Page 36 of Courting the Vicar’s Daughter

“This is the sort of thing I should have looked into first.” Harry tried not to grind his teeth at his own stupidity. He’d been enjoying the comfort of the study at Whitewood, taking his walks almost daily, but never once had he gone to inspect the tenant houses on his property. “Or Keyes ought to have said something.”

“He has been ignoring the repairs for years.” Mr. Ellsworth had only seen the problems of the housing himself the day before, when going about to interview tenants to make certain their rents were the proper amount in the books. He’d returned to Whitewood flustered and angry, and gave Harry a detailed account of what he saw.

Harry needed to go out and see for himself. He needed to understand the depth of his own neglect and his former steward’s lack of care.

They stopped before a small row of cottages, all nearing a century old. The cottages were low, small buildings with thatched roofs. There were gardens in a few yards, full of the practical sorts of plants one found about cottages.

Even from his place on the road, Harry could see places where repairs had been made but appeared insubstantial. “It looks as though someone has tried to bandage up a flour sieve,” he said, a weight pressing against his heart. “There are families in all of these houses?”

“Yes. Paying a rate similar to what the earl’s tenants pay. But the earl’s properties are in far better repair, and newer, than these.” Ellsworth’s disgust was apparent in the frustrated growl of his voice. “What do you want to do, Mr. Devon?”

“My father has only been dead four years,” Harry said quietly, not moving from his seat. “These houses have obviously needed attention for longer than that.”

The man beside him said nothing, leaving Harry to stare at the crumbling stone wall between him and the cottage in silence.

“I want to tear them all down.” Harry jumped out of the gig without a backward glance and strode through the crooked white gate of the first house. He went straight for the door and banged on it, his frustration urging him on to action.

The door swung open to reveal a startled looking woman, perhaps near Harry’s age, wearing an apron over a stomach swollen with child.

“Mr. Devon, sir,” she half-gasped. “I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t know you were comin’ today. Is there somethin’ you need from my mister, sir?”

Harry shook his head and lowered his eyes, the shame choking him. He met the startled stare of a little boy, holding onto the woman’s skirts and staring up at Harry with wide, frightened eyes.

“Only tell him, and the others in these cottages, that there will be no rents paid this winter.” It was the least he could do. But he certainly meant to do more. He touched the brim of his hat and left her staring after him, her mouth gaping at him.

He climbed back into the gig. Ellsworth spared him only a glance before taking up the reins and moving the horse along. “That was kind of you, Mr. Devon.”

Harry snorted. “It was the right thing to do. The worst of it is that woman knew exactly who I am, and I could not for the world tell you who she or her husband are.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Dempsy,” Ellsworth supplied. “He is a tenant farmer.”

“Thank you.” Harry groaned and covered his eyes with a gloved hand. “We need to do more, and soon. Make inquiries. See about hiring a team of men to build new cottages. We can set them across the road from the old, so the tenants won’t have far to go. When we tear down the old buildings, perhaps we can salvage the stone for something else. I don’t know.”

Ellsworth hesitate in speaking long enough that Harry uncovered his eyes, casting the man an expectant look. “What, Mr. Ellsworth?”

“It will be expensive, and difficult, to build at this time of year.”

“I am certain I can afford it.” Harry thought of Daisy, of her desire to better the lives of entire families through the somewhat simple act of educating their daughters. She saw such a thing as creating stronger families, better people. It was like—

“It’s an investment,” Harry said out loud, his mind wrapping around the thought with ease. “Better homes mean better tenants. Those cottages, they are falling apart, but you could see the care taken in the gardens, in the painted gates. Those people want homes they can be proud of. If we supply those houses, make the rents fair, we will have happy and loyal tenants.”

“You do not need to convince me, sir.” Ellsworth’s tone lost some of its edge, though he remained slightly hunched in his seat. “I will make inquiries and let it be known quality and speed are of the utmost importance to the project.”

“Money is the least important factor.” Harry sat back, crossing his arms. “I would like to see at least some of the families settled before the snow begins falling.”

Ellsworth nodded tightly and said no more. His brow was puckered, his lips turned down in an earnest frown, and Harry knew his steward was making plans. Though they had been working together for a short time, Harry knew and understood Ellsworth quite well. It spoke highly of Ellsworth’s character that he would bring his concern to Harry with such speed, rather than take it for granted that Harry knew the state of those cottages.

How could my father have left property, property he ought to have taken some pride in, to rot in such a horrid manner? There were children in those dilapidated structures. Families who needed warmth in the winter and a roof to keep out rain.

Harry had never been particularly close to the elder Mr. Devon. Now, he wondered if there was anything at all he liked about the man who had fathered him. Certainly, nothing came to mind. He had never shown even a shred of affection for any of his four children. They were assets, not receptors of love. In truth, it was their mother that saved the Devon children from becoming weak, withered things. Mrs. Devon had raised her three daughters on love, and they in turn had given Harry the ability to be himself, despite the dark shadow cast by his father.

Mr. Devon senior had left behind a legacy of wealth and greed, pride and snobbery, and it was left to Harry to make things right.

Chapter Fourteen

Seeking Daisy out for a private conversation was out of the question. It would be totally inappropriate for Harry to write her a note, to request to meet with her. If he went to her home, to call upon her, that could alert her father to their less than conventional friendship. With so much weighing on his mind and heart, he found himself longing for her opinion, perhaps even her approval. Despite his attempts at creativity, he could come up with nothing better than lurking near her home in the hopes of catching a glimpse of her.

That would not do, of course.