Heiress in Love (17 page)

“Here you are, my dear.” A low, feminine voice spoke behind him.

He turned to see Lady Arden step onto the terrace. Her bright eyes were alert, sparkling with determination. A lady on a mission.

Constantine sighed. He was in for it now.

Out of politeness, he indicated his cigarillo. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all,” she replied, moving toward him. She hesitated. “I am glad to have the chance to speak with you alone.”

He gave a grim smile. “I suppose I can guess the reason behind Lady Endicott’s dismissal.”

“I did
not
dismiss her.”

“No, you simply told her some designing woman has her claws in that precious son of hers. Nothing more likely to send her hotfooting it to Town.” He extended an arm beyond the balustrade and tapped ash over the side. “It must be obvious, even to Lady Roxdale, what you are about.”

“She’d have to be a ninny not to guess,” agreed Lady Arden. She glanced at him. “You are minded to be stubborn, aren’t you?”

His shoulders shook. “Stubborn? I?”

Lady Arden’s lips pressed together in impatience. “But you
must
marry her! Surely even you can see that. I hear there is a massive debt due on the mill and no funds to repay it.”

“Yes, that’s right.” He’d done his utmost to find the necessary funds. So far, he’d failed.

There was always the stock exchange, of course, and he’d sent instructions to his broker that day. But counting on a large return on a few high-risk investments to save him would be almost as foolhardy as relying on the gaming tables. He needed a windfall, and soon.

“Jane seems to like you,” said Lady Arden. “That, I had not expected.”

His smile had a bitter edge. “Most women love a rake, I’m told.”

“Not women like Jane,” said Lady Arden seriously. “Still, I applaud her for having the sense not to cavil at doing what must be done. She is a good, dutiful girl. She will do what’s right.”

“And you’re here to see to it that she has every opportunity to do so,” he murmured.

“At the least, I shall not hinder the process, as Griselda would have done. What possessed you to ask her to stay?”

“What do you think I had to say in the matter?” He shook his head. “Besides, if I hadn’t agreed to let Griselda remain, Cousin Jane might have left for Town with the duke. That would not have done.”

“No.” She eyed him for a moment in silence. Then she turned to gaze out at the night, tapping her fingertips on the balustrade.

He could almost see the cogs whirring in that intricate mind of hers. “Allow me to chart my own course, ma’am.”

She hesitated, then turned to face him. “Very well. I shall … facilitate. But for the moment, I shall not interfere.”
Let us see how well you do,
was her unspoken challenge.

“Be assured, I’m fully sensible of my obligations.”

“I’m glad of it. And a touch surprised. I thought I had my work cut out for me with you.” She regarded him narrowly. “You haven’t developed a
tendre
for her, have you? That would never do.”

His hesitation made her eyes widen a little. Then he said, “God forbid.”

Lady Arden’s brow furrowed. Perhaps she recalled the last time he’d dallied with a respectable lady who wanted marriage. “Take care what you are about, Constantine.”

He took a long drag of smoke and blew it into the night. “Oh, yes,” he said. “I will.”

CHAPTER NINE

“Jones!” Constantine dismounted and held out his hand. “I’m obliged to you for meeting me.”

The grumpy old fellow appeared reluctant to shake hands with Constantine, but after an internal struggle, he clasped it briefly. “I’s put out ter grass two year ago, my lord.”

Constantine recognized by the broadening of the man’s accent that he was not minded to be cooperative. He couldn’t blame Jones for being less than pleased to have him as landlord in these parts. As a boy, Constantine had given him no end of trouble with his pranks.

That aside, Constantine needed his help. And if he knew the former steward’s interfering bent, it wouldn’t be long before Jones would overcome his reluctance and start ordering him about like a schoolboy again.

“Jones, I need your advice.”

The older man rubbed his craggy jaw with the side of his thumb. “Don’t know what ye think I’m able to tell ye.”

