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“Mmm, I suppose you’re right,” said Lady Yarborough. Another lengthy sigh burst from her. “And yet I shall miss the thrill of it all. There is nothing like London during the Season. Tell me, Lady Eleanor, have you already made a great many plans for while you are there?”
And thus began the anticipated fishing. A mischievous urge came over Eleanor to bait the hook with misinformation, but she squelched it. “Indeed. Several,” she replied lightly.
Lady Yarborough deflated a little, plainly disappointed. Having been left with no openings to further the thread she’d attempted to begin, she turned to Rowena. “I also greatly anticipate seeing our new London residence for the first time. It is in a very fashionable part of town—Golden Square.” She paused, clearly expecting a reaction to the announcement that she and her progeny had risen in the world.
Immediately, questions arose in Eleanor’s mind as to how they could afford such an address. It was no secret that the late Sir Yarborough had been suffering financial difficulties. Everyone in the county knew he’d been depending on his son to secure the family fortunes by means of an advantageous marriage.
“How lovely for you,” said Rowena, sounding only mildly awkward. “I’m sure you will enjoy it immensely.”
Lady Yarborough’s plump cheeks lifted in a smug smile. “I’m sure I shall. My Donald surprised me with the news of our relocation upon his arrival. At first, I was quite wroth with him for his tardiness, but I forgave him at once—his delay was owed to the need for the house to be refurbished, you see. According to him, the previous owners lacked taste entirely. Donald described the place as being utterly ghastly.” She drew the word out, emphasizing it with a disdainful wave of her pudgy, glittering hand. “He said the house looked like a fusty Tudor relic, and that there was no alternative but to gut and redecorate—in the Greek style, naturally.” She sniffed. “He tells me the gardens are in need of a complete redesign, but that will have to wait until next year so as not to interfere with several events we plan to host over the Season.”
Eleanor ignored the blatant hint, privately mourning for the house in Golden Square. To think of it being gutted and “modernized” made her sick at heart. She sincerely hoped the previous owners never saw what had become of their former residence.
After a moment, Lady Yarborough shook her head and again sighed. “If only my husband had lived to see our son’s triumph.”
Eleanor braced herself. Here it comes…
“The fine education he insisted upon for our Donald has greatly benefitted him, you know. Within the space of just one year he’s improved the estate in ways his father never imagined.”
As determined as she was to refrain from encouraging the woman, Eleanor couldn’t help herself. “How so, if you don’t mind my inquiring?”
The gleam that entered Lady Yarborough’s eyes confirmed it was just the sort of question for which she’d hoped. “Not at all, my dear,” she said, reaching across to pat her hand as if it were the most natural and appropriate thing in the world.
Eleanor barely stopped herself from jerking away. Fixing a placid smile on her face, she prompted her to continue. “Do go on, Lady Yarborough.”
The smug smile broadened. “Well you see, ten years ago my husband inherited land in Ireland, a great lot of land that was unfortunately populated by slothful tenants who rarely paid their rents and produced nothing save grief and more mouths to feed. I tried to convince him to do as some of his friends had and raise the rents, which would have enabled him to rid us of the squatters and thus free the property for more profitable uses, but he refused. My late husband always was far too softhearted, bless him.”
The woman’s tight lipped, scornful demeanor told Eleanor that the statement was anything but a fond eulogy.
In an instant, however, Lady Yarborough’s scowl disappeared, replaced by a sickly sweet smile. “My Donald, however, saw at once the merit of such a plan and began to implement it immediately upon inheriting, thank heaven,” she said with aplomb.
Eleanor’s stomach turned. The woman’s tone was so pompous—as if rack-renting and the forced eviction of the humblest of the working poor were acts worthy of pride! It was painfully clear now that the bully of her childhood had not changed one bit. He was still a brute. And now she knew where he’d learned to be so callous. The old Sir Yarborough might have been softhearted, but at least he’d had a heart.
Lady Yarborough nattered on, apparently unaware that there was anything in her boasts to inspire bile. “Fortunately, a much more pleasant alternative was found before he’d invested too much effort. While seeking an agent to oversee the management of our Irish interests, Donald learned that several of his friends’ families had sold similar Irish millstones to private investors—investors willing to pay a good deal more than the pittance the crown had offered,” she said with a hard nod that jiggled her chins. “He made arrangements to meet with one such man. The negotiations went very well.” A toothy smile spread across her face as she reached up to finger the ostentatious necklace of gold and pearls nestled against her décolletage. “A most pleasing end to a terrible bother.”
“And what of the tenants?” Eleanor asked, ignoring Rowena’s warning glare.
An indifferent shrug lifted Lady Yarborough’s round shoulders. “No longer our concern, thank goodness. Donald told me the new owner has already begun a purge.”
Eleanor struggled to keep from showing her anger and disgust…and failed miserably. “I cannot begin to imagine committing such a contemptible act against another human being.” Across the way, she saw Rowena close her eyes in defeat. But it was too late now. “You speak not of vermin, madam, but of men who have very likely worked that land all their lives, men whose fathers probably worked it for several generations. Men with families—innocent children who will now be condemned to suffer the most inhumane privation, possi
bly even death. Are they not deserving of some compassion?”
The subject of her censure flushed an ugly brick red. Holding her spine stiff, Eleanor steeled herself. But though the woman was clearly displeased, the anticipated explosion didn’t occur.
Instead, Lady Yarborough fixed her with a cold stare and smiled unpleasantly. “Your concern for your fellow man is quite admirable, my dear. Such altruistic idealism is fine for one so young and unburdened with responsibility. But we who are so burdened must be more practical. Those…” She paused for a beat and then began afresh, her tone growing even more patronizing. “Those people were not paying their rents. The land was supporting them while doing nothing for its rightful owners. You cannot expect us to have supported them without compensation indefinitely.” In an obvious dismissal, she then directed her full attention to Rowena. “With the proceeds from the sale, we will improve and modernize our properties here in England. Golden Square is but the first step of many.”
And the next will no doubt be to secure a rich, gullible wife for your hateful son. Eleanor fumed silently as the woman continued to boast about their plans. Plans that were, for all their surface polish, full of holes.
Over the years, the Yarborough estate in Somerset had slowly dwindled as outlying portions of it had been sold off to neighboring landowners in order to cover its owners’ mounting debts. It was unlikely the little that remained would be sufficient to support the family without the Irish rents to provide a steady, if modest, income. Old Sir Yarborough had been right to hold on to his Irish inheritance. By selling it, his foolhardy son and greedy widow had effectually condemned themselves to a slow decline. The money from the sale was a temporary sop for an incurable financial hemorrhage and wouldn’t support them forever. It would have been wiser to sell off the remainder of their English estate and relocate to Ireland. Looking at her, Eleanor knew Lady Yarborough would probably sooner die than give up the pleasures of London.
It struck her then that the house in Golden Square, the new baubles and finery, all of it was an expensive ruse. A carefully baited hook to lure some unsuspecting heiress into marriage so that they could use her wealth and connections to save themselves from ruin. The insult was that the woman thought her too stupid to see it.
She started as an elbow connected with her ribcage. Turning, she saw Caroline staring at her with a worried expression.
But before she could respond, Lady Yarborough again spoke. “Do any of you know anyone else in Golden Square?” she demanded, her nasal voice grating on Eleanor’s nerves like the screech of an un-oiled carriage wheel.
“We do not,” answered Rowena.
