April 1805
The Honorable William Barlow became the fourth Viscount Farleigh in the usual way—with the death of the third viscount. That the deceased third viscount was William’s father was also usual in such situations.
What was less than usual was the complete apathy William felt about both the title and his father’s death. Nonetheless, his life had irrevocably changed as a result. It remained to be seen if it had changed for the better or the worse. If he were a betting man, which he emphatically was not, he would bet on the latter.
The carriage in which he rode was taking him closer and closer to the family home he’d avoided for years. There was no avoiding it now.
He folded the missive his father’s solicitor had sent and that had eventually found its way north to Edinburgh, where William had been for the past few years, and slid it into the breast pocket of his coat. He’d read it several times already since receiving it yesterday morning. He could recite it all by heart now.
Lord Farleigh, the letter began—as if that alone hadn’t been enough to enlighten William as to the letter’s contents—Lord Farleigh, I regret to inform you of the untimely passing of your father, William Barlow Senior, the former Viscount Farleigh.
William stared out the carriage window at the passing scenery. It was a particularly gray April day. Gusts of wind battered the hedgerows and whipped the trees alongside the Great North Road, bruising the young spring foliage already sodden from the slanting rain. It matched his mood entirely.
I regret to inform you of the untimely passing of you father, William Barlow Senior, the former Viscount Farleigh. His passing confers the title of viscount on you as his only son and heir. It would behoove you to return to Farleigh Manor as soon as you are able so that pressing concerns related to the viscountcy can be dealt with expeditiously. Your servant, Richard Heslop, Esquire.
It was worded in Mr. Heslop’s typically overwrought manner—oh, yes, he’d had dealings with Heslop before now—but in simple language, the solicitor was telling him the viscountcy and its associated properties, that were now William’s responsibility, were in a desperate state. But of course they were; that came as no surprise.
The only real surprise in all of this was that his father had managed to live for as long as he had, all things considered.
William settled back into the corner of the carriage the solicitor had sent along with the letter to bring him to Buckinghamshire, and he planted his feet firmly on the floor for balance. He slid the brim of his hat down, folded his arms across his chest, and shut his eyes, willing the motion of the swaying carriage to soothe him. He mentally recited as many verses from the plays of Sophocles as he could remember from his school days, but as they were all tragedies, they only added to his overall sense of gloom. He tried to take a nap.
Despite his efforts, his mind kept returning to the letter in his pocket—or, more precisely, to Farleigh Manor.
Farleigh Manor, the seat of the viscountcy and William’s childhood home, was filled with ghosts. Haunting memories. William hadn’t been there, hadn’t returned home, since he’d left for Oxford. He’d rarely gone home during his time at Eton before that, having left for school at the age of ten. His mother was long dead—buried in the family graveyard there, next to the little chapel, along with other deceased viscounts and viscountesses and assorted Barlow family members.
He wondered if Matthew, the groundskeeper, was still there and if he was keeping her grave well tended. It belatedly occurred to him that his father would have a grave to be tended now as well. The father William remembered would have insisted his final resting place look distinguished, as befitting a member of English nobility.
His mother would have cared only that any flowers planted there were treated well and allowed to flourish.
And what of Mrs. Holly, the housekeeper? Or Grimshaw, the butler? Good heavens, the man had seemed ancient to William when William was a boy. Was he still alive? And then there was Samuel, who’d been stable master and had taught William to ride.
Those dear people—the servants of Farleigh Manor who had remained faithful to the viscountcy and to William—had made his boyhood more bearable. He had thought of them frequently over the years, but to what end? The last time he had confronted his father about Farleigh Manor, its tenants and servants and the general state of its finances, he had been ordered to leave and never return. William had obliged him and had moved to Scotland. It had been the ideal location—the intellectual community in Edinburgh had kept his mind occupied, and the distance between him and Farleigh Manor had kept his longing for the good people of Farleigh Manor at bay—not that he had been entirely successful.
William knew from his last encounter with his father that if things had continued on the course his father had set, Farleigh Manor would most likely be bankrupt. The man’s unwillingness to change would have seen to that. William would need all his wits about him when he reached the manor and came face-to-face with the challenges he had newly inherited.
He pulled the brim of his hat farther down over his eyes. The movement of the carriage had finally done its work and had lulled him into a drowsy state. Sleep was preferable to the painful, nostalgic shards he was feeling with each servant and tenant he remembered. There was nothing he could do from the interior of a carriage anyway.
Farleigh Manor and its troubles lay ahead, so for now, William slept.
* * *
The Wilmington ball was this evening, and Lady Louisa Hargreaves had received an invitation from Lady Wilmington herself. It was the first grand ball of the year and Louisa’s first ball of her first Season, so she had chosen her gown with extreme care—after consulting with her mother, the modiste, her personal maid, her mother’s personal maid, and even a chambermaid who’d happened to enter the room right after she’d donned the gown just minutes ago. Presenting oneself to London Society was a greater ordeal than Louisa had imagined it would be.
