“Perhaps,” Jack said, “you’d like to ride out and take a look around this afternoon, then…” He paused, confused by the dismayed expression that bloomed on Percy’s round face.
“Ah…” Percy paused, then blurted, “I’m afraid I don’t ride.”
Clarice blinked, slowly. “You don’t ride?”
It was obvious Percy had just lost what little ground he’d made with her; Jack felt a smidgen of sympathy. Mildly, he said, “You can learn. Crawler, my head stableman, will be happy to teach you.”
Griggs cleared his throat. “Meanwhile, I could show you maps of the estate. You could become acquainted with the holdings that way.”
“An excellent idea.” Jack leaned back in his chair and smiled encouragingly. “Why don’t you take Percy to the office and introduce him to the estate, fill him in on the nearer fields and farms? Lady Clarice and I have some business to attend to. We’ll be meeting with Jones later this afternoon.”
“Yes, indeed.” Griggs nodded and rose.
Percy pushed back his chair and rose, too. “Ah…” His gaze went to Clarice, then returned to Jack.
Jack smiled. “Go with Griggs. I’ll speak with you at dinner.”
Percy studied him for a moment, then bowed. “Thank you.” Turning, he bowed very correctly to Clarice. “Lady Clarice.”
She softened enough to bestow a gracious nod.
Percy escaped.
The instant the door closed behind him and Griggs, Clarice met Jack’s eyes. “He’ll never do.”
Jack merely smiled. “Jones. How should we tackle him?”
Clarice studied him for a moment, wondering if she dared prod him, if she should push her point that he really should marry rather than pass the estate to Percy—a nice enough fellow, honest at least, but one without the requisite steel in his spine. Deciding to leave that subject for the present—there was no urgency, after all—she turned her mind to his question.
“Jones doesn’t like me, doesn’t like having to deal with me.” She considered Jack, letting her eyes drink in the simple elegance with which he habitually dressed, a white linen shirt screening a muscled chest, pristine cravat in a classic knot, well-cut coat hugging broad shoulders, buckskin breeches clinging to long, strong legs, shining top boots upon his large feet. He looked precisely what he was, a wealthy country gentleman. Her lips quirked. “He was probably delighted to find you at home.”
“He was.”
“Well, then, if our purpose is to extract the highest price from him…?” She raised her brows inquiringly.
Jack nodded. “It is.”
She smiled. “Then I suggest…”
They spent the next twenty minutes devising and honing their tactics, then, aware of an anticipatory tightening of her nerves that had nothing to do with Jones’s visit, she decided caution would, in the circumstances, be wise, at least until after they’d triumphed over Jones. Excusing herself to Jack, she headed upstairs to look in on the still-unconscious young man.
“Mr. Jones.” From the chair behind his desk, Jack rose and offered his hand.
Jones came forward to take it, the expectation of victory shining in his eyes. “My lord. I trust the other growers found my offer to their liking?”
“Indeed.” Jack waved Jones to the chair he’d placed directly in front of his desk. “There’s no question that your offer is an attractive one.”
“A very generous one, but then the quality of the Avening crop is second to none.”
Jack smiled, his amiable, gentlemanly mask in place. “Just so. It’s not your offer that has raised concerns.”
“Concerns?” Jones straightened in his chair. “What concerns would those be?”
Jack looked down. He toyed with a pen, eyes fixed on the nib as he flicked it back and forth. He frowned. “The growers in the valley are used to selling to the Gloucester merchants. Most feel disinclined to change their ways.”
“What? Not even for a shilling above the market rate?”
“Of course, if you would settle for taking half our crop, that might appease them.”