“Mr. Foster, it seems that we must then put our joint intellectual capacity together to find a way to convincemytenants that I will not expect rent from them until next season.” It was obvious even his own steward didn’t trust his generosity. Searching for a logical reason for being generous, he landed on one. “The fact is, if they starve to death this winter, they are of little use to me in the coming year. Correct?”
The man’s eyes widened. “You are, sir.”
He sat forward again and set his elbows on the desk. “Then what should we do?”
“I could tell them again?” Mr. Foster clearly did not think that would work.
“No, that has been tried. If I had time, I would visit each and every one of them, but now that the new year festivities are over, I must leave in a few days.”
The man’s face, which had brightened, fell. “Again, sir? Will you be gone long?”
It was an odd question coming from his steward. The man knew well what he was about, but obviously this year had strained his confidence. “Not too long. Maybe a fortnight.” He’d have to come home to make sure all was ready for his new bride. Even at the thought of Amelia, some of his worries dissipated.
He’d taken a risk not asking for the rents based on his ability to woo Amelia. It hadn’t occurred to him that he’d feel so deeply for her, but he was pleased he did. He was also fairly sure she felt the same way about him. That meant she’d be happy to have her dowry helptheirpeople.
He stared at the ink well on his desk. What good was it to sacrifice his rents if his people didn’t use that money to feed themselves? Now, he was less frustrated with them and more angry with his father. What more would he uncover about the man before a year had gone by since his passing?
“Sir, might I suggest an announcement of some sort. Perhaps, your footmen could deliver it?”
He looked at Mr. Foster. “An announcement?” It seemed too authoritative to him, something his father might do. His gaze wandered back to the ink well. That was it! “A letter.”
“A letter, sir?”
He grinned. “Yes, a letter. I will write a letter to each family, and you will deliver them and read them if they need you to. Then they will have something in writing from me personally that assures them they need not pay rent for 1816.”
Mr. Foster rose. “Sir, that’s quite generous of you. I promise to deliver every letter.”
Something in Mr. Foster’s wording made it apparent the man hadn’t believed in his kindness either. That had him questioning his own actions as a lord. As soon as he was married and the weather turned, he and Amelia would visit each family to introduce her to them and let them see their new lord and lady were of a different ilk. “Thank you, Mr. Foster. I will have the letters ready for you tomorrow.”
“Thank you, sir.” Mr. Foster turned and strode toward the door, but just as he reached it, it opened to reveal Harewood. Mr. Foster slipped by, a new jaunt in his step. No doubt, the Lyonsmere tenants would know about the letter and what it contained long before it arrived.
His friend strode in to stop at the chair Mr. Foster had just vacated, only to lean against it. “I trust all is well.”
He rose and walked to the sideboard. “It will be.” He raised a bottle with good Scotch in it and motioned to Harewood. At his nod, he poured two glasses.
Harewood accepted the glass and took a sip. “You really must give me the name of your purveyor of this. It’s exceptionally smooth.”
He leaned against his desk. “I’ll be happy to.”
“And you may want to order a few more bottles right away.”
At Harewood’s words, he set his drink down. “Why?”
“I’m afraid I have received not-good news that not only affects me but more importantly, you.”
Having solved one difficult issue already, he felt up to the task. “Then tell me, and quickly. Talking to my steward is like watching ice melt on a cold day.”
“Then I shall try not to be like ice, though I have been compared to such in the past.”
He looked askance at Harewood, letting him know clearly that his humor was not appreciated at the moment, even if what he’d said was true.
The man, despite his reassurance to be quick, took time to settle in the chair and take another sip. “That really is quite excellent. So, to my news.”
He didn’t let his gaze stray from his friend despite the need for another gulp of Scotch.
“The ships we invested in returned but half full.”
“Blast it. Why?” He grabbed his drink and took a hearty swallow, happy for the burn that flowed down his throat. It felt a bit like hell, not that he knew what that felt like, but he’d viewed the painting of Dante’sInfernoby Giovanni Stradano and had a good idea. In fact, he had a feeling he was in circle nine, though why he deserved it, he wasn’t sure.
