Cold-Hearted Rake (The Ravenels #1)(46)

“Nothing’s been decided yet,” Devon said stonily, following the pair.

Kathleen glanced over her shoulder, her eyes narrowed. “Then why were there railroad surveyors on the estate land?”

“I prefer not to discuss my business affairs in the hallway.”

“You gave them permission to be there, didn’t you?” Kathleen tried to stop and face him, but West tugged her inexorably toward the library.

“I wonder if I should have Darjeeling tea?” West mused aloud. “No, perhaps something stronger… Ceylon or pekoe… and some of the little buns with the cream and jam… What were those, Kathleen?”

“Cornish splits.”

“Ah. No wonder I like them. It sounds like something I once saw performed at a dance hall.”

They entered the library. Kathleen tugged at the bellpull beside the door and waited until a housemaid appeared. After requesting a tea tray and a plate of sandwiches and pastries, Kathleen went to the long table, where Devon had unrolled a map of the estate lands.

“Well, did you?” she asked.

Devon gave her an ominous glance. “Did I what?”

“Did you give the railway men permission to survey your land?”

“Yes,” he said flatly. “But they didn’t have permission to talk to anyone about it. They should have kept their mouths shut.”

Her eyes flashed with outrage. “Then it’s true? You’ve sold the Wootens’ farm?”

“No, and I don’t intend to.”

“Then what —”

“Kathleen,” West broke in gently, “We’ll be here all night if you don’t let him finish.”

She scowled and fell silent, watching as Devon weighted the corners of the map with various objects.

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.