Erran winced at the toppling vase and leaned over to retrieve it. A substantial dent marred the base. “The mantel is no doubt tilted,” he said aloud, quelling his own superstitious theories. Surely raging with frustration didn’t affect inanimate objects. “Perhaps the floor vibrates.”
The ladies frowned, then shrugging, returned to their insane discussion of ramming their wishes down Lansdowne’s throat.
Just the thought had Erran vibrating—but he could do nothing. Until proven otherwise, the earl had to be considered both a possible ally—and a dangerous enemy.
To keep his vexation to himself, Erran counted off steps in the front chamber. He calculated the approximate depth of the house and multiplied it by the width to determine if there would be sufficient space for Duncan’s apartments.
Most of the family, including himself, had hoped they’d be able to use the upper stories for their own quarters so they needn’t pay the exorbitant rents elsewhere. Jacques, his half-brother, in particular, was hoping to move out of Theo and Aster’s city house.
But it appeared that Lady Aster meant to treat the Rochesters as long-lost relations and leave them installed here while the women connived in matters over their heads. Erran had no power to overrule her. Desperate heir or not, Theo had attics to let for marrying into a family as manipulative as Lady Aster’s.
It simply wouldn’t suit to leave unchaperoned single ladies in the same house with unrelated bachelors—especially Duncan, who was the whole point of this venture. The Rochesters had to leave.
Restless, Erran pondered a means to explore the remainder of the house. A leaky roof meant he needed to call in construction workers immediately. With one ear, he listened to the discussion of Malcolm documents. He was not yet inured to the notion of women managing their own affairs and couldn’t imagine their documents would amount to anything.
When the excited chatter fell to a natural silence, Erran spoke up. “As I mentioned earlier, I’ll draw up a paper for you to sign, Miss Rochester, authorizing me to deal with your father’s solicitors. As you are unmarried and the legal age of majority, you have the authority to act on your own. You could potentially assume guardianship of your siblings, but we really need your father’s will before we can assume you inherit any portion of his property. The land will otherwise fall to your brother, who is a minor, and Lansdowne can fight for his guardianship.”
“Why can I not deal with my father’s solicitors directly?” Miss Rochester asked. “I have written to them here and in the islands, but so far the only response I’ve received is that they need permission from Lansdowne. I just cannot imagine that.”
She had a voice that rivaled the best orchestra he’d ever heard—not that he attended musicales with any frequency. Still, her every word was a song. He could see everyone in the room waiting, entranced, for his reply.
Which was when he realized it was unlike Lady Aster to remain silent for long—as if she were truly spellbound.
Erran raised a quizzical eyebrow at this oddity but nodded to acknowledge the question. “You have the right to question the solicitors directly, certainly. But as the eldest male in the family, Lansdowne is asserting his authority by refusing to give you access to the documents. If they exist, they should be a matter of public record. The question is whether or not the will exists or has been filed with the courts. If there is no will, then Lansdowne has strong rights in the matter. I can search court records, but while I’m at it, I would like to make our case to appoint you as guardian.”
“May I go with you?” she asked in a voice that sounded sweet as chimes—but concealed a demand.
Again, Lady Aster raised no objection—although she had to know there were dozens of reasons Miss Rochester could not accompany him. What on earth was wrong with the woman? Did she want the Rochesters to hate him for rejecting all their pleas?
Stifling his irritation and maintaining a composed tone, he replied, “Of course you can accompany me. There won’t be another lady within a mile of the City, your reputation will be shattered, and any chance of winning the case will be lost, but I have no other objection to your accompaniment. Ladies do not have the same freedom in England as in the colonies.”
Her frown was ferocious. Oddly, that made Erran smile inside. She looked so damned fragile and vulnerable with all that heavy mahogany hair balanced on such a slender neck…. But her spirit was indomitable.
“I see,” she said coldly.
As if a spell had been broken, Lady Aster spoke up. “Let us have Ashford demand that the solicitors come here.”
Miss Rochester looked almost as surprised as Erran felt. Something dodgy was happening here. He wouldn’t have noticed—except for his own experience with the Wyrd. Hands behind his back, he rocked a bit on his boot heels, watching—and listening—to the ladies at work. He deliberately ignored the errant brass vase.