Assured by them all that the gown was exquisite and would cut a fine dash, she took a deep breath and left her dressing room. It was time to join her parents and be on their way.
“Good heavens, Louisa, what is that thing you’re wearing?” her eldest brother, Alexander, said as he watched her descend the main staircase of their London home.
Louisa came to an abrupt halt halfway down the staircase.
“It is not a thing, Alex,” her brother Anthony said in a decidedly condescending tone, taking Louisa completely by surprise. It was so unlike Anthony, who was just older than she, to come to her defense. If there was one thing she had learned over the years, it was that both brothers could be terrible nuisances. “It is clearly a cloud of one sort or other,” he finished.
Louisa fought the urge to growl.
“The question we must then ask is what kind of cloud is it? Is it a cirrus cloud?” Anthony mused, tapping his chin in thought. “But no, the dress is too”—he made circling gestures with his hand—“too . . . puffy. Yes, that’s the word. Too puffy to be cirrus clouds, which are ethereal in nature.”
“Our sister is definitely not what I would call ethereal,” Alex said. “She planted me a facer once, and there wasn’t anything ethereal about it.”
“I was nine at the time, if you’ll recall,” Louisa said in her own defense, feeling quite proud of herself because Alex had been all of thirteen, not to mention a foot taller than she.
“You had a black eye for a week,” Anthony said.
“I did at that.” Alex rubbed his cheek at the memory. “Now, back to the subject at hand: cirrostratus clouds have more substance than cirrus clouds do.” He came up the stairs toward her, leaning closer and raising his quizzing glass to study her appearance more thoroughly. He ran the flounce on her sleeve through his fingers. “Cirrostratus, hmm.”
Louisa glared at him and swatted his hand away.
He grinned. “Look at that frowning face of hers, Tony,” he said. “A storm appears to be brewing after all.”
“A cumulus cloud, then,” Anthony said. “She’s all puffy clouds with the threat of foul weather. We are at your service, Lady Cumulus.” He bowed theatrically to her as Alex offered her his hand.
She pretended to ignore them both, raising her chin as she took her last few steps down to the entry hall—and then she couldn’t help herself. She giggled.
Their parents entered the hall from one of the adjoining parlors at the same moment, obviously overhearing the exchange.
“What a vision you are, Louisa,” her father, the Marquess of Ashworth, said, taking both her hands in his and kissing her cheek. “Don’t listen to those rapscallion brothers of yours. They wouldn’t know a diamond of the first water if she were to stand two inches from their noses. One would think I had never taught them to admire beauty.”
“Don’t worry, Papa,” she replied archly. “They were merely discussing the weather.”
Alex laughed.
“You look absolutely exquisite, my darling,” Mama said, giving Louisa a hug, careful not to wrinkle either of their gowns. “The gown is divine and is the perfect choice for this evening.”
“Thank you, Mama.” Drat her pesky, adorable brothers!
“I assume the two of you are planning to make an appearance tonight since this is your sister’s first ball of the Season,” Papa said.
“Certainly, Father. We would never wish to disappoint our little sister. But does that mean I must also dance with her?” Anthony asked, rubbing his leg for effect, an innocent look of inquiry on his face. “Sore knee, you know. Boxing mishap at Gentleman Jackson’s the other day.”
“You never mentioned a sore knee to me,” Mama said, raising an eyebrow.
Alex was biting his lip to keep from laughing again.
“I didn’t wish to worry you unduly, Mama,” Anthony replied meekly.
“That is most unfortunate,” Papa said smoothly. “Because I expect you both to dance at least once with your sister and introduce her to some of your friends. The reputable ones, that is. And as for you, Anthony, I suggest you rub liniment on that knee before you arrive at the Wilmingtons’. Hopefully the smell of it won’t put off the other guests.”
“If those guests include the young ladies in attendance, that makes liniment a plus in my book,” Alex whispered loudly to Anthony from behind his hand. “Parson’s mousetrap and all that. Wouldn’t want to end up leg shackled before I’m ready, you know. Perhaps I’ll discover a sore knee, too, before we make an appearance.”
“Halford,” their father said, calling Alex by his title, which meant the words to follow were ones he intended to be taken seriously. “I expect you to lead your sister out for her first dance. See that you are there and on time, whatever plans you do or do not have for later in the evening.”
“Certainly, Father. I wouldn’t dream otherwise.” He waited a beat before continuing. “Nothing more fun than dancing with one’s baby sister, after all.” He winked at Louisa.
“You are incorrigible,” Louisa said, fighting back more giggles.
Alex only laughed.
“I suppose I must dance with Louisa as well,” Anthony said with a huge sigh, “despite my sore knee. I am that thoughtful of a brother, you know.”
