with an inferior estate to his. They should have seen that look. Then they would have known.
“He did, my lord,” Mr. Fogg replied, evidently too discreet to elaborate. We all knew what it would have included—the breaking up of the estate, its dispersal to a doubtful cause.
“Last night, Lord Hareton told us that he intended to break the entail,” James said. Mr. Fogg nodded. “It can’t be broken now,” my brother went on. “My son and heir is only ten years old. As I understand it, this entail requires the heir, and his heir to sign, and Walter is very much a minor.”
“Sir James, I’m glad to hear it.” The lawyer’s expression hinted that a great weight had gone from his shoulders and James looked pleased, too. To break an entail was a serious matter, something he wouldn’t have approved of under any normal circumstances. Ever the country squire, the status quo meant a lot to my brother.
To my surprise, I found the little I ate for breakfast very welcome. Since Martha had now taken temporary control of the household during Lady Hareton’s indisposition, she’d had fires lit in all the occupied rooms and food taken up to all those people who preferred to stay in them, driving the remaining servants into an unaccustomed frenzy of activity.
Steven joined us, sitting down with a plate of food. It could almost have been a normal day in Devonshire, but for the lawyer’s presence and air of tension. At home, Steven would often join us for breakfast if he’d visited anyone in the area of our Manor house.
“The sight of her fiancé put Miss Cartwright out a great deal. It wasn’t at all, proper to allow her to see him in such a condition.” Steven’s disapprobation didn’t seem to extend to me.
“Is she better now?” Martha asked.
“She seems to be, thankfully. Her aunt and I were seriously concerned by her distress, but we gave her some laudanum and she’s asleep now.”
Martha asked me. “How is Lord Strang? He looked so pale when they carried him in.”
“He lost a great deal of blood, much more than can be thought comfortable.” Trying to be tactful, I remembered Martha’s squeamishness about blood and forbore to give her any more detailed information. “He’ll recover. He had a deep, clean wound and his valet stitched it. He’s resting now.” Relief showed in the various faces. “I don’t think he’ll want to stay much longer, but I don’t know what sort of patient he is. There’s no reason why he shouldn’t be up in a day or two, as long as he keeps the arm still and he doesn’t do too much.”
Martha smiled, and I felt sorry that my next news wasn’t as cheerful.
I reached for my cup. “I met the doctor before I came down. The new Lord Hareton doesn’t seem to be recovering as well.” Martha’s expression returned to one of serious concern. “He’s not conscious. He seems to be deeply asleep and that’s never good.” I took a sip of coffee, relishing the bitter taste. “I couldn’t find anything seriously wrong, there’s no broken bones, but he’s not well, Martha.” Martha looked at James, her eyes wide with alarm. She knew what would happen if this Lord Hareton died. Neither wished for that. To give up a handsome estate and comfortable life for a broken inheritance, even if it included a title, wasn’t a comfortable thought.
Mr. Kerre and Lizzie joined us after a time. While Lizzie had changed her clothes, she’d cajoled help from somewhere, as she was far more becomingly attired than me. I smiled, not jealous, long used to being cast into the shade by Lizzie’s beauty. She was getting into her stride, using this sad situation to her advantage. It couldn’t be helped, but none of this was our doing, so why not?
By the time we finished our meal, the doctor had arrived. I went out to the hall to meet him and found him with Lord Strang’s valet. Carier assured the doctor Lord Strang wouldn’t be in need of his services.
The same surly servant who
“He did, my lord,” Mr. Fogg replied, evidently too discreet to elaborate. We all knew what it would have included—the breaking up of the estate, its dispersal to a doubtful cause.
“Last night, Lord Hareton told us that he intended to break the entail,” James said. Mr. Fogg nodded. “It can’t be broken now,” my brother went on. “My son and heir is only ten years old. As I understand it, this entail requires the heir, and his heir to sign, and Walter is very much a minor.”
“Sir James, I’m glad to hear it.” The lawyer’s expression hinted that a great weight had gone from his shoulders and James looked pleased, too. To break an entail was a serious matter, something he wouldn’t have approved of under any normal circumstances. Ever the country squire, the status quo meant a lot to my brother.
To my surprise, I found the little I ate for breakfast very welcome. Since Martha had now taken temporary control of the household during Lady Hareton’s indisposition, she’d had fires lit in all the occupied rooms and food taken up to all those people who preferred to stay in them, driving the remaining servants into an unaccustomed frenzy of activity.
Steven joined us, sitting down with a plate of food. It could almost have been a normal day in Devonshire, but for the lawyer’s presence and air of tension. At home, Steven would often join us for breakfast if he’d visited anyone in the area of our Manor house.
“The sight of her fiancé put Miss Cartwright out a great deal. It wasn’t at all, proper to allow her to see him in such a condition.” Steven’s disapprobation didn’t seem to extend to me.
“Is she better now?” Martha asked.
“She seems to be, thankfully. Her aunt and I were seriously concerned by her distress, but we gave her some laudanum and she’s asleep now.”
Martha asked me. “How is Lord Strang? He looked so pale when they carried him in.”
“He lost a great deal of blood, much more than can be thought comfortable.” Trying to be tactful, I remembered Martha’s squeamishness about blood and forbore to give her any more detailed information. “He’ll recover. He had a deep, clean wound and his valet stitched it. He’s resting now.” Relief showed in the various faces. “I don’t think he’ll want to stay much longer, but I don’t know what sort of patient he is. There’s no reason why he shouldn’t be up in a day or two, as long as he keeps the arm still and he doesn’t do too much.”
Martha smiled, and I felt sorry that my next news wasn’t as cheerful.
I reached for my cup. “I met the doctor before I came down. The new Lord Hareton doesn’t seem to be recovering as well.” Martha’s expression returned to one of serious concern. “He’s not conscious. He seems to be deeply asleep and that’s never good.” I took a sip of coffee, relishing the bitter taste. “I couldn’t find anything seriously wrong, there’s no broken bones, but he’s not well, Martha.” Martha looked at James, her eyes wide with alarm. She knew what would happen if this Lord Hareton died. Neither wished for that. To give up a handsome estate and comfortable life for a broken inheritance, even if it included a title, wasn’t a comfortable thought.
Mr. Kerre and Lizzie joined us after a time. While Lizzie had changed her clothes, she’d cajoled help from somewhere, as she was far more becomingly attired than me. I smiled, not jealous, long used to being cast into the shade by Lizzie’s beauty. She was getting into her stride, using this sad situation to her advantage. It couldn’t be helped, but none of this was our doing, so why not?
By the time we finished our meal, the doctor had arrived. I went out to the hall to meet him and found him with Lord Strang’s valet. Carier assured the doctor Lord Strang wouldn’t be in need of his services.
The same surly servant who
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