Page 22 of A Victim, A Viscount, And Miss Mifford
"That's the spirit," Jane replied, encouragingly, "Does this Flora girl return Mr Bennett's affections, do you know?"
"I don't think she even sees him," Nora answered, the slight bitterness to her tone portraying the wounded pride of one who had also failed to be noticed.
Oh, Jane frowned; if Flora Bridges held no interest in the farmer, then it was difficult to see how he might have convinced her to act as his accomplice inside Plumpton Hall. Still, Jane added Flora to her list of suspects, alongside Mr Allen the butler.
As Jane wondered where and how she might get to share her discoveries with the new viscount, there was a loud commotion out in the hallway.
"Jane! Jane!" Mrs Mifford called frantically, causing Jane and Nora to leap to their feet in panic.
Had something happened? Had Daisy somehow found the energy to bolt and caused the gig to overturn?
Visions of disaster danced through Jane's mind as she raced from the kitchen to the hallway.
"What is it, Mama?" Jane pressed, as she reached them. Mrs Mifford's colour was high as she struggled out of her coat, and she wore the look of a woman possessed.
"It is Lord Crabb," Mrs Mifford breathed, dropping her coat to the floor, "A footman arrived at the same time as we did, carrying a letter inviting us all to dine with him tomorrow."
Jane bit back a groan as she realised that her mother had interpreted Lord Crabb's invitation exactly as she had feared.
"It is just an invitation to dinner, Mama," Jane cautioned, but Mrs Mifford brushed her words away with a gloved hand.
"Don't be silly, child," she said, her blue eyes alight with a hope that looked somewhat manic, "It is so much more than that; he wants to marry one of you. Which one, I don't know, nor do I care. Oh, did I not predict that I would have one daughter as mistress of Northcott Manor and the other as mistress of Plumpton Hall?"
"And did I not tell you that you were getting ahead of yourself?" Jane cautioned, through gritted teeth.
"You were always a pessimist, Jane," her mother responded with a sniff, "I always thought of myself as something of a clairvoyant, I'll have you know. I imagine I could be a famous fortune teller, if I was so inclined."
"I doubt that, mother," Jane snipped; her mother was not as skilled at the art of seeing as she so believed—for if she was, she would see that Jane was on the verge of committing the second murder in Plumpton in less than a week.
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Chapter Six
As was always the way with a large estate, the reading of Lord Crabb's will did not actually settle anything, it merely created more matters which required settling.
"I am sure you are tired of traipsing up here every day," Ivo commented to Mr Just, after another afternoon of paperwork and bureaucracy had come to an end.
"Not at all," the solicitor replied mildly, "I am paid by the hour."
"An honest answer," Ivo grinned, reaching for the bottle of brandy which sat between them.
"Well, I don't want my invoice to come as a complete surprise," Mr Just replied, with a twinkle in his eye, "If you were to take an apoplectic fit at the sight of it, then I would be back where I had just started—trying to muddle through the estate of another dead viscount."
"Except this viscount does not have an heir," Ivo opined, causing Mr Just to wince.
"If you do one thing for me, my lord," the solicitor said, as he shuffled the pile of papers before him, "Try your best not to pass intestate; it's a devil of a business trying to get the Crown coffers to pay out for any work completed on their behalf."
"Your concern on my behalf is touching, Mr Just," Ivo was dry, though he grinned a little at the solicitor's honesty.
"My concern lies with the estate," Mr Just replied, "Plumpton Hall and its lands have been in the hands of the Crabb family for centuries; while the late Lord Crabb might have allowed it to fall somewhat into ruin, I can guarantee you that he was twice the landlord the Crown would ever try to be. You have tenants and responsibilities now, my lord, and nothing would ease their minds more than a son to continue the line."
"So, you're suggesting I wed?" Ivo questioned, an image of Miss Mifford popping instantly into his mind.
"Wed and produce an heir," Mr Just clarified, causing Ivo to blush a little as he imagined attempting the latter with Miss Mifford.
"I have cancelled the tenancy agreement for the house in St James' Square," Mr Just continued, his mind more focused on business matters than Ivo's own, which was languishing somewhat in the gutter. "And I have written to cancel your lease for the house in Grosvenor Square."
"Very good," Ivo nodded; Lord Crabb—like many elderly aristocrats—had shunned the London season, preferring instead to rent out his residence in town to members of the ton. Now that he was Viscount Plumpton, there was no need for Ivo to continue leasing on Grosvenor Square, when he had a perfectly good town house of his own.
