“Why would ye live there? Dinnae they call it Auld Reeky because it is so smelly?”
“Livie,” Amelia chastened softly, but Lord Brenmore didn’t seem fazed.
“They do, and it is.” Mirth flashed behind his eyes before he leaned back in his chair, his features turning sober. “It is a complicated matter. Suffice it to say that while Brenmore—which is a few days’ ride west of Glenrose—remains mine, I could no longer live there.”
“I never wish to leave the Highlands,” Livie said decisively.
“Sometimes we do not have a choice in the matter,” Lord Brenmore murmured.
“Does that have to do with why ye’re here? Why ye’ve been in my da’s study, reading the estate ledgers?”
While the Earl’s brows lifted at the astute question, Livie gazed at him warily.
“I had hoped we might ease into this particular matter a bit more,” he commented, setting his cup aside. Livie continued to stare steadily at him. “But aye, Lady Lavinia, ye are getting to the heart of it.”
“Ye may call me Livie,” the girl announced. “Everyone else does. Will that help ye feel more relaxed, my lord?”
Once again, surprise at the girl’s boldness flashed across Lord Brenmore’s face. Amelia would have reminded Livie to temper her blunt nature with an approach more befitting a lady, but before she could speak, Lord Brenmore smoothed his features and tilted his head.
“It is a start. Thank ye, Livie. And ye may call me Blair if ye wish. Ye too, Miss Harlow.”
Finding herself the focus of his attention, Amelia felt heat climbing up her neck and into her cheeks. To keep her teacup from rattling on its saucer, she set it back on the tray.
It was far too intimate to call Lord Brenmore by his Christian name—Blair. Her stomach knotted into a fluttering tangle just to think of it. Yet he had given his permission for such an intimacy between them.
His gaze flicked back to Livie then, freeing Amelia to take a few cooling breaths.
“I will not beat around the bush any longer, Livie. Though ye are young, ye are to be the Countess of this estate, so I feel I ought to speak plainly when it comes to yer future.”
“Verra well,” Livie replied, straightening in her chair.
“It is my duty as yer guardian to look after yer upbringing and education.” Lord Brenmore—Blair—tilted his head toward Amelia. “I believe ye are in most capable hands on both fronts, so I see no need for changes there.”
Livie nodded matter-of-factly in reply.
“My other responsibility,” Blair continued, “is to oversee the estate until ye come of age and take over the task yerself. As ye have observed, I have been familiarizing myself with the ledgers to assess the financial solvency of Glenrose.”
“Aye,” Livie said cautiously.
Blair leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees. He drew in a breath, and Amelia knew even before he spoke that the news was bad.
“The fact of the matter is, Glenrose teeters on the brink of ruin—and has for some time now. That is no indictment of yer father,” he added quickly. “It is a miracle he was able to keep the estate afloat as long as he did. But times have changed. The outside world is no longer willing to wait a few years for a good harvest—or even a few months.”
“I…I dinnae understand,” Livie said.
Blair’s furrowed brow softened ever so slightly. “Ye see, the Highlands have never been ideal for farming. The soil is finicky, as is the weather. The land can be used more profitably for sheep grazing. Wool fetches a higher price than grain.”
Amelia’s stomach dropped. He did mean to clear the estate, then.
“Ye mean,” Livie said slowly, “ye mean to replace the farmers with sheep?”
Blair gave a single, curt nod.
“But ye said we were staying afloat,” Livie replied, growing indignant. “Why do we need greater profits?”
“Rents and taxes do not wait for fair weather or favorable harvests. They must be paid.”
“But if we’ve made do until now, why cannae we continue as we always have?”
Blair’s mouth flattened grimly. “The problem is, there is no way to guarantee that factors beyond our control will remain as we wish them to. Any small change—another crop blight, say, or a hard frost in the spring, or a drop in grain prices—would decimate the entire estate. Glenrose—yer inheritance, aye, but also the lands and this manor—would be lost for good.”
“And the people of Glenrose?” Livie demanded. “What of them? Where will they go if ye push them out and fill their plots with sheep?”
“It may not seem like it now, but relocating the crofters is more benevolent than the alternative. Just think, if Glenrose collapses, what would happen to them? They’d be forced out anyway, only with fewer choices and less time to make them in. It is a greater mercy to give the crofters a chance to find other employment, or to assist them in emigrating to North America where they might start fresh.”
Her insides a riot of confusion, Amelia stared at Blair. She had thought him cold and hard-hearted at first, concerned only with profit at any expense. Now she didn’t know what to make of him.
He was still making the case for clearing hundreds of families from their ancestral lands in the name of profit, but his reasoning—to protect the crofters from a worse fate, and to save all of Glenrose from dissolution—seemed almost…compassionate. Still, how could replacing the people of Glenrose with sheep be considered merciful? There had to be another way.
Livie’s hands had balled in her lap, her mouth turning down in stubborn resistance. Amelia knew that look. The girl could be as intractable as Highland granite when she set herself against something. Amelia had learned that instead of continuing to push, it was best to try a new
