Whisper of Magic (14 page)

“Only if I don’t have to clean up too much to sit on the
furniture. I want to go back to building another of those machines while I am
here,” he said.

While he was here
—confirming
that he meant to move on after settling in his brother. It was a good thing her
goals were the same.

“You could have a healthy business if you hired several
seamstresses,” he continued. “You’ll need to charge enough to put money away to
buy more linen, though. You need a business manager.”

“We hadn’t planned on running a manufactory,” she said,
returning to the practical. “We were dreaming of gowns and balls for Sylvia and
Oxford for Trevor. Jamar had planned on starting the shop on the islands.”

“The shirts you’re making are too expensive for a small
market. Better to ship a few finished products to the island and sell the rest
here.” He stopped at the sewing room to deliver the workbox.

“Are you sure you’re not a tradesman instead of a lawyer?”
she asked. She was unaccustomed to bantering with the nobility, but it was hard
to take him seriously when he had a dead spider on his neckcloth.

“In our family, we do everything. There are too many of us
for any one to be idle. A lazy Ives would be bounced on his ear and flung in
the pond and left for the fish to nibble. So drop any preconceptions you might
have of idle aristocrats. Or even polite ones. Ashford would as soon throw a
shoe at your head as bow over your hand, although admittedly, that is a more
recent development.”

He was actually
talking
to her, man to woman, as if they were equals. He wasn’t making demands or
arguing but was actually being self-deprecating, and she didn’t know how to
respond. Telling herself it wouldn’t matter shortly, Celeste nodded and left
him to play with his workbox while she ran to set up a tea tray.

***

Miss Rochester was the most reticent woman he’d ever
encountered, Erran decided as he took the stairs down to the ground floor after
moving the boxes. Most women chattered incessantly, but this lady kept her
thoughts to herself. He couldn’t determine if he appreciated the difference.

The new footmen had set up a basin and pitcher in the study
for his use, and he took advantage of them now to wash up, pondering the
mysterious ways of women.

He preferred the challenge of the fascinating sewing
mechanism to analyzing women, but that was probably because he was avoiding the
lady’s questions about their mutually weird abilities.

Drawing a deep breath to conceal his discomfort, he checked
that his neckcloth was straight and his coat buttoned, and proceeded to the
front drawing room.

All the siblings had gathered around the tea tray, looking
every inch the proper English family except for their darker coloring.

That’s when Erran nearly fell over his feet with a
full-blown idea that even his insane sister-in-law couldn’t duplicate—although
he’d need her cooperation, and he knew how to accomplish that, too.

He just didn’t know how to approach this solemn, grieving
family. He already knew their arguments, because they’d be his own in their
place.

“Lord Erran, have a seat, please.” Miss Rochester gestured
at an armchair next to her brother’s.

At least with others around, they wouldn’t be having any
weird discussion on the topic of voices. Erran took another, less comfortable,
chair that kept all three of them in his sight. The boy looked as uneasy as he
felt. So they had something to say, as well. Teacakes had just been an excuse.

“We have been talking,” young Lord Rochester said,
uncomfortable with his new role of family head. “We wonder if we might break
the lease and be returned some of the rent monies so we might return to our
home. It’s possible we might stop some of the depredation if we are there.”

That was so exactly opposite of his own suggestion that
Erran quit reaching for a cake to readjust his thoughts. Every instinct
clamored against their plan, but instincts were unreliable. He needed to
understand why he objected since it was the perfect solution to his problem.

“An interesting proposition,” he admitted, giving himself
time to think. It didn’t take long to grimace at the ramifications of such a
move. He was a practical man, but his one goal in life had always been to serve
justice.

Sending the family back to Jamaica might solve his problems,
but it would only make theirs worse. He chafed at the choice, but even Dunc
would have to agree. “Unfortunately, I fear you will meet with worse aggression
there than you have met so far here. The executors have already installed men
in your home, men who will not give up their position without a fight.”

