Chapter 7
Seven
Aperfectly peaceful morning. Even the sun shown.
Victor’s correspondence was completed, most of his investments were thriving, best of all, he had gone two entire days without Lord Godderidge or his sister interfering in his life.
The conclusion that he had misinterpreted the situation and the point of Godderidge’s visit really being about the fair, brought Victor a sense of peace knowing he did not need to fend off Miss Godderidge.
Just this morning he had done his part by sending off inquiries to procure good quality flour.
Tales of bakers and millers adding chalk, sawdust, alum, ground bone, and even plaster of Paris to flour to extend it circulated.
While some of the ingredients might not hurt, Victor could not fathom eating plaster of Paris in his favorite buns.
Maximillion barked, alerting Victor to the carriage coming up the drive. As it came around a bend in the driveway, the crest on the side became clear.
“What the devil is he doing here?” Having his morning interrupted by the arrival of his school chum was not on the day’s itinerary. Wednesday mornings were for reviewing correspondence from abroad, not entertaining men declared to be rakes by the ton.
Maximillion didn’t answer Victor’s question as he dashed to the door to go investigate the visitor for himself.
Victor rang for the footman to take his over-friendly dog to the kennels.
Few people had the patience for dogs as pets, and he knew his friend only liked them for the hunt.
Max apparently knew this and was determined to win the heart of his friend.
Moments later, a footman announced Lord Braxton Bernard Barlow and showed him into the library, which Victor had moved to only moments before, preferring not to meet in his private study where he still had business papers strewn about.
“Barlow, what a surprise. I thought you were at a house party this week.”
Barlow crossed the room to the fireplace in his normal strutting fashion.
Which was entirely unnecessary as there were no females around to see him preening or to admire the vibrant purple of his waistcoat.
Honestly, for a person who had spent the better portion of a half day in a carriage, Barlow looked far too polished. “I left.”
Obviously, Barlow didn’t need to rely on conversation to catch a woman’s attention, so he was one never to expound.
“Was there something wrong with the party?”
“Other than its not being the Duchess’s party? Of course, or I wouldn’t have left.”
The Duchess of Aylton’s annual house party had been canceled months ago.
Which little concerned Victor, because even if he had received an invitation, he would decline as although the Duke did his best to stop the debauchery that accompanied the reputation of the fete, his efforts were far from effective.
Several other house parties vied to fill the gap. If Victor recalled, Barlow had been invited to one of the more exclusive parties. “I would have thought this house party would have suited you, as you indicated many of your favorites would be in attendance.”
“They were.” Barlow took a silver snuffbox from his pocket. “However, Miss Simesson and her mother were also in attendance. I grew tired of dodging the chit. Three seasons have left her desperate to catch a husband of title by any means possible.”
Victor waited for his friend to finish inhaling his snuff. “You seemed to like her enough last season.”
“She was diverting, however, it isn’t worth being connected with her father to carry our liaison any further.” Barlow plopped into a nearby chair. “Her mother is most insistent that we wed.”
“Did she have reason to insist?”
“Are you asking if I ruined the girl?”
Victor didn’t reply. Barlow’s reputation as a rake was partially deserved.
“I take nothing that is not freely offered. Which in this case was no more than clandestine kisses. I do not go around ruining even the most flirtatious of debutantes. You know very well that most of my reputation is exaggerated.”
“Meaning you only seduce married women and widows?”
“Tsk, tsk Dalrymple. You know better than that. The point here is that I never have, nor will I ever, do anything a woman does not wish. Nor will I give any of the innocent more than a kiss to remember me by.”
“I didn’t mean to imply that you did.”
Barlow scoffed. “In your accounting, those kisses leave the girl as good as ruined.”
“The implication of those kisses leaves her ruined.” The argument was an old one.
“How was I to know that you—”
Victor cut off his friend before they could revisit the unchangeable past. “I ordered tea. Should I request a room be prepared for you as well?”
“I would appreciate the rest before I decide where I want to go. Yours is the one place I knew a husband seeker would not chase me. Your most eligible neighbor is still in mourning, and I believe the remaining daughters of Sir Lightwood are not seeking a husband. Is there anyone else?” As always, Barlow was well informed about the ladies in the district.
