Apparently, Grey’s efficient assistants had taken themselves off before he’d come downstairs. He either had to lock himself in the library alone or start packing up his papers and books and start moving into their new abode without aid. He’d done that often enough in the past. He’d rather hoped for assistance this time.
He was just building up resentment when Sutter, the lawyer, arrived with the new lease agreement.
“If you’re still willing to let the place, I don’t think we can achieve a more favorable agreement.” The lawyer flung the paperwork on the table.
Well, there he was, decision time. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t encountered killers and thieves in the past. Perhaps, this time, he wouldn’t remove himself elsewhere for their convenience.
Grey studied the legal language, and knowing he was insane to do so, signed the agreement, most likely because his head hurt, and absurdly, he wanted revenge. He’d spent a long night tossing and turning, dreaming about Miss Leonard and babies. The village was already giving him nightmares.
“I am only staying to catch the murderous villain making my life a misery.” Grey handed back pen and paper.
“The terms are not generous enough to risk lives.” Sutter folded up the paper. “Captain Huntley plans to start a patrol along the river. You might want to keep a dog on the grounds. The manor has plenty to share.”
“I’ll add dogs to my list, along with cook, maid, and laundress. I ought to just stay at the inn. It would be simpler,” Grey grumbled.
“Marry,” Sutter advised. “Women have a way of organizing households that is almost mystical.”
Newly married, Grey diagnosed as Sutter left, lease in hand. He’d return in a few years to see if the fool still believed domestic harmony achievable.
Given his history, Grey disliked traveling with companions. He generally preferred inns and boarding houses where he was a stranger. He was stretching his luck by keeping two assistants, one female. He would have to hope that he could keep his distance long enough to finish the book without disaster befalling anyone.
So far, he seemed to be failing at that. Obviously, he was all about in his head to even consider staying. But dammit, he needed Leonard. And he was tired of packing up and leaving for the convenience of others.
After picking at his breakfast, Grey strode to the stable yard to see if Andrew had loaded the curricle. They’d sent the baggage wagon back after their trunks and crates had been delivered to the inn. The curricle could easily make a few short trips.
He found the carriage’s wheel off and a young lad helping a stable hand hold it in place while someone else worked underneath. They didn’t give him a second look.
Grey sensed an ominous story behind the repair. That carriage was new.
He could pack up his papers and walk to the house, but he refused to be left in the dark about why his rig had been disabled. Would his horses turn up lame next? Had his curse actually fallen so soon? Preposterous. It was just this damned village. He’d heard tales. He wasn’t so self-absorbed to believe he was always the target.
Needing explanation, Grey tracked the twins to an array of farm carts in front of the mercantile, where they haggled over a half pence worth of greens. He considered throwing down a coin and marching them off, until he realized they’d done this all their lives and were enjoying themselves. A penny had probably meant the difference between a meal and going hungry at times. The pair needed to keep their skills sharp.
Reconciling himself to the haggling with the knowledge that the honest twins would not cheat old women who needed the blunt as much as they did, Grey turned toward his cousin’s dratted gallery. The least he could do was inspect the art she’d dragged him here to see.
It was far too early in the day for Thea to have bestirred herself, or Arnaud or any of the artists, apparently. At this hour, the gallery was relatively quiet. Only the bootmaker he’d not yet met and the major he knew as a clockmaker occupied their booths. Smart, on their part, if farmers were in town for market day. They already had customers.
Grey examined the easels lined up in the center of the gallery. He recognized Gustav’s copies of some of the lesser Italian artists—odes to ancient gods or motherhood or whatever sentimental rubbish he thought might appeal. He was an excellent craftsman, Grey acknowledged. Unfortunately, he lacked the creativity of a goat.
The work by the Jones boy showed promise, if he had a little more training. Perhaps Grey could recommend him as an apprentice to one of the London masters, although most required payment. Even popular artists were seldom wealthy.
Conscious that Thea expected him to bring in an audience, Grey slowly worked his way to the back of the room. By the time he’d seen everything, some of which was surprisingly good, the small flurry of early customers had departed. Both the rough-looking major and the town-polished bootmaker were sharing a plate of buns and watching him.
“Handsome work.” Grey admired a pair of Hessians in the bootmaker’s booth. “Do you do fittings?”
The slender young shoemaker took the boots off the shelf for his admiration. “Mais oui, monsieur. You are Lord Greybourne? I am called Jacques Rousseau. Welcome to Gravesyde.”
“Riverside, if Sutter has his way.” Major Ferguson indicated a chair. “If you’re waiting for your carriage to be repaired, you have time to sit a spell. Those assistants of yours are too clever by half.”
“You can explain my carriage? The twins, I know, are inexplicable.” Grey took a seat and allowed Mr. Rousseau to expertly pry off his boots. He needed a more fashionable pair anyway.
Once the major’s tale unfolded, Grey lost any satisfaction he’d just gained. “Andrew is not an experienced driver! He might make light of this, but many people could have been seriously harmed—women, children, his sister. . .”
Damnation! He should have listened to instinct and never agreed to stay. The twins could have been thrown from the carriage and broken limbs or necks. . .
“The entire village watches out for each other,” the young bootmaker said with a Gallic shrug. “In Town, runaway horses, they may maim at any moment, and their victims left in the gutter to suffer.”
“In Town, no one is deliberately trying to kill me,” Grey retorted. “That rather escalates the chances of harm.”