“Your chivalry knows no bounds,” Papa said dryly.
“I am quite certain Louisa shall have no problem finding dance partners,” Mama said. “She has caught the eye of several young men already, including the Earl of Kerridge.”
“Unless she begins talking any of them into a stupor,” Alex said.
“Halford,” Papa scolded.
Louisa could feel her cheeks turn red, but really, Alex spoke the truth. Louisa knew that she occasionally had the tendency to rattle on in conversation.
“Nevertheless,” Mama said in a tone that brooked no argument. “It is always good to have one’s brothers there to make sure things go off smoothly at the beginning of one’s first official ball, is it not?”
“Of course, Mama,” Louisa’s brothers said almost in tandem.
“Good. It’s settled, then.”
Gibbs, the head butler at Ashworth House in London, silently materialized and helped the ladies with their wraps while Papa donned his hat and took up his walking stick. “Have a good evening, your lordship, milady,” he said, opening the door for them. “And the very best to you, Lady Louisa.”
That was quite a speech, coming from Gibbs. “Thank you, Gibbs,” Louisa said, touched.
Papa turned back to her brothers. “We shall see you two shortly, then.”
“Don’t worry, Father,” Alex said. “Additionally, I shall introduce Louisa to every gentleman of my acquaintance this evening and then threaten them with bodily harm if they should choose not to invite her to dance, regardless of the menacing glances they get from the illustrious Earl of Kerridge.”
“Alex!” Louisa exclaimed with a gasp.
“It would certainly add spice to an otherwise tedious occasion,” Anthony remarked.
“Not too much violence, please,” Papa said. “Very well. Let’s be on our way, Lady Ashworth, Louisa. The Wilmington ball awaits, and your mother seems to think it’s time you got yourself a husband.”
“I didn’t put it quite like that, Ashworth,” Mama said. “What I actually said was more along the lines of taking your time and choosing wisely, Louisa. We want you to be happy, above all else.”
Louisa had made several good friends and already had more beaux than she could have imagined, one or two of whom she found quite interesting. She really had no idea what Lord Kerridge’s intentions were for her. The earl had paid her particular attention the past few weeks, and his doing so had generated a bit of a buzz amongst the ton, Louisa knew, but he had made no declaration to her of any sort, regardless of his attention to her. It all seemed very confusing at times.
She needn’t place her hopes or expectations solely upon the Earl of Kerridge, however. There were parties and routs and musicales and, oh, lots of events to look forward to and many, many young gentlemen and ladies with whom to become acquainted. She would concentrate on enjoying herself, making friends, and practicing her flirting skills. She would stop fretting about marriage, starting now. And if the Earl of Kerridge decided to make an offer, she would consider it. Of course she would.
“Thank you, Mama,” Louisa said. “But you needn’t concern yourself unnecessarily. After growing up with these two for brothers, everyone else will be an improvement, by comparison.”
Her father barked out a laugh while he handed her mother into the carriage. Her brothers, who stood in the open doorway in order to bid them farewell, also laughed.
“Touché, little sister,” Alex said, offering her a jaunty salute.
“Adieu, Lady Cumulus,” Anthony added, grinning. “We shall see you soon and vow to do our very best not to be embarrassed by the puffiness of your gown. Try not to rain this evening.”
Louisa waved to them and climbed into the carriage, straightening her gown once she was seated. Her not-at-all-puffy gown, the silly wretches. Oh, but she loved her brothers, terrible teases that they were. She recalled a time when she was eight that she’d managed to retaliate against their constant teasing by sneaking frogs into their beds. That had been one of her crowning accomplishments, especially when she’d been able to hear Anthony shrieking from his bedroom. It hadn’t mattered that she’d gotten a talking to from Papa or that her brothers had tossed her into the lake the following day.
She settled back into the comfortably upholstered seat of her father’s carriage as the horses leapt into action. As they moved forward, she gazed out the window at the fashionable homes of Mayfair, appreciating the architecture, the flower gardens, and the lovely weather, her mind humming with excitement, a little apprehension—and hope.
* * *
The Wilmington ball was always one of the first of the Season, and Lady Wilmington, Louisa knew, went to great lengths to assure its success each year. Louisa could see rows of carriages awaiting their turns to deposit their passengers at the door, confirming that the ball was going to be a crush. The cream of Society milled about on a red carpet, of all things, waiting to enter the Wilmingtons’ expansive London home and greet their host and hostess before making their way to the ballroom.
Soon it was their turn. Louisa exited the carriage, assisted by her father, who’d preceded her, and then waited, pulling her wrap a bit more tightly around her, as her mother descended the carriage steps. The sky held the last vestiges of twilight, and the dewy spring air was chilly, creating a blurry halo around the moon in an otherwise cloudless sky.
