Upper Biddleton could rot.
By rights he should have sold them off long ago. He would have done so had it not been for the fact that his father would have been upset. The Upper Biddleton lands had belonged to the Earls of Hardcastle for five generations. They were the oldest of the family holdings and had served as the family seat until the scandal.
Gideon knew he could not sell them, so he had done the next best thing. He had ignored them.
As much as he hated these lands, Gideon discovered now that he hated being cheated even more. He looked up with a cool smile and found Crane watching him anxiously. The man was well named, Gideon reflected. Tall, loose-limbed, and thin, Crane looked rather like a large, long-legged bird.
"Well, Crane, it appears everything is quite in order." Gideon closed the ledger, aware of the steward's air of instant relief. "Very neatly kept accounts. Excellent job."
"Thank you, sir." Crane nervously ran a hand over his balding head. He appeared to relax somewhat in his chair. His bright birdlike eyes darted between the ledger and Gideon's scarred jaw. "I do my best, my lord. I only wish you had given us some notice of your arrival so that we could all have been better prepared."
Gideon was well aware that the household had been thrown into chaos by his unexpected appearance. The housekeeper was frantically hiring staff from the village to help her get Blackthorne Hall in order.
Out in the hall Gideon could hear people scurrying up and down the stairs. Provisions were being ordered. Dust covers were being yanked off furniture that had not been used in years. The smell of freshly applied polish seeped into the library.
There was not much that could be done on short notice for the gardens. Bleak and windswept, they reflected the neglect they had received under Crane's stewardship. His mother had always loved her gardens at Blackthorne Hall, Gideon reflected.
"My butler, Owl, who accompanies me everywhere, will be arriving this afternoon. He will take charge of the staff." Gideon watched Crane's eyes flit nervously to his scar. Few people could manage to politely ignore Gideon's ravaged face until they had gotten accustomed to the sight. Many people never got used to it.
Deirdre, for example, had found Gideon's face repulsive. She was not the only one. How unfortunate, people often said, that the earl's second son had not been as handsome and refined as the first.
Everyone had felt extremely sorry for the Earl of Hardcastle when he had lost his firstborn son and found himself obliged to make due with a less than satisfactory heir. Gideon privately doubted that any man could have followed successfully in Randal's footsteps.
Randal had been the ideal son and heir, all any parent could wish for.
Just ask anyone.
Randal had been ten years older than Gideon, their parents' only child for years. His mother had doted on him and the earl had been proud of the handsome, cultivated, athletic, honorable young man who would be the next Earl of Hardcastle.
Randal had been groomed for the earldom from the cradle and he had met everyone's expectations. He had thrived in his role. His friends were legion, his athletic prowess respected, his honor unquestioned.
He had even been a fairly decent older brother, Gideon reflected. Not that he and Randal had been very close. The difference in their ages had resulted in a relationship between them that had resembled that of an uncle and a nephew.
Gideon had struggled to imitate his brother for years until he had finally realized it was impossible to copy Randal's natural style and flair. If Randal had lived, Gideon would no doubt have managed several of the Hardcastle estates for him. Randal had preferred life in Town to the work of overseeing his family lands.
Gideon had grieved when his brother had died. Not that anyone had noticed. Everyone had been too busy consoling his parents, who were inconsolable. Especially his mother. Many had feared the Countess of
By rights he should have sold them off long ago. He would have done so had it not been for the fact that his father would have been upset. The Upper Biddleton lands had belonged to the Earls of Hardcastle for five generations. They were the oldest of the family holdings and had served as the family seat until the scandal.
Gideon knew he could not sell them, so he had done the next best thing. He had ignored them.
As much as he hated these lands, Gideon discovered now that he hated being cheated even more. He looked up with a cool smile and found Crane watching him anxiously. The man was well named, Gideon reflected. Tall, loose-limbed, and thin, Crane looked rather like a large, long-legged bird.
"Well, Crane, it appears everything is quite in order." Gideon closed the ledger, aware of the steward's air of instant relief. "Very neatly kept accounts. Excellent job."
"Thank you, sir." Crane nervously ran a hand over his balding head. He appeared to relax somewhat in his chair. His bright birdlike eyes darted between the ledger and Gideon's scarred jaw. "I do my best, my lord. I only wish you had given us some notice of your arrival so that we could all have been better prepared."
Gideon was well aware that the household had been thrown into chaos by his unexpected appearance. The housekeeper was frantically hiring staff from the village to help her get Blackthorne Hall in order.
Out in the hall Gideon could hear people scurrying up and down the stairs. Provisions were being ordered. Dust covers were being yanked off furniture that had not been used in years. The smell of freshly applied polish seeped into the library.
There was not much that could be done on short notice for the gardens. Bleak and windswept, they reflected the neglect they had received under Crane's stewardship. His mother had always loved her gardens at Blackthorne Hall, Gideon reflected.
"My butler, Owl, who accompanies me everywhere, will be arriving this afternoon. He will take charge of the staff." Gideon watched Crane's eyes flit nervously to his scar. Few people could manage to politely ignore Gideon's ravaged face until they had gotten accustomed to the sight. Many people never got used to it.
Deirdre, for example, had found Gideon's face repulsive. She was not the only one. How unfortunate, people often said, that the earl's second son had not been as handsome and refined as the first.
Everyone had felt extremely sorry for the Earl of Hardcastle when he had lost his firstborn son and found himself obliged to make due with a less than satisfactory heir. Gideon privately doubted that any man could have followed successfully in Randal's footsteps.
Randal had been the ideal son and heir, all any parent could wish for.
Just ask anyone.
Randal had been ten years older than Gideon, their parents' only child for years. His mother had doted on him and the earl had been proud of the handsome, cultivated, athletic, honorable young man who would be the next Earl of Hardcastle.
Randal had been groomed for the earldom from the cradle and he had met everyone's expectations. He had thrived in his role. His friends were legion, his athletic prowess respected, his honor unquestioned.
He had even been a fairly decent older brother, Gideon reflected. Not that he and Randal had been very close. The difference in their ages had resulted in a relationship between them that had resembled that of an uncle and a nephew.
Gideon had struggled to imitate his brother for years until he had finally realized it was impossible to copy Randal's natural style and flair. If Randal had lived, Gideon would no doubt have managed several of the Hardcastle estates for him. Randal had preferred life in Town to the work of overseeing his family lands.
Gideon had grieved when his brother had died. Not that anyone had noticed. Everyone had been too busy consoling his parents, who were inconsolable. Especially his mother. Many had feared the Countess of
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