Both agents looked at Gregory.
Caitlin didn’t shift her gaze from the pair but simply waited, wondering…
To her immense relief, Gregory—bless him—said nothing. At all. He, too, merely waited.
Eventually, with uncertainty creeping into their expressions, reluctantly and still somewhat belligerently, the agents returned their gazes to her.
When the pair looked mulish and said nothing, she prompted, “Your offers, gentlemen?”
She wasn’t surprised to see their expressions firm and grow truculent.
“Well,” the older of the pair said, “like I explained before, we can’t stretch to more than a shilling and a half for any grains this year, m’dear.” He glanced at Gregory. “We’ve got a bit of a glut on, as you might have heard.”
Caitlin folded her hands on the ledgers and arched her brows in mild surprise. “As it happens, I hadn’t heard any whisper of that—at least not for the quality of grain the Hall produces, which, as I’m sure you won’t have forgotten, is the highest grade you’ll find anywhere. We hit that mark consistently, year after year.”
“That may be, dearie, but we aren’t obliged to pay the same every year.” The older agent shrugged. “We’ve no reason to, now, have we? Not with all this grain flooding the market.”
Caitlin sighed. “Very well, gentlemen. In that case, there seems nothing more to say.” Of course, both thought she was about to give in and accept their ludicrous offers. Instead, she tapped the top of the closed ledger with one fingertip and rose, bringing them scrambling to their feet. “Thank you for calling, gentlemen. Sadly, it seems Bellamy Hall is unable to do business with Mercer and Sons Grain Merchants this year. Do pass on my regards to Mr. Mercer, and be sure to assure him that we’ll harbor no hard feelings when it comes to selling our grain next year.”
Both agents’ jaws dropped. Both paled. Utterly dumbfounded, they stared at her.
Serenely, she folded her hands and, her expression entirely unthreatening, waited, exuding the expectation that they would leave.
Gregory struggled to hide a laugh as the elder nearly toppled over as he leaned forward and clutched the edge of the desk.
“Now, now, Miss Fergusson. There’s no need to be so hasty.”
Caitlin’s smile was cool. “Oh?” She arched her brows.
The younger agent tugged at his neckerchief. “I’m sure we can…er, be more accommodating. Bellamy Hall being such a reliable supplier and all.”
Caitlin’s smile widened, and she waved the men to their seats. “Perhaps we can come to some arrangement.”
With his hands clasped behind his back, Gregory stood and watched a master negotiator in action. He could barely conceal his grin when, instead of accepting any reduction in prices, Caitlin succeeded in extracting not just the same prices as last year for their wheat and barley but also held out for a nice increase in the price for the Hall’s oats, which apparently were of exceptional quality.
When the agents balked at agreeing to that last stipulation, he decided to lend a hand. He shifted, drawing everyone’s gazes, but it was Caitlin’s eyes he met. “Don’t forget about that fellow who spoke to me in Northampton the other day.”
Quick as a flash, she nodded. “I haven’t forgotten about him.” She turned back to the agents and imperiously inquired, “Well, gentlemen. What say you? Do Mercer and Sons want our oats or not?”
The agents exchanged a startled look, then turned to her and surrendered.
She promptly wrote out a sale note, stating the agreed amount of grain to be supplied and the all-important prices to be paid, and had the older agent sign it.
Once he had, the men rose and took their leave. Gregory had purposely not asked to be introduced and continued to stand back, aloof and distant, and with polite and rather careful nods, the pair departed. They went out of the door, looking distinctly relieved.
Only then did Caitlin grin. She glanced at Gregory. “Thank you. That interjection was just the thing to tip them over the edge.”
“You did an excellent job of pushing them to that point.” He glanced at the doorway. “Does that happen often? Merchants’ agents trying to pressure you to accept lower prices?”
She sank back onto her chair. “Not usually, although he was correct about there being a glut of low-quality grain from last year.” Looking up, she met his eyes. “Nevertheless, I suspect that they’d heard of the arrival of the Hall’s new owner and thought to try their luck. Most likely, they hoped to be dealing with you, a newcomer to the area and probably not well versed in the prices of grain.”
He huffed. “As it happens, they would have caught cold feet there. Selling grain is one of the few farming activities shared between here and Walkhurst.”
“Your family’s estate?”
He nodded. “In Kent, such crops are a big part of what’s grown there. So I do have some idea….” He trailed off, then grimaced. “Although I wouldn’t have been as sure as you of the recent prices, and depending on how convincing they were about that glut, I might have believed them and accepted what they offered.”
“When they were shown in here and realized they would have to deal with me as usual, I think they hoped to force me into taking the new offer—and them—to you. So it’s just as well you came in. They won’t try that again, at least not here.”
