Taking up a pencil, Devon drew a line across the east side of the estate. “Recently I met with the director of the London Ironstone railway,” he said. For Kathleen’s benefit, he explained, “It’s a private company, owned by a friend. Tom Severin.”
“We’re in the same London club,” West added.
Devon viewed the map critically before drawing a parallel line. “Severin wants to reduce distance on London Ironstone’s existing Portsmouth route. He’s also planning to relay the entire sixty-mile line, start to finish, with heavier rails to accommodate faster trains.”
“Can he afford such a project?” West asked.
“He’s already secured one million pounds.”
West uttered a wordless exclamation.
“Precisely,” Devon said, and continued in a matter-of-fact tone. “Of all the prospective plans for the shortened route, the natural gradient is best across this area.” He shaded lightly between the parallel lines. “If we were to allow London Ironstone to cross the eastern perimeter of the estate, we would receive a large annual sum that would go far toward easing our financial problems.”
Kathleen leaned over the table, staring intently at the pencil markings. “But this is impossible,” she said. “According to what you’ve drawn, the tracks would run not only across the Wootens’ farm, but at least three other leaseholds as well.”
“Four tenant farms would be affected,” Devon admitted.
A frown grooved West’s forehead as he studied the map. “The tracks appear to cross two private drives. We would have no access to the east side.”
“The railroad would build occupation bridges at their own expense, to keep all parts of the estate connected.”
Before West could comment, Kathleen stood and faced Devon across the table. She looked stricken. “You can’t agree to this. You can’t take the farms away from those families.”
“The solicitor confirmed that it’s legal.”
“I don’t mean legally, I mean morally. You can’t deprive them of their homes and their livings. What would happen to those families? All those children? Even you couldn’t live with that on your conscience.”
Devon gave her a sardonic glance, annoyed that she would automatically assume the worst about him. “I’m not going to abandon the tenants. I fully intend to help them find new situations.”
Kathleen had begun to shake her head before he had even finished. “Farming is what these people have done for generations. It’s in their blood. Taking away their land would break them.”
Devon had known this was exactly how she would react. People first, business second. But that wasn’t always possible. “We’re discussing four families out of two hundred,” he said. “If I don’t strike a deal with London Ironstone, all the Eversby Priory tenants may lose their farms.”
“There has to be another way,” Kathleen insisted.
“If there were, I’d have found it.” She knew nothing of all the sleepless nights and exhausting days he’d spent searching for alternatives. There was no good solution, only a choice between several bad solutions, and this was the least harmful.
Kathleen stared at him as if she’d just caught him snatching a crust of bread from an orphan. “But —”
“Don’t press me on this,” Devon snapped, losing his patience. “It’s difficult enough without a display of adolescent drama.”
Kathleen’s face went white. Without another word, she turned and strode from the library.
West sighed and glanced at Devon. “Well done. Why bother reasoning with her when you can simply crush her into submission?”
Before Devon could reply, his brother had left to follow Kathleen.
Chapter 13
K
athleen was halfway down the hallway before West could catch up to her.
Having become acquainted with Kathleen, and knowing Devon as well as anyone could, West could say with authority that they brought out the worst in each other. When they were in the same room, he reflected with exasperation, tempers flared and words became bullets. The devil knew why they found it so difficult to be civil to each other.
“Kathleen,” West said quietly as he reached her.
She stopped and turned to face him. Her face was drawn, her mouth tight.
Having endured the lash of Devon’s temper more than a few times in the past, West understood how deeply it could cut. “The estate’s financial disaster is not of Devon’s making,” he said. “He’s only trying to minimize the casualties. You can’t blame him for that.”
“Tell me what I can blame him for, then.”
“In this situation?” A note of apology entered his voice. “Being realistic.”
Kathleen gave him a reproachful glance. “Why should four families pay the price for all the rest of us to survive? He has to find some other way.”
West rubbed the back of his neck, which was stiff after two nights of sleeping on a lumpy bed in a cold farmhouse. “Life is hardly ever fair, little friend. As you well know.”
“Can’t you talk him out of it?” she brought herself to ask.
“Not when I would make the same decision. The fact is, once we lease the land to London Ironstone, that tiny eastern portion of the estate will become our only source of reliable profit.”
Her head lowered. “I thought you would be on the tenants’ side.”
“I am. You know I am.” West reached out to take her narrow shoulders in a warm, sustaining grip. “I swear to you, we’ll do everything possible to help them. Their farms will be reduced in size, but if they’re willing to learn modern methods, they could produce double their annual yields.” To make certain she was listening, he gave her the gentlest possible shake. “I’ll persuade Devon to give them every advantage: We’ll reduce their rents and provide drainage and building improvements. We’ll even supply machinery to help them plow and harvest.” Staring down into her mutinous face, he said ruefully, “Don’t look like that. Good God, one would think we were conspiring to murder someone.”
“I have just the person in mind,” she muttered.
“You had better pray that nothing ever happens to him, because then I would become the earl. And I would wash my hands of the estate.”
“Would you really?” She seemed genuinely shocked.
“Before you could blink.”
“But you’ve worked so hard for the tenants…”