Chapter Nine
Three days later
Christopher skated straight across the oblong pond at the rear of the house, working his muscles to chase away the cold morning air.
After noticing the ladies skated or walked the paths in the afternoon, as required by the duchess, he’d decided to take advantage of the early morning time to exercise his limbs himself.
It hadn’t taken long to settle into a routine, and he’d been pleasantly surprised by his lady students.
Their approach to philosophy was different from the lords he’d mentored at Oxford.
Though he was holding conversations about the same classic works, what the ladies found most interesting and debatable was far different than the men.
He planned to assign a number of plays, both comedies and tragedies, to see what new insights they might find.
He came to a hard stop at the end of the pond, testing his leg muscles.
Though he found he walked more than usual about the sprawling mansion, it wasn’t the same as walking about campus or even at Lyonsmere Hall, his brother’s estate.
And despite his wandering, he’d yet to encounter Lady Sophie again.
He had no doubt she was avoiding him. He could well understand why, as he’d been far too forward with her person, which was not like him.
If he didn’t see her, then there would be no chance that he would need to apologize.
He started skating around the pond again.
Still, he found himself wishing to see her.
He’d even volunteered for the play the students were to act out, since they had asked the instructors to join them.
As many of the instructors were a part of it, the ladies were considered chaperoned.
But Sophie wasn’t one of the ladies participating.
He should be thankful. He didn’t need a distraction. He’d accomplished his goal in coming to the school. Now, he just needed to fulfill his obligation until the duke returned.
Finishing his final loop, he glided to a stop near a single bench on the edge of the pond.
Carefully, he made his way on his skates to sit and untie them.
He’d been surprised by the variety of mentors at the school.
While all first-year students studied philosophy, mathematics, history, literature, biology, and other sciences such as geology, astronomy, zoology, and physics, they also studied art and music movements, medicine, weaponry, defense tactics, writing, and politics.
There were no dance lessons, embroidery, or painting at all.
The instructors were as varied as the subjects.
The faculty was a mix of widowed or married ladies and well-learned gentry—even some commoners, such as the midwife.
The men included a former man of trade, the pugilist, a widowed lord, a vicar, and himself.
The eclectic group was added to each year because in their second year, the ladies were allowed to choose a focus of study.
That was how Mrs. Kingman, a former lady, had come to the school.
As he’d discovered, she was Sophie’s mentor.
It hadn’t taken him long to figure out that Sophie’s focus was literature.
Picking up his skates, he scanned the fields, house, and pond.
It actually was the perfect estate for a school, and the duke and duchess had done remarkable work in renovating the main building to accommodate the students.
He looked forward to making his own smaller property, as soon as it was his, profitable in its own right.
He started back to the house. He wasn’t very good at waiting.
There was still no letter from his solicitor telling him the estate was his.
After accumulating enough wealth over the years with careful investments in trade vessels and a few well-placed bets, he was anxious to take over his own home.
The oddity about it was that he had Durham to thank for conceiving of how to do so when they were both in school.
He made his way to the servants’ entrance, since the only other choices were the terrace doors, which led directly into the school space the ladies occupied, and the main entrance, which was too far to go in such cold weather.
Once through the servants’ corridor, he came out into the entry, gave a footman his greatcoat, and started up the stairs.
“My lord.”
He stopped, looking down to find Harrison, the butler. “Yes?”
“You have a visitor. He’s warming himself by the fire in the parlor.”
“Thank you.” Not sure who it could be, as he’d told very few people he would be at Silver Meadows, he descended. He’d started for the parlor when Harrison spoke.
“Sir?”
Turning, he found the man holding his hand out. It took Christopher a moment to realize he still held his skates in his hand. “Thank you.” He gave them to the butler then continued on his way.
The parlor was connected to the students’ dining area and boasted a large portrait his sister-in-law had painted of the lady after which the school was named, Lady Belinda. He walked in to find none other than his solicitor. “Mr. Morton, is it bad news you bring? Did the sale not go well?”