It appeared Louisa’s dress was the only cloud venturing out tonight.
In contrast to the nighttime sky, the entrance hall of the Wilmingtons’ residence was ablaze with light, and Louisa found herself having to blink until her eyes adjusted. A grand chandelier hung overhead, and silver sconces adorned the walls. Perfumes and beeswax mingled together, creating a heady fragrance, and the hum of conversation echoed through the marble hall. The gowns and turbans and plumes of the ladies provided a vivid counterpoint to the formal black the gentlemen wore. Louisa shivered with excitement and anticipation and a touch of nervousness as well.
After what seemed an age to Louisa, she and her parents finally made their way through the crush to Lord and Lady Wilmington.
“I daresay you are destined to break many a poor gentleman’s heart this Season, Lady Louisa,” Lord Wilmington said. He was a short, round man with a genial nature, and Louisa had always liked him. “What a dashing young lady you have become. But then, you were always a pretty little thing.”
“You are too kind, Lord Wilmington,” Louisa said, offering a demure curtsy.
“Your gown is exquisite,” Lady Wilmington said. She was as short and round as her husband, but the plumes attached to the turban she wore gave her a decided advantage in height over her husband this evening. She leaned in closer to Louisa, causing the purple silk of her gown to rustle and the feathers atop her head to flutter precariously. “I rather like the gauzy fabric, my dear. Rather fluffy and cloud-like. Very becoming.”
Louisa’s hand darted to her bodice. Had her exasperating brothers managed to arrive ahead of her? Had her mother said something to Lady Wilmington? They couldn’t have; they wouldn’t have. Would they?
She looked carefully into Lady Wilmington’s face but could see only the same good-hearted amiability the lady always exuded. “Thank you, Lady Wilmington,” she managed to say in a rather strangled voice.
Lady Wilmington took Louisa’s hand and patted it. “Are you quite well, my dear?”
“Yes.” She swallowed. “I’m fine. Thank you for asking.” Since Lady Wilmington didn’t add anything to her earlier cloud reference, Louisa decided—hoped, rather—that it must have been a coincidence. A coincidence she had no intention of sharing—especially with her brothers, who would never let her live it down.
Couples were already taking their places on the floor by the time Louisa and her parents arrived at the ballroom, and the musicians were warming up their instruments on the dais. The first dance of the evening would soon be underway. The murmur of conversation filled the room, and as Louisa looked around the room for familiar faces, all thoughts of clouds faded from her mind.
Lord Kerridge would be here tonight, and he had asked her to reserve a dance for him. The evening would be filled with dancing, and that meant she would most likely have many dance partners, for Lord Kerridge wouldn’t be able to dance with her more than two dances. She had already penciled his name on her card for one dance. Would he ask her for a second later in the evening—perhaps the supper dance? Were there other gentlemen here tonight she would find as charming as he?
What if no one else asked her to dance? The thought hadn’t occurred to her before, but it was entirely possible she could end up a wallflower, sitting with Mama and her friends and fanning herself out of embarrassment and boredom. How mortifying that would be if, at her first real ball, she turned out to be an utter failure. Could a worse thing imaginable ever happen to her? She doubted it.
“Would you care to dance with me, Lady Ashworth, before you settle in with your friends and fret over which young suitors are paying court to your daughter?” Papa asked Mama, interrupting Louisa’s stream of thought.
Goodness, she was so nervous she was babbling in her head now.
“You mean before you discreetly head in the direction of the card room, Ashworth?” Mama replied with a coy smile.
“Precisely, my love.”
“I would enjoy such a dance, provided your daughter is not left on her own as a result.”
Ashworth glanced around the ballroom. “You needn’t worry. Halford will show his face at any moment if he knows what’s good for him.”
As if on cue, Alex and Anthony materialized at the ballroom door, both looking like lambs being led to the slaughter. Louisa hid a smile behind her gloved hand as her brothers spotted the rest of the family and made their way toward them.
“I’m off to search the ranks for willing—I mean suitable—dance partners,” Anthony announced. “You shall not be left wanting, little sister.” Louisa barely had time to register what he’d said before he was off like a shot and disappeared into the crowd.
“Lady Cumulus,” Alex said, bowing theatrically to Louisa, a twinkle in his eye. “How soon we meet again! I would be honored to dance the first dance with you, provided you do not become thunderous during our time together.”
She laid her hand on his arm and allowed him to lead her onto the dance floor. “Did you or Anthony say something about my gown to Lady Wilmington?” Drat. She’d told herself she wasn’t going to say anything about that.
“Don’t be silly,” Alex said absentmindedly. “Wait.” He stopped walking. “Are you telling me she actually called your gown a cloud?”
“Something like that,” Louisa answered, feeling rather grumpy about the entire business.
Alex grinned.
