Chapter Thirteen
After a dayof listening to tenant complaints, paying bills, and reconciling accounts, all of which had accumulated in his absence, Eli sat at his desk in the estate office at Clarion Hall, the center of his domain and his normal place of comfort. Not today. The earl had requested a recommendation. Eli glared down at the estate ledger open in front of him and considered the matter of Fanny Hancock’s demands on the estate. He stared at the ledger so long he feared it would burst into flames.
Eli had always prided himself on his cold-blooded reasoning. Allowing emotion to have a role in financial decision-making opened the road to disaster. Even in situations for which he had the utmost compassion, such as Prudence Granger’s rightful inheritance or a tenant family’s cottage flooded out in heavy rains, the finances had to be analyzed as cold, hard facts. He couldn’t create money where there wasn’t any, and to give much to one person left less for other equally deserving folks or vitally important needs. Perspective was everything.
He applied his logical mind and legal training to the law even more strictly. The law was the law. One read it, tickled out its subtle nuances, uncovered its hidden exceptions. One did not disregard it.
Why then, he demanded of the universe at large, did he dither over a recommendation regarding Fanny Hancock? Cold, hard fact number one: She had been left out of the old earl’s will. Legally the estate had no requirement to help. Cold, hard fact number two: There was no place in the estate’s miserably tight budget for the sudden appearance of bastards not covered by the will.
Repairs for a flooded cottage came from a fund set aside for that purpose and were strictly bound by limits and criteria Eli himself had established in order to treat all tenants fairly. Prudence Granger’s bequest, like those of others, legally due her under the original terms of the old earl’s will, had come from funds retrieved when the countess’s fraud had been uncovered. Prudence had gotten what was owed to her, no less, no more. Remaining moneys from the fraud had been used to replenish the estates operation expenses.
Cold, hard conclusion: The estate need not, could not care for Fanny Hancock.
Meanwhile, his employer, having met Fanny and the ducklings, had taken them to heart. Reserved and formal Clarion might be, but he took the responsibilities of his title seriously. At sixteen the earl had confronted his father about the need to support Alice Wilcox and had done his best for Alice when he’d come into the title. He had also made good on the conditions of the original will with dogged determination. Now he insisted they had an obligation to help Fanny. Moral obligation, yes, Eli agreed, but they would look in vain for an account labeled Long-Lost Sisters. The estate would offer assistance, willy-nilly, and others might assist, but how much and how?
This would be easier, Eli thought morosely, if there was a concrete plan about the sort of help the earl wished to provide. Then Eli could estimate costs. Set her up in business? She might like that, but it would be a risky long-term investment. Marry her off to a professional man, like Alice Wilcox and her curate? The lady should not be forced. She needed time. They may as well take her to London and launch her on the Marriage Mart. She might meet that blond Adonis of a duke, with broad shoulders and sun-bronzed skin, who boxed with Jackson and fenced like a pirate, that she dreamed about. One who didn’t expect a dowry. Or they could simply find a cottage for her and the ducklings, as she seemed to want. An empty tenant cottage existed, but Eli didn’t deem that appropriate. She wasn’t a Clarion tenant and didn’t work the land. Besides, her grandfather had left a freehold, and she would insist on ownership. She simply hadn’t enough experience to consider other options.
He slammed the ledger shut.
Then there was the matter of Wil and his education. She had already hinted at that, and Wil wasn’t even a Caulfield, so hardly a matter for Clarion’s steward.
Eli opened his little notebook and surveyed the Hancock-Rundle finances. They’d retrieved a bit from inventory, enough that she did not feel destitute. After they’d paid the more obvious family obligations, there had been little enough in her purse, and Rundle’s jewelry and tailoring bills were outstanding. The mortgage hung over them. If the property didn’t sell quickly, the bank would simply take it. As luck would have it, they had an offer of sorts.
