Page 37 of Grasp the Thorn
Bear knew as soon as they arrived at the first address that it would not do. “Not for me, Lion. In this area? Not my market.”
“We’re here,” Lion argued. “We might as well take a look.”
“If you’ve an interest in rentals for skilled craftsmen and the like. But wealthy merchants who want to live like the gentry? This area is all wrong for them. They want gardens. They want to get away from their warehouses and manufactories. They won’t buy a townhouse in a terrace in this kind of neighbourhood.”
“Really? But the gentry live in townhouses all terraced together. I do, and I’m a belted, blasted earl.”
“Yes, but my merchants don’t see it that way. They want a little pocket handkerchief of an estate. A taste of country, with its own detached house or, at most, sharing a wall with another house, but not one on either side. They certainly won’t live where they might jostle elbows in the street with their own workers.”
“Is there money in housing for skilled craftsmen?” Lion asked.
“Possibly. If the refurbishment isn’t too extensive, which you can’t altogether calculate till you have the walls off and the ceilings down. Rebuilding can cost more than a whole new build, and only pays if the buyer is willing to pay for the history, or if the builder does things on the cheap. I don’t cut corners, Lion, so this one isn’t for me.”
So, when the agent, Mr Thomas, arrived, they went on to the next location. This was more promising. The earl’s father had begun a project ten years ago, copying the successful model of St John’s Wood. “His lordship ran into difficulties when the builder absconded with the architect’s wife, funding the escape—as they later discovered—by substituting inferior materials for the second story brick work. With poor harvests and the war, the extra investment needed to finish the project was just not available, so the houses, some of them near finished, have been sitting abandoned ever since. “
It was a small development, just ten groups of two houses, each set on a large plot of land—currently a wilderness of scrub, weeds, and building materials. The gardens would need to be landscaped, and fenced to give privacy. The earl’s troubles had meant four of the buildings—eight houses—were not weather-tight. Some attempts had been made to protect them, but not recently. In consequence, vagrants, animals, and invasive plants had encroached upon the buildings that were least secure.
The three men rambled all over the area, then adjourned to a nearby public house for a tankard of ale and a pie.
“His lordship’s price?” Bear asked once they had been served.
Thomas named a sum.
Bear snorted.
“For twenty dwellings,” Thomas pointed out.
“Twelve, and those needing considerable finishing. The others are only fit to be torn down, which will add cost to the buyer.”
They haggled some more, setting the groundwork for later negotiations, since Thomas had the responsibility for making a deal and no authority to do so. Bear hoped the earl would not continue to insist upon making all the decisions while distancing himself from any appearance of interest. Better for everyone if he would directly discuss the estate with Bear or Lion. If he wouldn’t, they were all in for a frustrating time.
Bear looked up at the sun to gauge the time. Late afternoon. “Do we have time to look at the third offering?”
“I do not think it will suit you, Mr Gavenor. It is the earl’s own townhouse. He spends little time in London and thinks to rent in the future.”
“Benford House? Just off Hanover Square?”
At the agent’s nod, Bear pursed his lips. “I may have a buyer in mind for that one. Shall we go?”
Once they returned to Lion’s phaeton, with Thomas following behind in his chaise, Lion objected. “I thought you said merchants were not interested in terraced houses. Besides, the neighbours on the square will not be amused if you plant a mushroom in their midst.”
Bear shot him an amused grin. “My buyer is gentry. He dabbles in trade, which is frowned on, but he makes them money, so they tolerate him.”
“You, Bear?”
Trust Lion to guess. “I am a married man, after all.”
The townhouse was run down, and decorated in a style that suggested that the new Lord Denthorpe’s mother had either overseen the refurbishment as a young bride, or had not touched the place during her tenure.
“It will need a lot of work,” he said to Lion when they shared a drink in Lion’s study later that evening. “But the structure is sound, and I can pay people to redecorate.”
“I seem to be making a habit of giving marriage advice,” Lion complained, “and it just isn’t on, Bear. Once more can’t hurt, I suppose. Do the repairs, but let your wife decide on the decoration. It will be her home, after all.”
Bear could see the sense of that. “Do you believe that Thomas can get Denthorpe to a meeting?”
“Let’s hope so,” Lion said, frowning. “I want to go home.”
Bear felt the same urge to abandon the deal and hurry north, but the agent seemed certain that Denthorpe was ready to be reasonable. “Next week, he said. But if we could talk directly to Denthorpe, we have a chance of getting everything settled on both properties.”
