“Coincidences can take your breath away, can’t they?” The carriage slowed. “And here we are, at Barnsley’s. I believe you’ll find that some of your clothing is a little drier. Let’s have some tea and continue our conversation, Miss Nightingale. I have an idea forming, that I’d like to propose.”
As they drew to a halt, and she found herself being helped from the carriage, Jessie wondered what he might have in mind. If it was anything like some of the suggestions that had been thrown her way, she would be gone within minutes.
She would never be a whore again, no matter how dire her circumstances—the thought of the brothel made her shiver. Neither would she be a mistress. Not now. Not after that night. There had only been one man in her life, in her body. And after him, there could be no other. She knew that with overwhelming certainty.
It wasn’t easy to picture Sir Gerald in the role of anyone’s protector, but God knew she’d experienced more than a few such surprises over the past couple of years.
So she accepted his hand, stepped to the pavement, and reached inside for her small bundle of belongings.
“If you will trust me, Miss Nightingale, you may leave your bundle here. Let us talk of some ideas that you might find appealing over tea. If they meet with your approval, then we’ll return to the carriage. If not, you may retrieve your belongings when we are done, and be on your way.”
She looked at him, knowing this was the point where she had to listen to her intuition, and obey it or ignore it. Should she turn tail and run, trust him, or stay and listen and reserve the trust for after their discussion?
A rumble of thunder helped her with the decision, and she let her bundle lie inside the carriage. “Very well, Sir Gerald. Tea and conversation. I confess to a thirst for the first and an interest in the second, so…”
She accepted his arm and allowed him to lead her into Barnsley’s, where—to her surprise—she was greeted as normally as anyone, despite her bedraggled appearance, and soon seated at a table near the roaring fire. She wondered if she might steam like a Christmas pudding whilst drying out.
And when the tea appeared, a large pot, cups and saucers, and a variety of charmingly presented edible treats, she sighed with pleasure, and looked at her companion.
“Thank you, Sir Gerald. Indeed, this is an unexpected delight and I am most grateful.”
“Hell is looking quite tasty, isn’t it?”
She laughed. “I apologise. That was rather dramatic of me, even though it expressed my sentiments at that precise moment.”
He chuckled. “I do understand.” He passed her cream and sugar and made sure her plate held several delicate pastries, along with the famous scones. “So you say you are comfortable with mathematics and figures, Miss Nightingale.”
She nodded around a mouthful of deliciousness, chewing with relish on the sweetness.
“Good. Have you ever administered the books of an estate?”
She nearly choked, but managed to swallow before her surprise got the better of her. “Er, no, sir. ’Tis not the custom to allow women anywhere near such matters, is it?”
He shook his head. “No, it’s not. But I am in dire straits. Mr Haskings, my estate manager, has succumbed to age and, sadly, illness, leaving me with nobody to take over his duties.” He poured tea for them both. “You must understand that Crawford Hall is a small holding, just outside of town. My family has lived there for several generations, and it will, of course, pass to my son. As is the way of things. But for now, it’s just myself and Piers. And he’s away more often than not.”
“Does Mr Crawford pursue a career?” Jessie asked carefully. All too often, heirs sowed wild oats and frittered away their inheritance.
“Indeed he does. His interest is in animal husbandry. Crawford Hall boasts a line of sheep he hopes will revolutionise the British wool industry.”
“Goodness.” She blinked. “How…how fascinating.” She noted his lips twitch at her words.
“I know, not the usual activity for a well-bred gentleman, and scarcely an occupation designed to arouse curiosity in any lady’s heart,” he sighed. “I despair of him giving me grandchildren, since he shows no interest in selecting a wife. There's time yet, but he’s not getting any younger.”
Slightly discomfited by these revelations, Jessie simply nodded and sipped her excellent tea.
“He’s going on for twenty-five,” revealed Sir Gerald. “Past the time he should’ve wed. But there it is. He’s hopeless when it comes to the business end of running Crawford Hall, and I’m not much better. We’ve relied on Haskings for so long that it has come as a horrid shock to be without him.”
“I would imagine it is.” There was little else for her to say.
“So. Would you be interested in taking over his position?”
Sir Gerald made the outrageous suggestion while casually selecting another choice pastry, as if it was an everyday occurrence to offer a woman the job of running an estate.
“Me?” she blinked, fighting for breath, and praying not to choke on her heart, which seemed to have thrust its way up into her throat. “You can’t be serious. I don’t know how to answer…” She frowned. “Although I would enjoy such a role, there’s the subject of my birth, not to mention my gender. There might be repercussions for Crawford Hall…”
“Trivial matters that will not even be mentioned.”
She shook her head. “I still don’t know what to say…”
