Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
West had thought Elena dramatic or jesting when she had said he would likely need a stiff drink when he got into the business of Fenmore’s true needs and state.
That was, unfortunately, far from the case.
It was an absolute bleeding mess of chaos that was only recently looking like something to be worked with.
And this was a marked improvement, apparently.
Leonard had not just abandoned Fenmore; he had completely neglected everything about it. Stripped it bare to pad his own pockets. Of course, West would need to check with the London house and records, but it felt true from what he had read.
Lands left to rot without proper care or cultivation.
Livestock sold off without scoping the market.
Concerns from farmers ignored or dismissed, including basic repairs and equipment needs.
Funds bled from this place, and any man with a minute sense of business would have been able to stop it from hemorrhaging so dramatically, should they have wished it.
Would have been able to maintain it with a semblance of care and still made a profit.
But Leonard had washed his hands of it and not cared a fig for the future or what might come of it, even if it would benefit him. He only wanted what he could get and have in the immediate future, and anything else was irrelevant.
West hadn’t been permitted to set foot on the lands in adulthood, not even when he had come to collect his mother from the dower house.
He’d been reduced to waiting for her at the inn in the village, his half brother bearing at least enough decency then to grant her use of the carriage from the house to the inn.
He’d never asked his mother about the condition of the dower house or the farms nearest her.
If she had continued to visit tenants. If she had been allowed to. If her life there had been too hard.
Her letters had never given any indication of trouble, but his mother had never been one to discuss her stepson with anything less than respect and kindness. She had not been blind to his manners or his faults, but chose to focus on his better qualities.
Which meant, of course, that they never spoke about him.
But West had also never asked her about her life on the estate without his father. And now it was too late for any information on that score.
Fields allowed to become bogs. Stone walls dismantled for the lead miners without any restrictions or benefits worked out between them.
Livestock perishing because of the lack of care with the lead mining.
Despite the title assigned to him, Rokesby Jr. had clearly done no management of any kind during his time as estate manager.
Yet he had been left with so much power and stewardship, without any sort of oversight, that he could do as he pleased without ramifications.
He had continued to be paid a regular sum from Leonard’s coffers, and it was entirely likely that the rampant and unregulated lead miners had been giving him a cut of their earnings as well in exchange for hunting ore on the land.
As far as the records showed, no promising ore had been discovered on Fenmore lands, thank goodness. But neither had restitution been made for damage caused to fields and farms.
The neighboring estate had held hunts across Fenmore’s fields and farms unchecked. Again, no lord in residence, and a negligent one from a distance, meant they could do as they pleased in that regard. If they had never faced consequences for doing so, there was no reason to change their ways.
But then Elena had come, Rokesby had been removed, and Williams had been installed.
Suddenly things began to make sense in the ledgers. Not promising, but sense. The carefully printed words in a neater hand spoke of digging hollow drains to drain boggy fields. Of spreading lime in fallow fields to sweeten the acidic soil. Selling the lumber of the orchards to the Navy.
That one gutted him, more from a sentimental and nostalgic standpoint than a financial one.
On paper, it was an excellent move. The Navy was always looking for materials to construct their ships, and if the orchards had been left to rot and grow over, the fruit would not be worth salvaging.
The wood, so long as it was not also troubled, could fetch a decent price.
The second year, two additional fields had been planted with wheat where barley had been previously, which showed good judgment.
Crop rotation was essential to keeping the land invigorated, and it was clear that Rokesby hadn’t paid any attention to that.
Two farms had been given rent abatement in exchange for maturing the lands and treating the soil more than focusing on the harvest itself. And hedging the former orchards.
Interesting. Had Williams been planning on replanting the orchards?
Marked increases in returns were noted, and the increase in farmers in residence was nothing to overlook either.
Considering how far Fenmore had fallen as an estate—something West could never have imagined—and the departure of most of the tenants he had known in his youth, the fact that they had gained back even a small portion was remarkable.
It would take some time for the estate to be truly flourishing, but it had been pulled back from the brink of death, and he would not pretend otherwise.
Clearly, he needed to meet with Mr. Williams sooner rather than later, if for no other reason than to thank him for rescuing his family estate from his half brother’s death grip.
A knock on the study door brought him up, and his cousin entered, looking nearly as haggard and distracted as West felt.
Fred looked around the study quickly, then clasped a hand to his chest, sagging against a nearby wall.
“Oh, thank the Lord, this room is not covered in bedsheets and devoid of life. Have you seen this place, West? It’s practically haunted!
Not to mention the spider webs, rats, roaches, moths, zero people, zero fires, and . . . West, I’m scared!”
It was clear by his pouting lower lip and widened eyes that Fred was not at all scared, but beneath the dramatics was true concern, and West felt it, too.
“This room was also covered in sheets,” West told him. “Apart from the desk itself and ledgers. I have the distinct impression that this house hasn’t been truly lived in for several years.”
