A Countess of Convenience (25 page)

"My father."

"What happened to ‘im?"

"He died. As a matter of fact, he died when I was just your age."

Shock registered on the boy's face. Perhaps, the possibility of some tragedy befalling his own father dawned on him. Finally he said, “Is that why ye don't like to come ‘ere?"

Surprised by his young companion's insightfulness, Malvern realized that he did indeed resent his father's birthplace. As a child he'd heard his mother complain about his father leaving them to attend to matters at Aysbeck and when death brought about the final separation, his resentment had somehow spilled over onto his northern property. After coming into his majority, he had ignored his father's home whenever possible, telling himself that the holding wasn't important enough to waste time on.

What he'd really been doing was turning his back on his father—on the man who had deserted him after passing on his faults. But Malvern had been mistaken about his father's character. The man had not been an incorrigible womanizer. What had he been? Malvern really knew very little about him.

The Baileys’ cottage came into view and he was heartened to see men dumping buckets of soupy muck from doors and windows. Hopefully, the place would soon be ready for re-occupancy. As he brought his horse to a halt near the front door, Mr. Bailey exited with a bucket in each hand. He looked surprised and then alarmed to see his son with Malvern.

Setting the buckets down, he stepped forward. “Wot's t'boy done now?"

Malvern laughed. Evidently he wasn't the only one Freddy bedeviled. “Nothing like that, Bailey. I've hired the boy to guide me about today. So far he's done an excellent job."

Bailey looked relieved and Freddy's little chest swelled with pride.

"How has your cottage fared?” Malvern asked.

With cap in hand, Bailey looked up at him. “Could ‘ave been worse.” Then wrinkles gathered about the man's eyes. “'Er ladyship was a’ angel o’ mercy, gettin’ my family and my goods out like she done. Hope ye weren't too ‘ard on her."

Malvern stopped in the middle of dismounting. “Hard on her?” The man apparently thought he had been angry with Prudence for being here yesterday. Gingerly placing his polished boots into the mire that covered the ground, Malvern hastily added, “I was alarmed for her safety. That's why I carried her away as I did."

A flush of guilt swept over Bailey's face. “T'water came up so quick, ah didn't realize t'women were in danger. Ah never would ‘ave forgiven myself if anythin’ ‘ad ‘appened to ‘er ladyship. “'Er and ‘er brother ‘ave been most kind to my family."

Noticing the nods of agreement from men who were gathering behind Bailey, Malvern realized with a sense of unease that Prudence and Neil had won the affection of the locals, while he remained the absentee landlord. Gesturing toward the other men, Malvern said, “And who are these fine fellows who are helping you today?"

Bailey hastily introduced two of the estate's other tenants and three of their sons. Realizing all this help was the neighbor-helping-neighbor kind, Malvern asked, “Did Mr. Snavely speak with you yesterday about any repairs that will be needed?"

Bailey shook his head. “'E left right after ye did, yer lordship."

"No doubt he'll be around today,” Malvern said.

One of the neighbors made a noise that could only be described as a snort.

Bailey did not look directly at Malvern while he said, “Mr. Snavely usually conducts business from ‘is office. We go to ‘im."

"I see,” Malvern said, trying to keep his voice neutral. “Of course, you really can't tell what damage has been done until all the mud is cleared out. I'll tell Snavely to expect a full account from you."

A heavy-set man standing behind Bailey spoke up, “No sense fixing t'cottage if t'streambed ain't cleaned out."

The other men nodded.

"I have inspected the streambed this morning and will also discuss that with Snavely."

Bailey sighed in relief, but the others continued to look skeptical.

Hoping to convince them of his sincerity, Malvern said, “I take it the flooding didn't reach any of your cottages?"

One of them said, “T'flood didn't reach me, but my roof leaked—been leakin’ over a year."

The man beside him made no attempt to keep the anger from his voice as he said, “We all need repairs. Snavely said that's wot t'last rent increase was for, but we're still waitin'."

This was no way for tenants to speak to him. Didn't they realize he was an earl? His people at Malvern were always most respectful. Perhaps these crude Yorkshiremen did not know how to address their betters. Of course, the tenants at Malvern had their grievances attended to promptly. His mother saw to that. Just as Prudence had been trying to do here.

