The Diabolical Baron by Mary Jo Putney Page A

with a slam.
    “And that, Richard, is your cousin Reginald,” the lawyer said dryly. “In case you hadn’t guessed.”
    Richard had been watching the scene with a half- smile on his face. “He is a poor inducement to declare myself an official Davenport. Would I acquire many relatives like him?”
    “They aren’t all such a set of dirty dishes. Even Regi nald has his better moments. This is the first time he has lost control and railed at me; I expect it means a particularly bad run of cards or horses. Or both. Cer tainly he is a selfish care-for-nobody, though he has a reputation for courage. They say he has fought several duels and is a dangerous man to cross. Do you find him alarming?”
    “Having a regiment of Napoleon’s crack cavalry charge when you are outnumbered three to one is ‘alarming.’ My cousin I merely find rag-mannered. Is he a ‘typical Davenport’?”
    “That he is. However, since you were raised away from the traditional mold, you have the perfect opportunity to change the definition.”
    The lawyer continued, “Now is the time to tell you the other drawbacks. The Wargrave properties are potentially among the richest in Eng land, but they were badly neglected in your grandfa ther’s later years. Much of the property was mortgaged to cover your uncle’s debts. The estate can provide a comfortable income as it stands, but years of care and good management will be required for Wargrave to yield its full potential. It may not be a task to your liking.”
    “What would the income be if Wargrave were free and clear?”
    “In the neighborhood of thirty thousand pounds a year.”
    “Thirty thousand pounds!” Richard jerked upright in his chair, his calm at last disturbed.
    Chelmsford shrugged. “About that. More if some capital were invested in the Yorkshire moorlands you own. There’s coal under them, and mining would pro vide some badly needed jobs in the area, as well as being a good investment. Mind you, the estate is producing nothing like that now, and it would take years to pay off the outstanding mortgages.”
    Richard swallowed. “Back on the Peninsula when our pay was months in arrears, we joked about having fifty pounds to call our own. I have trouble compre hending thirty thousand pounds.”
    “Your Uncle Rodrick could not only imagine it—he could spend it,” the lawyer said with a faint smile.
    “No wonder this country is having so much social unrest. It is abominable that a few have so much, and the rest so little.”
    Chelmsford shot him a startled look. “I thought you were fighting republican ideals, not learning to es pouse them.”
    Richard shook off his seriousness with a laugh. “The problem was not that the French were republicans. After all, Boney crowned himself emperor. We fought because the Corsican wanted more than he was enti tled to—far, far more. I don’t know that I am precisely a republican, but controlling the kind of fortune you speak of seems more a burden than a blessing. Are there any alternatives?”
    “You can take on the earldom with all its problems, learn management, and make the estate productive with perhaps five years of hard work. You can accept the title, sell the unencumbered property, and have a comfortable income for the rest of your life. Or you can walk away and let Reggie inherit. He will almost cer tainly sell out to Lord Radford, who owns the adjoining estate. I would be sorry to see Wargrave broken up, but perhaps it would be the best solution. Lord Radford is said to be an exemplary landlord.”
    “I have trouble seeing myself as a landed gentle man,” Richard said. “A soldier’s experience of agricul ture is limited to foraging for food when the supply trains are lost.”
    “There is nothing beyond your ability to learn,” Chelmsford replied. “I think a stay at Wargrave Park would be quite an education. Will you come with me on my next visit there?”
    Richard hesitated. Josiah was playing spider to his fly,