“Stop it,” Louisa said, rapping Alex on the arm with her fan, which caused both of her parents to turn and give her reproving looks. “Stop it,” she repeated in a quieter tone, trying her best not to giggle. It was all so ludicrous. “I chose this gown with extreme care, you know. Does it really make me look like some sort of weather phenomenon?”
“It’s a very delightful, very fluffy gown, Weezy—much better than the monstrosity you wore when you were presented at court last week.”
Louisa shuddered. “That gown was a monstrosity—all hoops and brocade and ostrich plumes, with that horrid train I barely avoided tripping over as I backed away from Queen Charlotte after curtsying nearly all the way to the floor.”
“I don’t envy you at all. In fact, I applaud your ability to stay on your feet.”
The music began at that moment, and Louisa turned her attention to the steps of the lively country dance.
Throughout the remainder of the evening, she found herself engaged to dance with a number of her brothers’ friends: Christopher “Kit” Osbourne, the eldest son of the Earl of Cantwell; his brother Philip; Sir Richard Egan; and Hugh Wallingham, to name but a few. Obviously, her brothers had listened closely to their father’s orders and done their duty in seeing Louisa had a full dance card for the evening. But they were friends, young gentlemen she’d met before, not suitors, really; at least, they didn’t seem that way to her. She could hardly be interested in someone who felt forced to bestow his favors on her, now could she?
Dancing with her brothers’ friends hadn’t allowed her much of an opportunity to be introduced to other young gentlemen or to dance with some of the gentlemen with whom she’d already become acquainted. Like the Earl of Kerridge, for example.
The earl was dashing and witty and was heir to the Duke of Aylesham, making him one of the great matrimonial prizes of the Season. Louisa, as the daughter of the Marquess and Marchioness of Ashworth, was one of the highest-ranking young ladies making her come-out this year, if not the highest. While love matches were looked upon with tolerance, many noble marriages were still arranged for practical reasons, especially amongst the higher ranks. Louisa was not a fool. She knew at least that much about the Society into which she had been born. If Lord Kerridge offered her marriage, it would be foolish not to consider it. Marriage to him would eventually make her a duchess.
She did have a partiality toward the earl. But was this partiality love? She had no experience at all when it came to romantic love. Would she recognize the feeling when it happened? Would the attachment she felt for him grow into something more?
Oh, but she dearly wished to marry for love.
“Ahem, Lady Louisa,” a male voice behind her said.
She turned, smiling, hopeful that Lord Kerridge had finally approached her to claim his dance. Her smile froze.
Baron Moseby bowed to her. The baron, a widower, had been a rather persistent suitor as of late, and Louisa was not at all interested. “Lady Louisa,” he said again. “I would consider it a great honor if you were to dance—”
“Sorry, old chap.” Lord Kerridge materialized next to the two of them. “I believe this dance is mine, is it not, Lady Louisa?”
She cast wide eyes at him, unsure what to say. She didn’t particularly want to dance with the baron, but—
“I must apologize for being tardy to claim my dance. I was caught up in a rather involved conversation. I do hope you will forgive me.” He winged his elbow out to Louisa, and she tentatively took it. “Sorry again, Moseby.”
Baron Moseby bowed as Lord Kerridge led Louisa onto the ballroom floor.
“It seems, like a hero of old, I arrived in the nick of time,” Lord Kerridge murmured as the lines formed for their dance. “I hope you don’t consider what I did too presumptuous, but the very idea of that . . . creature . . . laying a hand on you in any way made my blood curdle.”
“That comes as something of a surprise since you have been preoccupied with others this evening,” Louisa said, flattered by his actions but a bit surprised by his heavy-handedness. Baron Moseby had been polite enough in his attentions to her, in spite of her lack of interest in return. Besides, she didn’t want to appear too young and eager. “You haven’t even said good evening to me yet.”
“I must berate myself for my negligence. Good evening, Lady Louisa.” He took her gloved hand in his and kissed her knuckles. “You look quite heavenly this evening—a veritable angel descending to us from on high. Since I believe this is the supper dance, I hope you will forgive my rashness just now and join me for supper.”
“Very well,” she replied, silently noting that his description of her was a bit cloud-like as well. “I forgive you, and I will gladly join you for supper.”
“I thought you might,” he replied with a knowing smile. He took her hand in his, and the music began.
* * *
The weather improved after William’s first day of travel, and by the time he arrived at Farleigh Manor in Buckinghamshire, the skies were blue and the air pleasantly warm for April. Perhaps this accounted for the small degree of hope he was feeling, he thought as he exited the carriage and watched it drive off toward the stables.
The main door of the house opened, and a bent, elderly man with white hair approached. Devil take it, if it wasn’t old Grimshaw after all!
He gave William a very dignified bow. “Welcome home, your lordship,” he intoned in the low, gravelly voice William remembered from his boyhood.
