“Gavin, may I introduce you to my wife. Winnifred, this is Gavin Fraser, a friend from childhood and one of the best farmers on the estate.”
“Lady Dunkeld” Gavin inclined his head. He nodded at Sin, his eyes twinkling. “I’d heard that ye’d taken a bride but I didn’t believe it. But now that I see her, I can see why ye’d become leg-shackled to this lass.”
“Yes.” Sin eyed his wife, watched as her cheeks pinkened. “I was most fortunate in my circumstances.” He could have been caught in a compromising situation with a truly boring woman. Not just one who simply pretended to be colorless. She was a puzzle waiting to be deciphered.
“Well, let us sit and I’ll call for refreshments.” Sin strode to the side of the room and pulled the bell for a footman.
Winnifred fiddled with the cuff of her gown. “Might I ask, why you went to Glasgow for seed? Have you no local suppliers?”
“Gavin, here, is particularly fond of the Scotch whisky at the King’s Boar in Glasgow.” He dropped back into his chair and grimaced as its legs squeaked under his weight. “He takes any chance he can of riding to that fair city.”
Gavin glared at him. “I didnae go there for Scotch. Although the brew from that distillery is quite lovely,” he told Winnifred. “The local seed supplier only sells Pole Rivet wheat which is late to ripen. Add that to this confounded endless winter, and I’ll ne’er harvest. I’m going to try another variety, the Losanna red. Mayhap that will put bread in our bellies.”
A maid entered, pushing a serving cart. She placed a tray of berry tarts that Sin knew Winnifred was fond of in front of her mistress, but his wife didn’t spare a glance at the pastries. She scooted to the edge of her seat. “And do you rotate your crops? Do you use any supplements to help aid growth?”
Gavin’s eyebrows shot up.
Winnifred eyes flared as wide as a hunted doe before she rested back on the settee, a tight smile on her face. “My apologies. I only ask because I’m sure it is something my father would be interested in.”
Sin took the decanter the maid had brought and poured Gavin and himself a dram of whisky. “My new father-in-law is a botanist. Worked at the royal gardens for a time. My wife, I believe, was very involved in his research.”
She smoothed her palms down her skirts. “I merely assisted him as best I could.”
Sin snorted, and garnered a reproachful look from his wife in return. Blast it, her interest went far beyond that of a note-taker for her father. Her mind was agile and curious and her father had struck him as neither. Sin wondered how productive Mr. Hannon would be now that his “assistant” was no longer in his service.
An ache grew behind his breastbone, and Sin rubbed his knuckle over it. It was no wonder Winnifred appeared listless at times. Kenmore must appear very dull to her without an occupation to engage her mind.
“There’s naught much to tell at this point.” Gavin rooted through the bowl of nuts until he found one to his liking. He popped it in his mouth. “Even the best seed cannae grow withoot the sun. My barley has barely peeked its head out of the dirt.” He shook his head. “The worst of it is, in three years our barrels will be empty of whisky. Might have to drink that swill coming from the Lowlands.”
Winnifred fiddled her thumbs but remained silent.
“Wife, you were to write your father this afternoon, I believe. Why don’t you ask Gavin the questions you’d think he would?” Sin sipped his whisky, eyeing her over the glass’s rim. “Perhaps he’ll even have a word of advice for the farmers up here.”
“I’d listen to any ideas he has,” Gavin agreed.
“Well….” Winnifred tipped her head to one side, her brow wrinkling slightly as though listening to an unheard voice. Or considering every option she could think of. Hell, his wife could have been running multiplication tables in her head for all he understood of her.
She nodded. “I do know my father is interested in crop management. Do you rotate your crops?”
“Of course. Four-field rotation.” Gavin stared morosely into his glass. “I like to leave one of me fields to lie fallow, but I cannae do it this year. With how poor the harvest is, I need every square inch I can get.”
“And do you spread manure on your fields?” Winnifred asked.
Gavin shot him an uncomfortable look, and Sin bit back a grin. It wasn’t a typical conversation with a marchioness but it was interesting.
“Aye. Fat lot of good it’s doing,” Gavin grumbled.
Winnifred pressed her lips tight, her right knee bobbing up and down.
Sin wondered how long she could keep it in, whatever it was she was wanted to say. She looked near to bursting. But his wife swallowed whatever it was down, her leg stilling, her fingers worrying her cuff again.
Sin pressed his lips flat. Well, if his wife needed prodding, he could do that. “What sort of experiments is your father running with soil supplements?”
“Well,” she said hesitantly, “have you heard of Johann Fredrich Mayer?”
Gavin scratched his head. “Nae, milady. Can’t say that I have.”
“Didn’t he have some new ideas about crop rotation?” Sin asked.
