Lord Iverbrook's Heir (6 page)

“And what brings you to England now?”

“La, I have long wished to return to the home of my ancestors, and I recently inherited the baronetcy so the omens seemed favourable. Snuff, my lord?”

“No, thank you.” The viscount watched with scorn as Sir Aubrey produced a snuff box set with what might conceivably be rubies but he rather suspected was coloured glass. With a mincing gesture, the baronet sniffed up a pinch of its contents. “I thought Sir William died several years ago,” Iverbrook went on, “not long after my brother married his daughter.”

“Ah, so you too are a close connexion of dear Lady Whitton. How delightful! Indeed, the late baronet passed on some while since, but the news travelled slowly to Jamaica—I am sure you understand the delay—and then the lawyers proceeded with extreme sloth in verifying my claim to the title. It was scarcely worth the long voyage if I was to find at the end that some closer male relative existed.”

“Indeed. So your title is proved and you are come to claim your inheritance?”

“So I believed, my lord, but I find myself in the most damnable situation! It seems the property is not entailed upon the heir and Sir William was so ill-advised as to leave it to his daughter! What, I ask you, can a flighty female want with a substantial farm like Milford? It can only be a burden to her.”

“You have not met Miss Whitton?”

“Not yet. She is unwell, I collect. However, I trust I have hit upon a scheme which must be acceptable, nay, welcome to all parties. If Miss Whitton will do me the inestimable honour of granting me her hand in marriage, I shall lift the burden from her shoulders while enjoying what is rightfully mine.”

“I must warn you that Miss Whitton has broad shoulders, Sir Aubrey.”

“You mean she is an antidote?” asked the baronet in alarm. “I confess I had hoped to find a fashionable female with looks to equal my . . . ahem, of tolerable appearance. However, I daresay I shall soon come to overlook any minor defects of person in a young lady of amiable disposition.”

“I feel sure you will, in view of the rewards to be gained thereby. I was riding about the estate this morning and it looks to be a very pretty property, and in excellent heart. It is a great pity that Miss Whitton’s disposition is managing and quarrelsome.”

“‘Pon rep, my lord, I believe you are gammoning me. Can it be that you have an interest there yourself?”

“No, no, not I!” disclaimed the viscount hurriedly. “Pray excuse me. I must remove some of the dust of the fields from my person before luncheon.” He closed the door behind him before he said aloud, “Mercenary man-milliner!”

“I beg your pardon, my lord?” said Bannister, startled. “Luncheon will be served in the dining room in fifteen minutes, my lord.”

“Will Miss Whitton be down?”

“I believe not, my lord, though I understand the headache is much improved. If I might make so bold, my lord . . .”

“Yes, Bannister, what is it?”

“Young Jem says your lordship brought the labourers up to the mark in prime style this morning, and we was hoping you might think to stay, my lord, till the harvest’s over. For we don't like to see Miss Selena in such queer stirrups and that’s the truth.”

“Stay? Good heavens, I had not intended to stay so long as I have already!”

“I suppose your lordship has engagements elsewhere,” said the old butler sadly.

“Not exactly. No one knows I am back in England, you see. I have to admit I enjoyed this morning, but I don’t believe Miss Selena would appreciate my staying.”

“Miss Selena’s got plenty of sense in her cockloft, my lord, for all she’s a trifle hot to hand. It’s not a bit of use coming down heavy but if you was to explain as how it’s a rare treat to you to go a-harvesting and you wish she’d tell you what needs doing, well, then she’d have no reason to nab the rust. Begging your lordship’s pardon.”

“I’ll think about it,” promised Iverbrook, and went upstairs wondering why he should feel disposed to assist the cross-grained Miss Whitton.

At luncheon, the viscount was dismayed to learn that the hired chaise had been dismissed and Lady Whitton, always hospitable, had invited Sir Aubrey to stay at Milford Manor. However, his annoyance at the prospect of enforced intimacy with the demi-beau was tempered with amusement at Miss Delia’s rapture. The Lost Heir had evidently eclipsed the Absent Guardian as a figure of romance, and the baronet played the part of hero much more convincingly. Delia, ignorant of the ways of the Polite World, found no fault with his foppish dress and swallowed indiscriminately his tales of high adventure in the Spanish Main.

