Not Quite a Lady by Loretta Chase Page B

girl she was, not to be unhappily married by now!
    “I can guess why,” said Mrs. Badgely.
    Swallowing an oath, he turned back to her. He could not afford to offend any of his neighbors. Rectors’ wives often wielded considerable power, and this one, he’d perceived, ruled the roost. Moreover, she was Lord Lithby’s cousin.
    “I beg your pardon?” he said.
    “Though I know it is impossible for your grandmother to hate you, I can easily imagine why she would have harsh words for you,” she said. “If you were my grandson, I should be vastly disappointed in your sense of moral obligation, castor oil or no castor oil. I should certainly not have to tell you that it is your duty as a landowner to see to the welfare of your dependents.”
    “I am not, precisely, the landowner at present,” said Darius. “My father is the legal—”
    “Pray do not plague me with lawyers’ gobbledygook,” said Mrs. Badgely. “Beechwood is your responsibility.”
    “And I mean to bring it back into order as soon as possible,” he said.
    “But the house?” she said. “I have heard that you stay at the Unicorn in Altrincham, that only a small staff is at Beechwood House, and those are Londoners. Why have you installed London servants in a country house when local families who have served Beechwood for generations are in want of work? Have you any idea how many of the younger people have been forced to leave their homes and families in order to earn a living? All thanks to the Chancery nonsense.”
    She went on about Mr. Carsington’s duty to Beechwood and to the neighborhood. She told him what others had done, how they’d tried to preserve the property and find work and homes for those abruptly cast out.
    He tried to explain the economics of the matter: It was the land that supported the house; ergo, the land must come first. But Logic might have lived on the moon, for all she knew of it.
    He glanced at Lady Charlotte, who had joined her mother and Colonel Morrell. He was a tall, dark, good-looking fellow of about the same age as Alistair, Lord Hargate’s third son. From Mrs. Steepleton, Darius had learned that Morrell had a property to the south of Lord Lithby’s. Though the colonel’s family, like Lord Lithby’s, had lived here for generations, he had spent most of his life abroad. He had settled here scarcely a year ago and would probably not stay for very long, since he was expected to inherit an earldom from an elderly uncle in Lancashire.
    He meant to have Lady Charlotte as his countess, that much was plain. Though the man was not at all obvious about it, he was not too subtle for Darius. After all, mating behavior was Darius’s pet subject.
    Morrell wanted Lady Charlotte.
    If she noticed, she gave no sign.
    Is that what she always did? Was feigning indifference sufficient? It couldn’t be. Males happily pursued females without any encouragement whatsoever, and sometimes despite clear signs of hostility.
    She did not appear hostile. She merely wore a placid cow expression Darius knew was false. She was far from placid and definitely not so simple or innocent as she appeared. She was most certainly not so kind and considerate as everyone claimed. Had she not—for the second time in a few hours—abandoned him to one she knew would drive him mad?
    “You know how it is when a property goes into Chancery,” Mrs. Badgely was raging on. “One may do nothing, even in charity, for fear of being dragged into the lawsuit. Even Lord Lithby found his hands tied. He was not to ‘interfere,’ as they put it—even at his own expense! You know this is disgraceful, sir. Can you be so heartless as to perpetuate the outrage?”
    The word heartless made Darius want to gnash his teeth. It was absurd enough hearing it from Father, but Grandmother Hargate used it, too. Hypocrites. They said what they pleased, never minding anyone else’s feelings.
    “I have no wish to perpetuate any outrages,” he said. “However, your