Page 45 of Reforming Lord Ragsdale
“I think it just right,” she replied. “I suppose the wind can really roar through here.”
He nodded, a smile of remembrance on his face. “The rain blows sideways so the glass doesn’t even get wet.”
The manor was much smaller than she expected, with gray stone and white-framed windows. The front lawn was sparse of shrubbery, and the few trees were stunted and permanently bent into the wind. She looked at Lord Ragsdale in some surprise.
“Where is the big house, you are thinking?” he questioned. “Grandfather resisted adding onto it, and Papa couldn’t bear to change anything, either. I think it a little small myself, but Mama would probably be aghast if I changed anything.”
The bailiff met them at the door with a short line of servants, who curtsied and bowed as they entered the hall. Emma looked about her in appreciation and allowed the housekeeper to take her cloak. Lord Ragsdale handed over his hat and overcoat and gestured to the balding man in well-worn leathers.
“Emma, this is Evan Manwaring, my bailiff. Evan, this is. . .”
The bailiff stepped forward and bowed, to Emma’s dismay. “You didn’t tell me you had married, my lord,” he said, before Lord Ragsdale could finish his sentence. “May I say that your exertions have certainly borne fruit.”
Emma gasped, and then laughed out loud. “Oh, sir, you do not understand.”
“She is my secretary,” the marquess said hastily, his face red. “Oh, don’t look so startled! It’s a long story, to be sure, but permit me to promise you that Emma Costello here has a right understanding of my correspondence and financial affairs. Emma, this is Mr. Manwaring.”
They shook hands as the bailiff stammered out hisapologies, then had a chuckle on himself. He wiped his hand across his shining baldness and scrutinized Emma. “It’s an honest mistake. You seemed so easy-like together.” He stepped closer to the marquess and tried to whisper. “Your secretary?”
“My secretary,” Lord Ragsdale replied firmly. “You will own that she is better to look at than David Breedlow, drat his carcass, and she does not cheat me.”
Emma thought of Fae Moullé, and their inflated millinery shop figures, and had the good grace to blush.What he doesn’t suspect will certainly not hurt him, she thought even as she owned to a guilty twinge. She shook hands with Mr. Manwaring and resolved not to worry about what he was thinking.
Lord Ragsdale clapped one hand on her shoulder and the other on his bailiff’s. “In fact, I suggest that you two adjourn to the book room and you acquaint Emma with the sordid details of my estate neglect. She will truss up your figures and admonitions and present them to me in a more palatable form, I trust.”
“We can do that,” the bailiff replied dubiously.
“Excellent, then! Mr. Manwaring, I will watch for my mother and cousin, who should be arriving soon. I trust you will inform Mrs. Manwaring to provide luncheon for us.”
“I already have, my lord,” the bailiff said. “And do you know, Sir Augustus has invited himself over for dinner.”
Lord Ragsdale smiled. “Well, if he hadn’t, I would have talked my way into his house. Excellent, sir, excellent.” He rubbed his hands together and started down the hall to the sitting room, as the bailiff gestured toward the book room.
Mr. Manwaring paused to watch his master go into the sitting room. “Looks better than he did ten years ago when I saw him last,” he murmured, “all wan and white, and looking fit for fish bait. I wouldn’t have given him one chance in five of surviving a strong wind.”
“You mean he truly has not been here in all this time?” Emma asked.
The bailiff shook his head. “Not once, miss. Now, Lady Ragsdale comes every now and again to sit on a bench in the mausoleum, but Lord Ragsdale never has. Here, miss, have a seat, and let me get the books.”
Whatever awkwardness there might have been wore off quickly, as Emma knew it would as soon as the bailiff realized that she understood what he was talking about. In the time before the carriage arrived, they sat with their heads together, poring over the estate records from the past ten years. From what a cursory glance told her, the estate was well run, the figures all in order. The bailiff finally sighed and pushed the books away.
“We look good on paper, miss, but the crofters’ cottages are in serious need of repair.”
“All of them?”
“Yes. We’ve been patching and making do, but it’s beyond that now. Cottages wear out fast on this rough coast. It could be a prodigious expense,” he warned, “and not one I was willing to undertake without his express knowledge and approval. In fact, I would advise new cottages from the foundations up. And what could I do, when he avoids the place?”
“He is here now, Mr. Manwaring,” she said, “and he can be brought to do his duty.”
Mr. Manwaring leaned back in his chair. ‘‘Then, it will be the first time since I can remember that a Marquess of Ragsdale has been inclined to exert himself for the benefit of others.”
Emma stared at the bailiff. “But his father ... he tells me ... I mean, didn’t the late marquess walk on water?”
“Oh my, no!” The bailiff laughed as he pulled the books toward him again. “I think our young lad has spent ten years putting together a mythology, Emma.” He rubbed his chin, regarding her. “I’m wondering now if that is how he has managed to get through this pesky time. I mean, therewere rumors everywhere about how the son had let down the father. I suppose if you hear something long enough, it almost becomes true.”
“He would never believe anything ill of his father, even if you told him,” Emma murmured.
Mr. Manwaring put on his spectacles and gazed at her over the top of them. “I know that. I’m thinking he might believe you, miss.”
