Cold-Hearted Rake
Page 45
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
“The solicitor confirmed that it’s legal.”
“I don’t mean legally, I mean morally. You can’t deprive them of their homes and their livings. What would happen to those families? All those children? Even you couldn’t live with that on your conscience.”
Devon gave her a sardonic glance, annoyed that she would automatically assume the worst about him. “I’m not going to abandon the tenants. I fully intend to help them find new situations.”
Kathleen had begun to shake her head before he had even finished. “Farming is what these people have done for generations. It’s in their blood. Taking away their land would break them.”
Devon had known this was exactly how she would react. People first, business second. But that wasn’t always possible. “We’re discussing four families out of two hundred,” he said. “If I don’t strike a deal with London Ironstone, all the Eversby Priory tenants may lose their farms.”
“There has to be another way,” Kathleen insisted.
“If there were, I’d have found it.” She knew nothing of all the sleepless nights and exhausting days he’d spent searching for alternatives. There was no good solution, only a choice between several bad solutions, and this was the least harmful.
Kathleen stared at him as if she’d just caught him snatching a crust of bread from an orphan. “But —”
“Don’t press me on this,” Devon snapped, losing his patience. “It’s difficult enough without a display of adolescent drama.”
Kathleen’s face went white. Without another word, she turned and strode from the library.
West sighed and glanced at Devon. “Well done. Why bother reasoning with her when you can simply crush her into submission?”
Before Devon could reply, his brother had left to follow Kathleen.
Chapter 13
Kathleen was halfway down the hallway before West could catch up to her.
Having become acquainted with Kathleen, and knowing Devon as well as anyone could, West could say with authority that they brought out the worst in each other. When they were in the same room, he reflected with exasperation, tempers flared and words became bullets. The devil knew why they found it so difficult to be civil to each other.
“Kathleen,” West said quietly as he reached her.
She stopped and turned to face him. Her face was drawn, her mouth tight.
Having endured the lash of Devon’s temper more than a few times in the past, West understood how deeply it could cut. “The estate’s financial disaster is not of Devon’s making,” he said. “He’s only trying to minimize the casualties. You can’t blame him for that.”
“Tell me what I can blame him for, then.”
“In this situation?” A note of apology entered his voice. “Being realistic.”
Kathleen gave him a reproachful glance. “Why should four families pay the price for all the rest of us to survive? He has to find some other way.”
West rubbed the back of his neck, which was stiff after two nights of sleeping on a lumpy bed in a cold farmhouse. “Life is hardly ever fair, little friend. As you well know.”
“Can’t you talk him out of it?” she brought herself to ask.
“Not when I would make the same decision. The fact is, once we lease the land to London Ironstone, that tiny eastern portion of the estate will become our only source of reliable profit.”
Her head lowered. “I thought you would be on the tenants’ side.”
“I am. You know I am.” West reached out to take her narrow shoulders in a warm, sustaining grip. “I swear to you, we’ll do everything possible to help them. Their farms will be reduced in size, but if they’re willing to learn modern methods, they could produce double their annual yields.” To make certain she was listening, he gave her the gentlest possible shake. “I’ll persuade Devon to give them every advantage: We’ll reduce their rents and provide drainage and building improvements. We’ll even supply machinery to help them plow and harvest.” Staring down into her mutinous face, he said ruefully, “Don’t look like that. Good God, one would think we were conspiring to murder someone.”
“I have just the person in mind,” she muttered.
“You had better pray that nothing ever happens to him, because then I would become the earl. And I would wash my hands of the estate.”
“Would you really?” She seemed genuinely shocked.
“Before you could blink.”
“But you’ve worked so hard for the tenants…”
“As you yourself once said, Devon is carrying a heavy burden. There’s nothing in this world I want badly enough to be willing to do what my brother is doing. Which means I have no choice but to support him.”
Kathleen nodded glumly.
“Now you’re being practical.” West smiled slightly. “Will you accompany me back to the lion’s den?”
“No, I’m tired of quarreling.” Briefly she rested her forehead against his chest, a close and trusting gesture that touched him nearly as much as it surprised him.
After parting company with Kathleen, West returned to the library.
Devon was outwardly calm as he stood at the table and stared down at the map. However, the pencil had been broken into multiple pieces that were scattered across the carpet.
Contemplating Devon’s hard profile, West asked blandly, “Could you try to be a bit more artful in dealing with her? Perhaps use a smidgen of diplomacy? Because even though I happen to agree with your position, you’re being a donkey’s arse about it.”
