Page 108 of What's an Earl Gotta Do?
“They tripled overnight,” Anne said.
Graverley’s smile was smug. “I believe my work here is complete.”
“It’s starting to feel like Edward and I are the only ones who aren’t on the board,” Harrington said.
“Not so,” Fauconbridge said. “Anne has asked me to serve as treasurer.”
Harrington’s head snapped toward his brother. “Really? You didn’t tell me that.”
Fauconbridge shrugged. “I’m glad to do it. I know my way around an account book well enough.”
Harrington threw his hands up. “Oh, I see the way it is—I’m the only one you didn’t ask to help.”
“Of course I would love to have your help, Harrington,” Anne said, clearly distressed to have insulted her brother. “Tell me, what would you like to do?”
“Let’s see,” Caro mused, “what is he good at? Vice president of sarcasm?”
“Vice president of debauchery?” Thetford offered.
“Oh, you’re one to talk,” Harrington said, glaring at his friend. “Besides, it’s not as if you have a position, either.”
“Certainly I do. I am the special assistant to the vice president of fundraising,” Thetford said, smiling at Caro.
Archibald Nettlethorpe-Ogilvy moved next to Michael. “I understand you’ll be overseeing the construction of some new buildings. We keep an architect on staff. Feel free to make use of him.”
“I will,” Michael said. “Thank you.”
The architect was going to be busy. Donations may have tripled after Graverley was announced as vice president, but they had doubled again after Scudamore’s arrest. Anne’s heroics had once again been memorialized in a cartoon, this time showing her galloping through the streets of London on Lord Gladstone’s horse, gun in hand, with the caption, “Our virago rides to save the day!” Michael now understood her embarrassment, as The Times had also run one featuring him heroically protecting a flock of terrified children from four thugs with the caption, “The only man who could possibly deserve her.” As embarrassing as it was, donations were up, and they were now looking to build not one new lodging house, but three, and that was just for starters.
“And let me know how much iron you’ll need,” Mr. Nettlethorpe-Ogilvy continued. “I’ll arrange it as a dona—” He broke off as Graverley, who had stolen up behind him, began prodding him in the shoulder. “A donation,” he finished. He arched an eyebrow as he turned to Graverley. “May I help you?”
Graverley was staring at his coat, transfixed. “I was just seeing if this was made from an actual potato sack. Remarkably, it seems it is not.”
Mr. Nettlethorpe-Ogilvy took a step back, straightening his jacket. “And this is relevant because?”
“Because if we are to serve on the board of the Ladies’ Society together,” Graverley said, “then you are a reflection upon me. And this”—he made a cringing gesture to Mr. Nettlethorpe-Ogilvy’s attire—“will not do. You’ll have to see my tailor, Pinkerton.”
Mr. Nettlethorpe-Ogilvy gave an unmistakable shudder. Michael leaned in. “Look, they made me go to Pinkerton, too. It was horrible, but you’ll survive. Just tell him to make you whatever he thinks is best and run out the door the second he’s done with your measurements.”
“So,” Caro said, “when are you two leaving for Canada?”
“Not for another two years.”
That was the core of Michael’s proposal—they would alternate time between England and Canada. In the early years they would spend the majority of their time in England, travelling to Canada only every other year, and only for six months at a time. If Michael was indeed appointed governor general one day, they would spend five years in Canada, after which time he would resign his post.
But the real genius of Michael’s idea was the merging of their goals. In his new position, Michael would be responsible for overseeing the construction of the Ladies’ Society’s new lodging houses. That would give him something important to do each day and would provide the sense of meaning and accomplishment he had come to crave.
As for what the Ladies’ Society would get out of the arrangement, Anne happened to be explaining it to Mrs. Wriothesley.
“... here there are so many war widows and relatively few men, as so many are off fighting. But in Canada, the situation is reversed. Michael tells me there is such an excess of men that an unmarried woman is like to receive half a dozen proposals within her first month on the frontier. And it’s considered a boon if she already has children ‘ready-made,’ as they say over there, as you can never have too many hands to work the farm. Of course I wouldn’t dream of recommending it to my residents until I have seen exactly what the conditions are like. It is a hard life, and they must have an unflinching portrait of it before they make such an important decision. But I’m excited to be able to give them the option to become landowners, which they would never have here. And just think how many additional families the Ladies’ Society will be able to help!”
“How wonderful,” Mrs. Wriothesley said. “But why wait two years? Why not head over immediately?”
Michael tilted his head toward his father, who was conversing with Lord Cheltenham in the corner. “I’ve been gone for so long, it’s good to be back. I’m not in such a great hurry to return.” He ducked his head. “And it occurred to me that I probably ought to build a house a bit more suitable for my lady wife.”
Lady Cheltenham regarded him sharply. “I should like to know what you mean by that, Michael Cranfield. You didn’t expect one of my daughters to live in some frontier shanty?”
“Not a shanty,” Michael hastened to say. “It’s a square log cabin—"
