Page 25 of Entrancing the Earl
Worse yet, he had to go down to dinner and reassure a roomful of rattled ladies worrying about their future. An estate with no steward or land agent would slide into penury soon enough.
Thisis what he got for listening to a damned beekeeper—correction, a countess! Avery had been right about one thing. Iona was a troublemaker.
The medieval paneled hall grew silent the instant he walked in. Gerard amused himself imagining a roomful of lords falling silent in awe as they awaited his majestic oratory.
Little old ladies with fake hair propping up their white curls simply didn’t convey the desired reverence and respect.
His great-aunt waited expectantly on her throne, however. The women were actuallywaitingfor him to speak first. He’d savor the moment while he could. Gerard poured himself a glass of good Scots malt and donned his practiced nonchalance.
“I will begin a search for a new agent immediately,” he reassured them. “If you wish to write your relations and make inquiries as well, I would appreciate that.”
There, that sounded practical and not like he wasn’t mentally lambasting himself for dismissing one of his father’s hires. What in hell did he know about finding agents? Nothing. Blithering nothing. But he’d spent his life learning diplomacy. He knew how to communicate for the desired result.
“Whydid you dismiss Avery?” Winifred asked, unable to hold her tongue longer. “He was a good agent and has worked here as long as I can remember.”
Gerard swirled his whisky in his glass, weighing his words. “I promised him a decent reference if he returned what didn’t belong to him. Let us not malign his reputation further with gossip. I’d rather the subject not go any further than this room.”
Personally, he’d have wrung Avery’s neck and thrown him to the wolves. But letting his temper rule wasn’t necessarily what was best for all—a hard lesson learned over his father’s knee.
Instead, he’d had Avery sign over the property that he’d bought for his mistress and improved with estate funds. In return, Gerard had given him a reference stating that Avery knew his profession but couldn’t be trusted as an agent who handled contracts and funds. Still, he was educated and experienced and could easily fulfill the management duties of a steward. It would be a waste to throw him into the street because he let his cock rule his brain. Avery’s next position might entail dealing only with the laborers, but he wouldn’t starve.
The ladies peppered him with more questions he was either reluctant to answer or couldn’t. Over his glass, Gerard searched the shadows for the little countess. She had a bad habit of hiding, but he found her in a wing chair that nearly engulfed her. She was pensively studying the fire.
Tonight, she wore a lacy adornment on her cropped hair and not the false chignon. The only difference between her dumpy morning gown and the dinner gown she wore tonight was the fabric and color—a light gold crepe versus her usual drab gray wool. She’d draped a blue-and-gold shawl over her shoulders so he couldn’t see the neckline, but he ventured it wasn’t as daring as last night’s. She had a dreadful seamstress.
As if making a decision, she set aside her untouched glass of sherry and interrupted the pestering questions. “Ladies, the earl is a gentleman. You’ll not pry gossip from him. The question becomes, what can we do to help until he is able to locate a new agent or steward. The apple harvest is under way, the fields need plowing, and the wheat needs threshing. It’s an important time of year. Does anyone know anyone who can help?”
That nicely summed up the situation and diverted the conversation. Did she really think his eccentric tenants would thresh wheat? Or even know how?
“Will you be staying until someone is found?” the countess asked, making him pay for the diversion. She rose from her hiding place and fixed her long-lashed, golden-brown eyes on him.
Well-practiced in detachment, Gerard resisted tugging his cravat. “I need to find a buyer for some property in the village. Once I start receiving replies to my inquiries on both the property and the position, I may have to consult with solicitors and interview references. I’ll be away a good deal.”
He’d wanted to be in London this week. He wanted tofindfunds, not spend them. He didn’t want these women to start relying on his presence. But he knew his duty. Orchards had to be improved, and at minimum, a steward must be hired. He had to stay—for now.
“Your workers aren’t likely to listen to women.” Iona added one more concern, while overriding all the other ladies without raising her voice.
Or maybe he was more attuned to her than the others. She was completely correct in her assessment. His workers weren’t bees. They wouldn’t work for women, not even a queen bee. Of course, from her tale, he gathered she knew the difficulty from experience.
“I have a few trusted tenants who can take charge of their particular endeavors.” He wished the interfering countess to the devil even while understanding the ladies needed to hear this. “Barkley and his son can handle the orchard. I’ll let the shepherds know Wilson is in charge of the herd until I say otherwise, and so forth.”
“If a situation rises requiring a decision only you can make, would these men listen to a woman?” Iona asked, drifting closer, the light of interest in her eyes.
Where the hell was she going with this? Gerard gritted his teeth. He didn’t care who she was or what title she wore. He wasn’t putting a delicate young lady in charge of large, crude men. His workers weren’t that enlightened.
“It’s doubtful,” he said flatly, hoping that would discourage her.
“What about Mary Mike?” she asked.
That knocked him for a loop. He was pretty certain the entire room fell silent, except for the ringing of doom in his ears.
He didn’t want to embarrass his cousin, but he couldn’t help studying her. Mary Mike was tall, just under six feet, broad at the shoulders but neither stout or slender. If she had a chest, she hid it under double-breasted coats similar to a riding habit. For dinner, she usually wore a straight skirt, but he knew she preferred split ones so she could ride astride. She was a formidable horsewoman—and had a way with animals.
“I can do it, my lord,” Mary Mike stated without equivocation. “I’ve been working with your sheep and stable foremen for years. They just call me Mike or Malcolm. To put it bluntly, we’ve developed an excellent breeding program. They trust me.”
Gerard considered pounding his skull against a wall. Breeding program. The woman had saidbreeding program. And no one gasped. He had to remember Wystan was another planet, one run by abnormal women.
“But it’s the apples and wheat that need attention now,” he reminded her. “We bring in men who don’t know you.”
