Chapter Fourteen

Matthew and Sir Jonathan had spent the past two days reviewing the estate's books and taking a tour on horseback with a rather cranky steward. Though Matthew could not claim to be an expert on estate matters, at least not yet, even he could see that Mr. Crickenly was stuck in his ways and had attempted to avoid work at every turn.

The steward did not even direct that crops be rotated year by year, though according to Sir Jonathan everybody in the wide world rotated their crops. Crickenly was of the opinion that the idea was an old wives' tale.

As for tenants, the steward claimed they had no cottages to put them in and no cleared fields for them to farm. In any case, Crickenly said, tenants were always more trouble than they were worth.

Making use of the extensive wood? Cutting down trees for sale was a complicated business.

From what Matthew could gather, the earl and Crickenly had gone comfortably along, both satisfied to run the place by not particularly running the place.

He'd proceeded to have a strong talk with Crickenly, in which the steward at first claimed the earl must direct him to try out these new ideas and the earl never would. That changed when Matthew explained that if he had to go to his father about it, he'd also have to outline how much had been lost through inattention and failing to move with the times.

That had seemed to strike the right chord. To further cement the idea that things would change, Sir Jonathan would send his own steward to the estate to oversee the progress. Or drive the progress forward, as the case was likely to be.

Now the sun was setting and Matthew and Sir Jonathan sat in the drawing room with their port.

"So you think, based on what you've seen," Matthew said, "that this estate can produce enough to comfortably live on without having to bring in a large dowry?"

Sir Jonathan set his coffee down. "More than enough," he said. "My God, man, you have nearly eight-hundred acres of trees, a good percentage of them oak. Bring in an auctioneer to clear some acres, collect the money from that, rent out what was cleared to some local farmers and you're sitting pretty. You'll then be at your leisure to build a steady income from there. I would advise building cottages at the north end of the estate—the village is not a half mile off and you'll have plenty of takers."

"Cottages. I hadn't thought," Matthew said, seeing in his mind how it could be.

"You ought to have thought, though," Sir Jonathan said. "It really is the duty of a landowner to provide tenant farming and places for people to live. God knows what people say about the earl for having failed to do so. They must think him uninterested in his neighborhood's welfare."

Matthew gulped over that idea. He did not know if his earl was well-loved or not, though looking at it, he suspected not. It was true that they'd not done anything to give anybody else a leg up.

"Rents and careful harvesting in the forest that's left uncleared is the way forward. Build the cottages well, mind you," Sir Jonathan said. "Nobody will respect you if you throw up some shabby structure and it won't last anyway. Make the rooms commodious and include ample fireplaces. Each should have its own plot for a kitchen garden and build a good road out to the village. Maintenance should be done timely. Do not get greedy with increases in the rents. These things matter."

Matthew nodded. Of course those things would matter. If people were uncomfortable, they would look around for who to blame. They would grow resentful, as they very well should.

"Try to get a variety of farmers in," Sir Jonathan continued. "If things get tight from a drought or some other thing, you might get paid in goods. Best to have one handing over wheat, another pork, and yet another chickens."

"I feel incredibly stupid that I did not take all this in hand years ago," Matthew said.

"I'm rather surprised you're taking it in hand now, actually," Sir Jonathan said. "I do not know of any other son who has the nerve to skirt round their lord in such a manner."

"It had to be done," Matthew said. "My future happiness depends upon it."

"So you are set on Lady Constance, then?"

"Entirely set. I will return to London and inform the old soldier of my plans."

"The house on the other side of the park sits empty—with a bit of fixing up it could be very comfortable."

That, at least, had been an idea Matthew had already thought through. It was the dower house, though it had been unoccupied for several years. It was large as far as dower houses went, with five roomy bedchambers and enough space for a full staff in the servants' quarters. The views were perhaps even better than from the main house and it was far enough away to afford privacy.

Just then, Masterson hurried into the room, having just arrived to Surrey.

"Ah finally," Matthew said. "My clothes are rather a disaster above stairs."

Masterson held out a letter and said, "I bring more disaster with me. The earl was irate when he discovered where you went off to. He's written out all his feelings."

Matthew took the letter, opened it, and read it. He laid it down. "I am an ungrateful wretch, apparently. He wrote that particular phrase in four places."

"There is more," Masterson said.

"Gad," Sir Jonathan said, "has the earl written two letters?"

Masterson shook his head. "The mahogany box and paints were returned. Ackerman's dropped them off at the house."

"Returned?" Matthew asked. "Was there any reason given?"

"None that I know of," Masterson said.

"Her father may have balked over it, not knowing who it was from," Sir Jonathan said.

"Perhaps," Matthew said. "I thought it strange, actually, that at Lord Nankin's card party, she did not even allude to it. She must have known that it was me that sent it."

"I'll lay bets she never saw it at all," Masterson said.

"Whatever the case," Matthew said, "we've done everything we can do here to set things in motion. I'd best get myself back to Town."