Constantine laughed. “Oh, don’t give me that. I’ll wager you’ve forgotten more than I’ll learn in a lifetime about running this estate.” He squinted upward. “I want to consult you about many things, but my primary concern at the moment is this mill.” They both surveyed the imposing structure, nestled at the foot of the valley.

The building had once been the focus of a thriving industry. To Constantine’s shock, Larkin had informed him that the mill stood empty now, disused. He’d not quite believed it until he’d ridden up here and found the place deserted. The stream that had powered the woolen mill had dried to a trickle. Was this why Frederick had so blithely mortgaged the place? Perhaps he hadn’t cared if he forfeited it.

“Aye,” said Jones, rubbing his cheek with the side of his thumb. “A great shame, that was. All the weavers out of work, and forced to beg for a place up at Bronson’s. On a fraction of the pay, mind.”

“You mean the mill on Adam Trent’s land?”

“That’s right. He don’t run the mill himself, though. Leases it to a fellow called Bronson. Never seen about these parts, lets his foreman manage the place. But Bronson’s a hard man. Took his chance to pay less and make more profit when the workers here were turned away.” Jones shrugged. “Where else could they go?”

Constantine was surprised that other work couldn’t be found for them on the estate, if the conditions at Bronson’s were so intolerable. Why hadn’t Frederick done something?

A trickle of water flowed through the streambed, a meager legacy from the recent downpour. Not nearly enough to power a mill. “I want to know what can be done to make this mill run again, Jones. Build a reservoir, divert another tributary. I don’t know. Something.”

Constantine pulled off his hat and shook droplets of water from its brim. “It never stops raining in this place. I can’t believe there’s no water to power my mill.”

“As to that, my lord…” Jones hesitated, perhaps torn between his own desire to see the mill back in operation and his natural abhorrence of giving Constantine assistance.

“Come, Jones, I’m depending on you,” said Constantine. “Young Larkin is a good fellow but hasn’t an ounce of your judgment. If you want your old position back, it’s yours. And if you know something, tell me.”

Constantine saw at once that the older man was mollified by his promises. Perhaps his dismissal had wounded the man’s pride.

Jones nodded. “Well, my lord, there’s a trick these mill owners have of making sure the competition goes out of business. You see Bronson’s mill?” He pointed to another stone building in the distance, farther up the valley. “They’s upstream from this’n. So…” He spread his hands.

Constantine frowned, his jaw tightening. “Do you mean to tell me the blackguard has dammed this stream so our mill doesn’t get any water?”

“Aye, that’s about the size of it.” He tapped the side of his nose. “Or at least, that’s a way I know of making sure other mills suffer.”

“Good God!” Fury possessed Constantine. Why had no one else thought of this? Why hadn’t that idiot Frederick?

“Did you tell my cousin of your suspicions?” he demanded.

Jones regarded him with scorn. “’Course I did. He wouldn’t listen. Didn’t want to know.” He shrugged a shoulder. “Master Frederick never did hold with the mill.”

Constantine swore. That would be Frederick all over, refusing to take an interest in an enterprise that didn’t fit with his notions of gentlemanly pursuits. One might collect rent from tenants but God forbid one pursued income from trade. His father hadn’t been so high in the instep.

“Do you know this Bronson’s direction?” said Constantine.

“That I don’t. But Mr. Trent will.”

Grim-faced, Constantine mounted his horse. “I’m going up the valley to see for myself. And then I’ll hear what our neighbor has to say.”

*   *   *

Constantine strode into Adam Trent’s house, ignoring the bleating from his butler. “In the breakfast parlor, is he? Thank you, I’ll find my own way.”

He discovered Adam Trent in the south parlor discussing a breakfast of ham and eggs.

Constantine slammed his hand on the table, making the flatware jump. “I want a word with you!”

Trent looked up in astonishment, then fury dawned. “Good God, Black! What do you mean by bursting in on me like this? I ought to call you out!”

