Oddly, the more that his brother echoed the doubts that were already in his mind, the more stubborn Devon became. “If Theo was qualified, I’ll be damned if I can’t learn to do it.”

West shook his head incredulously. “Is that where this nonsense is coming from? You’re trying to compete with our dead cousin?”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Devon snapped. “Isn’t it obvious there’s far more at stake than that? Look around you, for God’s sake. This estate supports hundreds of people. Without it, many of them won’t survive. Tell me you’d be willing to stand face-to-face with one of the tenants and tell him that he has to move his family to Manchester so they can all work in a filthy factory.”

“How can the factory be any worse than living on a muddy scrap of farmland?”

“Considering urban diseases, crime, slum alleys, and abject poverty,” Devon said acidly, “I’d say it’s considerably worse. And if my tenants and servants all leave, what of the consequences to the village of Eversby itself? What will become of the merchants and businesses once the estate is gone? I have to make a go of this, West.”

His brother stared at him as if he were a stranger. “Your tenants and servants.”

Devon scowled. “Yes. Who else’s are they?”

West’s lips curled in a derisive sneer. “Tell me this, oh lordly one… what do you expect will happen when you fail?”

“I can’t think about failure. If I do, I’ll be doomed from the start.”

“You’re already doomed. You’ll preen and posture as lord of the manor while the roof caves in and the tenants starve, and I’m damned if I’ll have any part of your narcissistic folly.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to,” Devon retorted, heading for the door. “Since you’re usually as drunk as a boiled owl, you’re of no use to me.”

“Who the hell do you think you are?” West called after him.

Pausing at the threshold, Devon gave him a cold glance. “I’m the Earl of Trenear,” he said, and left the room.

Chapter 6

For the first time since Theo’s accident, Kathleen had slept without nightmares. After emerging from a deep rest, she sat up in bed as her lady’s maid, Clara, brought her breakfast tray.

“Good morning, milady.” Clara placed the tray on Kathleen’s lap while a housemaid opened the curtains to admit a spill of weak gray light from the cloud-hazed sky. “Lord Trenear gave me a note to set by your plate.”

Frowning curiously, Kathleen unfolded the small parchment rectangle. Devon’s penmanship was angular and decisive, the words written in black ink.

Madam,

As I will soon depart for London, I would like to discuss a matter of some consequence. Please come to the library at your earliest convenience.

Trenear

All her nerves jumped at the notion of facing Devon. She knew why he wanted to speak to her… he was going to ask her to leave the estate as soon as possible. He would not want to be burdened by the presence of Theo’s widow, or his sisters, and certainly no one would expect it of him.

Today she would send out inquiries to find a house. With strict economizing, she, Helen, and the twins could live on the income from her jointure. Perhaps it was for the best to make a new beginning somewhere else. Very little good had come to her in the three months she had lived at Eversby Priory. And although Helen and the twins loved the only home they had ever known, they would benefit from a change. They had been secluded from the world for too long… They needed new people, new scenery, new experiences. Yes… the four of them, together, would manage.

But Kathleen was worried about what would become of the servants and tenants. It was a pity too that with Theo’s death, the Ravenel family and its proud legacy had essentially come to an end.

Filled with melancholy, she dressed with Clara’s assistance in multiple layers of petticoats, a corset, and a petite padded bustle. Next came a black crepe dress, fitted close to the body with pleated tiers that draped down the back and ended in a slight train. The dress was fastened down the front with jet buttons, the long sleeves fitted closely to her wrists and finished with detachable cuffs made of white linen. She considered and rejected the idea of a veil, deciding wryly that she and Devon were beyond such formalities.

While Clara arranged Kathleen’s hair in plaits that had been twisted and pinned tightly to the back of her head, she asked cautiously, “Milady, has his lordship said anything about what he plans to do with the staff? Many are worried about their positions.”

“So far he has said nothing to me of his plans,” Kathleen said, inwardly chafing at her own helplessness. “But your position with me is safe.”

“Thank you, milady.” Clara looked marginally relieved, but Kathleen understood her conflicting emotions. After being an upper servant at a grand estate, it would be a comedown to work at a cottage or a set of rented rooms.

“I’ll do what I can to influence Lord Trenear on behalf of the servants,” Kathleen told her, “but I’m afraid I have no sway over him.”

They exchanged bleak smiles, and Kathleen left the room.

As she approached the library, she felt her heartbeat quicken uncomfortably. Squaring her shoulders, she crossed the threshold.

Devon appeared to be browsing over a row of books, reaching up to straighten a trio of volumes that had fallen sideways.

“My lord,” Kathleen said quietly.

Devon turned, his gaze finding hers at once. He was stunningly handsome, dressed in a dark suit of clothes that had been tailored in the new looser-fitting fashion, the coat, waistcoat, and trousers all made of matching fabric. The informal cut of the suit did nothing to soften the hard lines of his body. For a moment Kathleen couldn’t help remembering the feel of his arms around her, his solid chest beneath her cheek. Heat swept over her face.