“What, a paltry few glasses of wine? I can hold my liquor better than that.”
“Always could,” Lieutenant Cresswell chimed in, which earned him frowns from Ivy and Mr. Applegate both.
“Seriously, Adam, I would like to take a long-term lease on those portions of Standings that were always given to the horses. And perhaps the dower house for when my wife and I come to supervise the efforts. You have not rented out the cottage, have you?”
At Adam’s stupefied head shake, Ivy went on: “You would not be bothered, for I truly do not mind hard work, and can hire your extra laborers to help get the place in shape this winter. You won’t need them until spring, correct? After that, I’ll bring in my own grooms and trainers, unless you can recommend local men.”
Adam thought of the head stableman who had stayed on, simply because Adam could not pay him a pension. He thought of the villagers, and he thought of beautiful horses again running on his land. He thought of a steady income, and he thought of Miss Relaford. He thought he might stand on Mr. Beasdale’s dining-room table and crow like a rooster, if only his friend were not too castaway to remember in the morning.
“Sounds reasonable to me,” Mr. Applegate said. “My gal won’t be happy unless she has horses.”
Mr. Beasdale was doing mental calculations, coming up with numbers that made Adam’s head spin, but Applegate just nodded.
Ivy tried to convince Adam by saying, “You won’t have to do a thing except collect the rent.”
Not do a thing? Adam could do everything he had wanted to for years! He could fix his tenants’ houses, invest in modern equipment, refurbish his own home. He could make Standings a profitable, self-supporting establishment fit for a lady, even a wealthy one. He . . . could not take advantage of his friend’s state of mind. Newly married, recently made wealthy, buoyed by love and afloat in alcohol, Ivy might regret the whole scheme in the morning, if he remembered it at all. “I have a suggestion. Why don’t you and your lady wife come to Standings for Christmas to look over the situation for yourselves, to see just how much work will need to be done before you can bring a horse there? You are invited also, Mr. Applegate, and your family, to help your daughter decide if she could live, even part of the year, in the dower house. Standings is no elegant country mansion, and I can only offer plain country fare, but I will have a fortnight to decorate and make it festive for you for Christmas.”
Then he turned toward Lieutenant Cresswell. “And you, Johnny. You know you do not wish to spend the holiday here in town without your own family, so please come. There is good shooting, parties at the neighbors, and Squire has three pretty daughters.”
The lieutenant was delighted. “I can bring my father’s London staff, too, to help get the place ready for company. They’ll like the time in the country—and the raises I will see they get. And the chef likes nothing better than to show off for guests. Thank you. I accept.”
Adam looked at Mr. Beasdale. He cleared his throat. “I would be honored if you and your niece would come to my home, humble though it might be, for Christmas. We will have carols and skating and a Yule log, all the traditions of a country Christmas I think Miss Relaford will enjoy. And . . . and I would greatly enjoy having her there.”
What could Mr. Beasdale say, when his old friend Applegate was waiting on his answer, when Iverson was so eager to go, when they all knew Sir Adam for an honorable man—and when the baronet’s future was so suddenly turned rosy? If he said no, his niece would never forgive him and he’d lose her anyway.
“I do wish you would come,” Adam quietly urged.
“Well, then, ask the girl. It’s up to her. If she wants to go, I suppose the bank can get along without me for a few days. Frye can take my place. Looks like he won’t be taking anything else, deuce take it.”
9
Beasdale might have agreed to visit the rundown rural holding. He might have given his unspoken, begrudging approval of Sir Adam’s suit, but he had not given up. He insisted on leading off the first dance with his niece. Then he claimed she ought to dance with Lord Iverson, while he had a set with the redheaded bride.
Having done his duty by his goose-cap dinner partner and by an arrogant Iverson cousin who complained about the low company after eating at the banker’s table, Adam was free to seek out the partner he wanted.
Frye was there ahead of him. He wished . . . he wished . . . Before Adam could think of anything dire enough that would not set the house on fire or cause panic among the ladies, Jenna put her hand on his arm.
“I am sorry, Mr. Frye, but I did promise this set to Sir Adam.”