Guilt began to burn high in Malvern's chest. He had inherited his father's baronetcy as well as his grandfather's earldom. Both titles carried responsibilities and he had not been fulfilling all of his duties conscientiously. Clearing his throat, he took a deep breath. “I will speak to Snavely about all these matters. Now I'll let you men get back to your work."

He remounted his horse and then looked at Bailey. “Are there any messages you want me to pass on to your wife?"

"Tell ‘er I'll need a woman's ‘elp by tomorrow. O’ course, it'll be a few more days afore the place will be fit for t'young ones."

Freddy broke his unusually long silence. “Ah can stay and ‘elp ye now, Da."

Bailey shook his head. “Do wot t'earl tells ye, and help yer mam when ye get back to t'hall. There'll still be plenty to do when ye come ‘ome."

Freddy nodded, but Malvern thought he did not look disappointed by his father's decision. The boy was undoubtedly bright enough to see that the work these men did was backbreaking drudgery. Still, he'd offered to give up a pony ride on a sunny day in order to do his duty as he saw it. Could an eight-year-old farmer's son understand duty better than a twenty-eight-year-old peer of the realm?

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Late that afternoon Malvern approached Snavely's cottage. Even as he rapped on the door, he wasn't sure what he intended to say to the man. Changes in the management of the estate had to be made. Could Snavely be trusted to make them? After all, Malvern had never taken an active hand in running the place, and he had praised the increased profits. Perhaps Snavely thought that was all Malvern cared about.

Profits were all Malvern had cared about at one time. So, why should he penalize Snavely for his own mistake? Besides, finding a new bailiff could be time-consuming, and he wanted to spend this visit wooing Prudence.

A stooped woman opened the door and led Malvern to Snavely's office. The room was unusually neat; even the few papers on the desktop had been uniformly stacked.

Snavely stood as Malvern entered. “I was about to have a cup of tea. Will you join me, your lordship?"

Should he accept the man's hospitality or keep this strictly a business meeting? Perhaps an air of sociability would help them reach a consensus. “A cup of tea would be greatly appreciated."

As they waited for the old woman to return with the tea, Malvern made general comments about his morning ride, the much improved weather, the lower water levels, and finally the activity he'd seen at the Bailey cottage that morning.

After the tea had been poured, he said, “I told Bailey you'd be along soon to inquire about repairs his cottage will need due to the flood."

Snavely smiled warmly. “Certainly, your lordship. Thought I'd give him a chance to clean up so I could see exactly what is necessary."

Malvern felt encouraged by Snavely's reasonable attitude. “And of course something has to be done about the streambed. Cleaning it out will prevent future flooding."

Snavely pursed his lips. “Well, your lordship, the tenants and I don't see eye to eye on that matter. It seems to me that each of them should be responsible for the portion of the stream that runs through their farms. Bailey has been particularly remiss with his part, so what happened to him is really his own fault, in a manner of speaking."

Malvern paused with his cup in midair. “The impediment near the Bailey cottage is too large for one man to clear out."

"The tenants often work together on such matters."

After carefully returning the cup to its saucer, Malvern said, “I sensed a degree of resentment in some of the men I spoke to this morning. They expected improvements after their rents were raised."

Snavely frowned. “These Yorkshiremen are a quarrelsome lot. Always complaining—asking for more."

"Most of the earnings of this estate come from them. If they leave, we will both suffer. While I don't advocate mollycoddling tenants, I do believe they should be supplied with decent housing and an adequate road to market. That doesn't seem to be available to them at this time."

Snavely stared at him with his mouth compressed into a tight line. Finally he smiled thinly. “If some disgruntled tenants do leave, there are always others looking for farmland. We might be better off getting rid of troublemakers. Your lordship has relied on my judgment in the past and seemed well pleased with my efforts. Why don't we leave things that way?"

No doubt about it, Snavely was challenging his authority. Malvern had to put the man in his place. “The situation has changed, Mr. Snavely. With my wife living here, I will spend more time here myself, so I'll naturally take more of an interest in the estate."