Fred dragged a chair over to the desk and dropped himself into it, staring at West seriously now. “Did you get a better idea of what’s going on from the ledgers?”
“Unfortunately, yes.” West ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head.
“Leonard all but washed his hands of this place. I couldn’t have it, but he didn’t want it.
He left this place to rot, Fred, rather than let me buy it off of him.
If it weren’t for Elena and that estate manager she hired, Fenmore would be well and truly gone in all ways that mattered. ”
“Elena?” Fred repeated. “What does she have to do with any of it?”
West exhaled and leaned back in his chair. “She got legal permission to act as mistress here and got rid of Rokesby. Brought in Williams. Used her dowry to get the funds to start fixing matters.”
Fred made a face. “This is fixed?” he asked with a gesture about the room.
“The estate, Fred,” he corrected. “They focused on the farms and the lands so there could be funds coming in rather than just losing money to improve the house.”
“I would wager that was Williams’s call, not hers,” Fred scoffed loudly. “What lady would choose to live in this place as it is?”
West shook his head. “I don’t know. But she made no bones about it last evening.
She was darning her own stockings and telling me the comfort of three people was not worth more than improving life for the tenants.
She wasn’t posturing, Fred. No coyness. Nothing false.
I think . . . I think she might actually care about this place. ”
“Congratulations to her for having a heart,” Fred replied blandly. “Doesn’t solve most of the issues, does it?”
No, it did not, but it did adjust his perception of things.
“It means she is not exactly the viper we thought when we arrived,” West told him carefully. “More than that, I am not certain. She was surprisingly well-informed for a lady.”
Fred blinked. “My aunt Cecily is a widow of thirty-five years and knows every aspect of the details of her estate, the farms, the crops, and the fabric used for the servants’ clothing. It does not make her less of a dragon. She’s simply a gossipmonger who must have control.”
“Point taken.” West looked up at the ceiling, his mind whirling. “I don’t know what to do with her, Fred.”
“Why do we have to do anything with her?” came the unbothered response.
“Who is she that we would have to do anything with? I’m not trying to be a cad, but the truth of the matter is that she is a stray on the estate.
She may have sunk her dowry into reclaiming it, and we can be grateful for that, but other than repayment, what exactly can we offer? ”
West made a face of thought. It sounded harsh, but it was not wrong.
She could not stay here at Fenmore, that was for certain.
The rumors alone would destroy any chance she had at a future, and he needed to formulate a reputation for himself that was so separated from Leonard, people would never think they were related closely.
“She loves the place, though,” West murmured reluctantly. “And the people know her, I presume. We cannot cast her out right away if we want to gain the favor of the tenants in this transition.”
Fred grunted, then turned it to a hum of consideration. “The dower house? I know she’s not technically a dowager, but it’s still on the estate, still gives her freedom and independence, but it gets her out of your business and away from rumors.”
West was already nodding before he finished.
“That would be an excellent compromise. We can present that to her as an option, and it will give her plenty of time to come up with a permanent solution for her next lodgings. We’ll come up with a business plan to return her dowry to her in portions as the estate continues to earn and increase in profits. ”
“And then you can call yourself a benevolent baron, keep your conscience clear, and your reputation will be founded upon respectability, generosity, and a strong sense of business to boot!” Fred clapped his hands and rose from his chair. “Let’s go tell her now!”
Sometimes West wasn’t sure how Fred had made it to adulthood, and this was certainly one of those occasions.
“Now?” he repeated in amusement. “Without an actual plan, without meeting the estate manager, without thoroughly examining every portion of the house and understanding just how long it might take us to repay her while also trying to make improvements to Fenmore?”
Fred’s face fell and an expression of confusion replaced it. “But . . . we can figure that out. We need to get her out of the house! Now!”
“Why?” West asked, thoroughly entertained.
“We’ve only just arrived yesterday. We know nothing about the last ten years of this place beyond what we have seen since we arrived and what these ledgers have told me.
We are in no position to actually make demands—except legally—and it is imperative that we act like sensible people. ”
His cousin cocked his head like a curious dog. “Not that we be sensible people?”
West met his eyes, smirking slightly. “I, for one, have always been a sensible person. Not sure about you, but that is beside the point.”
Fred narrowed his eyes with menace.
“But we must be perceived as sensible and respectable beyond standard behavior to those around us,” West continued.
“Generous as well, though it is not as though I enter into this title with a large fortune. Certainly not large enough to sweep away this mess in one blow. But enough to continue to progress on the path that Williams has started on, and in a few years, there is no reason why Fenmore cannot be everything I had hoped I would be inheriting.”
That made his cousin’s face screw up in a strange expression he did not know how to read at first.
Then Fred heaved a great, weighty sigh. “Fine, but can you please hire a cook first? Mrs. Havens is a marvelous woman, but you cannot survive on basic fare alone, and no saintly thoughts of the food of your tenants coming first will sway me from this thought.”
“Food before fortune?” West teased with a grin.
Fred did not hesitate. “Yes. Always.”