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THIRTY-TWO
Since she was practically on the doorstep, Bess rode straight to Hardwick Manor, deciding not to go home and change her clothes first. The male attire would lend her authority for what she had to say to her brother.
As she rode up to her old home, Bess realized how much she loved it, in spite of the fact that the small manor house had fallen into a dilapidated state. She reined in and sat staring at it, remembering how devastated she had been that day when they had been evicted. Her heart ached for its sad state of disrepair, and she felt a wave of guilt wash over her, because she had transferred her affection to Chatsworth.
She remembered the promise she had made to this house: I will be back to claim you! And she had kept that promise. But she had gotten it back for James because Hardwick was his birthright, and look what he'd done to it. Anger replaced her sadness and guilt. Why couldn't James be a man? Why couldn't he make the five hundred acres of Hardwick pay?
She swung down from the saddle, tethered Raven to a tree, and strode up to the front door. She rapped with her riding crop, then walked in. Bess dismissed the servant who approached and spoke directly to her sister-in-law. “Where is he, Lizzie?”
The young woman stared in disbelief at Bess's attire, then indicated the parlor.
Bess swept into the room with weapons primed. “James Hardwick, while you sit here bending your elbow, your workers are rioting because they cannot pay their rents!”
“Lady St. Loe,” he mocked, “welcome to my humble abode.”
“Don't use that tone with me, you idle son of a bitch.”
“You always did swear like a man; now you've taken to dressing like one. Are you growing a cock under those fine breeches, sister?”
“If I were a man, I'd take a horsewhip to you. Now, explain what's happening at Hardwick.”
The sneer dropped from James's face and was replaced by a sullen, morose look. “I can't make a go of it, Bess. I've tried and tried. Either the crops fail or the sheep die of foot rot. This spring I couldn't even sell my wool. They said it was inferior quality, and it was so tick-infested, I had to burn it.”
“Dear God, James, you have to be a better manager. You know sheep must be dipped to keep them tick-free. You should know that successful farming takes hard work and good management. We as landowners have a responsibility to our tenants.”
“I haven't collected rents from Hardwick's tenant farmers for months—I know they cannot pay,” he said defensively.
“That's all very well, but what about those who work for you and rent from me? No wonder fighting broke out in Chesterfield, if my tenants have to pay rent when yours don't! Why haven't you done something about this mess?”
“You're the one who's filthy rich. Why haven't you?” he asked bluntly.
“In case you've forgotten, I spent the last eight months in the Tower.”
“You likely deserved it; you always were a meddling bitch.”
Bess took a menacing step toward him and raised her riding crop. Behind her she heard Lizzie scream. “Don't hurt him—James spent a month in Fleet prison for debt.”
Bess swung around and stared at her young sister-in-law. Her shrewd glance swept back to James and her black eyes narrowed. “How did you get out?”
“I borrowed the money to pay the debts.”
“You mortgaged Hardwick?” Bess accused.
When James nodded she stepped forward and brought her crop down across his shoulders.
He snatched it from her hand. “How the hell else could I get money? Marry it, like you did?”
“You bastard!” Bess snatched up the iron poker and advanced on him. He backed up in a hurry, knowing what her temper was like when riled. “Why didn't you come to me?” she demanded.
“Pride, I suppose.”
“You have no bloody pride. Look at this place!”
“I've just borrowed some money to make repairs,” he said defensively.
“Cancel the loan instantly. I'll pay for the repairs and fix the roof. I'll also loan you money to get more livestock and put in some crops.”
“You've always wanted Hardwick, and this is your way of getting your grasping hands on it.”
