“I’m showing it to her today.” If she didn’t go into the village with his mother’s guests.
It wasn’t until after he’d left her that he realized she’d never actually agreed to his request.
Surely, after all that had transpired between them the night before, she would agree to the betrothal. But no. Hunt could not make assumptions where Allison Meadowbrook was concerned.
Nonetheless, talking about this wasn’t helping.
“What about you, cousin? Are you eking any profits out of the brewery yet?” He turned to Damien, who was staring out at the sea, his blond hair tousled from their ride.
“I don’t expect to recoup my investments until next year,” Damien answered. “But I will. In time.”
“I cannot help but question your judgment in producing another ale right now.” Edgeworth, who was never silent in his opinions, stated it bluntly.
And indeed, Hunt wondered if Edge wasn’t spot-on, what with the recent Beer Act making it so all and sundry could produce and sell the stuff.
As if it would put an end to overindulgence. That it was even a consideration in passing it was laughable.
Damien shifted his gaze to Edgeworth and then cocked a brow. “Not all of us can be heroes.”
Edgeworth shifted on his horse. Neither Damien nor Hunt knew if their friend planned on returning to the front line. Hunt doubted Edgeworth himself knew.
“The cheaper ales being produced nowadays are too sweet.” Damien grimaced. “They have to be with the water they’re using.”
“But you’ve got a fresh spring…”
“Essentially a limitless supply that will allow me to produce the best unaged mild ale in the country. It’ll be dark, but not as sweet, and have a lower alcohol content.”
Hunt stared at his cousin. “So you intend to—”
“Sell to the masses.”
“But with a lower alcohol content, won’t it be considered inferior?” Hunt asked.
Damien’s smile would have looked wicked if not for the viscount’s almost angelic appearance. “Doubtful. Not when it quenches their thirst better. They’ll simply drink more.”
Hunt stared at his cousin—a man who had struggled to get through school and avoided intellectual discussions claiming he lacked smarts—was unusually clever when it came to business.
And to human nature.
He reminded Hunt a little of Allison’s father.
“I was rather hoping you’d stick with a porter.” But Edgeworth looked approving. “And I was hoping Hunt had found some other chit. I’ve not much hope for these teachers from Miss Primm’s. Blasted bluestockings.”
Lately, it seemed, Hunt’s circumstances were all they ever talked about. Hunt scowled and then squinted as the sun rose just enough to glisten across the water.
And yet, Hunt couldn't plan for the future until he had funds to pay off the Duke of Malum.
A prickle of foreboding slid down his spine.
Because, all joking aside, if Allison refused him…
“I’ll show her the addendum this afternoon.” So long as Allison remained at Cliffhouse while the other guests went into the village.
“Take her down to the beach,” Edge suggested. “But don’t fall on your arse this time. Have Mr. Evans order a romantic picnic brought down to the cove. Then, get her alone in the cave.” His brows jumped in a suggestive manner.
Hunt couldn’t help but imagine a scenario where he had her alone, in private, a blanket covering the sand…
His cock jumped at the possibilities, but he vehemently thrust his thoughts aside. Arousal wasn’t at all conducive to riding.
