Page 30 of Drowned in the Pleasure of a Devilish Baron
Dubois took a sip from his glass, closed his eyes, and nodded his approval. “You do good work, Lord Cunningham,” he said. Then he shot back the whole glass with a gulp and licked his lips.
“My wine is good in part due to your valuable insight and assistance,” Leonard said, taking a more measured drink from his own glass as Dubois poured himself another glass, not bothering to wait for Harriet to return from the kitchen to serve him.
“To business.” Dubois clapped his hands together. He was a changed man, in the warmth and light of the room, with a glass of wine in his belly. He put his hands face down on the table and looked Felix in the eye. “Your land is good for wine.”
“Yes!” Leonard cheered, pounding one hand on the table. “I knew it would be, but it’s excellent to hear it.”
Felix felt his heart lighten with hope he had not allowed himself to feel yet.
“Your land has many hills, this is good. The hills face southwest, that’s also good. This means the rain, the blasted English rain, will drain correctly, and the frost will not be so damaging when it comes.”
Felix nodded.
“These hills, I imagine they get good sun, yes?” Dubois asked, before adding darkly. “When the sun decides to show itself.”
“Yes. They get very good sun.” Felix answered. “I know because my sister and Miss Marlow used to lay on those hills as children, soaking up the warmth whenever they could escape their governesses.”
Dubois made a rude noise. Felix had never heard of such a sound being accented, but this noise sounded uniquely French. “What sun? This is England.” He took another draw from his wine. “Now, to business. When do you want to begin?”
“The sooner the better.”
“How soon?” Dubois scratched a wiry brow.
“How soon could we have wine? By the end of the year? Next summer?” Felix asked.
Dubois huffed a laugh. “No, monsieur. Four years, if all is well. If the English sun is particularly kind, maybe three.”
“Three years?” Felix felt his hope begin to drain away. “Can it be no sooner than this?”
“Of course, we can transplant the vines, try and skip steps to make it faster. But the wine suffers.” Dubois leaned across the table, his face deadly serious. “The wine must not suffer.” He finished his second glass and poured for himself once more, looking quite at home for someone visiting Havordshire Cottage and meeting its master for the first time.
Felix shot a pained look at Leonard, who looked surprised as well. “I’m sorry, Felix, I didn’t know. My father had our vines planted. I had no idea it was such a long process.”
“I take it your hurry is because you need money, yes?”
It was a remarkably rude question. Felix drummed his fingers on the table, wondering how to answer, but above all wanting this man out of his house so he could soak in his disappointment in peace.
What am I going to do now? Sarah will never be allowed to marry me if I have nothing.
“You English!” Dubois lifted pointed hands to his chest, miming. “You tip-toe around things that are perfectly clear.” He gestured to the room they were in, warm and clean but shabby. “You have only two, three workers in your home. You need money, monsieur, it is clear.”
“Come now, Dubois—”
“I have an answer for you, something that can allow you to earn good income while you wait for our beautiful grapes to grow.”
Felix did not let his hope return, not yet. This man was dicked in the nob, his solution could be anything.
“Mead.”
At once, Leonard let out a low exhalation, understanding dawning on his face. “You’re a genius.”
Dubois nodded without humility, and turned to Felix’s perplexed face. “You have the buildings, in the back. Very cold, but sturdy. The perfect buildings to make mead.”
“Make mead?” Felix felt as if he were running two steps behind.
“What about beer as well?” Leonard asked eagerly.
“Of course it would work. And I have people. They need a place to work. They are miraculous with the drink.” Dubois asserted. “But… they need overseeing.” he added, a bit delicately.
