“Yes. Quite.”
Blaise noted the flicker. There were rules even Mr. Earnest respected.
“Begin,” Blaise said. “How did this house come to require a Vale to save it?”
The solicitor adjusted his spectacles. “The late viscount, Your Grace, had ambitions. Limited by means. He sought to repair his fortunes through marriage to a lady of modest rank but substantial dowry. Lord Lempster’s eldest daughter.”
“My cousin tricked her, then,” Blaise said flatly.
Mr. Earnest coughed. “He presented his situation in… optimistic terms. The marriage articles assigned her dowry directly to himfor the settling of encumbrances upon the estate. Unfortunately, his lordship did not possess the temperament to alter his habits.”
“He was gambling,” Blaise supplied flatly.
“Yes, Your Grace. Racing. Cards. And speculations. Her ladyship’s portion was applied to his existing obligations. But new ones arose in their place.”
“And when he died,” Blaise said, “he left her with this moldering ruin and a pack of hungry wolves at the door.”
Mr. Earnest’s fingers tightened on his hat. “Legally, the viscountcy estate reverts entirely to the heir. Her ladyship has a small jointure settled upon her. It is a yearly amount, barely sufficient for a lady of her station… and no separate residence. There is no dower house. Lord Hentley did not maintain one.”
“Of course he did not,” Blaise muttered.
He pictured Iris pacing the corridor, back straight, voice low with fury, as if sheer will could hold off the tide of law and custom sliding under her feet. She had never even had a house that was hers by right. Only a space she defended, year by starving year. His fists clenched.
“Very well,” Blaise said, voice sharpening. “Tell me the sums. All of them.”
They went through numbers until the air itself felt dry. Mortgages. Outstanding tradesmen and the last ugly remnant of a gaming debt that carried his cousin’s name like a stain. Blaise’s jaw set as he listened.
“I will clear them,” he said when Mr. Earnest finally paused. “All of them will be paid off at once.”
The solicitor blinked. “Your Grace, that is most generous. However, if I may say so, since you already own the Knoxford London residence, you might consider allowing this house to fall out of your direct concern. Her ladyship has managed the operations admirably. You could leave the property in her care. No further renovation would be strictly necessary. It would considerably reduce your expenditures.”
“No,” Blaise said simply.
Earnest’s brows climbed a fraction.
“This house is useful to me. It is close enough to town, yet out of the direct glare of the Season. Once it is made habitable, it will suit my nephew very well.”
“Your… nephew?” Earnest repeated. “You refer to the son of your late brother?”
Blaise’s throat tightened at the mention of Benjamin.
“Yes,” he forced the word out.
A brief silence fell, and even a solicitor, it seemed, knew better than to prod that wound.
“Then your intention,” Mr. Earnest said cautiously, “is to settle this house upon the young gentleman in some fashion?”
“In time,” Blaise replied. “For now, I will have it repaired. I want a complete survey and a plan for renovation on my desk within the week.”
“And the viscountess?” Earnest asked. “Is she to be… displaced?”
Blaise thought of Iris and the way she had said that she had no luck.
“She will not go into the street,” he said firmly. “You will arrange for her to have an allowance sufficient to keep a modest house of her choosing. In town or out of it. Somewhere she cannot be tripped over by every creditor who ever darkened this door.”
Earnest nodded, already calculating. “That will further reduce?—”
“I am aware,” Blaise cut in. “Do it. And make it clear to her that the funds come through the Hentley estate, not as alms from my hand. Pride is a stubborn creature.”