Lord Iverbrook caught his hostess’s eye. The twinkle in it told him that she, at least, was not taken in. Whether Miss Whitton would be as full of admiration as her sister remained to he seen.

Selena came down to afternoon tea, looking much better. She curtseyed politely to her cousin and bade him welcome, but her mind was elsewhere.

“Is Iverbrook still out, Mama?” she asked.

“Yes, he rode out again after lunch. He left a message for you, that the reaping you had ordered was nearly done and he awaits your instructions as to what comes next.”

“I must go and see what he has been doing.”

“Miss Whitton—Cousin Selena, if you will permit—I had hoped to have a private word with you on a serious matter of some import.” The baronet, having inspected his intended through his quizzing glass, was relieved to find that she had no greater defects than excessive height and slenderness and a hint of a snub nose. He wondered why the viscount had mentioned broad shoulders.

“You will have to excuse me, Cousin. Nothing can be more important than the farm at present, for there is no knowing when this dry spell will break. Where is Peter, Mama?”

“Delia took him with her to the Russells’. She wanted to see Jane.”

“To gossip about our new cousin, no doubt. You will be a nine days’ wonder in the neighbourhood, Sir Aubrey. I shall see you at dinner. Now don’t fuss, Mama, I assure you I am right as a trivet, as Peter says. Your prescription worked wonders, as always.”

Selena found Jem in the stables.

“His lordship di’n’t need me this arternoon,” explained the groom, “and I c’d see Orion wou’n’t come to no harm with him.”

“He’s riding Orion? How dare he!”

“Well now, miss, that’s the only horse up to his weight. You can’t expect a lordship to ride a carriage horse, and Miss Delia's Lyra is too small.”

"I suppose so, but doubtless I shall have to ride her. I hope Delia walked to Bracketts!”

“Yes, miss. I’ll saddle Lyra and Pippin in a jiffy.”

“You need not come, thank you, Jem.”

“The gypsies is still about, miss.”

“I’ll watch out for them. I expect Lord Iverbrook will protect me against all the perils of a summer afternoon in Oxfordshire.”

“If he don’t, miss, he’ll have me to reckon with, lord or no lord!”

Tom Arbuckle was sitting nearby, polishing a harness. “Miss ain’t going to come to no harm,” he said scornfully, “no more nor her horse, you young nodcock.”

Foreseeing a battle royal, Selena intervened. “Saddle Lyra, Jem, and then you may go at it hammer and tongs, when I am well away.”

She trotted down the lane on her sister’s mare till she came upon the viscount, leaning on a gate, while Orion nibbled at the hedge beside him. Lyra’s hooves made little noise on the dusty track, but his lordship looked up when Orion whickered a welcome.

“Good afternoon, Miss Whitton. I have been puzzling over this meadow. Unlike the rest of your land, it seems to be in a state of disgraceful neglect.”

If he had expected to provoke her, he missed his mark.

“It is not mine,” she said. “It belongs to Lord Alphonse Sebring and he will neither lease nor sell it to me. That is, he has never deigned to answer when I have written with offers.”

Iverbrook shouted with laughter.

“You plainly do not know Addlepate Sebring if you propose to do business with him. It is common knowledge that he tosses all his correspondence in the fire without opening it, even invitations. He just turns up at whatever function his bosom-bows are gracing with their presence, invited or not. Being the younger son of a duke, he is rarely refused admittance, except at Almack’s when he turns up in pantaloons.”

“What am I to do then? These fields have been a thorn in my flesh for years. All they need is drainage and regular mowing, and they would soon be excellent pasture.”

“Addlepate’s brother George is a friend of mine. I’ll see if he can do anything in the matter. At the least I will find out who handles his affairs and you can address yourself to him.”

“Thank you, Iverbrook. And also thank you for helping with the harvest, though I mean to see for myself what has been done before I sing your praises! Shall we go on?”

He swung himself into the saddle and they rode side by side up the lane. Queen Anne’s lace grew tall on either side, and honeysuckle perfumed the air; overhead swallows darted and swooped, catching insects to feed their insatiable young.

Selena decided that her companion was not, after all, without redeeming features. He guided her precious Orion with a gentle hand, and in spite of his casual dress she could find no fault with the way he sat the black gelding. She herself had put on a new habit of russet cloth, and had darkened her eyebrows with walnut dye. It would not run in the cool of the evening, she hoped.

