an urchin in borrowed clothing. She donned the wide-brimmed bonnet after removing a crushed nosegay of silk flowers and turned to leave the room. “I look forward to seeing the estate.”

“It’s not in good shape, miss,” Francie said with a sigh.

“All the more reason to see it.” Sarah caught up the skirt in front and headed for the stairs. She quite liked the sweeping staircases. Any woman would feel lovely and romantic floating down the steps.

Especially if a handsome man was waiting at the bottom and watching with a stunned expression. “Is this really the hard-riding tomboy who crossed Ireland with me?” Rob asked in amazement.

She laughed. “Clothing really makes a difference, doesn’t it? Francie, who’s a cousin of Jonas, conjured this from the attic.”

Rob offered his arm. “She was younger than we were, but I remember she was a pretty little thing. I’m glad she’s able to help you so much.”

Sarah took his arm, holding up her skirts with the other hand since otherwise she’d trip and ruin the illusion of ladylike elegance. Jonas was waiting for them in the barn with saddled horses.

When a gentleman helped a lady up onto her horse, it was a traditional opportunity to flirt. Today, there were too many serious issues to allow room for playfulness. But as Sarah placed her foot into Rob’s linked hands, she was disconcertingly aware of his nearness and his strength.

After she settled into her sidesaddle, she showed him the notebook and pencil she’d brought. “I’m prepared to take notes and make myself useful.”

Rob grinned. “Why do I have the feeling that besides learning housekeeping at your mother’s knee, you learned estate management at your uncle’s side?”

“Because you’re perceptive,” she said with a laugh. “I was always tagging behind Uncle Peter and often acted as his secretary. I learned to keep the books, too.”

“I may need to hire you.” Rob mounted and the three of them rode out of the stable yard. “I learned very little about estate management from growing up here because I never expected to inherit. My interests were elsewhere.”

“I’m glad one was tracking down abducted females!” Being mounted gave Sarah a good view of the grounds. “Is that a real castle down there on the edge of the cliff?”

“Yes, it’s the original Kellington Castle, though as you see, it’s mostly ruins. It dates from Norman times. The present house was built for comfort and the castle was abandoned, but it was a wonderful place to play, full of rooms and tunnels.” Switching topics, Rob said, “Which tenant farm will we visit first?”

“Oaklea. The tenant now is Rupert White,” Jonas replied. “He took possession after you left.”

Sarah’s lightheartedness faded as they rode to Oaklea. She’d been raised on an estate that glowed with care and concern. Kellington displayed none of that.

Fields needed better drainage, the stock needed improvement. Putting Kellington to rights would be a huge job. Huge and expensive.

As they approached Oaklea farm, the tenant saw the three of them riding in and he came out to greet them, his expression wary. “Good morning, Mr. White,” Jonas said as they halted their horses. “You may have heard the new earl is here, and he’s wishful of meeting his tenants.”

White scowled. “I heard. Also that he’s a thief and a wastrel. Not much point in coming around here, your bloody lordship. Your father and brother already took everything of value.”

Sarah gasped at his rudeness. He sounded like a man with nothing left to lose.

Rob said mildly, “I gave up thieving to become a Bow Street Runner. I’m coming around now to get acquainted and ask what needs to be done at Oaklea.”

“Everything!” White spat out. “The roof needs repairing. Need a new barn and a well, too. I fix what I can, but I can’t handle everything. I thought I was lucky to be given the tenancy of Oaklea, but it’s the worst decision I ever made.” Seeing Sarah writing, he asked suspiciously, “What’s she doing?”

“Miss Clarke-Townsend is acting as my secretary,” Rob explained. “There is much to be done. The first step is to find out what’s needed.”

“You’re really going to order repairs?” the tenant scoffed. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”

Jonas, who had been silent till now, said, “At least you’re seeing the earl in person. When’s the last time that happened?”

“Never,” White allowed. “But maybe he’s just come around to count the silver so he can take that.”

Rob said, “One last question. Has Mr. Buckley dealt with you as he should?”

“Buckley!” White spat, then spun on his heel and stalked back into his house.

“I think that answers that,” Rob said dryly. “Time to head to the next farm.”

As they rode away, Jonas remarked, “You’ve learned to control that temper of yours, I see.”

“A Bow Street Runner attracts insults and verbal abuse,” Rob explained. “One becomes accustomed.”

That surprised a laugh from Sarah. “Training for your current position! If you like, I can point that out to your grandmother if she criticizes your former occupation.”

“Tempting,” Rob said with a half smile. “But it would be bad form to cause her to fall into a frothing fit. What’s the next farm, Jonas?”

That was the last levity of the estate tour. A few tenants remembered Rob and were glad he was alive, and none were as rude as White. But all were angry and without hope. Sarah didn’t blame them. The previous Lords Kellington had not fulfilled their landlordly obligations.

Sarah knew that Rob would if he could. But that was the crucial question. Would there be enough money to do all that needed to be done? Sarah was afraid of the answer.

 

 

The estate was vast, and they didn’t finish visiting the tenant farms until well after noon. Rob remained patient and thoughtful, and Sarah filled over half the notebook with lists of things to be done, broken down into urgent, less urgent, and useful but not vital.

After they visited each tenant, all three of them discussed what they’d seen, with Rob encouraging Sarah and Jonas to give their opinions. Rob listened intently. Sarah could almost see the gears spinning in his mind as he learned.

They had a hot cheese pie and ale at Jonas’s house. Sarah suspected that was because there was no other home on the estate where they could be sure of a warm welcome. His wife, Annie, was pretty and pregnant, the two toddlers were adorable, and it was clearly a happy house.

But Sarah was aware that the foundation of the home was Jonas’s position as head groom with a decent, regular salary. If the debts of Rob’s father and brother destroyed the estate, Jonas’s family and everyone else who lived on the Kellington property would be affected. And that didn’t count what other properties might be part of the Kellington inheritance. She silently damned Rob’s relations for their selfishness.

By midafternoon, the three of them were tired and subdued. As they left a small farm called Hilltop, Rob asked, “That’s the last of the tenant farms, isn’t it? Is it my imagination, or are properties increasingly run down as they get farther from the castle?”

“ ’Tis not your imagination. My guess is that Buckley knew the former earls weren’t likely to ride very far to see how their tenants fared.” Jonas nodded toward the rugged hills rising to the east. “Do you want to visit the shepherds in the high country?”

“They’d be hard to locate, and it’s not really necessary.” Rob gathered his reins. “It’s time we headed back.”

Jonas nodded and turned toward the castle, but Rob lingered, his gaze on the hills. Sarah drew her horse up beside his. “Are you thinking of Bryony?” she asked quietly.

“You notice too much.” He swallowed hard. “She lived in the hills. I met her when I was riding up there one day. Being here reminds me of all the times I’d ride up to meet her. How much we enjoyed being together.”

Sarah remembered how Rob had described his first love: black haired and beautiful, wild and free. Such a girl might have made a spirited, resilient army wife if Rob had become an officer. That life had been stolen from them. “You can look for Bryony. She probably lives in this area still.”

“No,” Rob said softly. “That time is gone.”

He wheeled his horse around and rode away.

Aching for those two vanished young people, Sarah cast a last look at the hills, then headed back to the shabby faux castle by the sea.