Now addressing Lady Aster instead of himself, Miss Rochester chatted excitedly in melodious tones, arranging his day—and probably his future. His damned sister-in-law didn’t find it in the least odd that he’d been excluded from the conversation that essentially involved him carrying out their plans. She was indulging every word Miss Rochester spoke, without argument.
He glanced at the siblings. Miss Sylvia appeared pleased simply to follow the conversation. The boy looked bored and discontent.
“Let us inspect the attics, shall we?” Erran asked the lad, with deliberate intent. He watched to see if the ladies took notice. They did not.
Gratified to be acknowledged, Trevor eased from his chair, keeping one eye on his sister as he followed Erran toward the door. Completely focused on their plotting, neither lady paid attention to their departure.
Erran mentally measured the front hall and peered into the foyer’s anteroom on the far side of the wide staircase. He didn’t think it would take more than a general refurbishment to make the front rooms suitable for a marquess who needed to entertain his political allies. He needed to see the area behind the stairs for suitability as Duncan’s private chambers. The stairs were too dangerous for his brother for now.
Trevor led Erran up the dark oak staircase—it should probably be painted to brighten the hallway. On the family floor, the carpeting was threadbare and would need removing. Lady Aster would no doubt be delighted to take charge. Erran followed the boy toward the back of the house, glancing in each room with an open door.
He halted at the sound of a machine whirring behind a closed panel.
It took a moment before Trevor noticed he’d stopped following. The boy looked uneasy at seeing where Erran stood.
“The stairs to the attic are at the far end.” Trevor nodded in the direction he’d been heading.
“I like working with machinery,” Erran said, honestly. If there had been any money in patenting his hay baler, he would have enthusiastically given up law. But he didn’t have the ability to sell his ideas, and instead, indulged his mechanical aptitude with experimenting when he had the chance. “May I see what you’re operating in here?”
He didn’t give the boy time to object but pushed open the door.
The plump African lady who had served their tea earlier sat at a machine that she worked with her foot. She appeared to be pushing pieces of linen beneath a needle that pumped up and down as she pedaled.
At his entrance, she instantly stopped and folded her hands in her lap, so it took him a moment to realize what she’d been doing.
She’d been sewing! With a machine.
“It’s just something Papa put together to help the women make shirts,” Trevor whispered anxiously. “Nana doesn’t like to be disturbed. Please, let us go.”
“If it works, it’s ingenious,” Erran said with genuine admiration, ignoring the boy’s warning. “You could make your fortune selling this to tailors and seamstresses.” He addressed the disapproving older woman waiting for them to depart. “Might I take a look at the machine?”
“It is old,” she said stiffly. “It will soon wear out.”
“Not if the parts can be replaced,” Erran said cheerfully, crouching down to examine the mechanism when the woman pushed her chair away. “He used screws to hold it to the cabinet! Where did he find them? This one should be tightened.”
He produced a knife from his pocket and proceeded to twist the metal head back into place.
***
Once she and the delightful Lady Azenor had worked out the details of how she might keep control of her family’s affairs rather than hand them over to Lord Erran, Celeste realized the men had left the room.
Alarmed, she glanced around. Sylvia reminded them of the attic leak conversation.
“Erran loves fixing things,” Lady Azenor said with a dismissive wave. “Not only does he enjoy fixing legal puzzles and injustices, he mends plumbing and machines. He’ll have repaired the roof and will be looking for more things to do. Shall we see what they have found?”
Celeste was terrified of what he could have found. Since the lady was already rising and heading for the door, she had no choice but to follow. It had been a relief finding that she hadn’t lost her ability to persuade, but just as she’d thought she’d reclaimed her authority, his wretched lordship had stolen it again.
He hadn’t been at all swayed by her voice, drat the man. How would she ever induce him to go along with what she and Lady Azenor had planned?
To her utter horror—but not surprise—they found Lord Erran sprawled beneath her father’s sewing mechanism. His lordship had grease on his linen and a knife in his hand and bits and pieces of everything all over the floor. Nana stoically looked on as Trevor fashioned a circle from wire while his lordship gave instructions.
