With another frown, Miss Leigh turned her gaze to him, studying his costume with far more scrutiny than Malcolm liked. Following her gaze, he was grateful that he’d managed to secure a black stock for his neck and a simple waistcoat to replace the silk one he’d dressed in that morning, but there was no hiding the fact that his trousers and shirt were rather fine.
“My master and I are of a similar size, and he often gives me his handoffs,” said Malcolm as he guided the horse along down the straight road.
“That is generous indeed,” she said, though her tone was filled with such disbelief that his interest was piqued. “Especially towards a groom.”
“You do not believe me?”
“I have no reason to think you are lying, Mr. Malcolm, but I find your account of your master quite puzzling.”
Malcolm smiled to himself as the gig rocked back and forth. “Ah, are there rumors aplenty swirling about town concerning the poor fellow?”
But Miss Leigh shook her head. “Beyond his name and status, there is nothing. That is the trouble.”
“And that isn’t a good sign?”
“Gossip is the lifeblood of society,” she replied. “The moment a new addition to the neighborhood takes possession of a manor, speculation runs rampant concerning the mysterious people. Long before they ever make a public appearance, much is known about them. Yet Mr. Tate is a mystery. He isn’t accepting visitors—”
“Yes, but he’s been ill of late,” replied Malcolm.
Miss Leigh nodded. “So we’ve been told. But even if we cannot meet the man in person, servants provide a wealth of information, and his entire household has been mum on the subject. Not a single word about their new master.”
Malcolm frowned, but Miss Leigh continued before he could respond to that.
“Even if he is extravagant enough to buy his servants’ loyalty and silence, they will praise him to the skies for his generosity. When they will not talk of him in any fashion, they do so out of fear.”
“Oh, I assure you he is the best of masters. He pays his servants handsomely and treats them with respect. Never a cross word,” said Malcolm, though he couldn’t help the skitter of unease that ran down his spine. In truth, he couldn’t think of a reason he’d given his new servants reason to fear him.
The Downings had let so much of their staff go that the remaining servants had to do the work of three; the first thing he’d done as their new master was to fill out the staff’s ranks. And Malcolm hadn’t been lying about his generosity; he’d dramatically increased their wages, as their previous master and mistress had lowered them significantly to stave off their financial difficulties. So now, the staff were working less for more money.
And Malcolm was no ogre. His father had always been insistent about never turning someone away without a reference, and it was a philosophy Malcolm ascribed to, for doing otherwise destroyed the servants’ livelihood. He could only think of one instance in the entirety of his tenure as master of his family estates that such a thing had been necessary, and Malcolm doubted any servant would begrudge him sacking a footman when the man was guilty of stealing silver.
What fault could they find with his behavior? Not that Malcolm had any interest in courting their good opinion, but it was a curious thing.
“Perhaps he is generous and kind to you,” said Miss Leigh, pulling his attention back to their conversation. “However, I do not think their silence speaks highly of him.”
Malcolm’s brows rose at that, and he glanced in her direction. “Then you won’t be one of the ladies lining up to vie for his attention?”
Breath stilling, he blindly guided the lumbering horse along the road, but Malcolm couldn’t take his gaze from Miss Leigh. Her own was turned to the side of the road, and he couldn’t see her expression with the brim of her bonnet blocking his view. He longed to rip it from her head or force her to look at him in some fashion.
Miss Leigh was mostly a stranger to him, but the time they’d spent together had given Malcolm a flickering hope that she might be a lady who wasn’t interested in merely bagging herself the largest prize in town, but the longer the silence drew out, the more his heart fell. Brows pulling together, he silently begged her to speak, hoping for the answer he longed to hear from at least one lady once in his life.
“That is a complicated question,” she murmured.
“How so?” he asked with a frown, finally glancing at the road long enough to guide the gig around a large hole. “It seems to me that a lady ought to know if she’s going to try and win herself a husband or not.”
Miss Leigh huffed and shook her head, finally turning to give him a look that matched the dismissive sound. “‘Win’? Why must everyone speak of marriage as though it is some game with prizes and forfeits?”
“As most treat it like a competition, it is hardly surprising.”
“But hardly endearing, as well.” Miss Leigh nodded towards a fork in the road. “Follow the road to the right.”
“So, my dear Miss Leigh,” said Malcolm, guiding the gig down the appointed path. “How do you view marriage?”
The lady turned her gaze off into the distance once more, blocking him from seeing her expression, and Malcolm struggled to keep enough of his attention on the road to keep them from colliding with the stone wall along one side and the holes in the road.
“I used to be as silly as all the rest, I suppose, and treated it like a game,” she said. “But my world changed last year.”
“Let me guess,” said Malcolm with a smile. “You fell in love with some rogue?”
