Scandal at the Dower House (3 page)

‘Farewell, Cousin. You too, Miss Norton,’ he added, releasing Catarina and taking her sister’s hand. ‘I trust we will have many more meetings, on less sad occasions.’

Joanna dimpled. ‘Oh, yes, so do I.’

Catarina wanted to chastise Joanna, tell her such flirtatious behaviour was indecorous, but she was feeling too stressed from the past dreadful few days to take the risk of another argument. They watched the brothers ride after the coach, and Joanna gave a little skip of excitement.

‘Let’s go and inspect the Dower House. I’ve never been inside, but it looks a pretty house, square and compact, not rambling like the Grange. I love planning rooms and
decorations
. There is a big double drawing room, isn’t there? What fun! You will let me help, won’t you?’ 

Chapter Two

L
ORD
B
ROOKE SAID
little in reply to Jeremy’s comments as they rode away from Marshington Grange. There was a great deal to think about. He was angry with his aunt for her unfortunate remarks, with Catarina for her interference over Olivia, even angrier with himself that he had not made more effort to find a different chaperon. He knew what Lady Keith was like and might have anticipated her abrasive behaviour. He had few female relatives, but if he had stopped to consider he could surely have found a suitable older woman from the ranks of his late mother’s many friends. It had been an
unfortunate
introduction to his cousin’s widow. Perhaps he should reconsider the plan for Olivia to stay in London. Then he felt angry again that he was permitting someone else’s opinion to influence him.

He tried to think of other things, but the vision of Catarina telling his aunt some much deserved home truths made him want to laugh. She had looked just a slip of a girl, in her rather outdated mourning clothes. He could scarcely believe she had been married for eight years. And she had faced him at his most imperious, flinging up her chin in defiance when she had expected him to scold her. No other girl he’d met had done that to him. Most were too anxious to make a good impression. Perhaps that was why he had never wished to make any of
them an offer. Once again he tried to force himself to think of other matters.

Marshington Grange would be an ideal small estate for Jeremy, and he could probably break the entail in order to gift it to him, but his brother had no intention of quitting the army. With Napoleon at large again, there was every prospect of more fighting, and too many of the crack troops from the
victorious
Peninsular army had been sent to far off corners of the globe. Others had been pensioned off. He himself had left the army when his father died a few years before, but he was
seriously
wondering whether he ought to re-enlist. Wellington might need all the experienced men he could find.

Ought he to ask Catarina – he couldn’t think of someone so young and beautiful as a countess – to remain at the house, in charge of the estate, or could he find and install a suitable tenant? Despite his annoyance with her over her criticism of his plan to send Olivia to London, he accepted that she had seemed to him a superbly capable young woman. The tenant farmers had spoken well of both his cousin Walter and Catarina. The house had run smoothly, the servants were well trained and from the brief tour he had made of the estate it was obviously in good heart, though there were a few matters he hadn’t had time to investigate which worried him slightly, and he meant to deal with them as soon as possible.

Most of the villagers were still using the old three-field system, which was wasteful and inefficient. That would need to change. Yet if he did ask her to oversee everything she might resent it, consider he was imposing on her. She was much younger than he had expected. He’d known Walter had married a much younger wife, but he was surprised at how beautiful she was, despite the unflattering and outmoded black gown. The two branches of the family were so distantly connected, he himself had been in the army at the time and, as Walter rarely went to London, Nicholas had not known more
than the barest facts. Had she wanted to marry a man so much older? Had the title persuaded her?

He had never expected to inherit the title. There was a shortage of men in the family so it had been a tenuous
relationship
: Walter’s grandfather and his own great-grandfather had been brothers. And once Walter married a young wife he would have been expected to sire his own sons. An ancient dispute between his grandfather and Walter’s father had ensured the families were not on more than terms of civility when they met accidentally. They never paid visits, even though their principal houses were but a day’s ride apart.

Unlike Lady Keith, he had no quarrel with Walter’s will. He was wealthy enough to be able to maintain the estate, even if the revenues from the entailed property proved insufficient. His father and grandfather had both married heiresses who had brought substantial fortunes into the family.

His thoughts swung to Catarina again. She was a difficult woman to dismiss from his mind. He knew little about her, but his aunt’s strictures on her parentage were, he suspected, spiteful guesses. A younger son, her father had made his own fortune by importing wine. He knew that much, and that her uncle was well-regarded in Bristol where he was influential in the town. If Joanna’s remarks were accurate, their mother was from a good family. Both girls seemed well educated, and ladylike, despite Joanna’s tendency to flirt with his brother.

He glanced at Jeremy. The boy was handsome, popular amongst his fellow officers, a welcome guest in Society
whenever
he was on leave, and had an adequate income from what his mother and grandmother had left him. He was, however, too young at four and twenty to contemplate marriage. He himself, six years older, did not yet feel the need to marry and set up his own nursery. There were too many complaisant young matrons bored with their husbands and offering distractions for him to want to lose his freedom just yet.

When they reached the inn where they planned to spend the night he shrugged off his preoccupations. There he might hear more news about Bonaparte’s escape.

It was a lovely morning in May and Catarina, having admired the spring flowers in the meadows as she walked to the Dower House, and picked some bluebells to brighten up the drawing room, had been talking to the estate carpenter about the final details to the changes she was making there. She had just turned to walk back to the Grange when Sir Humphrey Unwin appeared.

She sighed. He and Walter had been friends since childhood, had done the Grand Tour together and, when they had both settled down on their estates, been fellow Justices. He rode over almost every day, offering all sorts of advice and help, and looking hurt and woebegone when she refused. He often brought news of what was happening in France, the progress of Bonaparte and the mobilizing of the Allies in Belgium, but he pooh-poohed the idea that it would come to a battle.