Celeste remembered her father doing exactly the same, and she fought a wave of nostalgia—and admiration. “Really, my lord, it is not necessary for you to fix everything in our lives.”
He didn’t even bother looking up, although his once-immaculate clothing was now rumpled and dusty. “This is a rare pleasure. Consider it payment for my legal services, such as they are.”
She glanced to Lady Azenor. “Is he quite mad?”
The lady laughed. “Ashford will not let him near the mines or the steamships for fear he will take apart all the equipment and not be able to put it back together again. But Erran has been quite clever in installing gas lighting in my parlor.”
“It would be simpler if I could rip out the walls,” the gentleman said from beneath the table. “I’m thinking that needs to be done here, but there isn’t time for that amount of repair.”
He backed out and took the wire ring from Trevor. Glancing up at Celeste, he actually grinned. The sardonic gentleman with the disapproving glare actually grinned.
“I’ll have this right in a trice. I need better parts, but these will do for now. I can draw up a patent application, but it would be best to keep it to yourself until Trev is old enough to sell the idea to people who can manufacture it.” He slid beneath the table again.
He didn’t mind that they were sewing shirts for strangers? That they were essentially in trade? Celeste bit a fingernail and tried hard to believe that. What was a patent application?
“First, we must retrieve the Rochesters’ plantation and fortune from thieves,” Lady Aster reminded him, tapping his boot with her shoe. “Patents are for those with leisure time. We have developed a strategy, if you’ll come out from there so we might explain it.”
“I’ll go to the city, search for the registered will, take a letter from Ashford to the solicitors demanding that they appear here where they might be interrogated by the marquess’s representatives, including Miss Rochester,” Lord Erran recited. “Child’s play.”
Celeste refrained from rolling her eyes. She had wasted half the morning on charming Lady Azenor into this plan when she could have been sewing pleats, and his arrogant lordship had it all mapped out without her having to say a word. Having her wishes anticipated was most distressing, perplexing, and just a trifle . . . exhilarating.
Behind all that lordly linen, Lord Erran was a scarily dangerous man.
“In return, Miss Rochester has agreed that we might start fixing up the lower floors for Ashford’s use,” Lady Azenor explained with cheer. “The arrangement will be convenient for all of us. We have been quite busy while you’ve been painting yourself black.”
“I have returned the machine to proper working order so Miss Delphinia might work easier,” Lord Erran retorted, sliding back out again and tucking his knife away. “I’ll hire an architect to begin work. I have a good man in mind, one who would delight in having his name known in these parts.”
“He means one of his cousins,” Lady Azenor explained. “Ives’ talents are manifold. They are all dangerously intelligent, practical, and scientific, and there are far too many of them. There is always one with empty pockets who can do what’s needed.”
“As if you don’t already have your cousin ready to putter in the garden,” his lordship retorted, wiping his greasy hands on what had once been a pristine handkerchief. He turned to Celeste. “The lady’s family are a meddling lot. Once you allow them into your life, you will never be left alone. Be certain of what you wish for.”
“I wish beyond all things to have meddling family,” Celeste admitted fervently. “It has been exceedingly difficult these last months of managing on our own in a strange city.”
“The hard part comes when you want one thing and they insist on another,” he warned.
“No, not at all.” Celeste smiled. Lady Azenor had responded to her voice and acknowledged her wishes without a single objection. She was certain the rest of the lady’s family could be as easily manipulated. It was only Jamar who frowned and muttered about curses when she used her charm. Celeste couldn’t see any harm in persuasion when it was her only defense. “I think it only takes a little discussion for all parties to find an amicable middle ground.”
She hoped and prayed the marquess would merely stay long enough to cast his vote and return to the country, leaving them alone with an improved home where she could eventually bring out Sylvia. But the return of some of their rent would ease a few of their money woes.
“You may have to find a middle ground over Lansdowne’s dead body,” Lord Erran reminded them. “I’ll have to find out what that’s about or some of his cohorts are likely to escalate to arson.”
That was not the pleasantry she wished to hear, and Celeste shivered in her shoes. She would not allow her family to go homeless, ever, even if she must use her skill to persuade the earl to leap off a high cliff.