The Revenge of Lord Eberlin Read Free Page B

profitable acres, against which he’d filed a suit, claiming they rightfully belonged to Tiber Park. Mr. Fish and Mr. Goodwin, Ashwood’s solicitor, had assured Lily that he would be successful in his suit, and that at a hearing on the morrow, Eberlin— Eberlin! Honestly, not Tobin Scott, but Count Eberlin of Denmark, of all things!—would receive the acreage, all because of somearcane, ridiculous glitch in the laws of inheritance and entailments.
    Lily had argued that her standing as the new, rightful countess of Ashwood might work in her favor. The estate and titles had been ordained by none other than King Henry VIII himself, when, in giving the gift of Ashwood to the first earl, had set out the permissions of inheritance: to wit, any heir, male or female, had title to the land that was Ashwood, and claim to the title! Any blood heir, any adopted heir, any heir at all!
    But Tobin had found some tiny keyhole in the law that allowed him to take her acreage. “It would take a miracle of biblical proportions for the ruling to go in your favor, I fear,” Mr. Goodwin had said apologetically.
    And now five tenants were leaving.
    “What did he offer?” Lily asked.
    “I cannot say precisely,” Mr. Fish said. “But apparently, new cottages have been constructed and fields that have lain fallow for years have been harrowed. They will sow them in the spring.”
    Honestly, if Lily had had a cannon, she’d have pointed the thing at Tiber Park and lit it herself. “Which tenants?”
    “The Peterman family. There are five crofters with that name, all related by marriage, all farming on the east end, and all convinced of the prosperity at Tiber Park,” Mr. Fish said.
    The east end was the opposite end of the one hundred acres and, naturally, the next most productive, profitable bit of land at Ashwood. “He is awfully determined, is he not?” she snapped as Linford hobbled lopsidedly into the room carrying a tea service. “As if destroying Ashwood will bring his father back,” she added angrily. She whirled around to the window.
    “As we have discussed, you are suffering from years of poor fiscal management here at Ashwood, and he is a master at preying on estates such as this. And yet, there is more,” Mr. Fish said.
    “More!” she exclaimed and turned around.
    Mr. Fish looked thoughtfully at his hand. He squared his shoulders.
    “What is it, Mr. Fish?” Lily prodded him. “Please speak plainly, as I find myself desperately short on patience today.”
    Mr. Fish cleared his throat. “I have been studying our ledgers. My fear is that if we do not stabilize the income of Ashwood over the winter, we stand to be bankrupt by summer.”
    Lily could feel her blood rush from her face. “You must explain what that means.”
    “That we’d go the way of some other estates. That is to say, sold in parcels to satisfy creditors. The house turned into a museum. Your title . . .” He glanced at Lily. “The title stays with the estate, of course.”
    Lily couldn’t bring herself to speak for a moment. Her mind was full of conflicting, jumbled thoughts.“That is his plan, isn’t it? He intends to see us parceled out.” She began to pace, her mind racing, trying to think of something, anything, they might do. “We must do whatever it takes to avoid it,” she said to Mr. Fish. “Have you any idea how we might do that?”
    “A few,” he said. “First, we must conserve cash. We will look for any way that we might profit as we sow our winter crops. But Lady Ashwood, we cannot sow without crofters.”
    “Perhaps we might reduce the rents to attract them,” she suggested. “Or sell things. Furnishings. Anything that isn’t absolutely necessary.”
    “I daresay it will take more than a few furnishings to save the estate.”
    There was something else that might save them: the missing jewels, wherever they were, but no one had managed to find them in fifteen years.
    “I have one suggestion,” Mr. Fish said, and