‘You should not worry, my dear. The French will see sense.’

She could hardly tell him she was not worried. It all seemed rather far away from her present concerns.

As she was wondering whether she ought to invite him to take a nuncheon with her, the sound of an approaching carriage made her glance towards the lane.

A very smart curricle was turning into the driveway to the Grange, which ran past the Dower House. Seeing her, the driver, wearing a many-caped coat, halted his equipage and alighted. Catarina recognized Lord Brooke and her pulse began to beat rapidly. It was the shock of suddenly seeing him, she told herself. Before she could wonder what brought him here he had handed the reins to his tiger and was striding up the path towards her.

‘Good morning,’ he said. ‘I’m pleased to have met you, as I have very little time, I have an appointment with my agent
soon. Your servant, Sir Humphrey. Lady Brooke, may I have a few words?’

Sir Humphrey, looking disgruntled, acknowledged the greeting and turned to Catarina.

‘I had better take myself off, my dear, if you have business with his lordship. You won’t want me to interfere. Perhaps I will ride over again tomorrow, if there is further news. Goodbye.’

Before she could prevent him, he seized her hand and raised it to his lips. Over his shoulder Catarina could see Lord Brooke’s sardonic gaze, and resisted the temptation to snatch her hand away.

Eventually he was gone and Catarina turned to Lord Brooke.

‘Come inside, my lord, and take a glass of wine. What brings you back now? The Dower House is almost ready for me; I will be moving in next week.’

‘It was about some other houses I came. One of my reasons. I have discovered your late husband was contemplating removing the villagers from their present cottages to a point a mile away. He intended, I understand, to provide himself with a better view by so doing. I came to stop it.’

‘Stop it? But why?’

‘I didn’t know your husband, but from all I have heard he was a good landlord, so I find it desp— disappointing, to hear he is dispossessing the villagers of their homes.’

‘Have you seen those homes?’ Catarina asked.

‘No, except for seeing their roofs from the house.’

‘Those pretty thatched roofs are full of vermin, and the nearest water, apart from the river, is half a mile away. They are floored with earth, low lying, near the marsh, and very damp in winter. Occasionally they are flooded. A dozen houses share one privy.’

‘Those things can be improved and I mean to see to it. I do not wish to criticize Walter, but I would have thought, as he
was reputed a good landlord, that he would have done
something
about it.’

By now Catarina was fuming. ‘He did do something about it! Those hovels are a disgrace. You will find the villagers are only too anxious to move to the new cottages Walter has caused to be built near the church. Good, stone cottages, with roofs of slate, each with its own privy, and a well within a few yards.’

‘Such improvements could be achieved where they are at the moment. Don’t the people work on the farms, or in the house? Will they appreciate a long walk, at least a mile, to and from work?’

‘They will be closer to their friends and families who already live in the cottages Walter has been building for the past eight years. They will be close to the church, and there are shops in the village. They are closer to the commons and their animals. And to their taps.’

‘Taps?’

‘The strips in the common fields. Ask them, my lord, and listen to what they want before you prevent them from acquiring better houses at the same rents as before!’

The estate room, when Nicholas went into it, was untidy, with papers scattered all over the desk and others lying on the floor. There seemed no kind of order. He sat behind the desk and was reading some of the papers when the agent, a young man of his own age, rushed into the room.

‘My lord! You should have told me you meant to visit; I would have had it all tidy for you.’

‘Should have told you?’ Nicholas drawled, his tone icy.

The other man’s eyes widened and he swallowed hard.

‘I-I only meant, well, that I’d have been prepared for you!’

‘It should be tidy at all times. You might then even find it possible to hide your depredations of the estate.’

‘I-I don’t know what you mean, my lord!’

‘No? Then perhaps I had best explain. Your late master was
building new houses in the village. You had the task of paying the builders, but I find from comparing the amounts you put in the accounts books and the receipts from the builders that you seem to have been stealing small but steady sums from the late earl and, I presume, from me. I have not been able to compare the books since the funeral, but I intend to.’

‘I must have made an error in calculation, my lord,’ the wretched man said. ‘If you permit me to check them, I will soon discover the mistake.’

‘A systematic cheating is no error. How did you become agent here at Marshington? You are young for such a
responsible
position.’

‘I’m old enough,’ the man replied, looking frightened. ‘I came when my father died. A year ago, that was. He’d been agent here for many years and the late earl had promised him I would have the position after him.’

‘What did you do before?’

‘I worked for a merchant in Bristol, as a clerk in the counting house.’

‘Then I suggest you apply to have the post back, for I will not permit you to remain in my employment, cheating and lying to me. I will not, of course, be able to give you a reference.’

Nicholas helped Catarina into the curricle and she directed him towards a side path which led towards the cottages. He stole a glance at her to confirm his memory. For some reason he had not been able to forget her. She was truly lovely, though the stark black mourning dress did not flatter her golden skin. Her face was oval, her eyes a golden brown, and her mouth wide and kissable. She seemed to have gained weight since March; her cheeks were fuller, as was her bosom, partially revealed by the lighter gown she wore and visible under the shawl casually draped round her shoulders. He felt a frisson of desire. Why on earth had such a girl married a man so much older? There must have been other suitors apart from Walter,
for her money as well as her delicious person, even when she was only sixteen. Recalling Sir Humphrey’s unctuous
leave-taking
he had an unwelcome thought. Surely Catarina was not contemplating a connection with him? Not with another elderly man. She deserved something better. In any case it was far too soon for her to be contemplating another marriage.

Then he recalled a conversation with Olivia soon after they reached home, when he had agreed to her pleas that she might return to Brooke Court and Miss Shipton for another year. He had, besides, promised that he would find someone other than Lady Keith to sponsor her debut into Society. She had been in a confiding mood, such was her relief.