He thought he was on firm ground when he saw all three
Rochesters frown. He hurried to continue before they could formulate arguments.
“If the estate executors—and I still don’t have proof that your father’s cousin
is personally involved—are determined to sell your servants, then that means
they also intend to sell the land. You will not be allowed in your home. Worse
yet, you will be more vulnerable staying with friends than here, in the
protection of the marquess. I would not advise returning just yet.”

“Sell the plantation?” the boy asked in dismay. “That is our
only income!”

“Exactly.” On firm ground now, Erran sipped his coffee. “The
executors have rendered you helpless, with no ability whatsoever to fight,
proving your well-being is not their goal. I haven’t had time to think this
through, but I think you should turn the tables and become the aggressor.”

The younger siblings gasped and stared at him as if he had
started speaking in tongues. Aggressiveness was obviously not in their
vocabulary. He hadn’t thought it in Miss Rochester’s lexicon either, but she
merely sipped her coffee and regarded him with her usual wariness until she’d
prepared her speech.

“We are not exactly assertive people, as you may have
noted,” she said dryly, confirming his conclusion. “Have you found documents in
our father’s trunk that we didn’t? Ones with which to take the executors to
court?”

“No documents,” Erran acknowledged. “But the executors have
no documents either. All they have is the earl’s place on the family tree. The
Ives family is more powerful and wealthier than Lansdowne. We will declare
Ashford as your guardian. As his wards, you will be presented to society. We
will begin making demands on the banks, forcing them to stop handing out your
funds to the earl, if nothing else.”

“This is how you will approach the solicitors on Monday?”
Miss Rochester asked, still not expressing excitement or approval.

“From a position of strength, yes. We’ll bring in my
brother, Lord Theo, to act as Ashford’s personal representative, and Lady
Aster, who is the daughter of a powerful earl. We can point out that instead of
using your father’s funds to feed and clothe his young relations, the estate
has grossly neglected you. Then we can offer to take the responsibility from
the estate to sponsor you in society ourselves. We will demand an allowance for
Lord Rochester’s education and your clothing. We will threaten to sue the
estate if an allowance isn’t forthcoming.” Erran didn’t think anything would
come of a suit, but often, just the threats of a lengthy, expensive lawsuit
forced a settlement. Chancery was a headache everyone wished to avoid.

“And how will this help save the plantation and our people?”
the boy demanded. “An education avails me nothing in their defense.”

Erran approved of the elder sister not interfering while the
young baron attempted to step up to his father’s role. Why did he suspect she
was just biding her time?

“What Lansdowne has done is called asserting authority,”
Erran explained. “The British have conquered entire countries by stepping in
and using bullying tactics to restore order over people who haven’t the ability
to fight back. First, however, you have to establish your authority. By taking
your place at Oxford as a baron, you will be connecting with others of your
station and higher, making the kind of connections that present a powerful
front.”

This idea hadn’t come to Erran earlier because his family
had seldom bothered to wield their influence in society. Their interests lay in
scientific and business pursuits, scorning frivolity. But after Duncan had been
attacked, Theo had told them the family needed a united front to fight the
malefactors, and Erran realized the same tactic would work here.

He turned to the ladies. “Women create power in
ballrooms—you build formidable alliances to aid and abet your family’s goals.
If Ashford sponsors you, you will be in a position to aid him, and all and
sundry will know that he will return the favor. It will become apparent that
opposing you will be the same as opposing him.”

“And you think to influence
judges
by this behavior?” Miss Rochester asked incredulously.

His reaction exactly, and it still stuck in his craw, but using
society was a more civilized method than bullying and bribing his way through
the court. “Wielding power is the only way to win in a civil case, short of
beating judges about the head with a big stick,” he said with cynicism. “There
is always bribery, of course, and some amount of that will have to happen,
which is why I said the case would be expensive. But right now, the earl’s
solicitors are the only ones leaning on the court—and Lansdowne doesn’t have
the family we have. He has gone about this entirely wrong—he should have
enlisted you from the start, instead of driving you away.”

