The Hardie Inheritance by Anne Melville Page A

forced to produce a polite compliment, she turned hastily to another of the paintings. ‘This looks more modern.’
    â€˜My brother on his twenty-first birthday. A gift from the tenants.’ He shook his head sadly as he considered the handsome young officer. ‘Family tradition says that the eldest son should stay at home and learn how to run the estate, ready for when it’s his turn. The second son, which is me, should go into the army. But Miles could see that
I
was never going to be a soldier, so he dashed off himself. Reckons that the pater is good for thirty years or so yet – plenty of time to get in a bit of polo.’
    â€˜So will you be the one who learns to run the estate?’
    â€˜If I do, there won’t be much future in it for me.’ Until that moment his mood, ever since her arrival, had been light-hearted, but suddenly he was serious. ‘Not much fun, you know, being a younger son. You’re brought up in a place, get fond of it and then whoosh, you’re out. Not your home any longer. You’re supposed to make a new life for yourself from scratch. But there’s a long list of professions which are reckoned unsuitable, and a remarkably short list of approved jobs for which one has any inclination or aptitude.’
    â€˜You won’t need to earn a living, will you?’
    â€˜Don’t know. There’ll be an interview just before my twenty-first birthday when I shall find out whether I’ve given the impression of being a steady chap or a wastrel. But I doubt if there’ll be a great deal to spare, either way. It’s one of the things that nobody believes, and I hardly believe it myself. Of course the family’s stinking rich in the sense of owning property, but as far as ready cash is concerned, almost everything that comes from the estate in the way of rents goes straight back into it again. The house costs a fortune to maintain. It’s more of a worry than a privilege.’
    â€˜So you’re well out of it, are you, being a second son?’
    â€˜Only in one sense. I can’t bear the thought of being cut offfrom Castlemere … Coming back just for Christmas, that sort of thing. While Miles is still in the army, I could make myself useful here for a bit after Oxford if I chose; but that would make it even worse when I had to leave. It’s such a marvellous place.’
    She was touched by the strength of his feeling, and his pride and affection as he led her through one room after another in the morning, and one garden after another in the afternoon.
    â€˜My mother mentioned a herb garden,’ she said, when it seemed that the tour was over.
    â€˜Oh yes. On the other side of the walled garden. A bit dull, in my opinion. But very famous. Everything in it is properly medieval.’
    â€˜It was where my mother first met my father.’
    â€˜Then certainly we must see it. Without the herb garden, clearly I shouldn’t ever have had the pleasure of entertaining you here.’
    Yes, it was dull. Grace needed all her imagination to picture the scene which her father had often before his death described to her: of the wine merchant’s son bursting upon the most beautiful girl he had ever seen as she painted in the garden. Rupert, waiting until she had seen enough, was thinking of something else.
    â€˜Your uncle Archie, your mother’s brother, had the same problem as me,’ he told her. ‘He wasn’t even a second son. A grandson. But brought up here, because his mother was dead. Never any possibility at all that he could inherit: he’d always have known that. But all those years here as a boy before going out into the world – it made it hard for him to settle down anywhere, I think. So you see, I shall have to be careful.’
    â€˜I do see, yes.’ It was time for her to return home. ‘Did you say you were coming to Oxford?’
    â€˜In October, yes. To The House, to read