Snavely's head began to jerk as he spoke. “I realize your lordship wants to try his hand at horse breeding, but surely you don't want to waste your valuable time listening to tenants’ complaints."

"As a matter of fact, I want to familiarize myself with all aspects of running the estate,” Malvern said in a firm voice.

"No disrespect, my lord, but if you begin to fritter away the profits, my percentage will be greatly reduced. If my earnings are cut here, I'll be forced to seek employment elsewhere."

Malvern abruptly rose from his chair, weary of fencing with such an unworthy opponent. “Yes, that will undoubtedly be best for both of us. If you'll gather up the books and any cash reserves, I'll take possession of them now. You can come to the hall for a final reckoning."

Snavely stared up at Malvern with his mouth agape. “But—but—"

Pointing to the ledgers on a shelf next to the desk, Malvern said, “Are these all the books? I rode over in a gig, so I'll have no trouble taking them back with me. Perhaps you'll be good enough to give me a hand loading them. And don't worry about vacating the cottage immediately. Take your time—as long as you're gone before the first of the year."

Looking rather like a sleepwalker, Snavely opened a desk drawer and pulled out a cash box. Malvern took it, wondering how he could possibly find a new bailiff during his holiday. Perhaps, now that he'd given Snavely a good scare, the man would bend to Malvern's will.

No, leaving Snavely in place would be consigning his father's legacy to decay and ruin, and Malvern no longer wanted that.

Malvern stopped the gig in front of the manor, carried the books and cash box into the library, and then returned the gig to the stable. Not having footmen to handle such routine matters was a deuced nuisance.

Even at the stable, no one rushed to un-harness the gig. Noticing men huddled around a stall in a back corner, Malvern walked over to see what was going on. While two workmen watched, Weathersby rubbed down an obviously newly born foal. Its mother stood nearby, watching protectively.

Seeing Malvern, Weathersby beamed as if he were the proud parent. “Isn't she a beauty? In all the time I've spent around horses, this is the first birthing I've seen."

"Huh, with those stubby legs, you'll get no speed from that horse,” Malvern grumbled.

One of the workman nodded respectfully but said, “No, but you'll get lots o’ strength from those haunches. She'll make a fine dray animal."

Malvern glared at the man. “The gig is standing unattended. I'm sure that horse would like to be un-harnessed and fed."

The man touched the brim of his cap. “Yes, sir, your lordship."

As the man hurried away, Weathersby stood and stepped away from the foal. “Is something wrong?"

The old man, who had also been watching, took Weathersby's place with the foal.

"What makes you think something is wrong?” Malvern snapped.

Apparently Weathersby's self-confidence had been bolstered by his success at animal husbandry, for he looked Malvern squarely in the eye as he spoke. “You don't usually speak so sharply to servants."

"I'm not usually so aggravated by them—or the lack of them. I came here for a holiday and find the place falling apart. Why haven't you done something to improve the sorry state of affairs here?"

Weathersby shrugged. “You didn't give me the authority to do anything. I've had to get Snavely's approval to even order additional feed for the horses you already have. Improving the breed lines is completely out of the question."

"Well, Snavely is no longer in charge. You may have more authority than you can handle until I find someone to take his place."

Weathersby's eyes widened in surprise, and the old man kneeling beside the foal chuckled.

Malvern's mood lightened. The tenants and the manor servants obviously hated Snavely and conditions under his management were bad. Malvern had been right to fire the man, even if he would be inconvenienced by the search for a replacement. And surely Prudence would be pleased to know he agreed with her opinion of the bailiff and had taken steps to remedy the matter. That should soften her attitude toward him. With a nod to Weathersby, he left the barn in better spirits.

Neil watched Malvern stride from the stables with a puzzled frown. In the past, Malvern had spoken of his Yorkshire holdings in a totally disinterested manner. Neil had thought the earl had come here merely to dally with his new wife, but he seemed to be taking a real interest in conditions at Aysbeck. Had the man changed or had he used conditions here as another excuse to berate Neil?

If Malvern did mean to improve things here, Neil could make a lot of suggestions. This estate wasn't as grand as Pepper Hill, but with careful stewardship it could become a comfortable place for both the landlord and the tenants.