The more he dwelled on his plan, the more he liked it; with a female like her, the more strings he had linking her to him before he mentioned marriage, the better, the less likely she was to even quibble. The grandes dames might be certain that any of the ladies on their list would unhesitatingly accept his offer, but Minerva’s name wasn’t on that list, and-despite her comment to the contrary-he wasn’t so conceited, so arrogant, that he was, even now, taking her agreement for granted.
But he had no intention of letting her refuse.
“That’s all you have to deal with today.” Handley, a quiet, determined man, an orphan recommended to Royce by the principal of Winchester Grammar School, who had subsequently proved to be entirely worthy of the considerable trust Royce placed in him, collected the various letters, notes, and documents they’d been dealing with. He glanced at Royce. “You wanted me to remind you about Hamilton and the Cleveland Row house.”
“Ah, yes.” He had to decide what to do with his town house now he’d inherited the family mansion in Grosvenor Square. “Tell Jeffers to fetch Miss Chesterton. And you’d better stay. There’ll be letters and instructions to be sent south, no doubt.”
After sending Jeffers for Minerva, Handley returned to the straight-backed chair he preferred, angled to one end of Royce’s desk.
Minerva entered. Seeing Handley, she favored him with a smile, then looked at Royce.
No one else would have seen anything unusual in that look, but Royce knew she was wary, watching for any hint of sexual aggression from him.
He returned her look blandly, and waved her to her customary chair. “We need to discuss the Wolverstone House staff, and how best to merge the staff from my London house into the ducal households.”
Minerva sat, noting that Handley, settled in his chair, a fresh sheet of paper on top of his pile, a pencil in his hand, was listening attentively. She switched her gaze to Royce. “You mentioned a butler.”
He nodded. “Hamilton. He’s been with me for sixteen years, and I wouldn’t want to lose him.”
“How old is he?”
Royce cocked a brow at Handley. “Forty-five?”
Handley nodded. “About that.”
“In that case-”
She provided information on the existing Wolverstone households, while Royce, with Handley’s additional observations, gave her an overview of the small staff he’d accumulated over his years of exile. Given he had no wish to keep the Cleveland Row house, she suggested that most of the staff be sent to Wolverstone House.
“Once you’re married and take your seat in the Lords, you and your wife will entertain a great deal more there than has been the case in the last decade-you’ll need the extra staff.”
“Indeed.” Royce’s lips curved as if something amused him, but then he saw her noticing and glanced at his jottings. “That leaves only Hamilton’s fate unresolved. I’m inclined to assign him to Wolverstone House in a supportive capacity to old Bridgethorpe. In time, Hamilton can take over there, but until Bridgethorpe is ready to retire, depending on how much I need to travel between the various estates, I may use Hamilton as a personal butler.”
She raised her brows. “One who travels with you?”
“He knows my preferences better than anyone else.”
She inclined her head. “True. And that will allow all the other butlers to remain in their roles without causing tension.”
He nodded and looked at Handley. “Is there anything else?”
Handley shook his head and glanced at Minerva.
“Nothing more about the households,” she said, “but I wondered if you’d thought further about the mill.”
Royce frowned. “I’ll have to speak with Falwell, and I suppose Kelso, too, before I make any decision.” He glanced at Handley. “Send a message that I wish to see them tomorrow morning.”
Handley nodded, making a note.
In the distance, a gong sounded.
“Luncheon.” Minerva stood, surprised and relieved that she’d survived two full hours of Royce’s company without blushing once. Then again, other than that initial assessing look, he’d been entirely neutral when interacting with her.
She smiled at Handley as he and Royce rose to their feet.
Handley smiled back. Gathering his papers, he nodded to Royce. “I’ll have those letters ready for you to sign later this afternoon.”
“Leave them on the desk-I’ll be in and out.” Royce looked at Minerva, waved her to the door. “Go ahead-I’ll join you at the table.”
She inclined her head and left-feeling very like Little Red Riding Hood; avoiding walking alone through the keep’s corridors with the big, bad wolf was obviously a wise idea.
She had to own to further surprise when Royce chose to sit between Lady Courtney and Susannah at the luncheon table. The meal was strictly informal, a cold collation laid out on a sideboard from which guests helped themselves, assisted by footmen and watched over by Retford, before taking what seats they wished at the long table.
Flanked by Gordon and Rohan Varisey, with the startlingly handsome Gregory Debraigh opposite, she had distraction enough without wondering about Royce and his machinations. Presumably during the day, while he was Wolverstone and she was his chatelaine, he intended to behave with circumspection.
The meal had ended, and she was strolling with the others through the front hall, when Royce walked up behind her. “Minerva.”
When she halted and turned, brows rising, he said, “If you’re free, I’d like to take a look at the mill. It would help if I have a better understanding of the problem before I see Falwell and Kelso tomorrow.”
“Yes, of course.” She was the one urging the matter be dealt with immediately. “Now?”
He nodded and waved her toward the west wing.
They walked through the corridors, the voices of the others fading as they turned into the north wing. A side hall at the north end led them to a door that gave onto the gardens beyond.
Lawns and shrub borders fell away to more rolling expanses hosting larger, mature trees. The ornamental stream burbled beside them as they followed the gravel path along its bank. Ahead, the mill sat built over the stream; partially screened by a stand of willows, it was far enough from the house to be unobtrusive, yet was within walking distance.
As they approached, Royce studied the building, part stone, part timber. It sat squarely across the deep race, at that point only a few yards wide, through which the diverted waters of the Coquet rushed with sufficient force to spin the heavy waterwheel that turned the massive grinding stone.
The ground sloped upward, away from the castle toward the hills to the northwest, so the west bank of the race was significantly higher than the east bank. Spanning the race, the mill therefore was built on two levels. The higher and larger western section contained the grinding stone and the beams, levers, and gears that connected it to the waterwheel in the race.
The narrower, lower, eastern side through which he and Minerva entered contained beams and pulleys that raised and lowered the huge waterwheel; because of the bores that surged down the Coquet when the snows melted, it was essential the wheel could be lifted entirely free of the race. The eastern section also contained bins and storage cupboards set against the wooden railing that ran along the edge of the race.
The first crop of corn had already been ground; the second crop was yet to be harvested. For the moment, the mill stood silent and empty, with the wheel raised and braced above the race on massive beams.
“The problem’s not hard to see.” Minerva led the way into the soft shadows. The building had no windows, but light streamed in through the three open doorways-the one through which they’d entered, as well as the two at either end of the upper, western section.