Page 70 of Lady Diana's Lost Lord
“Put me in my place, that much is certain.” The marquess scrubbed one hand over his face. “I’m afraid I have not much in the way of hospitality to offer to you. It’s been many a year since I’ve received visitors.”
“There is no need. We weren’t planning on staying,” Rafe said as his gaze drifted toward Diana. “I’m afraid Marcus and Lydia are wandering loose within—and I’m going to need a new damned notebook. Marcus is swiftly running out of pages.”
She’d suspected as much. “It’s not reallysobad,” she said. “True, there are extensive repairs to be made—but a thorough cleaning will do wonders, I’m certain.” The furniture, the ornamentations—well, those were lovely to have, but not strictly necessary. “We’ll manage it one wing at a time, I suppose. Essential repairs first.”
“I beg your pardon. Repairs?” the marquess inquired.
“Well, you can hardly expect Diana to live likethis,” Rafe said, with a flippant gesture of his fingers that was meant to encompass the whole of the house.
A vibrant flush burnished the marquess’ cheeks, visible even beneath the coat of whiskers. “I haven’t the funds to restore it,” he admitted. “It’s come to this because I—I—”
“Gambled excessively,” Rafe said. “Yes, I know. Youwillhave to give it up, the gambling. For some it is a drug, as potent as any other. But it’s not only your future you have gambled with, it’s—”
“Rafe,” Diana said gently. “It’s all right. We’ve discussed this already.” The man had spent years stewing in his shame. There was nothing to be gained in heaping more of it upon his shoulders.
“You’ve nothing to worry for on that score,” the marquess said. “It’s—galling to admit to, but I could not secure the credit necessary to play, even if I did wish it. I have paid down my debts, but it has beggared me to do so, and I can’t imagine there is a gaming hell in London that doesn’t know it already. Even if Icouldafford to get myself to London—which I cannot—I’d not find a table made available to me.”
“And you won’t,” Rafe said. “Even when the estate is flourishing again. I’ll damn well make certain of it.”
Diana wasn’t certain how he could make good on that promise, but she decided to believe him. “We have decided,” she said, “that Ben and I shall take over the management of the estate, and all financial matters relating to it.” To the world, the marquess would still be the patriarch of the family, but in practice he would be just a figurehead—the holder of the title until his death, as was natural, but she and Ben would be the custodians thereof. The marquess had done enough damage to his legacy, and he was not keen to risk it once again on the strength of his resolve.
“It really is going to be a lot of work,” Rafe said. “Years of it.”
“We’ll manage.” One wing at a time, building the whole thing back up from its very foundations, which had been shaken so many years ago. “It won’t be easy, but we’re not afraid of hard work. Are we, my lord?”
By the minute tremble of his lips, he had understood the undercurrent running beneath the words, the implication she had meant for him to take from it. It was not just the estate that required repairs; it was the whole of his family. And it would require ever so much more than money. It would require time, dedication, repentance. He had years of restitution to make—but he had time. Time enough to restore himself to Ben’s good graces. Time enough toprove his worthiness once again. Time enough to step back from that ledge over which he had teetered, to take the hand stretched out to him, and pull himself from the ruin he’d made of his life.
Time enough to be a father, a grandfather.
“No,” he said. “We’re not afraid of hard work.”
“Good.” Diana gave him an approving pat on the hand. “It’s decided, then. You must come home with us, my lord.”
“To—toLondon?” His hands made a feeble, futile gesture toward his throat, as if to loosen the cravat that he was not wearing. “I couldn’t,” he said. “I haven’t got the funds for it, or the wardrobe. I let the lease on the house expire years ago—”
“We’ve got one going spare,” she said. “In truth, it belongs to Mother, but she retired to Scotland years ago.” None of them had had much fondness for it, anyway. They had all grown up within it, but it held no happy memories. “I’m certain some of Father’s things are still there. A bit dated, perhaps, but they’ll do until we can replenish your wardrobe.”
“I’m comfortable enough here,” the marquess said.
Rafe cast his gaze around the small room, face wreathed in disbelief. “I doubt you’ve had a decent meal in years,” he said. And that was to say nothing of a proper shave, or of his clothing, which had seen better days—or years. “How have you been surviving like this?”
“There’s a girl who comes up from the village twice weekly,” the marquess said. “She does the washing for a few shillings a month. Brings bread and cheese, and whatever fruits and vegetables can be had at market. I have candles and coal delivered; enough to warm bathwater and to heat a room in the winter. I—” He raked one hand through his shaggy, salt-and-pepper hair. “I survive.”
Yes, Diana thought. On even less than Ben had. He’d been selling off whatever valuables had remained a piece at a time only to keep him in pauper’s meals and to secure an occasional wash for his clothing. “I need you,” she said. “We will need to make a full accounting of the estate; rents that are owed, farmsteads vacant. Marcus’ man of business can help us to find tenants for those properties, advise us on how to make it profitable once again. But we need to determine what has gone wanting first, and I cannot do it without your assistance.”
She saw the fall of his face, the hollow of his cheeks, and she thought she understood his reluctance. This had been the place he had last been truly happy. Every memory he treasured had been built here. Even if the rest of ithad fallen to ruin about his ears, still those memories walked the halls with him.
“It’s not forever,” she said softly. “The house is a danger to you at present. To all of us. We can fix it—wewillfix it. But there are more important things to mend first.” His relationship with his son.
The marquess buried a hoarse sound in his palm. “Canthey be mended?”
“I cannot make promises on your son’s behalf,” she said. “I’m certain you can understand that. But if you can give an honest go of building bridges instead of burning them, who is to say where they might lead you?”
Rafe cast his gaze heavenward, his breath whistling through his teeth. “I’m riding topside again, aren’t I?”
“Yes,” Diana said. “But then, you’ll not find yourself the victim of little Edward’s delicate stomach, which I think ought to give you some comfort.” She hesitated as the marquess slowly rose to his feet. “My lord, is there…anything you wish to bring along with us?”
“I haven’t got much,” he said gruffly. “I don’t expect you have much room, besides.”