William chose not to act on ceremony. It was Grimshaw, after all, who’d conspired on more than one occasion to keep William’s boyish antics from getting him in trouble with his father. He grabbed the man’s hand and shook it heartily. “Grimshaw, what a great pleasure it is to see you again and looking so well!”
“Thank you, my lord.” The man gestured for William to precede him inside.
The entire staff was gathered in the main hall, which could only mean that the carriage had been spotted in the village and the staff at the manor had been informed of its approach. They all stood at attention now—all eight of them: Grimshaw; Mrs. Holly; Matthew; Samuel; Mrs. Brill, the cook; her daughter Mary, who was the scullery maid; and a footman and maid William didn’t know. Counting the coachman who had brought William here and was still with the horses, that would make nine servants in all.
It was a small staff for an estate the size of Farleigh Manor, but as William had been anticipating the worst, it was a larger number than he’d expected. He strode over to Mrs. Holly, the housekeeper, who was first in line. She began to curtsy, but he reached for her hand and bowed over it. “Mrs. Holly, it is a delight to see you again and to find you still here at Farleigh Manor.”
“Oh, you dear boy!” Mrs. Holly exclaimed, digging in her pocket and retrieving her handkerchief. “Welcome home!”
“Samuel, Matthew, well met!” They had been more like fathers to him than his own had been. He and Matthew shook hands vigorously.
“It’s a fine day that you’re back with us again at last, your lordship. A fine day.” Matthew gave William some welcoming pats on the back.
“Boy . . .” Samuel spoke the word in a low rumble that grew into a growl and ended in a laugh as he threw his arms around William and hugged him tightly. He slapped his back and ruffled his hair—and entirely ignored the fact that William was the viscount and Samuel a mere stable master. It felt like heaven to William. He’d forgotten.
He accepted another rib-breaking hug—this time from Mrs. Brill—and one from Mary, whom William had known all his life.
“You’re back, Will!” Mary cried, her arms clinging tightly to his waist. Sweet, simpleminded Mary, who had been his best friend during childhood. “I knew you’d come back, and you did.”
“Ah, my little Mary,” William said. He gently extricated himself from her arms and studied her closely, holding her hands at arm’s length. “You’re a lovely young woman now, aren’t you? I missed you the most, you know.”
“Yes,” she said. “Because I love you the most.”
He smiled at her words while the others chuckled.
“Now, Mary, you mustn’t be sayin’ such things,” Mrs. Brill whispered to her daughter. “Beggin’ yer pardon, yer lordship.”
“None needed, Mrs. Brill, I assure you.” He kissed Mary’s hand before letting it go.
He was then introduced to John, the footman, and Sally, the maid of all work. He was already acquainted with the coachman, a red-faced, robust man of middle years named Walter. The entire round of introductions took all of five minutes.
“May I show you to your rooms, your lordship?” Mrs. Holly asked, apparently feeling that a sense of decorum needed to be put in place for the new lord of the manor after calling him a dear boy.
“Thank you, Mrs. Holly,” he said, nodding goodbye to the others and following her up the main stairs.
Once they were out of earshot of the others, however, he stopped her. He was certain the rooms Mrs. Holly was taking him to would be the viscount’s rooms, but they had been his father’s. William had never set foot in them before and didn’t want to now. “I believe I would prefer to stay in my old room for the time being, if you don’t mind.”
“But—oh, of course.” She nodded in understanding. “As you wish.”
Mrs. Holly looked older—not as old as Grimshaw, to be sure, but there were lines on her face and about her eyes that hadn’t been there before, and there were more than a few threads of silver running through the brown hair that peeked out from beneath her cap.
“Luncheon will be ready in an hour, allowing you time to refresh yourself, if you like, my lord,” she said. “In the meantime, I’ll have tea sent to your rooms. Ah, and Mr. Heslop asked me to inform you that he would join you here this afternoon, if that meets with your approval.”
“He’s not staying here, then?”
“No, my lord; he elected to stay in the village, at the George and Dragon.” She curtsied and turned to leave.
“Mrs. Holly—”
She stopped and turned back. “Yes, my lord?”
“Mrs. Holly,” he repeated, extending both hands out to her. “I remember many times, in the not-so-very-distant past, when you chose to call me names, such as rascal and scamp and others of a similar nature. Let’s not overdo the ‘my lording,’ then, shall we?” He smiled and dipped his chin, waiting for her reply.
“Oh, you!” she said, clasping her hands at her bosom, and—Good heavens, William thought, she wasn’t about to cry again, was she?—“You were always such a handsome little boy and a good boy, too, and just look at you! All grown up and as handsome a man as was ever born.” Her tears did fall then, and she pulled her handkerchief from her pocket once again and dabbed at her eyes while William patted her on the shoulder. “It is so good to have you back home at Farleigh Manor, Master William, where you belong.”
