So the handsome marquess wasn’t all fine manners and starched linen. “I heartily agree,” Brantford said. “Sherbourne is willing to get his hands dirty, but then, that’s what the merchant class is for, isn’t it? Getting and spending, filling the pews, minding the shops while we mind the business of the nation. He doesn’t always keep to his place, but he’ll make me a decent sum before too long.”
The wind shifted, catching a flap of the tent and ripping it loose from its ties. Radnor captured the canvas and tied it back with a perfect bow.
“You cannot in one breath castigate Sherbourne for tarrying here when there’s work to be discussed, and then applaud him for having the ability to earn you substantial coin, Brantford. This mine is not a hobby for him, nor will it be for the people hoping to work here.”
Though Brantford had no idea what made a mine thrive or fail, he did perceive that Sherbourne had an ally in Radnor, and Radnor was a marquess who commanded the friendship of a duke.
“I mean Sherbourne no insult,” Brantford said. “I remark upon my own frailty. When do you expect this place will start turning a profit?”
Now Jones raised his voice, barking something about bloody damned figures. Sherbourne touched Jones on the arm, and the older man grew quiet.
“Didn’t you read Sherbourne’s financial plan?” Radnor asked. “Revenue should begin flowing by midsummer. The initial investments will earn out over five to ten years, depending on how quickly the mine repays the initial principal and at what percentage interest.”
Sherbourne tucked some papers into a satchel and left Jones to fuss with the parlor stove.
“My apologies for detaining you both,” Sherbourne said. “Brantford, any other questions?”
By rights, no commoner ought to have used such familiar address. My lord, your lordship, Lord Brantford were acceptable, but Radnor was two yards away, tying the tent flap closed, so Brantford kept his scold behind his teeth.
“I believe I’ve seen all there is to see at this point,” Brantford said. “I hope you intend to set a fine table this evening, Sherbourne, for hiking about has left me famished.”
In fact, the relentless smell of mud had all but obliterated his appetite.
“Then I’ll be happy to take you back to Sherbourne Hall. My wife is looking forward to meeting you, and I’m in need of sustenance myself.”
Radnor walked with them to Sherbourne’s waiting gig, where a boy stood holding the marquess’s horse. Brantford would cheerfully have waved good-bye to the Marquess of Meddling, but his vexatious lordship merely steered his horse to walk along beside the carriage.
“Where is your next destination, Brantford?” Sherbourne asked, giving the reins a shake. “Will you return to London, tarry here in Wales, or repair to your family seat?”
“I haven’t decided. The hospitality at Haverford Castle is outstanding, and I’m not anxious to subject myself to another week on the king’s highway so soon.”
Sherbourne drove well, and he was turned out in the first stare of casual gentlemanly fashion. The beast in the traces was sleek and muscular and the gig well sprung. Resentment welled because a small, irrational part of Brantford had been hoping to see Sherbourne fail.
Why should wealth come to a man who had no great standing, no particular learning, no family of any consequence? Why shouldn’t Sherbourne have to struggle a bit, or more than a bit? Though not too much—Brantford did need rather badly for this investment to be profitable.
“That’s your home?” Brantford asked as they topped a rise and a stately country house came into view.
“My home, and the former dower house for Haverford Castle. We purchased it from the St. Davids in German George’s day, and each generation has kept the house modernized in every particular.”
How proud he was of a mere jumped-up manor house, though his residence did have rather a lot of windows. Also a fine formal garden that led to a park, which transitioned to cultivated land and pastures. The outbuildings were nicely placed behind the main house—a carriage house and a sizeable stable, a summer kitchen, laundry, and spring house, among others.
Gravel walks joined the buildings, and trimmed hedges marked off the gardens. The premises were, in fact, about the same size as the Brantford estate in Yorkshire.
“Will you join us for dinner, Radnor?” Brantford asked.
“Alas for me, no. I’m expected to relay a report of the day’s business to Haverford before I join my lady wife for supper.”
Brantford hadn’t exactly made a map of the neighborhood, but surely Radnor’s errands took him in the opposite direction—back to Haverford Castle—rather than along this bucolic lane?
“You could send a note,” Sherbourne said. “Have Lady Radnor join us. Mrs. Sherbourne would be delighted to have her ladyship share another meal with us.”
Another meal…Meaning Sherbourne regularly entertained the marquess.
Radnor had a hand in running the mine, Sherbourne had married the duke of Haverford’s sister-in-law, and by escorting Sherbourne back to his home, Radnor was sending a clear signal to any presuming earls: Sherbourne had allies, close at hand, and well placed.
And yet, the duke had not invested in this mine, while Brantford had. Perhaps dinner would afford a tired, hungry earl far from home several opportunities to remind his host of that salient fact.
*
“His lordship is a bumpkin,” Charlotte said, setting a pot of heartsease on the bedroom mantel. “He talked about nothing save his collieries in Yorkshire and his sporting acquaintances. Was he much of a pest at the works?”
She should have written to her family and gleaned their opinions of Brantford, for he’d been a disappointment in fine tailoring.
Sherbourne closed and locked the bedroom door. “Radnor nannied us at every turn, which I gather was at Haverford’s insistence. My sense is that Brantford knows little of mining, and while he could have interrogated me at length for the benefit of his own education—which would have earned my esteem—he wasn’t about to appear ignorant before Radnor or before you.”
Charlotte stood in front of her husband and slipped the pin from his cravat. “For his pride, he does not have your esteem. Sleeve buttons, please.”
Sherbourne offered her his right hand, then his left, and she slipped the fastenings at his wrists free. “Pride doesn’t offend me, Charlotte. I’m proud. I hope I’m not arrogant. I can undress myself.”
She undid his pocket watch next, then set his jewelry on the vanity and went after the knot in his cravat.
“I am your wife, and undressing you is my pleasure.”
He tipped his chin up. “You mean that.”
“I spoke vows, you did too. Shall I order you a bath?” She folded his cravat over the back of a chair.
“No, thank you. I did nothing today that came close to qualifying as physical exertion. My thanks for a fine meal. You have quite the treasure trove of recipes.”
“Our cook has recipes too, but she was loath to try them on you without an invitation. Shall you take off your shoes?”
He settled into the chair by the hearth, his sigh redolent of weariness…from a man who hadn’t exerted himself.
“Are you relieved to have Brantford’s visit behind you?” Charlotte certainly was.
“I should be. Might you sit for a moment, Mrs. Sherbourne?”
Charlotte took a seat on the hassock, though sitting still was difficult. Her first true guest beyond family had come to dinner, and nothing had gone wrong…or had it?
“What did you and Brantford talk about over the port?”
Sherbourne bent to remove his shoes. He set them aside and regarded the fire blazing in the hearth.
“Brantford is unhappy with the terms of our agreement. He waited all day to ambush me, until neither you nor Radnor could hear him express dismay at the schedule upon which his investment will be repaid.”
Nothing of Brantford’s displeasure had been evident when Charlotte had rejoined the men for a final cup of tea before sending Brantford back to Haverford Castle. He’d been the gracious, smiling, lordly guest, bowing with friendly presumption over Charlotte’s hand.
“You are unhappy with Brantford,” Charlotte said, taking her husband’s feet into her lap.