He needed to buckle down and get a firm grip on the wholly novel and unexpected challenge Minnie and Timms had—he was perfectly certain deliberately—willed to him.
Feeling distinctly more certain of and settled on his path, he drained his glass, set it down, then rose and headed for bed.
The next morning, Gregory came down to breakfast rather earlier.
The weather was passingly fine, with the sun making a more determined effort than it had the day before to make its presence felt. In the corridor leading to the breakfast parlor, he encountered Julia and Joshua on their way out; they nodded and smiled and continued on their way.
As Gregory had surmised, the inhabitants of the Hall were early birds.
He walked into the breakfast parlor to find Caitlin, Vernon, and Percy still seated about the large round table.
“What-ho, Cynster!” Percy raised his knife in salute. “Come to join us worker types?”
“I have, indeed.” With smiles and nods for all three, Gregory headed for the sideboard. “Your collective industry is infectious.”
“Don’t know about infectious,” Vernon replied. “But we do get things done.”
“So I’ve learned.” Heaped plate in hand, Gregory rounded the table and drew out the chair opposite Vernon, one place separated from Caitlin. He’d decided to make a concerted effort not to unnecessarily disturb her.
He thanked Cromwell, who arrived to fill his coffee cup, then settled to eat while listening to the discussion between Vernon and Caitlin regarding some sort of special sand Vernon was interested in laying his hands on.
“If I could just find a reliable source,” Vernon declared, “one I trusted, and lay my hands on a pound or two, that would at least give me enough to run a few trials and decide if the stuff was worth our while pursuing.”
Frowning, Caitlin nodded. “I’ll write to the suppliers in Bath and ask if they have any they can send.” She narrowed her eyes at Vernon. “A pound? Is that enough?”
He grinned at her. “Two or three or even five would be better.”
She huffed and picked up her teacup. “I’ll see what I can find. I might have to write to London or Southampton, so don’t get your hopes up. Even if I can find any, it won’t arrive soon.”
“Aye, well.” Vernon laid his cutlery across his empty plate. “I’ll have to possess my soul in patience.”
With a nod to Caitlin, Vernon rose, and Percy followed. In the doorway, they passed Hugo and Melrose as the two painters ambled in.
When the pair joined Gregory and Caitlin at the table, Gregory asked, “Where’s Tristan?”
“He’s already out.” Hugo waved southward. “He wanted to catch the dawn light playing over the ruins.”
“It’s one of his favorite and most in-demand subjects,” Melrose explained. “Lots of ladies like to have a genuine picture of ruins wreathed in mist on their walls, and at this time of year, one can often get especially good mists lit by the rising sun.”
Hugo turned to Caitlin. “Miss C, we desperately need those brushes Melrose spoke with you about. The special ones for watercolor works.”
Caitlin leveled a look at Melrose. “When was this? I don’t recall hearing anything about special brushes.”
Melrose’s brow furrowed. “I thought I spoke with you last week…” He met Caitlin’s eyes and grimaced. “Perhaps not. Can I leave the details on your desk?”
She sighed. “Yes, and I’ll order them in, but I can’t promise how long they might take.”
Hugo shrugged. “I daresay we’ll manage if we have to.” He glanced at Melrose. “I might try feathers again.”
“Down might be better,” Melrose offered. “Downy feathers, at least.”
Hugo nodded. “You might be right.”
Caitlin set down her cup, laid aside her napkin, and pushed back her chair.
Gregory gulped the last of his coffee, nodded to the painters, and followed her from the room. “Caitlin.”
She paused in the corridor and, facing him, waited for him to join her. “Yes…Gregory?”