Erran watched as this sank in. It wasn’t the immediate
solution they wanted, he knew. Miss Rochester was looking particularly
mutinous, but the other two seemed hopeful. There were enormous hurdles, of
course. He didn’t possess a magic wand. His all male family hadn’t wielded
social influence in generations.

But Erran had watched Lady Aster and her family in action,
and they worked together like a well-oiled machine. He didn’t see why Ives
couldn’t duplicate that social command as well or better.

Once Erran presented his plan, Theo would have a fit as
thorough as one of Duncan’s—but even his big brother would ultimately concede
it had to be done. After Lady Aster’s family heard of the predicament of the
African servants, they’d be sending armies of women to Jamaica unless provided
alternatives.

And this way, Erran could provide Duncan with the impetus to
rejoin the society he needed, without using deception.

After Lord Erran outlined his
outrageous battle plan, Celeste was ready to chew off her fingernails and
possibly her toes. And she still wanted to flee to her sunny home, where she
knew where she belonged. If she couldn’t be pretty, she could excel at
practical, and she’d been running the household for years. She couldn’t smile
and enchant a room full of strangers, but she could feed hundreds of workers.

Except—as much as she loathed admitting it, Lord Erran was
correct. If the earl controlled the plantation, the home she wanted to return
to was gone, along with everything else familiar. Her whole world felt ready to
shatter and she with it.

Sylvia and Trevor were more enthusiastic about conquering
new worlds. So much so that Celeste had to wonder if Lord Erran didn’t employ
some charmed voice that she couldn’t hear—as he couldn’t hear hers.

“He says I could take finishing classes with the daughters
of dukes!” Sylvia said excitedly once they’d returned to their sewing.

“I cannot imagine how we can repay the marquess for the
lessons if we don’t win access to our funds,” Celeste said dampeningly.

But nothing would quell Sylvia’s high spirits, and after all
they’d been through, Celeste hated to be the spoil-sport. Her siblings were
young and accepted their helplessness. They needed hope and a little joy to
keep them looking to the future.

Trevor needed to be in school. He had an exceptional mind
when he applied it.

It was only Celeste who longed for home and felt the weight
of responsibility for what was happening. She understood better than her
siblings that once the marquess moved in, this house would no longer be theirs—it
would be his.

She had never needed to be strong. Until her father’s death,
she’d had little experience at it. These last months, she’d learned survival,
but that wasn’t sufficient. To protect the people like Jamar and Nana, who had
taken care of her all her life, she needed to be brave and bold. She couldn’t
imagine saving anyone by wearing nice clothes and dancing—which left her
feeling even more helpless than before.

She never wanted to be helpless or dependent on a man again.

She was relieved when Lord Erran rode off to discuss his
grandiose plans with his family. Perhaps they would put some sense into him.
Surely, if they could just send her home, there was something she could do once
she was on familiar ground again.

He returned just before dark with some contraption he
installed on the back gate. Celeste watched the men working on it from her
bedroom window. His lordship had doffed his long-tailed coat. Since the evening
air was chilly, he presumably did so to avoid damaging it. In shirt sleeves and
waistcoat, he still looked the epitome of elegance, and she couldn’t stop her
erratic heart from pounding with an excitement she didn’t want to feel. For
just a moment, she wished circumstances could be different.

Still, she wanted to go home, and he belonged here. A man
like that would marry a beautiful heiress. She had no claim to beauty or
wealth—and he thought her only asset was
evil
.
She needed to stick to her sewing and not develop impractical notions—even if
he did occasionally hold her hand as if he enjoyed the sensation as much as she
did.

Sunday did not improve the situation. Lady Aster and her
intimidating Aunt Daphne arrived to escort them to church. The wife of a
viscount and daughter of an earl, Lady McDowell used her formidable Junoesque
frame to simply carry all obstacles in her way with the force of a tidal wave.
Lady Aster’s younger cousins followed in her wake, and Celeste admitted she
enjoyed their lively company—especially since Lord Erran managed to elude the
swelling tide.