of lime-plastered sandstone and timber, it sprawled across a pretty glade in the midst of rolling woodlands. Because additions had been made to it helter-skelter since the seventeenth century, it was eclectic in style, with many large windows overlooking the verdant countryside.
“You seem to be dealing well here,” Cargrave said. “I knew you'd like this, since it more nearly resembles what you were used to back in Maryland.”
"There are similarities," Jason replied grudgingly, "but I was not responsible for the daily running of the plantation."
“And so you shall not be for Falconridge, either. Use that much vaunted Yankee business sense to select a reliable man of affairs to handle the estate. Remember, one day you shall have not only this place but Cargrave, Chatfield, Montrose and, of course, Harleigh.”
“If my countess does not cry off,” Jason replied, testing the waters.
The marquess waved that possibility aside, chuckling. “She does have a bit of a temper, I grant you. Best not to arm her with champagne at the wedding breakfast.”
“I suspect I should be more concerned about her bashing in my brains with a fireplace poker on the wedding night than about a splash of wine in my eyes at the wedding breakfast.”
“Surely you do not doubt your ability to handle a strong-willed woman? I was given to believe that American men prided themselves on such matters.”
“Do not attempt to pique my Yankee vanity, Grandfather. This is not America, and Rachel is more than just strong-willed.”
“What the deuce did you say to her to set her off?”
“Tis a personal matter between the lady and myself, as I've already told you.”
“Just so you straighten it out shortly. Hugh is expecting you for dinner on Friday next. Do not disappoint him.”
“And to make certain that I do not, Fox will remain with his ‘tutors’ at Cargrave Hall.”
The marquess' gray eyes flashed triumphantly. “His tutors are eminently qualified for their work.”
“I don't know about Bradley or LaFarge, but Mace looks to be an unsavory sort. I wouldn't trust him with the boy, were I you.”
“Ha, 'tis you whom I dare not trust with young Master Fox, lest you take him and run for the nearest seaport.”
Jason shrugged in resignation. “Come, Grandfather. I shall walk you to your coach.”
As Jason watched the Cargrave coach turn down the circular drive in front of the manor, he smiled to himself. Yes, Grandfather, remain well pleased with yourself…until Fox and I escape your net.
* * * *
After the marquess and Fox had departed, Jason spent the duration of the morning closeted with the estate steward, then decided to take a long ride across Falconridge to clear his head of the fog caused by reading dusty ledgers. Being the heir of the ninth Marquess of Cargrave was quite a bit of a bother.
At the shipyards in Baltimore, he had relied upon his old friend Morton Riggs to handle office matters while he devoted his efforts to designing and building beautiful clippers. But he had always taken his responsibilities to his employees seriously. He fancied himself a good judge of men and intended to find someone here in the countryside who could be trusted to fill Morton's role—that was, once he returned from taking his foster brother safely to America.
The old marquess would have ample time to stew and then give his word not to “arrange” any further betrothals for his heir. Once they had that singularly important matter settled, Jason would return to fulfill his duty to the Beaumont family name. If the old man refused, well then, so be it. Jason would never set foot on English soil again.
Comfortable with working people, Jason hoped to learn
“You seem to be dealing well here,” Cargrave said. “I knew you'd like this, since it more nearly resembles what you were used to back in Maryland.”
"There are similarities," Jason replied grudgingly, "but I was not responsible for the daily running of the plantation."
“And so you shall not be for Falconridge, either. Use that much vaunted Yankee business sense to select a reliable man of affairs to handle the estate. Remember, one day you shall have not only this place but Cargrave, Chatfield, Montrose and, of course, Harleigh.”
“If my countess does not cry off,” Jason replied, testing the waters.
The marquess waved that possibility aside, chuckling. “She does have a bit of a temper, I grant you. Best not to arm her with champagne at the wedding breakfast.”
“I suspect I should be more concerned about her bashing in my brains with a fireplace poker on the wedding night than about a splash of wine in my eyes at the wedding breakfast.”
“Surely you do not doubt your ability to handle a strong-willed woman? I was given to believe that American men prided themselves on such matters.”
“Do not attempt to pique my Yankee vanity, Grandfather. This is not America, and Rachel is more than just strong-willed.”
“What the deuce did you say to her to set her off?”
“Tis a personal matter between the lady and myself, as I've already told you.”
“Just so you straighten it out shortly. Hugh is expecting you for dinner on Friday next. Do not disappoint him.”
“And to make certain that I do not, Fox will remain with his ‘tutors’ at Cargrave Hall.”
The marquess' gray eyes flashed triumphantly. “His tutors are eminently qualified for their work.”
“I don't know about Bradley or LaFarge, but Mace looks to be an unsavory sort. I wouldn't trust him with the boy, were I you.”
“Ha, 'tis you whom I dare not trust with young Master Fox, lest you take him and run for the nearest seaport.”
Jason shrugged in resignation. “Come, Grandfather. I shall walk you to your coach.”
As Jason watched the Cargrave coach turn down the circular drive in front of the manor, he smiled to himself. Yes, Grandfather, remain well pleased with yourself…until Fox and I escape your net.
* * * *
After the marquess and Fox had departed, Jason spent the duration of the morning closeted with the estate steward, then decided to take a long ride across Falconridge to clear his head of the fog caused by reading dusty ledgers. Being the heir of the ninth Marquess of Cargrave was quite a bit of a bother.
At the shipyards in Baltimore, he had relied upon his old friend Morton Riggs to handle office matters while he devoted his efforts to designing and building beautiful clippers. But he had always taken his responsibilities to his employees seriously. He fancied himself a good judge of men and intended to find someone here in the countryside who could be trusted to fill Morton's role—that was, once he returned from taking his foster brother safely to America.
The old marquess would have ample time to stew and then give his word not to “arrange” any further betrothals for his heir. Once they had that singularly important matter settled, Jason would return to fulfill his duty to the Beaumont family name. If the old man refused, well then, so be it. Jason would never set foot on English soil again.
Comfortable with working people, Jason hoped to learn
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