Thedouble entendrehad him chuckling.
He’d made his home in London and had no intention of coming back to live in the north. The obvious solution was to dismiss Fothersgill and hire a more efficient steward to manage the crumbling pile. That could take time. He’d have to postpone his return to London.
With that possibility in mind, he went to his study and penned a letter to his man of business in London with instructions to secure the stallion if it came up for sale in Griff’s absence. He underlined the wordsNO MATTER THE COSTbefore sealing the envelope.
He dashed off another letter to Richard Tattersall explaining the reason an agent would act on his behalf when the horse became available.
He rang for Andrews and gave him the letters. “These must go in the post forthwith.”
The butler took the missives and left without even a hint of a bow.
As he climbed the stairs to his chamber, Griff wondered if, in the long run, the expense of keeping up Clifton Heights was worth it. The house was an enormous financial drain, although, looking around, he wasn’t sure what Fothersgill was actually spending the money on. It might be best to close it up and hire a caretaker. The home farm and the rents from hundreds of tenants were the main sources of the earldom’s income, and, hopefully, the farm would recover quickly from last year’s disastrous harvests. Thank heaven for hardy moorland sheep and the soaring price of wool. The colder the weather, the more the woolly beasts seemed to thrive.
Thinking of his tenants reminded him of the unfortunate turn of events at the trial. Perhaps if he’d paid more attention to what was going on in the lives of the people who lived on his lands…
It irked that a bluestocking from the Farnworth estate seemed to know more about his tenants than he did. As a brand new member of the Lords, he’d backed the Corn Laws of which she was so critical, but hadn’t been aware of any detrimental impact on common folks. And was there truth to what she’d said about weavers losing their livelihoods? Sometimes, the responsibility of being an earl was overwhelming. He’d never expected to inherit the title until he was older—and perhaps wiser.
He remembered a conversation he’d had not long ago with the Earl of Farnworth when they’d bumped into each other in the House of Lords. Griff had at least known he would one day become an earl and been groomed since boyhood for the eventuality. Gabriel Smith hadn’t even been aware he was in line to inherit an earldom—yet the career soldier seemed to have fallen into the role of earl with ease. He’d even increased Farnworth’s wealth and productivity despite taking over the reins during an economic post-war downturn.
Thicketford Manor was only a couple of hours away. It might be worth taking a carriage ride to chat with Lord Farnworth about hiring an efficient estate manager. Perhaps he could learn a thing or two about investing in profitable ventures like the Leeds to Liverpool Canal. The only drawback would be the chance of bumping into the opinionated Lady Susan. She’d mentioned she lived in the dower house, so perhaps he could avoid her.
Research
On the wayhome from the court, Susan leaned out of the carriage window and shouted to James Footman perched beside the driver. “Tell Conrad to turn around and head for the Chetham Library.”
“Why on earth do you want to go there?” Emma asked when Susan regained her seat.
“We’re so close. I want to do some research,” she replied, suspecting Emma might think she’d lost her wits. Perhaps she had. It was suddenly vitally important she disrupt the Earl of Pendlebury’s life.
“Into what?” Emma retorted. “We spent hours there researching arsenic last year when we thought someone was trying to poison Gabriel. In the end, the solution came from elsewhere, not from research.”
“This will be different,” Susan assured her, hoping she was correct. “One of the world’s oldest libraries is bound to have a wealth of information on horses.”
Emma narrowed her eyes. “What are you up to?”
“I want to know why Arabians are so important when it comes to breeding horses.”
Emma let out an exasperated breath. “You mean to tell me you plan to ask a Chetham docent where to find information on breeding horses. Are you mad?”
“Why should women not learn about such things?”
“It’s scandalous. They’ll throw you out.”
Susan had a feeling her friend might be right. “I won’t mention the wordbreeding.”A naughty voice in her head goaded her to add, “Nor the wordstud.”
Emma closed her eyes. “I’ll wait for you in the carriage. You won’t be in there long.”
Susan had visited the Chetham Library on numerous occasions in the past, sometimes alone. She was usually the only woman among a host of men. The glares of the tutting academics who frequented the library always let her know she had invaded a privileged male bastion of knowledge. She ignored them.
However, she’d never before embarked on researching a practice men would definitely consider unsuitable for women to even know existed.
When the carriage halted outside the library, Susan hoped Emma might have changed her mind, but her friend folded her arms and closed her eyes.
Head held high, Susan entered the hallowed institution, ignoring the disdain contorting every male face. She recognized many of them from previous visits. “You’d think they’d know me by now,” she muttered.
At least the ancient docent greeted her politely, though he didn’t smile. “Lady Susan. What can I find for you today?”
“I’m interested in learning about Arabian horses,” she whispered. It was a futile hope no one would overhear. Her words bounced off the thousands of leather-bound tomes piled high on towering shelves. Every head turned her way.