Eli pulled a folded paper from the notebook. The estate agent had sent round a message just before they’d left. It had come addressed to Eli, which would infuriate Fanny, and he hadn’t even had time to discuss it with her. There were no outright buyers, but the agent had found potential renters. He’d offered a sum for the freehold. Less than Fanny hoped but enough to cover the mortgage and Rundle’s remaining debts. There might be a few pounds left to put aside for Wil but not enough for university. Then again, the lad may not expect that.
The notebook joined the estate ledger, slammed shut in frustration and tossed across the desk. Wil Rundle’s future wasn’t Eli’s to decide.
Neither was Fanny’s safety. If Clarion’s sudden enchantment with his new sister centered on assistance, Rob’s focused entirely on the white slavers in Manchester. Eli had no role in that, more was the pity. Neither man appeared to have listened to Fanny on either safety or assistance, as near as Eli could tell.
Unable to give his employer the recommendation he wanted, Eli decided to demand clearer instructions. He also needed Fanny and Wil’s decision about the estate agent. He rose, stuffed his arms in his coat, and reached for his hat. He would go down to the Willow, where what amounted to a floating welcome party for Fanny had been going on for two days, and try to get someone to give him clarity.
Besides, he thought on his way out the door,I miss her.
*
Later that evening,they all sat around the table in the dining room at Willowbrook, the manor house belonging to Rob and his wife, Lucy. Fanny peered around the room at the crowd of Bensons and Caulfields, all of whom seemed to be talking at once, and bit her lower lip to keep from telling her newfound extended family to kindly allow her to make her own decisions.
She had had little enough time to get used to having a brother when she had been confronted with another, the earl, and a sister as well.
The earl’s sister—Fanny’s newfound half-sister—Madelyn Morgan, had been introduced to her as Lady Madelyn. Emma Corbin had whispered that the earl’s sister had been a dowager duchess when she’d married Colonel Morgan but could still claim to be Her Grace, if she chose. She did not. She had asked Fanny to call her Maddy “like our brothers do.”
There was a niece—Clarion’s daughter, Lady Marj—and nephews. Clarion’s son and heir, Viscount Ashmead, tended to be too formal for a boy. Rob’s son, on the other hand, was an adorable infant. He’d been introduced as Robert Christopher Benson, but they all called him Kit, there being, as Emma Corbin said, a surfeit of Robs in the Benson family.
Add in the spouses, and it was enough to make Fanny want to hug the ducklings—her beloved, familiar siblings—and scurry back to Manchester.
If she put everyone in her books, they would take her years to write. She wondered if readers would believe it. It was all too much.
She still had no opportunity for a private meeting with Eli, who had appeared at the Willow in the afternoon, interrupting the telling and retelling of Ashmead and family history. She longed for his common sense. Before she could take him aside, he’d asked to speak to the earl privately, and Emma had jumped at the opportunity to whisk Fanny, Amy, and Wil off on a tour of the village, introducing them to all and sundry, with Lady Marj trailing along, hand in hand with Amy.
They returned to find Clarion and Rob arranging a family meeting. “Miss Hancock needs a concrete plan for her future,” the earl announced, his sad eyes twinkling for once. “Opinions are welcome.” The lot of them had embraced her as Fanny; only the earl held on to the formality of “Miss Hancock.” She recalled his earlier comment about family blessings and curses. She tried to catch Eli’s eyes, to appeal for his help, but he was deep in conversation with his father.
Opinions, indeed. Now she was getting them in abundance.
The people around the table all acknowledged that “dear Fanny” would make her own decisions, of course, but all were happy to add their advice—their enthusiastic, resolute, determined advice—over filet of sole, herbed chicken, and beans from the kitchen garden.
No one (except Fanny, and she didn’t voice it) argued with Rob’s adamant—and alarming—insistence that Manchester was not a safe option, but they agreed on little else.
Lucy, Rob’s wife—Lady Lucy Benson, to be accurate—saw no reason that Fanny, Amy, and Wil couldn’t live at Willowbrook for the immediate future, there being room. After all, she and Rob never lingered in the country, leaving the house often empty. His work called them to London. Eli, apparently, kept an eye on the estate.