“I owe you an apology too,” she admitted. “I ought not to have snapped at you this morning when you offered me sympathy.”

“I think you were too unwell to be held responsible, though I confess I was hurt when you called me a fribble!”

She looked at him in surprise. “Is it not true?”

“Tell me how you define ‘fribble.’”

“Oh, a man-about-town. Someone who has no useful occupation and lives only for amusement. A Bond Street beau.”

“No,
that
I am not!” he said in revulsion.

“Perhaps not. I do not precisely know what a Bond Street beau is. You cannot deny, however, that your life has been spent in the pursuit of frivolity.”

“I have sowed my share of wild oats,” he acknowledged, “nor do I promise that I am an entirely reformed character. But I do intend to embark upon an occupation generally considered useful. In the autumn I shall take my seat in the House of Lords.”

“And add your mite to the weight of Tory repression!”

“Far from it, Miss Whitton. I am going to join Mr. Wilberforce in his fight against slavery in the colonies. After the sights I saw in the West Indies, I can think of no endeavour more worthy of support.”

Again Selena looked at him in surprise, but this time her face, always a tolerably exact mirror of her emotions, showed respect as well.

“Was it so very dreadful, then?”

Since she neither berated him, like his lawyer, nor hushed him, like his friend, Iverbrook elaborated.

“What decided me that freeing my own slaves was not enough was a trial I attended in Tortola, in the Virgin Islands. A man called Arthur Hodge had settled there on an estate some twenty years ago. In 1803 he owned a hundred and forty slaves. Since then it seems he murdered over one hundred of them, in the most hideous ways, until a free negro woman who had worked for him laid information with the local justices.”

“No one had tried to stop him?”

“His overseer, and even his sister, were witnesses against him. One must suppose they had thought that since he owned them he could do with them as he wished.”

“And the justices?”

“They sentenced him to be hanged. Had the letter telling of my brother’s death not reached me at that time, after long delays, I’d have stayed to see the hanging, though it is not a spectacle I find edifying.”

“A horrible story.” Selena’s voice trembled. “I perfectly understand why you will join the struggle against slavery. I had never considered that it might lead to such crimes, never thought on the subject at all, in fact.”

“Nor I, nor most people. Perhaps I was wrong to tell you. I hope you do not suffer from nightmares!”

“My nerves are not so delicate, I assure you. Very well, when you make your maiden speech I will withdraw the word ‘fribble’!”

“I thank you, ma’am. And now you may pass judgment upon my abilities as a farm bailiff.”

They turned in at an open gate. Before them lay a field patterned with stooks of corn in neat rows. Already gleaners with rush baskets foraged for spilled grain, the kerchiefs of the women bright against the pale yellow stubble.

Selena studied the scene as Lyra and Orion picked their way up the slight slope. There was a dip in the ground near the top of the hill that was difficult to mow. If the viscount had managed to persuade the men to do it properly, then he was of more use than she had thought possible.

The hollow was clean cut.

“Beautiful,” she said with satisfaction. “Thank you, Iverbrook.” She held out her hand and he raised it to his lips.

“Delighted to be of service, ma’am. Now if you will just explain to me what is to go forward tomorrow?”

“I cannot suppose that you wish to concern yourself any further, sir.”

“But I have been enjoying myself immensely. I was used to go harvesting with my father when I was a child.”

“Yet you have chosen not to occupy yourself with running your estates.”

“I had little choice in the matter, Miss Whitton! My father died when I was sixteen. Mama would not hear of my leaving school to learn how to manage Iver, and before I was of an age to decide for myself, she had remarried. Mr. Ffinch-Smythe having turned the place into an excessively profitable pig farm, I set foot in the place as rarely as possible thereafter.”

“Does not your step-papa own his own land? Surely he and Lady Lavinia could remove thither and you could return Iver Place to mixed farming.”

“It is obvious you are well acquainted with neither Iver nor my mother. It is poor land, with sour soil, better suited to raising swine than to anything else. The first viscount bought it to be near Windsor. He and his son and grandson made their fortunes at Court, and it was not farmed at all until my father tried. He spent a fortune on enclosures, to no avail.”

“And Lady Lavinia?”