Free The Wedding Escape by Karyn Monk Page A

agricultural depression,” growled Lord Sullivan. “Ten years and it’s still got us landowners by the throat.”
    â€œThere won’t be any end to it,” predicted Lord Beardsley, morosely staring into his drink. “Foreign produce floods our shores every day. Damned American wheat has practically killed English wheat farming.”
    â€œI’ve reduced the rents of my tenant farmers so many times, I might as well pay them to live on my lands,” grumbled Lord Chesley.
    â€œIt’s either reduce their rents or lose them altogether,” Lord Beardsley pointed out, “and there’s no one to take their place.”
    â€œYoung men go to the cities now,” reflected Lord Dunlop. “Can’t make money as a farmer.”
    â€œIn the meantime, the costs of running our estates keep escalating. Every time it rains I think my roof is going to come crashing down.” Lord Sullivan huffed with annoyance. “It takes over forty pots just to catch the drips.”
    Although Haydon had managed to elude the financial strain of the current agricultural depression by making shrewd investments in industry years earlier, Jack was not unfamiliar with the economic difficulties of the landed gentry. Repairs and maintenance for their ancestral homes were exorbitant, and could only be contemplated once the countless daily expenses of upkeep had been addressed.
    Obviously whatever Viscount Philmore was collecting on his rents could not begin to address the constant hemorrhage of his crumbling estate. If one combined that with his gambling debts, failed investments, and assorted vices, it was no wonder he had scurried to find another heiress the minute his seduction of Amelia had failed. God forbid he might actually try to find himself a job, Jack reflected contemptuously. Not even the threat of financial ruin could rouse these aristocrats to join the ranks of the working class. They believed it was far easier to marry wealth than to earn it—even if that meant enduring a bride for whom they harbored nothing but disdain. Marriage to an heiress would enable Philmore to settle his debts and restore his estate.
    All while he indulged in his taste for men.
    Abruptly, Jack set down his glass.
    â€œYou’re not leaving?” Lord Sullivan’s expression was genuinely mournful.
    â€œCome, Kent,” said Lord Chesley, “you’ve only just arrived.”
    â€œLunch will be served shortly.” Lord Beardsley tried to entice him. “I understand larded guinea fowl is on the menu.”
    â€œI’m afraid my visit to London is too brief to permit me to stay,” Jack explained. “I have some business matters to attend to, and then must leave for Inverness. Perhaps another time.”
    He thought he detected a flash of envy, as if they wished that they had somewhere of consequence to go, where they would be called upon to make decisions of import. But in the next moment their expressions were resigned and blank once more. They sank into their deeply padded chairs and signaled for the footman to bring them another round of drinks, preparing to get more inebriated before they had to rouse themselves for the serving of their six-course lunch.
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    T O THE HOUSE, OLIVER.” JACK SLAMMED THE DOOR of his carriage shut.
    Oliver regarded him curiously from his driver’s seat. “Did ye find him, then?”
    â€œHe wasn’t there.”
    â€œDid ye get his address?”
    â€œNo.”
    Oliver folded his arms across his skeletal chest and waited.
    â€œAre ye fixin’ to tell me what’s made yer temper so black, or are we goin’ to sit here awhile an’ enjoy the sights?” he asked finally.
    â€œMy temper isn’t black.” In truth Jack felt dangerously close to smashing something. “Lord Philmore wasn’t there, but he is due to make an appearance shortly for lunch.” His voice was dripping with acrimony. “I