Twelve
Arnaud
“We’ll have Rafe fling les fauteurs de troubles out on their—” Arnaud bit off the crudity.
There were ladies present and he was supposed to be a gentleman, even if he’d left his idle, aristocratic life behind.
He’d lived as a hermit for too long since then and still had to remind himself how to behave.
The tutor’s concise, unemotional description of Weston’s concerns about the manor hadn’t quite sunk in for everyone, but Arnaud understood completely and had jumped to conclusions Fort hadn’t mentioned. Yet.
English laws were even more barbaric than French.
Lavender continued hemming a maid’s gown while frowning in puzzlement. “You think Mr. Humphries wants to buy the manor? But he can’t make us sell, can he?”
Arnaud had seen lands stolen by force of arms. Great wealth purchased and employed power little different from an army’s weapons. He lacked the words to explain. He growled as he stalked the room. Pressure on Humphries’ windpipe should be effective—but there were dozens more rats to take his place.
“If anything happens to Hunt, our inheritance will be in the hands of our trustees.” Thea, far from being the bird-wit others thought her, understood the rule of riches too well.
“As women, we have no vote, no say in what happens. We cannot even legally own the manor. The trust does. As landowners, Rafe, Fletch, and Damian might possibly vote a representative to the Commons, but as I understand it, even they cannot do that until the village is properly established—which is what someone wishes to prevent?”
“That’s close enough.” The normally invisible tutor angrily slapped his palm on the mural of the eccentric chamber Arnaud had taken. “We can only make assumptions at this juncture.”
“We need the information on Humphries and his associates.” Arnaud wasn’t much of a tactician, but that much was obvious.
Fort leaned his shoulder against the wall and nodded. “They seem the most likely suspects behind the campaign to break the trust. One of your Wycliffe relations may have reason to submit the petition in Parliament—or been coerced.”
“If any of the family is inclined to skullduggery, it is mine,” Thea said with a sigh, wilting into a wingchair they’d dragged from another room.
“I daresay my father has invested unwisely again, perhaps even with Humphries. Until I am twenty-five, he can siphon funds from my grandmother’s trust. If he sells me to the highest bidder—Humphries is one of his candidates—he can have the settlements drawn so he retains control.
Humphries needs my name and family more than funds. ”
Arnaud wished to console her, but this was an old argument against which he was helpless.
“And if you marry Arnaud?” Lavender asked with an adolescent’s expectation of happy-ever-after.
Arnaud glowered and paced to the window, despising this discussion. His failure at providing the wealth or name that society would approve prevented Thea from what was rightfully hers.
“Father will refuse his approval, thus causing the trustees to tie up the funds entirely. Arnaud has to convince them that he is not a degenerate intent on stealing my inheritance.”
Arnaud glared at their silent audience. “Thea comes into the money free and clear in less than two years. Her father is running out of time to control it. We can assume he, at the very least, has given Humphries all information pertaining to the Wycliffe trust. As husband of one of the heirs, he is entitled to sign Thea’s mother’s name to the petition. ”
“So, short of shooting Thea’s father, we cannot halt the petition,” Fort concluded.
“We need men of influence to have the petition withdrawn or vote against it. Unfortunately, our fight is of no interest to anyone but us. My brother and father might speak against it in the Lords, but by that time, if the Commons have passed it. . .” He gestured helplessly.
Arnaud had little interest in government, but even he realized a duke had more important things on his mind than the fate of an impoverished, ramshackle manor. Worse yet, the duke was a bibliophile who coveted the Wycliffe library. He might actually endorse breaking up the trust.
The other noble descendants of the various Wycliffe earls, uninterested in the Priory, might even be happy to sell it off.
“My grandmother can write the family, encouraging them to fight the petition for our sake. But I don’t know how many votes it might take.” Lavender bit her lip in uncertainty.
And “the family” was all women, who had to influence the men in their lives.
Not particularly effective. Still, Arnaud didn’t wish to discourage Lavender’s attempts to participate.
“Every bit counts. The Lady Spalding can write her family and acquaintances as well. Her stepson, the marquess, has helped us in the past. But we cannot count on anyone but ourselves.” Arnaud knew this from painful experience.
“I have sent a letter to warn Hunt.” Fort ran a slender hand through his short hair. “He needs to surround himself with protection. If we could expedite the village petition for recognition. . .”
“More letter writing,” Lavender said in disgust. “Can I not just stab Humphries with a knitting needle and send him on his way? Brydie and Kate and any number of others would happily tar and feather the lot if they know they’re trying to destroy us.”
Arnaud nodded in appreciation of her direct approach but repeated, “First, we must learn who these men are and what their purpose.”
They all started talking at once, until Arnaud held up his hand and roared, “Assez!”
He despised becoming involved in politics, but as the eldest and most experienced person available, he knew how to command order, if not respect.
“Lavender is correct. We need a direct approach. I refuse to allow these strangers into the manor while we are defenseless. We must somehow learn who they are and what they want before we leap to more conclusions. Rafe is busy. We cannot expect him to do everything.”
A pall fell over the room as they recognized the truth.
“We can’t leave Weston and the boys unguarded,” Thea said first, thinking her way through the problem.
Arnaud adored her for many reasons. Her refusal to panic in the face of all odds was one of them. The Wycliffe heiresses were intrepid.
As had been the male heirs, which was why they were all dead. Women generally did not involve themselves in duels and wars and riots. He’d rather not show them the way.
“We must infiltrate the inn like spies and learn what we can,” Fort decided. “Thea is known to Humphries, so she must be the one who stays here.”
Before Thea could reject that proclamation, Arnaud held up his hand. “Letter writing, remember? The rest of us know no one in society. You and the dowagers know everyone. You might enlist Minerva. She has a devious mind and can most likely summon any number of names that might not occur to us.”
Usually as reluctant to join a discussion as he, Lavender spoke up. “I have a shop at the inn. It is perfectly normal for me to be there.”
“Absolutely not,” the tutor cried, appalled. “These are the kind of men who will look at a shop clerk as a prize to be acquired!”
Lavender pulled a face. “Do you think I have not dealt with fools before?”
“But if you leave Kate in charge of the sewing room, you’ll be alone in the shop,” Thea added worriedly. “You cannot physically fight a man who thinks women are objects.”
Lavender laughed. “Do you think I have not? Gran taught me to hit where it hurts most, then follow with my scissors, knife, and knitting needles where they can do the most harm.” To prove her point, she thrust upward with the point of her scissors, at an angle that might rip a man’s guts below his rib cage.
Arnaud winced at the ferocity of her motion. She’d been unprotected most of her life. With her beauty. . . He was glad her housemaid grandmother had taught her well.
“But what works best is more simple,” she continued. The young modiste tilted her head at a weird angle, as if she’d been hanged, crossed her eyes, and let her tongue loll from her mouth. “My Harry says as what I gots the pox.”
The comic performance exploded the moment of tension with gales of laughter.
Thea practiced the face Lavender had made, her slight nose and pansy blue eyes distorting into a gruesome grimace. Not to be outdone, Fort created a worse expression using fingers to draw his noble features into a gape-mouthed scarecrow.
The laughter grew so loud, the boys ran in to see what they were missing. Arnaud rolled his eyes, which immediately resulted in Thea grimacing even more and the others making horrible faces at the students.
The inevitable result was the two solemn students eagerly competing by pulling their own faces into elastic masks which had even Arnaud grinning and the roar of laughter escalating.
As the boys rolled on the floor, kicking their feet in hilarity, a gunshot rang out.