sales of our cider continue to decline?” Gerard strode for the stable. “I thought the improvements we budgeted should have turned sales around.”

He should have spoken with the old man in charge of the orchards yesterday, but he’d done his usual cursory ride in his hurry to leave. The whole point of paying an estate agent was for the agent to talk to the labor.

But then, he’d thought he had Winifred to do the same for the household. He was the friggin’ earl. He was supposed to know more than Avery and Winifred. He did know, but he could only use what he’d been told, and they hadn’t known what to tell him.

And he hadn’t asked. He’d simply skimmed the surface, let everyone continue as they’d always done, and never once questioned.

Riding in front to avoid replying, Avery cursed at a sight Gerard couldn’t see yet, and spurred his mount ahead.

His educated land agent seldom behaved as less than a gentleman. Gerard scanned the orchard for what had Avery agitated. A fox? A poacher?

All he could find was Iona talking to the wizened old orchardist.

Iona had known they were coming—the bees had warned her.

But after last night, she had to learn how far she could trust the Earl of Ives and Wystan. A landowner who only visited once a year didn’t rate high on her trustworthy scale, but for now, she gave him benefit of the doubt. She’d deliberately detained the orchardist until the earl arrived.

“What are you doing here?” Avery snarled as he rode up in a flurry of dust. “We don’t need you slowing down the harvest.”

“I don’t think Nan and Barkley are interfering with the pickers,” Gerard said with unconcern, riding up behind his agent. “How do you do, Barkley? And how do our apples fare this year?”

Iona had learned the old orchardist had given charge of the picking to his eldest son years ago, but he still knew his trees. She waited for Barkley to speak what he’d told her.

Instead, the old man gave Avery a wary look and merely said, “I’m right fine, my lord.”

Angered by his need for reticence, Iona defiantly answered the rest of the earl’s question. “The orchard is aging, my lord. The oldest part should have been replaced a decade ago. One bad winter is likely to take half your ancient trees.”

The earl frowned. “I thought we had a rotation plan in place, Avery?”

“The trees are fine,” the steward growled. “Females don’t know anything.”

Avery reeked of a liar’s rancid sweat. He knew what was wrong.

“Barkley knows trees better than anyone,” Iona retorted, glaring at earl and steward. “Tell him he’ll keep his position if he answers truthfully.”

“Of course you’ll keep your position, Barkley,” the earl responded with unusual snappishness. “You’ve worked for us long enough to retire with pension and cottage, if you wish.”

“He’s an old fart, set in his ways,” Avery protested. “He should have been put out to pasture long ago. As you saw yourself, the profits from the orchards have been in decline for years.”

“Because you won’t let me improve them!” Summoning up his courage, Barkley finally spoke up. “I been telling you that you can’t make money without spending it. The trees need replacing regular like.”

“The orchard is a significant part of our income. I know the budget isn’t large, but we had a plan.” The earl waited for his agent to explain.

Iona was still furious at his carelessness, but she tamped down her temper at this evidence that the earl was guilty only of expecting loyalty from his employees.

“Tell Lord Ives what this year’s budget was spent on,” Iona suggested, using the pleasant voice she’d learned from her mother—just before she swatted someone, literally or metaphorically.

“A prettier cottage for Bess,” Blakely spit out.

He’d been a little cruder when telling Iona where the money had gone. Beekeepers didn’t rank with earls. It was amazing what one could learn from this side of the class divide.

“Bess? In the village?” The earl didn’t raise his voice, but the question demanded answer. “Have we purchased her lot?”

“It’s a good property, my lord,” Avery replied defensively. “Brings in a decent rent.”

“For whom?” Ives demanded. “I’m fairly certain I didn’t notice the rents on the books. Perhaps we should go back so you can show them to me. I trust the income is more than the lost cider profits?”

“Perhaps you should speak with your tenants more often, my lord,” Iona said evenly, unable to resist digging in the knife just a little. “People can tell you more than books.”

She walked away. What the earl did next would tell her if she could trust him with her future and that of her sister.

She didn’t need the bees rising protectively around her to tell her he was furious. She could smell it. She reassured her workers and sent them back to the hive.

When she returned to the house to wash hours later, the ladies were all abuzz.

“He threatened to horsewhip him!” Grace said, scandalized.

“I heard he flung him out on his ear,” Simone murmured in wonder. “I’ve never seen the earl angry. He’s always been such an even-tempered, polite boy.”

Iona hesitated on the bottom stair. “What happened?”

“Avery!” Winifred said, obviously disgruntled. “My nephew has gone mad and thrown out his estate agent. I know Avery is an arrogant toady, but he’s all we have. Who will be in charge of the harvest now? I certainly don’t have time or knowledge.”

“The earl let Avery go?” Iona asked in astonishment. She hadn’t thought he’d go that far in dealing with a gentleman who had evidently worked here for years.

“He was stealing,” Grace whispered. “He had such a good position too. It doesn’t make sense.”

“Of course, it makes sense,” Mary Mike said callously. “The earl took charge of the estate when he was barely out of school. Avery thought he knew better than an Oxford scholar. I daresay he’s been fudging the books all along, but he got greedy.”

Avery had done more than pad his mistress’s

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