Sterling frowned. Was that Caroline? Why was she inquiring about barrels?
“More will be delivered tomorrow,” a man answered.
“How many more are you expecting?”
“Twenty,” the man answered as Sterling reached the foot of the ramp.
“I will add that to the total of what we have. I do not anticipate that more will be needed, but when the barrels are delivered tomorrow, order ten more. If we do not use them, they can be stored downhere until needed.”
Sterling frowned. Why was Caroline directing the purchase of barrels? Was that not her father’s job as the estate manager?
They had not seen him yet and Sterling took in the vast cellar, not surprised that there were several barrels stacked that nearly took up the entire area and waiting to be filled, but a few barrels remained where some full wine casts were stored. They grew three types of grapes that became three different types of wine. Each type was segregated to their own wall and tunnel off each wall. There was only one barrel on each side—each with a spigot. On the fourth wall were smaller casks, also with spigots.
“Where is all the wine?” he asked, startling both Caroline and the man she was speaking with, who Sterling did not know. “Lord Sterling Wynd,” he introduced himself.
“Johan Theron,” he responded.
The surname was familiar because members of the Theron family had worked at Wyndview Farm for decades.
Theron then nodded to Caroline. “If you will excuse me,” he then turned and climbed the ramp leaving the two of them alone.
“Where is the wine if we produce so much?”
“Shipped,” she answered. “Very little stays at Wyndview Farm. What remains is one barrel of each kind from last year’s harvest.”
That explained the near empty walls not the smaller casks.
“A few barrels remain local and are taken into town while the rest are loaded onto Trade Wynd ships and taken to ports around the world.”
“Not so far,” he corrected with a smile. “Only to America, England, and the Caribbean.”
“Not to countries on the Continent?”
“They produce their own wine and are of the opinion that theirs is superior to ours.”
“Is it?” she asked with a smile.
“I suppose that would depend on the person you ask.” He chuckled.
She started to walk up the ramp and Sterling assumed they were done in the cellar, which he supposed they were. Instead, he watched her back and the movement of her dress and how it pulled gently against her backside each time she stepped until they emerged back into the large barn.
“Why are there smaller barrels separate from the others?”
“Those are Father’s experiments,” she answered. “He has been grafting grape roots in an effort to create a better grape for a better wine.”
“Has he been successful?”
“I can ask a servant to bring you a glass and take you below so that you can taste for yourself.” She smiled as her brown eyes lit up with humor.
“Would you join me in that tasting?” he asked.
“I have already sampled the wine and prefer not to do so again.”
“Is it truly so awful?”
“It is drinkable, but the quality is not what one would expect from Wyndview Farm. I believe Father is hoping that it will still age well and become superior.” She strolled for the entry to the barn. “I am not so optimistic.”
“Then I will also forgo a sampling,” he decided with a chuckle as they stepped into the sun. But he could not fault Hallaway for attempting to improve their wine and perhaps one day he might be successful.
