Page 30 of The Nabob's Designing Daughter
Errol looked down the table at the duke, who tipped his head and raised his eyebrows.
Whether he stayed, or whether he sold, word would get out soon enough.
“As it happens…” Errol cleared his throat. “Darletonismine. The castle is in no condition for visitors, but I welcome you gentlemen to ride over one day and cast your lines. At no charge.” He smiled. “At least for the present.”
Stunned silence reigned.
“And so,” the duke raised his glass, “the Baron of Darleton has been found. Here’s to you, Dr. Robillard.”
“And to your excellent fishing.” Cottingwith raised his glass. “Congratulations. As I said, Kinmarty is lucky to have you.”
Strachney roused out of his stupor. “But how…”
“My mother was Genevieve Callum. Mr. Henderson brought me the news. He’s my grandfather’s executor.”
“And very secretive you were,” Strachney said. “When will the Lord Lyon approve this title?”
“It is already done,” Henderson said. “Now then, your grace, gentlemen, I’ll excuse myself.”
“Retiring so early?” the duke asked. “Or back to burning the midnight oil?”
“The latter, I fear, as I haven’t brought along a clerk. I thank you for letting me set up shop in your study.”
Cottingwith shifted his chair closer to Errol’s and said quietly, “I hope this was good news for you, Robillard. Or should I call you Darleton?”
“Robillard is fine.”
“It will be an adjustment. I inherited from a cousin a few years ago. Had a bit of sorting to do, and some worrisome quarters, but things are running smoothly now. You’re lucky to have Kinmarty nearby to advise. Tell me.” He paused to pour another drink, “I’d like to hear about Edinburgh. I passed through on my way north. Miss Edme Beecham says you knew her family well.”
He recalled seeing Cottingwith sitting next to Edme in the breakfast room and speaking with her before dinners. Cottingwith as a suitor to Edme? He owed it to William to find out the man’s intentions.
“Where is your estate?” Errol asked.
“In Kent.”
So far away. Errol settled in for a long conversation nosing into this earl’s character, finances, and his interests in a merchant’s daughter. He wondered if Edme returned the interest.
All the while he was dimly aware that across the table the marquess and Strachney were conversing.
The marquess was wooing Ann through her father, but how did Ann feel about the man? She’d initiated that kiss today. A woman looking to marry another man wouldn’t have done that.
He’d never win Strachney’s heart—he wouldn’t even try—but perhaps he could win Ann’s.
And then what? Could he stay and make Darleton self-supporting? Could he find a buyer and convey the whole lot, title, tower, and fishing, to someone else? Could he go back to London and make his fortune there?
First things first. He drew his attention back to the earl and told him all about the Beecham’s textile business, happy to see real interest and no lip curling.
The next daydawned fair and, with the duchess proclaiming that she continued to feel well, Errol rode into the village with Forbes. The duke had convinced the marquess and Warton to visit Errol’s fishing stream. Strachney had gone along—probably anxious to keep his hooks in the marquess. Henderson had already closeted himself in the study, and Cottingwith claimed a need to see to some correspondence from his man of business.
Remembering his encounter with Mrs. Gillespie the day before, Errol had fastened his smaller medical case to the horse’s saddle, and a good thing it was. Before they’d even reached the surgery, they were summoned. The vicar’s eldest had a boil needing lancing, a farmer had sliced a wide cut in his leg with a scythe, and the innkeeper’s wife’s dyspepsia had turned out to be a case of pernicious morning sickness. Already a grandmother, the poor woman had thought she was past such blessings.
Finally, after leaving the inn, Forbes led him to a stone cottage just outside the village on a well-maintained lane.
On the ground floor, a parlor sat to one side of the central entry hall, a smaller sitting room and an adjoining dining room flanking the other side of the house. Past the entry hall and stairs, another passage led to a good-sized add-on kitchen and a scullery that pumped surprisingly clear water from an underground well. Beyond that was a good-sized bothy for horses. Upstairs were four bedchambers where two men were at work repairing the plastered walls. The comfortable furnishings were piled with rolls of new wallpaper ready for hanging.
“The work will be finished soon enough,” Forbes said.
Despite his plans for London, he couldn’t squash a rising interest. In London, he would have shared rooms with the other members of the practice and, depending on his salary, which had never been settled, he’d likely have rented no more than a couple of rooms.
