The American Earl by Joan Wolf Read Free Book Online Page B

us be clear on this, Julia. I do not plan to remain in England. I’ll do my best to straighten things out for you here, but then I’m going home.”
    To disguise my glee at this response, I said, “Let’s give the horses a gallop to shake the stiffness out of them,” and took off. I heard Baron’s hoof beats right behind me and we galloped full out along the winding bridle path under the bare winter trees.
    * * * *
    I took Evan over every inch of the twenty-eight thousand acres that comprise Stoverton. We went through the Home Woods and around the lake. We rode around the extensive farmlands and I introduced him to our tenant farmers and their families. I knew them all, knew the names of their children and the names of their cows and pigs as well. I had been visiting them since I first learned to ride and they all knew how much I wished I could do something to help them.
    Evan was friendly and courteous. Most of our tenants were polite but subdued. They didn’t know what to expect from this strange American who now held the power of their livelihoods in his hands.
    I explained to Evan as we rode back toward the house that most of our tenants had been farming Stoverton land for a long time.  Some of the families had been here for centuries.  It was the income from the farms that made up the bulk of our family’s income.
    He was quiet for a while, riding Baron on a loose rein as we walked along one of the bridle paths in the woods. I was just going to ask him what he was thinking when he spoke. “Those cottages. Do they belong to the tenants or to the estate?”
    “They belong to the estate, like the land. The tenants pay us to rent them.”
    “Who is responsible for the upkeep of the tenant farms? The tenant or the landlord?”
    I looked straight ahead, between Isabella’s pointed ears. “The landlord,” I said in a small voice.
    “Those cottages are in wretched condition. I wouldn’t house animals in them at home. How was this allowed to happen?”
    “My father never put any money into the estate. He just took the rent money and gambled it away. Surely you got that picture from our meeting with Mr. Shields this morning.”
    He was silent. Finally I looked at him. “I haven’t been collecting rents since my father died. The tenants need what they grow to feed their families.”
    “I know it’s not your fault,” he said.  His profile looked set and stern and I thought he would be a hard man to cross.”  He glanced at me then went back to looking straight ahead.  “I’m going to be honest with you, Julia.  This inheritance is a burden I don’t want.  I tried to get out of it, but I can’t.  Under your law, I am the Earl of Althorpe and am responsible for the lives of people whom a few months ago I never knew existed.”
    “Dear Christ,” he said, “The looks on the faces of those people! Those dreadful cottages!”
    “I know.”  My voice was muffled.  I was mortified but there was no excuse I could offer. 
    “Neglect like that must have started well before your father took over.”
    I looked between Isabella’s ears and didn’t reply.
    The path narrowed and the horses splashed across a stream and scrambled up a small hillside. When we were again able to ride side by side he said, “Those cottages must be completely rebuilt. I can’t have people who work for me living in squalor.”
    “It’s hardly squalor,” I protested weakly.
    He shot me a scornful look. “American workers would never consent to live in such conditions. But American workers have choices about their employment. It seems this is not the case in England.”
    I hated this.  I hated the way he kept comparing us to America.  It was true that Papa, and my grandfather as well, had been poor custodians of their heritage, but the heritage was still here.  Beautiful Stoverton, with its history and its magnificent collection of art, was still here. The spirit of Philip Marshall lived on in every golden stone, every