“Flour, Your Grace.”
Greyson stared. “Flour.”
Mrs. Walsh nodded vigorously. “She says the sacks delivered this morning are inferior to her standards.”
Haverton coughed into his fist.
Greyson leveled a look at him. “This is not amusing.”
“Oh, no, Your Grace,” Haverton said, straightening at once. “Not amusing at all.”
Greyson rose from his chair, tall and imposing in the quiet room. “Mrs. Walsh, inform Cook I will inspect the supply myself this evening, after I’ve returned home. If the flour is indeed of unacceptable quality, the supplier will be replaced.”
Mrs. Walsh’s shoulders relaxed. “Yes, Your Grace. That will please her greatly.”
Greyson nodded. “And tell her to refrain from shouting at delivery boys. They do not mill the flour.”
Mrs. Walsh struggled not to smile. “Indeed, Your Grace.”
As she left, Haverton opened the ledger again. “Your decisions are always swift, Your Grace. And fair. The tenants appreciate it.”
“And the third matter?” Greyson asked, ignoring the praise.
Haverton hesitated, then cleared his throat. “The village schoolmaster has requested funds for repairs to the school roof. He says it leaks during heavy rain, and he fears the children may have to begin lessons in the church hall instead.”
Greyson frowned. “Why was this not in last quarter’s report?”
“Because the previous storm damage was thought superficial, Your Grace. But the beams are beginning to rot.”
Greyson rose and went to the window, locking his hands behind his back. “How much does he request?”
“Thirty pounds, Your Grace.”
“Give him fifty.”
Haverton blinked. “Fifty?”
Greyson turned slightly. “If we repair only the roof, the walls will fail next. Have the entire structure inspected. Reinforce the beams. Replace the windows. A half measure now will cost more later.”
Haverton bowed deeply. “The schoolmaster will be overwhelmed with gratitude, Your Grace.”
Greyson dismissed that with a flick of his hand. “That is irrelevant. A poorly maintained school yields poorly educated tenants. Poorly educated tenants make poor workers. We invest now to prevent inefficiency later.”
Haverton smiled. This was why the people of Callbury respected their duke: he might not be warm, but he wasreliable. And he never made decisions that were unfair.
Haverton wrote down a few things, then bowed. “I won’t take up more of your time, Your Grace. Thank you.”
Greyson nodded, then, after the doors closed after Haverton, his gaze returned to the open letter resting by his side. It had arrived earlier that morning, delivered by a footman with far too much eagerness.
He unfolded it again, though he had committed every line to memory.
Your Grace,
We should be delighted to receive you for tea this afternoon…
It would give our families a chance to grow better acquainted…
There is so much to discuss regarding the wedding…
