Page 22 of Entrancing the Earl
She wanted to yank the boyish lock of black hair on his forehead in exasperation. But the earl was large, solidly built, and all male, including the density of his thought processes. She wasn’t stupid enough to test his reaction. “Even ifyoutrust me when I say the ten thousand pounds isn’t real, you have a household of people with dreams who would like to believe they can put the money to good purpose.”
He lifted a questioning eyebrow.
She glared at his thickness. “Winifred has a son with a case of consumption so bad that even her healing hasn’t helped him. She’s kept him alive by paying a sanitarium on the proceeds from the herbal articles she writes from morning to night and from what little her patients pay. She could take the reward and her son and go to the south of France and be with him for the rest of his days.”
The earl uttered an expletive and drank his wine.
“Mary Mike is saving to buy a farm of her own,” Iona continued relentlessly. “Grace sells her beautiful tartans and blankets in shops to wealthy people so she can provide hundreds of cheap blankets for orphanages and workhouses. She can’t forget growing up cold and wishing only for a blanket to call her own. Can you imagine what she might do with the money?”
“Then let’s go back to negotiating with your wealthy, naïve nabob for a marriage settlement in exchange for your title,” he growled. “Then you can finance every Malcolm here and take sail to anywhere.”
Iona was very afraid that might be the only solution.
Nine
Promisingno one could possibly guess Nan—Iona’s—identity until more information was forthcoming, Gerard sent her off to bed for her own good. Even in that droopy gown, she’d been far too enticing for his current state of abstinence. Talking to her had been like playing with a hot firecracker wrapped in pretty golden papers—and just as dangerous. Acountess! What more didn’t he know about his unusual tenants?
Was it more dangerous knowing or not knowing? Knowing who might be a danger to Iona seemed essential. He didn’t need the medallion whispering warnings in his head to tell him that.
The next morning, he pleaded estate duties and let Rainford and company ride off without him.
To Gerard’s great relief, Lady Alice found a ride in the carriage hauling Rainford’s baggage, so he didn’t have to worry about being waylaid again. Old acquaintance or not, Alice was a pestilence he didn’t need. Let her father take her in.
He spent his morning with the books in the privacy of his keep, determining everything was in order. The estate still earned enough to pay his allowance, but if he wanted to make improvements, he’d have to use his funds, which meant giving up his rooms in London, and any hope of life outside of Wystan.
The medallion was back in his pocket again, grumbling. Did Lowell think it was a good luck charm and keep transferring it to his fresh clothes?
He swiped at a bee flying too close, scowled at the open window, and decided he was hungry.
Leaving his new valet to fuss over his neglected wardrobe, Gerard warily slipped into the main house for nourishment, entering through the back hall where his Great-Aunt Winifred occupied the official office. She wore her fading blond hair in a high pompadour that he now knew was probably propped up with fake hair, which made her far less intimidating for some reason.
Still, he hesitated. He’d never questioned the ladies over all these years, assuming they functioned fine and didn’t need him. He hadn’twantedto become involved.
But knowing some of his aunt’s story now... He ought to hear the rest. He had cousins by the trainload. He tried to place which one was Winifred’s invalid son. He conjured up a harmless, scholarly sort he hadn’t seen since childhood.
Winifred glanced up and caught him hovering. “Do you realize the price of honey is four times that of sugar? If we can produce clean, unadulterated honey, we can sell it for a fortune. Nan will pay her own way in the first year and make a substantial profit once she has more than one hive in operation.”
Pretending disinterest, Gerard leaned his shoulder against the door jamb. The ladies would swamp him with demands if they knew he had started paying attention. “I cannot imagine how you keep books to determine how much each tenant must contribute to the household.”
She gestured at her journals. “Pretty much the same way you handle the crops and rents. I know how much it costs to run the household. We have servants sufficient to maintain ten bedchambers. We do not entertain often, so our expenses are steady. Most of the food is grown here, but wax for candles and the like are added to the figures. Although now that Nan is here, we can make our own wax. If we have ten residents, we divide the household costs by ten and consider it rent.” She shrugged. “I keep track of our income. Anything we earn over the rent amount is ours.”
None of which went to the enormous expense of repairing roofs, plumbing, and rats in the attic, among the other bills accumulating on his desk. But if he closed the castle, where would his relations go? And then there was the enormous Malcolm library...
“I trust you pay yourself a sum for bookkeeping duties?” Since attaining his majority, Gerard had left the household books in Winifred’s competent hands. If his father had approved of her methods, he’d seen no reason to change them.
She looked at him blankly. “Well, no. We all have our little tasks. Grace provides blankets and weaves shawls for us. Simone makes scented candles to keep the air pleasant and advises us on the resident spirits and what they’re telling us. Nan said she would teach the kitchen how to make honeyed candies, and her flower borders keep us in bouquets. We’re mostly healthy, so my healing responsibilities are limited. I do the books, for my share.”
The bees buzzing lazily in the roses outside the window reminded him of his duty to this estate and the people inhabiting it. Gerard felt as if he were cutting his own throat, but the beekeeper had opened his eyes, and he couldn’t go back. “Then essentially, Wystan owes all of you for the cost of your labors. In agricultural terms, you’re paying rent from the sale of your crops, but you’re also providing essential services above and beyond the income you’re recording, right?”
“I’m not sure candies and candles are essential,” she said, but it was obvious she was running numbers through her head, trying to puzzle it out.
Unwilling to reveal Iona’s secret, he continued the use of the name she’d adopted. “Before Nan arrived, did you buy candies? And if you use her wax, doesn’t that save coins? Before you arrived, did we pay a bookkeeper? How would you light and scent the rooms without candles? Would you hire someone to talk to spirits if Simone were not here?” He couldn’t believe he was asking these questions, but he never underestimated his family. “How long does it take Grace to make a blanket?”
These women worked all the time. And what did he do? Examine books once a year and make decisions about crops. For that, he earned more than all these women put together. He winced. Cutting his allowance was not why he’d come here.
“To be fair, Grace doesn’t have to contribute often. It’s not as if her blankets ever wear out. But over the years...” Winifred drifted off into a daze—a rarity for her.
“Exactly. Over the years, the estate has benefited even more than I thought from your presence. I assumed everyone paid their own way, but I had not realized you were contributing beyond that. Can you conjure some numbers and let me know what Wystan might owe? I can’t say we have the funds, but I’ll take a look while I’m here.” He lifted his shoulder from the door and trailed off before his aunt emerged from her shock.