"I'm glad you think so," Masterson said. "The earl gave me strict orders to bring you back, including dragging you back if that became necessary. He expects you tomorrow. Also, I think you better hop to it if you want to beat Mr. Ludwig to the punch."

"Ludwig?" Matthew asked. "What's Ludwig got to do with it?"

"There was some talk at the servants' table about how the fellow had called on Lady Constance and she looked favorably upon it. He's supposed to be swimming in pounds and pence. It came straight from Mr. Wilburn so I reckon it's a fact."

"Ludwig," Matthew said. "I cannot understand that fellow."

"Nobody can," Sir Jonathan said. "I cannot like a gentleman who does not reveal anything about himself. Enigmas are not to my taste."

"There is more, I'm afraid," Masterson said.

"How can there possibly be more?" Matthew asked, a snake of irritation itching its way up his spine.

"There's a bit of gossip going round that Lady Constance, Lady Juniper, and Miss Semper have formed some sort of club. The club meets at Lady Juniper's house and they planned something called Operation Trip-Up for Lord Nankin's card party."

Masterson stepped back a foot after relaying that news, as if it would be well to provide distance between himself and the information.

"Trip up? Trip up who? Trip up me?"

"Apparently so."

"Trip me up how?" Matthew asked.

"Nobody knows," Masterson said ruefully. "The fellow who was listening in got called away to fetch a pound cake."

What on earth was going on?

"Well old chap, I don't know what you've got yourself into," Sir Jonathan said.

"Nor do I, but I won't find it out by lollygagging round here. I have no intention of being tripped up, whatever that plan was. I am determined to get to the bottom of it and I am certain I will find Lady Juniper at the bottom of it. The lady has suddenly decided to pretend at liking me—why? I know well enough that she does not, so what is she playing at? Does she dislike me so thoroughly that she attempts to steer Lady Constance away from me?

"And this Ludwig creature, he must be driven off. He has no business calling on Lady Constance. He is…he is…well I do not know what he is! Except to know he must be got rid of at the earliest possible moment. We'll depart at sunrise."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Mr. Ludwig was so rarely caught out on a thing, but he had been taken unawares at the Kelgoody's rout.

Lady Constance's mother had ordered the mahogany box and paints returned. The box and paints she believed had been sent by him had gone straight back to Ackerman's, and then they would have been returned to Lord Bramley. The countess did not look with favor upon the sending of it, which was concerning. One never knew how much influence a mother had over a daughter. It had been his observation that some were as thick as thieves and some were as oil and water.

He'd somehow not anticipated that the box would be returned. He did not recall precisely what he'd said upon being informed of it by Lady Constance—he may have even stammered. He did know he'd made a quick exit, as he needed time to think.

Aside from the countess' disapproval of the thing, the bigger danger was that when the box and paints made its way back to Bramley, his note had been included.

Bramley might be very put out to discover that his anonymous gift had been commandeered in such a manner. He might be so put out that he might issue a summons to a meeting on an early morning green.

That would prove an insurmountable problem. Mr. Ludwig's swordplay was middling at best and he could not remember when last he'd shot a gun. He would not go to stand there and be murdered. But then, if he would not go, he must take himself far away. He would be on his way back to New York with not enough funds to live a proper gentleman's lifestyle there. What was he meant to do then? Wed an American?

Mr. Ludwig took in a long and slow breath to calm himself. He was allowing his thoughts to run wild. With any luck, the note had not been returned and Bramley would never be any the wiser.

Yes, he must bring his commonsense to the fore and stop imagining meetings on greens where he was blown to bits or run through.

Bramley must simply be moved out of the way with nobody the wiser on how it had been accomplished.

There was a reason Lady Constance and her family were keeping her fortune a very great secret. Other ladies did not do so and marched into London with head held high, delighted that all and sundry understood they were the owner of a significant dowry. Lady Constance did not.

He must guess that the reason she did not was because she wished to marry for love. She wished to assure herself that the gentleman proposing was after wedded bliss, not financial bliss.

And he, Mr. Frederick Ludwig, was the only person to know her secret.

How stupid that he had not taken advantage of the knowledge more than he had.

What if Lady Constance was to receive an anonymous letter informing her that her secret fortune was known by Lord Bramley and he was actively trying to secure it as his own?

Might that not put off a lady who was determined to wed for love?

He thought it very well would.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Matthew had returned to Town in good time and sought out his father in the library.

The earl's head snapped up as Matthew said, "The ungrateful wretch has returned."

"I meant every word I put in that letter," the earl said. "Where did you find the nerve to go behind me and question how I run my estate?"

"It may seem as if that was what I was doing—"

"That is what you were doing!"

"Well, true, but allow me to explain."

"I cannot fathom what explanation you could have to excuse such a thing."

Matthew sat down in front of the desk. "Nevertheless, I do hope you will allow me to explain, as I do not wish for a rift between us."

