They both paused as they entered the room. Hermione Nichols was standing behind his desk, looking up at the painting of her father. Justin went stock still, feeling as though he were observing a rare bird, one which any sudden movement would immediately frighten it away.
“Miss Nichols,” Justin said.
Hermione turned and immediately dipped, her cheeks reddening. Her hair was caught in a loose coif, darker than a raven’s wing. Justin had sometimes mused to himself when he was sketching that the sisters of Hollyhead were rather like chess pieces. Cordelia was a rook, determined in the one direction she took, where Portia was more like a knight, brave and bold with her crooked sense of humor. Bea was the king, self-assured wherever she wanted to go, though she still couldn’t go far. And then there was Hermione, silent and unexpected. He couldn’t tell if she were a bishop, or a queen in disguise.
“I-I-I w-wanted to le-leave m-m-my b-b-book on b-b…botany here… for you,” she forced out.
She held the tome in her hands, her fingers marking certain pages for him. She laid it out on his desk, flipping to one.
“Oh?” Justin said, going to stand beside her. Payne had finally gotten the office to a state where there was enough room to place things on the desk. It was nothing short of a miracle.
“Y-yes,” she began, pointing at the types of vines she’d suggested he look at. “I-I h-have a f-f-fr-friend in L-London. They are a-a-an expert.” The words tumbled out of her mouth at an awkward pace, but she was still easier to understand than Portia.
“Well,” Justin said. “We won’t have long, but if you think that person has enough knowledge to help us plan a potentialvineyard, why not? At the very least we could provide the plans to the new owners,” Justin remarked.
Hermione’s brown eyes lit up. “Truly?” she said, clasping her hands over her chest. Justin noted the way she did not stutter.
“What do you think, Payne?” he asked, turning to face his secretary.
The corners of the man’s mouth quirked up in a rare smile. “I’d say that’s an excellent proposition, given how knowledgeable the young lady is on this subject.”
“I-I’ll pen a l-l-letter s-straight away,” she noted, gathering up the large tome and curtsying.
As soon as she left, Payne turned to him. “I daresay the ladies of house are all quite charming, and very welcoming too.”
Justin stared at him, and blinked. “That’s a generous assessment after only a few days.”
“Oh, everyone has been most kind. I perhaps am being too bold, but I rather think you have taken to this life with relative ease. Riding all over the estate like Old King Henry! Hard to believe you’ve been a Londoner your whole life,” Payne said, shaking his head as he gathered some papers from his briefcase.
Justin needed to close his mouth consciously after hearing those pronouncements. He could still hardly believe it after dinner, when he and Peverill were sharing a brandy in the library. The dinner that evening had been the liveliest there was. His mother and Peverill sparred over the table, Portia cheering her on. Bea had been ready with laughter, and even Hermione had joined in. Cordelia had been quiet but smiled the entire time. Justin tried not to steal too many glances at her, but it was difficult when she looked so soft and feminine in the candlelight.
“What’s got you smiling?” Peverill asked. He went to stand over by the windows, watching as the last dregs of sunlight faded behind the green hills.
“Payne reckoned I looked like an English gentleman. Thought I’d taken to this life like a duck to water,” Justin replied.
Peverill nearly spit out his drink. “Truly?”
Justin shrugged.
“You know, I might actually agree with him on this. Though only recently I’ve noticed. The beginning was an unequivocal disaster.”
He laughed at his friend’s summation. “Hard to believe that this will all come to an end in a few days’ time.”
Peverill only smiled slyly at him. “Well, perhaps things will change. You’ve had pretty good luck thus far. Don’t count yourself out yet.”
“The house is broke, the tenants have no good crops, the cottage is rented, the castle is in ruins,” he reminded Peverill. “And I’m a breath away from being bought out at the firm.”
“I wasn’t talking about those things,” Peverill replied, raising an eyebrow.
Instead of replying Justin took a sip of the brandy.
Peverill drained his glass and pushed off the wall. “I’m away to London.”
“Tonight?” Justin asked. “It will be full dark by the time you leave.”
“I know—but I have inquiries to make and a short timeline to do so. Don’t you worry. I’ll be back in time for your big debut,” he said, clapping Justin on the shoulder. “You know, mate, things change. I think you still have a few horseshoes hidden somewhere yet.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