“I don’t mean legally, I mean morally. You can’t deprive them of their homes and their livings. What would happen to those families? All those children? Even you couldn’t live with that on your conscience.”
Devon gave her a sardonic glance, annoyed that she would automatically assume the worst about him. “I’m not going to abandon the tenants. I fully intend to help them find new situations.”
Kathleen had begun to shake her head before he had even finished. “Farming is what these people have done for generations. It’s in their blood. Taking away their land would break them.”
Devon had known this was exactly how she would react. People first, business second. But that wasn’t always possible. “We’re discussing four families out of two hundred,” he said. “If I don’t strike a deal with London Ironstone, all the Eversby Priory tenants may lose their farms.”
“There has to be another way,” Kathleen insisted.
“If there were, I’d have found it.” She knew nothing of all the sleepless nights and exhausting days he’d spent searching for alternatives. There was no good solution, only a choice between several bad solutions, and this was the least harmful.
Kathleen stared at him as if she’d just caught him snatching a crust of bread from an orphan. “But —”
“Don’t press me on this,” Devon snapped, losing his patience. “It’s difficult enough without a display of adolescent drama.”
Kathleen’s face went white. Without another word, she turned and strode from the library.
West sighed and glanced at Devon. “Well done. Why bother reasoning with her when you can simply crush her into submission?”
Before Devon could reply, his brother had left to follow Kathleen.
Chapter 13
Kathleen was halfway down the hallway before West could catch up to her.
Having become acquainted with Kathleen, and knowing Devon as well as anyone could, West could say with authority that they brought out the worst in each other. When they were in the same room, he reflected with exasperation, tempers flared and words became bullets. The devil knew why they found it so difficult to be civil to each other.
“Kathleen,” West said quietly as he reached her.
She stopped and turned to face him. Her face was drawn, her mouth tight.
Having endured the lash of Devon’s temper more than a few times in the past, West understood how deeply it could cut. “The estate’s financial disaster is not of Devon’s making,” he said. “He’s only trying to minimize the casualties. You can’t blame him for that.”
“Tell me what I can blame him for, then.”
“In this situation?” A note of apology entered his voice. “Being realistic.”
Kathleen gave him a reproachful glance. “Why should four families pay the price for all the rest of us to survive? He has to find some other way.”
West rubbed the back of his neck, which was stiff after two nights of sleeping on a lumpy bed in a cold farmhouse. “Life is hardly ever fair, little friend. As you well know.”
“Can’t you talk him out of it?” she brought herself to ask.
“Not when I would make the same decision. The fact is, once we lease the land to London Ironstone, that tiny eastern portion of the estate will become our only source of reliable profit.”
Her head lowered. “I thought you would be on the tenants’ side.”
“I am. You know I am.” West reached out to take her narrow shoulders in a warm, sustaining grip. “I swear to you, we’ll do everything possible to help them. Their farms will be reduced in size, but if they’re willing to learn modern methods, they could produce double their annual yields.” To make certain she was listening, he gave her the gentlest possible shake. “I’ll persuade Devon to give them every advantage: We’ll reduce their rents and provide drainage and building improvements. We’ll even supply machinery to help them plow and harvest.” Staring down into her mutinous face, he said ruefully, “Don’t look like that. Good God, one would think we were conspiring to murder someone.”
“I have just the person in mind,” she muttered.
“You had better pray that nothing ever happens to him, because then I would become the earl. And I would wash my hands of the estate.”
“Would you really?” She seemed genuinely shocked.
“Before you could blink.”
“But you’ve worked so hard for the tenants…”
“As you yourself once said, Devon is carrying a heavy burden. There’s nothing in this world I want badly enough to be willing to do what my brother is doing. Which means I have no choice but to support him.”
Kathleen nodded glumly.
“Now you’re being practical.” West smiled slightly. “Will you accompany me back to the lion’s den?”
“No, I’m tired of quarreling.” Briefly she rested her forehead against his chest, a close and trusting gesture that touched him nearly as much as it surprised him.
After parting company with Kathleen, West returned to the library.
Devon was outwardly calm as he stood at the table and stared down at the map. However, the pencil had been broken into multiple pieces that were scattered across the carpet.
Contemplating Devon’s hard profile, West asked blandly, “Could you try to be a bit more artful in dealing with her? Perhaps use a smidgen of diplomacy? Because even though I happen to agree with your position, you’re being a donkey’s arse about it.”