"Oh why not? I'm sure your mother would write it off as the way of the world."

"Father. Please."

"Very well, what is this magnificent explanation to be then?"

Matthew thought he'd better start at the beginning, rather than launch the old soldier directly into the oncoming future.

"I have always wondered how other families were managing to put aside dowries or purchase neighboring estates. What would we have done if I'd had a sister? Where would the money for her have come from?"

The earl did not look as if he had an answer to that. "There is no use speculating on things that did not happen," he said gruffly.

"But I have speculated on it, as it affects me. It affects my future. So that's why I went to Surrey—to get a real picture of our circumstances."

"And now you know what they are. I'm sure Crickenly told you all about it, though I expect the fellow was mightily affronted to be questioned by the young viscount who is not yet the earl."

"Affronted, irritated, and resistant," Matthew said. "All of those things."

"This better not cause him to up sticks," the earl said. "Good stewards are not exactly falling out of trees."

"They are certainly not falling out of any of our trees. Crickenly is lazy as the day is long. He's done nothing that could easily have been done, all to save himself the trouble."

"Now that is going far—"

"It is the truth," Matthew said doggedly. "I brought Sir Jonathan with me, who knows what he's about. You could have knocked him over with a feather when he saw all the opportunities missed."

"What opportunities?" the earl said. "We already sell off our extra produce and the dairy does very well too."

"True. But there is far more that we can do. That we should have been doing all along. We have no need to depend upon dowries to prop the whole thing up."

Matthew went on to outline his plans for the estate. Upon hearing the long list of steps that must be taken, the earl looked just as tired as Crickenly had done.

"Now Father, here is my idea—you have the right to take a rest. Allow me to take this thing in hand and get it all going." Matthew did not mention that Sir Jonathan's steward would shortly be on his way to Surrey to get it all going. He did not point out that it was all going to go forward regardless of what the earl said about it. It had to.

The earl shrugged, which was as close to an approval as Matthew imagined he would get.

"The young are always so determined to do it all differently, as if they know best," the earl said. "I suppose you're determined to make your own mistakes and just as well I am still around to pick up the pieces. If you want to muck around selling lumber, go right ahead—but do not come to me for any investment in it! Furthermore, these harebrained ideas of yours do not solve our very current problem nor does it excuse you from your duty. You may look down your nose at a large dowry, but it is ready and reliable funds."

Matthew sighed. His father would never believe in the plans until he'd seen the result of them. He believed in the plans, though.

"We are to have a dinner tonight, and I expect you to make yourself pleasant."

"What dinner?"

"Well, Nankin and some others will come to dine," the earl mumbled.

"What others?" Matthew asked suspiciously.

"Lady Florence, and her charge—"

"Miss Semper?"

"Yes, and Lady Juniper too, with her parents," the earl said.

Matthew folded his arms, entirely irritated with the old schemer. "No, it is the barge all over again. It is too ridiculous. You must make my excuses."

The earl got very red in the face and said, "I will not make your excuses! You will attend and you will make yourself exceedingly pleasant."

"You cannot force me to come," Matthew said. It was said perhaps a little halfheartedly, because of course he could be forced.

"If you do not do as I ask in this matter," the earl said, "there will be no cutting down trees or building cottages or whatever other cockamamie ideas you've thought up for an estate that is not yet yours and will not be for years to come!"

"Very well," Matthew said. Whatever was to happen, he could not put aside the plans for the estate. It was the only thing that would allow him to ask for Lady Constance's hand with a clear conscience that he was not bringing her into very pinched circumstances.

In any case, it was only a dinner. A vicar would not be there to drag anybody to an altar. He would just steer as far away as he could from Lady Juniper. He did not like the idea that she was going round speaking highly of him. He especially did not like the idea that he was all but certain the mysterious Operation Trip-Up had been her idea.

If there were one terrible outcome that might occur from this farce of a dinner, it was that Lady Constance would hear all about it. She would know that his household had sought out the two richest ladies in London in the most obvious way imaginable. She would be cognizant of the idea that his household had not done her the courtesy of an invitation and would guess it was because her dowry was so much less. He must hope she knew him well enough by now to know he'd not had a hand in these absurd arrangements.

Whatever else he was, he was not a dowry hunter.

His father had spent the better part of the afternoon trailing after his mother and complaining about all of his son's impractical ideas. Matthew heard some of it, one of the favorites being, "We're to be sellers of oak now? Did you know that?"

By the end of it, the countess did not even bother to trot out her ideas about the ways of the world—she just closeted herself in her dressing room.

As if all of that was not uncomfortable enough, the invitation from the Duchess of Ralston had arrived. As she had hinted to him, he was to be one of the gentlemen given seven cards to take all over Town, only to be somehow embarrassed at the end of it.

Matthew might have wished the day to end, except the end of day would bring the dinner he was forced to attend.

Now, the dreaded time had arrived, and so had the dreaded guests.