He shook his head with a smile. “I doubt you’d be interested.”
“I doubt you would know what would interest me.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “If I didn’t know better, I would suspect you’re trying to stir up a quarrel. And over a dull set of factory workers and managers that would bore you.”
“Perhaps you are right. I’ll visit my sister in Northumberland while you’re away.”
“I would prefer you remain at Thornhill while I am away,” he said abruptly.
“Why?”
Dark lashes hid his enigmatic, tawny gaze from her. “There are good reasons.”
She frowned. “Are they so secret that you cannot tell me?”
He tightened his hold on her hand. “Can’t you just accept that I wish you to remain at home? We can visit your sister together.”
“No. I don’t see why you won’t explain. I will keep nothing from you, my lord.” He scowled at that and she saw she’d scored a hit.
“Does your mother involve herself in your father’s business?”
“No, but I know of many who do,” she said, although she didn’t.
“Oh? Who might they be?”
“I can’t think of their names right at this moment,” she replied, annoyed.
“Good, because right at this moment, I should like to enjoy dancing with you.”
She realized she had grown stiff with indignation, and he almost pulled her off her feet as he swept her over the floor. He was a very good dancer, and very sure of himself in his dark evening clothes and crisp white cravat that highlighted his good looks. Well he should not be so sure of her. And if he thought he could dump her in the country with his grandfather and forget her…well, he would soon see the error of his ways!
Chapter Ten
GRANT’S GOOD INTENTIONS to make peace with Mercy had fallen at the first hurdle. He ground his teeth. He’d spent most of the long journey north, thinking of ways to improve matters between them, but with the need to keep his activities to himself, it seemed nigh impossible. The clever young woman he was about to marry, was not one of those debutantes happy to just make a home and look decorative. And, although he was glad of it, her penchant for brutal honesty between the sexes drove him mad. Grant’s horse skirted a stand of leafy alders. He rode out onto a flat grassland and found the raised area of blackened ground where the rail was blown apart. The scoundrels had chosen the spot well. Woods edged either side of the line and blocked them from view when they put their scurrilous plan into action.
After Grant dismounted, he walked over the hard-packed ground but it gave up no secrets. With a frustrated shake of his head, he remounted.
An hour later, Grant stopped at Oaktree village inn, a half-timbered dwelling in a street of the same, where he supped and watered his horse. In the inn’s taproom, he learned that a vehicle had traveled through the village at speed late on the night of the explosion.
Leaving the village high street, Grant rode past the old gray stone church and churchyard with its stand of ancient yews. At the signpost, he turned toward the Haighton estate. He trotted his gelding along a rutted lane edged with an ancient, crumbling stone wall, the sweet country air perfumed with newly harvested hay and wild dog roses. Sunshine painted gold a distant field of ripening wheat. His chestnut gelding, Ares, splashed across a slow-moving stream, dammed up after a section of the riverbank had collapsed, a rivulet of the river Tees which ran past the Haighton mansion. The horse climbed the far bank and walked onto a daisy-strewn meadow which was part of the earl’s estate.
Grant located the copse of elms near the place where Nat had been struck down by a gunman’s ball. The hum of bees, clustered around a bunch of fresh flowers on the ground where he had fallen. Despite the area’s natural beauty, a sense of menace lingered. Grant put it down to a surfeit of feeling for a decent man he’d liked and respected.
He found nothing more of interest, so he headed for Haighton Park, several miles away. When he reached the stone mansion in the early afternoon, a butler announced him and he was shown into the drawing room, perfumed with flower-filled urns.
Jenny offered him tea, which he declined in favor of a fortifying whiskey. She sat opposite him on one of a pair of oyster satin covered sofas. In a black silk gown, her face looked pale and strained.
“Nothing has come to me, although I’ve thought and thought,” she said in her soft voice. “Especially during the night when I cannot sleep. During the daylight hours, I have the children to distract me, and the running of this estate and the other properties my husband owned. It is a challenge. Nathaniel controlled every aspect of his fortune. I wish now that he had trusted me with some of it.” She sighed. “Men seem to think that raising children takes up all of a woman’s thoughts. We women are far more able than that.
Grant accepted the glass of whiskey from a footman. After the servant left the room, he sat forward, filled with compassion for her. “Do you have adequate help?” He was surprised to learn she had these concerns. A reliable staff could go a long way to smooth over the running of the estate’s business.
“Sir Ewan Snowden has recommended a new secretary. He has been very critical of the one we have. Said he’s not worth his salt. Sir Ewan visits every day when he’s up from London. I’m extremely grateful for his generous support.”
Grant nodded, finding it odd that Nat would employ inadequate staff. He had been far too astute to fall foul of idlers. “Do you know if Nathaniel owned shares in the Stockton and Darlington Railway Company?”
“Why yes, he was one of the principal shareholders.” Jenny frowned. “Their value has substantially decreased since the first attack on the line, have they not?”
“I believe so. But if nothing more occurs to prevent the opening of the railway, I expect they will rise again.”