The thin man, no older than himself, turned away from the fire. His nose was a bit red, and he still wore his gray woolen greatcoat. “My lord. The sale went through as smooth as ice.” He shivered.
The news immediately put Christopher at ease. “Please, take a seat. Tell me what brings you so far from Daventry.”
Mr. Morton sat on a straight-backed chair, looking a bit incongruous among the feminine décor. “I brought you the books, as I felt it important that you know what you have purchased.” He gestured to three small ledgers on the table before him.
Christopher sat on the settee across from the man and lifted one of the books. “I imagine the estate is not producing well, or it would not have been sold at such a price.”
Mr. Morton grinned, his long sideburns accentuated by the movement. “Actually, sir, I insisted on seeing these first and then offered a third less than what you had agreed upon.”
Shocked, Christopher looked down at the ledger in his hands. “And they accepted the new terms?”
“They did, and quite quickly. That is why I came to you directly.”
A nervousness settled in his stomach. Mr. Morton had studied at Oxford a few years after Christopher had become faculty. The man was very intelligent as well as observant. “You have bad news.”
“I do.” Mr. Morton pointed to the ledgers. “The former steward helped himself to a substantial amount of what profits there were. When he left, the owner paid his staff one last time and released the tenants from their next rents then fled to America.”
“That was at least three months ago.”
Mr. Morton nodded. “Half the tenants have abandoned their land and moved to London. I do not know the plans of the rest. There are a few staff still living in the house as they search for work. It is a roof over their heads and there is some foodstuffs left from the harvest.”
Christopher set the ledger on top of the others and rose from his chair. “This is not good.” He strode to the fireplace, not sure what to do.
“No, sir, it is not. I did take the liberty to search out the former butler, a Mr. Riley. The man served under the last three owners and is quite dismayed at the condition of the estate when he left.”
Christopher turned at that. “Does he have a position currently?”
“No. He’s living with his daughter and her family. I did inquire if he would be interested in returning if paid, as he appeared to genuinely care about the house.”
Hope rose at the prospect of moving the estate into a better condition, no matter how small. “And what did he say?”
“He said he would. But he did say not to look for the housekeeper, as she was only there three years, and when she wasn’t being paid, she took some silver when Mr. Riley wasn’t looking and left the county.”
Christopher rolled his shoulders, finding what he thought would be an exciting start to a new life as a landed lord suddenly had become daunting. “A housekeeper is probably not my first concern.”
“Sir, if I may?”
“Please. I welcome any thoughts you have.”
“I believe the best recourse is to hire a new steward and the old butler.”
He set his hands on the back of the settee. “I agree, but where am I to find a reliable steward?”
Mr. Morton sat straighter in his chair, if that were possible. “I know someone who is very reliable and trustworthy but still learning the trade. He is being mentored even now, and would welcome the chance to find a position.”
“Who is this person?”
“He’s my younger brother, and I would recommend him highly even if he wasn’t.”
Surprised, Christopher hesitated. “I’m not sure that having a new steward and a first-time landowner would be the best idea. However, I will consider him if you can also provide me with two other possible stewards.”
“Of course, my lord. I can set up interviews for all three when you are ready. Do you have a time in mind for moving in, or rather visiting the estate?”
That Mr. Morton would suggest that Christopher might not wish to move in at once said a lot about the state of the property.
“I am needed here for about a fortnight, but I would like to establish a steward sooner. If you could set up three men to meet with me in three days’ time, I will travel there to review the premises and meet with them.
Also, set a time for me to meet with the butler.
I can only stay the one day before returning here. ”
Mr. Morton rose. “I will have all ready for you.”
Despite the state of affairs at his new estate, a feeling of excitement filled Christopher. “Good. In the meantime, I will go through these ledgers to learn more about what to expect.”
“If you have any questions about them, sir, I will be happy to answer them. I’ve studied them thoroughly.”
At Mr. Morton’s frown, Christopher had a feeling he wasn’t going to like reading them. “I appreciate the offer. I will see you in three days.”