Chapter Five
Robert Morton sat in the large and imposing Brentwood study, his eyes focused out the window rather than on the papers before him, on which he found it impossible to concentrate.
His mind wandered as he stared at the lush, green gardens of the estate beyond the glass panes.
Although the spacious room, filled with books and comfortable furniture now belonged to him, Robert still thought of the room as his father’s and felt a bit like an interloper sitting at the imposing and ornate black-walnut desk that had been used by generations of Morton gentlemen.
He had just spent three hours with the estate’s steward, Mr. Banfield, and together they had devised a list of actions to retrench as much as possible.
It had humiliated Robert to have to confess to how dire Brentwood’s situation was, but it turned out Mr. Banfield was already aware of many of the issues.
Following their discussion, Robert felt slightly better about the future, although significant hurdles remained.
What no amount of retrenching could correct would be to eliminate the many, many demands for payment which now littered the desk.
With a sigh, Robert tried to turn his attention once again to the odious papers.
Gambling debts, overdue bills, and lists of much needed repairs to tenant cottages were the last thing he wished to consider, but his accountant had finally impressed the need to fully take charge of the estate before it irrevocably fell apart.
Even a small payment toward some of these invoices would be of use, he had insisted.
Robert felt a sudden surge of anger as he leafed through the creditors’ demands.
How could his father have let things slide so badly?
Had he not seen that Brentwood’s accounts were being drained at an alarming rate or had he simply not cared?
And from where sprang his father’s love of cards and dice?
The man had never played much before that Robert could recall.
Of course, that was while my mother was still alive. She channeled his behavior into more productive matters and was a firm hand on the household budgets. Once she was gone, I suppose Father paid less attention to management of Brentwood and more to gaming. Pity he was so bad at it.
Robert also knew, though, that he was at least partly to blame.
After his mother passed away, Robert had departed to tour the continent.
Unaware of the concerning financial situation developing at home, he had spent profligately, enjoying himself to the fullest. Robert had to admit that some of the outstanding nearly five thousand pound debt was surely his own fault.
He also could not set any of the blame on his younger brother for not checking their father’s wastrel behavior during his absence.
Frederick had been away these past two years at university, completing his studies to enter the clergy.
We both assumed our father would be fine after Mama died—that he would rally. Our greater fear was that some unsuitable and avaricious lady might set her sights on Father and too quickly convince him to marry her. It never occurred to us that he would try to ease his pain by drinking and gaming.
As he sifted through the papers, he felt remorse and guilt over his neglect.
At the same time, there was an odd feeling of gratitude that his father, riding home drunk one night, was somehow thrown off his horse.
The body was discovered the next day, after the riderless horse returned to the stables.
The head injury likely killed him instantly, the physician said, though it did not reduce the shock of the incident.
It was tragic, but at the same time, a blessing of sorts.
Had Father not died when he did and had he continued his reckless ways, we might have lost Brentwood entirely. The accident put a stop to the gambling addiction he could not end himself. At least now there is some hope we can stem the financial bleeding and keep our family home.
Robert’s gloomy thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door.
“Come,” he called out.
Millard, the butler, entered. “This was just delivered from Haverstone, sir,” he said, holding out the silver tray. He bowed and departed.
Robert opened the thick envelope and scanned its contents. An invitation to dine at Haverstone next week.
We are delighted to hear of your arrival back in the country, Lady Gillingham had written, and would so enjoy hearing all the news of town. Do join us for dinner Friday next.
Robert’s mood brightened a bit. He enjoyed the company of Reginald and admired Dorothea’s intelligent conversation—she never nattered on about inconsequential matters that men had no interest in.
He could think of no reason not to accept.
Besides, any meal at which he was a guest would be one he would not have to pay for.
He was just reaching for his pen when the door to his study opened again and he heard a familiar voice.
“Here you are, Brother. What on earth are you doing locked up in this gloomy room when the sun is shining and signs of spring abound outside? Come, let me persuade you to join me in a walk around the estate.”
Robert smiled and jumped up from his desk to go embrace his younger brother, pounding him heartily on the back.
“Frederick, what are you doing back so soon? I did not expect you for another week.”
The young man laughed. “I might ask the same of you—I ran into Mr. Phillips as I rode through the village and he says you left London before the Season was completed. Were the ladies of the ton so dreadful this year that you had to flee?” His smiling face suddenly turned anxious.
“Or—you did not compromise any young lady, did you? Your departure doesn’t signify any sort of scandal? ”
“My God, Frederick, you have just taken your orders and already you sound like an old scolding rector. Do you think so little of me?” Robert’s words were blunt, but he smiled indulgently to signal he was not truly insulted. He was gratified to see his brother’s face redden a bit from the scolding.
“Forgive me, Robert, I did not mean to—that is—well, I know you always behave as a gentleman should. You are a gentleman. I do not know why I spoke such a foolish statement.”
Robert waved his hand in dismissal. “Pay it no mind, little brother, I am not truly vexed at you. I did leave town early, but only because matters here demanded my immediate attention. I confess I wish I had paid more heed to what goes into managing an estate while our father lived. It would make my life easier now, I can assure you.”
“God rest his soul,” Frederick said softly under his breath. “Is there anything I can do to assist?”
“No, no, it is all well in hand,” Robert lied.
He hated to deceive Frederick, but why concern his younger brother with things that he was unable to help with, he reasoned.
Better to handle the estate as best he could until he could return to London and find a rich, young lady to marry.
With a fat dowry, all of Brentwood’s debts could be dealt with at once.
Then, Frederick need never know of how badly their father’s grief had slid into extreme mismanagement of their home in the past year.
“Come,” he said, quickly stacking up the bills on his desk and securing them in a drawer, “I am finished here for now. Let us go for that walk. Oh, and I just received an invitation to dine at Haverstone with Lord and Lady Gillingham next week. You may join us. I am sure our neighbors would be delighted to see you.”