“Count yourself privileged, Miss Whitfield, that it might only be one day.”
“Why do you say that?”
“My days are anything but routine.… But then, I would be bored if every day was like the last.”
“There is security in routine—calm, peace.”
“But no adventure, no surprises.”
“Surprises can be overrated.”
“Or they can be fun. That’s part of the adventure.”
“A strange philosophy for an apprentice solicitor.”
“We are not all cut from the same cloth, Miss Whitfield.”
“So I see.” The words might have been biting had the comment been made with the right inflection, but they weren’t. They were uttered with a smile and a gleam of mischief. Robert had a feeling that, one day, Lydia Whitfield would find routine, not surprises, overrated.
A half hour later, Drury walked into the study with Lydia hard on his heels. “My apologies, young man. Lost track of time. Miss Whitfield happened to be looking for the coachman just as I was readying my horse to ride out. Would have been gone in a trice, you know.”
“Yes, indeed, chance was on our side, sir. Please, sit down.” Robert nodded toward Lydia in recognition of her success and saw that she had something to say. “Yes, Miss Whitfield.”
“I thought you would be pleased to know that your carriage has been repaired and will be made ready for your return whenever you ask for it. I told Mr. Hodge that it would likely be late afternoon. Was I correct?”
“Yes, that should give me enough time to get back to Bath before dark. Excellent, thank you.” Robert did his best to sound enthused—it wouldn’t do for Lydia to think that he wished to stay longer, that he wanted to hang around her skirts like Mr. Chilton. Taken aback by the direction of his thoughts, Robert looked down at the desk and shuffled his papers around until he had control of his expression … and emotions. When he looked back up, Lydia was gone, the study door was closed, and Drury was staring at the ceiling.
“So shall we start at the beginning? Why pineapples?”
“Tea. Really, Mr. Newton, I have never advocated anything but tea. That I know and understand.”
“Good to hear. I shall make a note of it. So where did you get your expertise, sir? Have you been to India … China?”
“No, no.” The land agent laughed weakly. “I drink it, you know. Buckets of the stuff.”
“I see.” Yes, Robert could see that it was going to be a long morning.
*
By the time Robert sat down with Miss Whitfield and Lord Aldershot at two in the afternoon, precisely, he had a very good idea of what his recommendations to Mr. Lynch would be in regard to the tea-pineapple debacle. He had found Drury every bit as ignorant of estate management as Lydia had stated. The man needed to be replaced and quickly. The problem, of course, was the timing. Most land agents, the good ones, would already be in place; it was spring after all. Growing season was right around the corner.
Problem One: Replace Drury.
Solution to Problem One: Have his brother, Charles, and/or the Slotten House agent, Mr. Brandon, make inquires; Slotten was far enough away from Roseberry that Arthur Kemble would not have any influence over those applying.
Which led him directly into the next quandary.
Problem Two: Uncle Arthur.
During the second, more explosive interview of the morning, Robert was praised and harangued in equal measure. Shouted at and then slapped on the back in jocularity. The man was unpredictable at best, a drunken lunatic at worst. But through it all, Kemble made it more than abundantly clear that his only interest in Roseberry was to feather his own nest. Whether it was with tea or pineapples, he didn’t care. Kemble just wanted to make some money—fast.
It was hard to imagine how wrongheaded Oliver Whitfield had been—that he had trusted this beetle-brained elbow-crooker enough to watch over his precious, captivating daughter … er, precious estate … after his demise. Something must have changed, and not for the better. As a result, Kemble resented Lydia in more ways than could be counted. Her rosy future, her wealth, her opinions, etc. Everything from the colors she wore to the way she walked were part of Uncle Arthur’s tirade against the monster called Lydia.
Perhaps it came down to simple greed: Kemble had become used to the niceties of Roseberry and hated the idea of being forced to return to his small house, with limited funds, and two unmarried daughters. That he had squandered his own inheritance on horses and gambling was not considered significant. And now, to be backing a questionable decision based on the promises of an ignorant man put paid to the whole deal.
If only Robert could replace Kemble as well, but male relatives were few and far between in the Whitfield line.
Solution to Problem Two: Suggest that a commission or bonus system be set up based on the success of the estate. Kemble could “earn” the money—a concept that might be abhorrent to the upper crust but well understood by those in need.
So the quest was complete—Robert knew the source of the complaining letters, and he could provide the particulars and possible solutions. Robert could return to Bath with a clear conscious. Well, almost clear. He had yet to resolve the task for which they were now ensconced in the study. A landed lady with money marrying an impoverished title—though the players changed, it was an old game. Even the bride-to-be’s young age was not an issue with parental consent.
No, the only difficulty with which Robert was dealing was a personal one.
As he looked across the room at the charming, laughing eyes of Miss Whitfield, for the first time in his life, Robert wished that he were a firstborn son expecting to inherit a title.
Chapter 5
In which Miss Whitfield prevents abject despair by extending an invitation
“I’m quite happy to allow you the choice of land agent, but that is where it shall end, Lydia. You will not direct the agent or me. I will not look a lemming in my own house, nor will I let it be said that my wife deals in business. Really, a lady should know nothing of plants save where the roses look best in a vase of flowers.”
“Yes, I understand—”
“No, you don’t. The expectations of society will change the instant we are wed, and you will have to change with them. I’m sorry to say this, but your father, as much as I admired his acumen, did you no favors in your education. A lady should—”