“It’s good to be home.” It wasn’t entirely, not really, but now wasn’t the time for expressing such a sentiment.
He excused himself from her and ventured on alone to his old room, which was located at the end of the same wing as the viscount and viscountess’s suites of rooms. He’d had little opportunity to inhabit it since leaving for Eton. It smelled of a mustiness that came from disuse, which would explain why Mrs. Holly had initially been taken aback when he’d said he preferred to stay here. She must have had the viscount’s rooms prepared for him. Knowing Mrs. Holly, however, she’d have his bedroom aired and ready for him by the time he retired to bed that evening.
The room looked exactly as he remembered it. The counterpane and curtains were the same ones from his boyhood, made of dark-blue brocade meant to assist in hiding the dirt that was inherent to young males. The same painting still hung on the wall across from the bed—a simple landscape he himself had painted while at Eton. His desk. His bookcase.
He crossed to the desk and opened the top drawer on the left, removing the object wrapped in cloth that lay inside. It was the small family portrait of him and his parents that had been commissioned when he was ten.
He carefully unwrapped the painting from its cloth and was immediately thrust back in time. There was his beautiful mother, young again, sitting in an ornate chair, with William at her side and his father standing behind her, arrogant swine that he was. William had begged his mother to have it painted so he could take it with him to Eton, and by some miracle, his mother had gotten his father to agree. William’s mother had done her best to shield him from his parents’ increasing hostility toward each other, but William had sensed that much was wrong within their family.
And then she had died.
He ran a single finger gently over the image of his mother before rewrapping the painting in the cloth and placing it back in the drawer. Perhaps one day he would be able to look upon it with objectivity and not with stabbing pain and anger, but not yet.
The maid, Sally, arrived then with the tea tray. He thanked her and sat near the window to drink it. From what he’d observed so far, the manor was in better condition than he’d expected, but then, he’d expected it to be entirely derelict. Perhaps he had misunderstood the tone of Mr. Heslop’s letter. Perhaps the viscountcy’s assets weren’t in a dire state after all. Perhaps—despite his father’s costly vices and decades of finessing those vices into an art form—things weren’t as bad as he’d feared.
It struck him that his father’s steward was not among the employees and servants he had greeted earlier. That wasn’t a particularly promising sign; granted, the man may have simply tired of dealing with his father and gone on his way.
Well, he would have his answers soon enough. This afternoon, in fact. He decided to spend the rest of the remaining hour before luncheon in his room unpacking his belongings rather than asking Grimshaw or the new footman to do it. He’d always seen to such personal needs himself, and there was plenty of other work for the others to do without his adding to it.
Besides, it might be the last time he would have an hour of peace and quiet to himself for a while.
* * *
At precisely two o’clock in the afternoon, Mr. Heslop, a man of middle years, arrived from the village and suggested to William that they adjourn to his lordship’s study. As a boy and even as a youth, William had never been in his father’s private rooms and had been in the study only when his father was meting out punishment—not that William had required much discipline growing up. Or maybe he had, and his mother and the servants had hidden that fact from his father whenever possible. At any rate, William had eventually learned to pay special attention to the sorts of activities his father had praised and those that had merited a caning, though there had not necessarily been anything amounting to consistency.
William doubted his father had actually spent much time in the study himself. He had left most things in the care of his steward, whose small office in the back of the house near the kitchen underscored the type of priority his father had placed on the day-to-day running of the estate. Today, the study was surprisingly tidy—the desk straightened with papers neatly arranged on top. His father had been meticulous in many ways—his appearance, for example—yet erratic and impulsive in others. He would have considered anything having to do with income as beneath him, unless it had to do with spending that income. William had never been able to understand him.
Stop crying, boy. You will never win if they can read your face.
“Would you care for tea?” he asked Mr. Heslop. “Or a brandy, perhaps?”
“No, thank you,” the solicitor replied. He sat and leaned his leather letter case against the leg of his chair. “I hope you will forgive me,” he continued. “I’m afraid I allowed myself certain liberties of access to your father’s papers upon his death. Because of the disarray I saw here when I arrived, I also brought in my clerk, who assisted me in putting things to rights.”
That sounded more like the father William remembered. “You could not have waited until I arrived?” he asked.
“Perhaps, but as it took a few days for us to locate your whereabouts and then write to you and wait for your return, I judged it prudent to act. There are unusual . . . ah . . . circumstances at play here that required thorough legal examination in order to address them in the most expeditious and beneficial of manners.”
The man was talking as convolutedly as he wrote. “You are speaking in riddles, Heslop. Let me be frank—I received very little instruction in estate management growing up; I believe it is because my father had little interest in it himself and felt it beneath him, so he delegated the responsibility of the estate to his steward. Additionally, I was estranged from my father for several years, as you are already aware, having had no connection to him at all after the death of my mother.” William paused to let those words sink in before continuing. “In short, it would be a service to us both if you were to cease worrying about offending my sensibilities regarding my father and speak plainly.”