“It’s Roxdale to you,” growled Constantine. “And you’d be wise to keep your challenges to yourself until you hear what I have to say. I’ve just come from Bronson’s mill.”

Trent’s eyes lost none of their righteous outrage. “And? Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

“It damned well will mean something to you! Your tenant, Bronson, has put countless Lazenby men out of work. He has dammed the stream that used to flow down to our mill, making it impossible to power it.”

“I—I knew nothing of this,” stammered Trent, rising. “It must be a mistake.”

“No mistake. I saw it with my own eyes.” Constantine paused, his chest rising and falling. “Well? What are you going to do about it?”

Trent blinked at him. “Why, I … What can I do?”

Constantine spoke through his teeth. “Order him to get rid of that dam so that my workers can come back and earn a decent livelihood! The thing’s badly constructed and full to bursting with all the rain we’ve had. If you can’t think of my people, think of your own. I wouldn’t wager a groat against the whole structure collapsing with the next downpour.”

“The mill is Bronson’s responsibility. I—”

“And your tenants are yours!” said Constantine. “Order Bronson to come down here or take care of it yourself, I don’t care. Have that dam dismantled within the week or I’ll be up there to do it with my own hands. Good day to you!”

His mouth tightening, Trent threw down his napkin and shot to his feet. “If you set foot on my lands again, Black, I’ll have you arrested for trespass. And don’t think I won’t do it! I’d like nothing better than to see you rot in jail.”

The urge to smash his fist into Trent’s self-righteous face nearly got the better of Constantine. But that had always been his problem, hadn’t it, acting on impulse? Trent would point to the new Lord Roxdale’s barbarous behavior and Trent’s own culpability would be forgotten. With the utmost restraint, Constantine held back.

“I see I was right about you, Trent,” he said. “You haven’t changed a bit.”

*   *   *

Constantine returned from his ride in a towering rage. He’d half a mind to take some men up to Bronson’s mill now and tear down the dam himself. Certainly, Trent’s parting shot might have been calculated to goad him into doing just that.

But Constantine was no longer a hotheaded, impetuous youth who could be manipulated into doing foolish things just to prove he had the courage. The mill—men and women’s livelihoods—were more important than his pride.

Given the state of that dam, if it were not dismantled correctly, it might flood Bronson’s mill and the settlement of cottages surrounding it. No, the matter needed to be approached with care. He’d send for an engineer from Bristol if he couldn’t get satisfaction from Trent. In fact, he’d best summon one anyway, to ensure whatever work was carried out there was done properly.

He summoned Greenslade and instructed him accordingly. The solicitor bowed and was about to leave, when Constantine bethought himself of something.

“One moment, Mr. Greenslade. You have a copy of the mortgage over the mill, don’t you?”

“Yes, my lord. Shall I fetch it?”

“No, that’s not necessary. The mortgagee is a company called Bronson and Company, is it not?”

The solicitor pushed his spectacles up his nose. “Yes, I believe it is.”

“Can you find out who the directors and shareholders are and whatever background detail you might glean about them? I wish to know exactly who I’m dealing with.”

“Of course, my lord. I shall inquire.”

Constantine dismissed him with thanks and went upstairs to change.

When Constantine reached the master suite, he found it buzzing with activity. His belongings had arrived by cart from London; it was time to do the thing properly and move in.

With great reluctance, he’d sent orders for the most valuable items in his collection to be sold. The prices they fetched weren’t enough, but the proceeds would at least tide him over while he raised money to repay the loan. What remained were mere curiosities, but none the less valuable in his eyes.

The sight of so many treasured and familiar pieces lightened his mood somewhat. At least, it saved him from being obliged to hit someone.

He was a great believer in starting as one meant to go on, which encompassed both his role as lord of Lazenby Hall and his intention of enticing Lady Roxdale into his bed. He’d delay no further in taking over the suite of rooms traditionally occupied by the master of the house.