“I have not been socializing much.”
“How do you ever expect to find a wife if you do not mingle with women?” Barlow poked about the bookshelves as they spoke.
“You sound as tedious as my mother. May I point out, you are still unwed despite mingling with every lady of the ton?”
“With your wealth, it is your duty to wed and have children.”
“Correction, more tiresome than my mother. I know my duty. But I don’t think that dancing at a ball or kissing a willing girl in the garden is the way to find a wife.”
The delivery of a tea tray bearing robust fare interrupted them.
Barlow filled his plate. “Then how do you expect to find a wife? The post is unlikely to drop one off on your front doorstep.”
“It would be much simpler that way.”
Barlow laughed. “You know, if the better parts of our natures were mixed, one would have the perfect gentleman? Can you imagine? A man of perfect dignity and morals mixed with my looks and wit. The ton would never survive.”
“So you have said before.”
“I have? Still, it is true.” Barlow popped an entire sandwich into his mouth. Obviously, the combined Barlow-Dalrymple would need to keep Victor’s manners as well.
“I cannot do anything about my height nor my visage. You, however, could learn something from my morals.”
“That would be no fun at all.”
“Life is not all meant to be fun. If it were, there would not be so many problems in the world. Have you read the newspapers recently?”
“Never do.” Barlow refilled his plate. His friend must not have stopped to eat during his journey.
“I received a paper from Canada and one from Boston this week, both from the first of June. It seems their weather may be worse than ours, with Canada declaring it will not export any food this year.”
“You sound as if it is the end of the world.”
“The Massachusetts paper contained a sermon from a minister that passed by a barren tree. He seemed to think that the entire Book of Revelations is on the brink of fulfillment.”
“You have been looking for doom ever since you read about the orange and green snow in Italy last December.” Barlow scored.
“It was red and orange, and quite the oddity.” Victor tried to defend himself. “I have never said it was the end of the world. I was merely pointing out that the crop-destroying weather we have here seems to affect more than England and Europe.”
“I suppose that it will hurt your investments and make you a bigger bore.” Barlow crossed the room and opened the cupboard where Victor kept his brandy. “I suppose you don’t want a glass?”
“Not at this moment, no.” Victor shook off the sting of Barlow’s words.
He wasn’t a bore, he was pragmatic. “As for my investments, they are diverse enough that I shall weather the storm. I have been more concerned of late about how my tenants and workers will fare. Between the weather and the Corn Laws, there are many who will suffer from want of food. There are reports of the poorer citizens both here and on the continent sailing for the Americas. Not that things are better there.”
Barlow set down his glass with a thump that thankfully didn’t break it. “Is your concern because finding replacements will be difficult?”
Victor struggled to answer. At first, it had been purely good financial sense.
However, after listening to Miss Godderidge’s worries over the tenants at the meeting on Monday afternoon, it had only reenforced his actions.
Five pounds of flour. Not enough to save them, but enough to give them dignity.
Her worries had not extended far beyond the fair to next February, when all were living on what had been stored for the winter.
Barlow would never believe a woman—whom Victor disliked—could have such an influence on him.
“Cat got your tongue? I’ve never known you to do something that wasn’t well thought out.” Barlow returned to his chair. “Why are you worried about your tenants?”
“Because I am afraid they might starve, and I don’t wish to be a bad landlord.” The answer was true enough.
Barlow leaned back. “Is it bad as all that?”
“Those corn laws that you and your peers passed are not good for the poor. If they can’t afford food, they can’t eat. With this year’s dismal harvest projection, it will be a hard winter for many.”
“What are you going to do? You can’t feed them all.”
Victor sighed and wished he had taken a bit of brandy.
“I don’t know, but I am sure I must do something.
” Something more than five pounds of flour.
At least he had been prompt with repairs all summer.
He could also lower the rents. Miss Godderidge and Miss Jane had spoken about many people by name including the children.
Victor couldn’t name most of his workers’ families. Somehow that bothered him.