“I shall challenge to pistols at dawn any man other than myself who dares write his name next to the first waltz in your card,” he said, making her a slight bow.
Good heavens, was he flirting with her? Was his arrogance such that he thought he could draw even her within the orbit of his charm?
She raised her eyebrows and looked coolly back at him while Aunt Lavinia laughed and Cousin Adelaide snorted.
*
There was an image of the country gentleman that had always been singularly unappealing to Percy. It was that of the landowner who tramped about his land in ill-fitting coat and breeches and shapeless boots, sturdy staff in hand, faithful dog at heel, discussing crops and livestock and the weather with his foremen and laborers, and crop rotations and markets and the weather with his steward, horseflesh and bonnets and the weather with his neighbors, and the weather and the Lord knew what else with all and sundry while kicking up his heels at their various entertainments and admiring their hopeful, fresh-faced daughters.
Heaven help him, he thought during the following days, but he was in sore danger of becoming that country gentleman himself. He could be in London, he thought the afternoon following the first wave of visits—there were others—enjoying himself even if the Season had not yet begun and town was thin of company. He could be at Tattersall’s or Jackson’s boxing saloon or calling upon his tailor or his boot maker or be in his bed sleeping off the effects of last night’s carousing with friends—or enjoying the favors of a new mistress. Instead, he was looking about Ratchett’s dusty office and suggesting that with his superior skills the head steward—at that point Ratchett was the only steward, but that was a minor point—ought to be able to spend all his time in the office, engaged in the invaluable task of keeping the books in order, while a younger, less skilled and experienced man, an underling, in fact, undertook the mundane day-to-day task of running the farms and suggesting ideas for change and improvement. A second steward, that was, who could benefit from the advice and guidance of the head man. A subordinate, of course. A sort of disciple, in fact.
Ratchett squinted at Percy’s left ear and muttered something about making inquiries in the neighborhood, though he did not know what a new man could do that was not already being done. But Percy had already written to Higgins, his man of business in London, directing him to find an experienced steward, a man who would be willing to be known officially as the understeward, though in reality he would be no such thing, and who would also be willing to incarcerate himself in the depths of nowhere for a somewhat better-than-average salary. The sooner such a paragon was found, Percy had added, the better he would be pleased. Soonest would be even better than sooner.
He had written the letter last night while his bedchamber was being cleaned up. He had discovered upon retiring that the fire was out and that a whole chimneyful of soot had descended into the room with a slightly charred, very dead bird. Crutchley, who had arrived in answer to his summons only moments after a distraught Mrs. Attlee, had given it as his opinion that the front rooms, especially this front room, were more likely to have such things happen than the back rooms, given that they got the brunt of any wind that happened to be blowing. Yet again he had advised Percy to move into the best guest chamber at the back. Yet again Percy, for no reason that was apparent to himself, had chosen to be stubborn. The earl’s apartments would be made habitable for the earl, and he was the earl. At least his bed, when he had finally climbed into it, was dry, as was the wallpaper, slightly water stained, beneath the window.
Percy had discovered during the morning that almost none of his land had been cultivated for a number of years and would not be this year either if plans to the contrary were not made soon. Ratchett and the old earl had apparently not held with crops, which required too many workers to seed them, then to tend them, and then to harvest them, and which were too much at the mercy of the weather at all three stages. There were sheep galore, however, and some of the new lambs had already put in an appearance, no one having warned them that it was still winter and they might be well advised to remain inside their mothers where it was warm and out of the wind for a little longer.