Mr. Heslop heaved a sigh. “That is a relief to hear, your lordship. Very well, then; let us proceed.”
They spent the next several hours going over the estate’s books and papers, and William, who had always thought himself rather clever, soon realized just how lacking his education as a titled landowner was. He shook off the resentment he felt anew toward his father and focused on the numbers he was reading.
He and Mr. Heslop reviewed livestock quotas, earnings and losses from the home farm and the various tenant farms, repairs, and drainage costs. They went over servants’ wages and pensioners’ allowances. They added incomes and subtracted debits. In spite of himself, William’s eyes began to swim, and his head ached from the rows and columns and pluses and minuses.
And then Mr. Heslop picked up a sheaf of papers from the corner of the desk and placed them in front of William. William thumbed through the first few pages before sitting back in his chair. He rubbed his eyes, unwilling to believe what he was seeing.
Mortgages. They were mortgages—plural—made against the estate.
Viscount Farleigh, William Senior, had mortgaged the estate to the hilt, and now those debts belonged to Viscount Farleigh—that would be he, William Junior, lucky chap that he was.
He thought of Grimshaw and Matthew and Samuel and Mrs. Holly. He thought of Mrs. Brill and Mary and the other servants, few though they may be, and the loyal tenants who still remained on Farleigh land, and what a blow these massive debts would mean to their wellbeing.
“How could my father have allowed this to happen?” he asked. And yet William knew how, remembered how his father had been.
“As best I can tell, while your father was concerned about personal debts of honor, he was markedly less so about debts owed to institutions and merchants, whom he considered beneath him, if you’ll excuse my bluntness. It also appears your father’s steward took his cues from your father, in that he was more concerned about seeing to his own welfare and skimming from the books than he was to the overall success of the estate. As long as your father had what he wanted—”
“He didn’t care about anything else,” William said.
“Quite so, unfortunately.”
“The steward?”
“Long gone, I’m afraid. Our inquiries have led nowhere.”
William nodded, expecting as much. “What is to be done?” He asked the question rhetorically, expecting no real answer from Mr. Heslop. He fully appreciated now why the solicitor had taken the time to thoroughly explain the gravity of the situation to him, knowing William was a young man of a mere twenty-four years with no practical experience upon which to rely.
“I have pondered that question daily since your father’s passing,” Mr. Heslop replied, removing his reading spectacles and pinching the bridge of his nose. “There are several critical repairs needed about the estate and the home farm. With good management, Farleigh Manor would be able to meet her own obligations within a year or two; after that, it might provide a decent income or even better than decent. Were it not for the mortgages . . .”
“Were it not for the mortgages, which put any chance of success out of reach,” William said, finishing the solicitor’s sentence. “We have no options, then, do we?”
“Well, there are a couple of small unentailed properties that can be sold that will help reduce the mortgage debts, if you’re agreeable. Their sale won’t clear the debts, mind you, not by half—but at this point, anything will help; however, it would reduce the overall size of the viscountcy holdings significantly.”
“I’m agreeable. I don’t care about the size of the viscountcy holdings; I care about the people affected by my father’s behavior. I’m willing to do whatever it takes to get the debts resolved and the manor and its people thriving again.”
The solicitor cleared his voice. “That is good to hear, your lordship, for that is where the unusual circumstances I spoke of earlier come into play. There is a particular detail I have been holding back that might be the key to resolving the mortgage debts and seeing Farleigh Manor ready to thrive again.”
“Then tell me,” William said, leaning forward in his chair. “You have spent the whole of the afternoon pointing out in great detail the dire situation the viscountcy is in. And then you tell me there is an answer? Why this drawn-out exercise? Why not simply point out the answer and let’s be on with it?”
Mr. Heslop shook his head while he straightened the mortgage documents and set them aside. “If only it were that easy, your lordship. I needed to impress upon you the critical nature of your situation first. Yes, the sale of the unentailed properties will help the situation, but they will not resolve the majority of the debt or see to the repairs needed here at Farleigh Manor or to the basic funds necessary for running the estate. I said the detail I spoke about might be the key to resolving the debt. I did not say it was a simple matter. Quite the contrary, in fact. But it is, I believe, your only hope—the slimmest of hopes, if I may be frank.”
“I cannot know that without being told what it is,” William remarked pointedly.
“Very well. It will be up to you to decide how to proceed anyway.” He picked up his letter case and removed a folder, then opened the folder and removed a document. And then, with great deliberation, he handed the document to William.
William read the words written on the document before him. He read them again and then a third time. “What the devil?” he exclaimed, looking up at Mr. Heslop.
“Precisely,” Mr. Heslop replied.