He smiled. “And knowing how men like them talk, the news will get around, and you won’t have to do battle with those hoping to prey on my innocence.”
She laughed, and he saluted her and headed back to the library, entirely content with the outcome of the unexpected interruption.
The following Tuesday afternoon, Caitlin remembered the assistance Gregory had provided with the grain merchants.
Once more, she was hanging on to her temper by a very thin thread, courtesy of Mr. Coulter, the textile merchant’s agent. A short, rotund man who reminded her forcibly of a Pouter pigeon, he sat in the chair before her desk and insisted, yet again, that as the new owner of Bellamy Hall was in residence, it was only right and proper that he, Coulter, deal with that gentleman.
He steadfastly refused to discuss anything at all with her.
He’d stated his decision the instant he’d sat down and, over the past ten minutes, hadn’t shifted an inch.
“Proper business practice, Miss Fergusson, dictates that, where practicable, I should negotiate with the ultimate owner rather than a minion.”
Minion?She bit her lip to smother her immediate retort.
She’d definitely had enough. Meeting Coulter’s eyes, her expression utterly uninformative, she arched her brows. “Are you sure?”
Coulter blinked. “Heh?”
Calmly, she elaborated, “Are you sure you want to deal with Mr. Cynster?”
He studied her for an instant, wariness and suspicion blooming in his beady eyes, but then his truculence returned, and he tugged down his straining waistcoat. “I make deals with owners, Miss Fergusson. Not with”—he waved dismissively—“chatelaines.”
Lips compressed, she nodded and rose. “Very well. Come with me.”
Believing that he was getting his way, Coulter all but bounced to his feet.
She swept from the room, and he resettled his coat and hurried to follow her.
She came upon Cromwell in the front hall. “I take it Mr. Cynster is in the library?”
“Indeed, miss.” Cromwell took in Coulter at her heels and, most helpfully, looked concerned.
Caitlin knew Cromwell’s anxiety arose because he was bothered by anything out of the ordinary, but Coulter wouldn’t know that.
She hid a smirk and swept on, leading the irritating agent to the library.
On reaching the library door, she tapped on the panel. When Gregory called “Come in,” she opened the door a fraction, then looked at Coulter, who was eagerly and impatiently crowding behind her. “Just don’t say I didn’t warn you that Mr. Cynster doesn’t like to be disturbed.”
“What?” Coulter squeaked.
But she’d already turned and pushed the door wide. Ignoring Coulter, she walked in.
Immediately, she looked at Gregory, seated behind the desk, which, helpfully, faced the door. She’d spoken loudly enough for him to have heard.
Sure enough, he met her eyes, fractionally nodded, then looked past her at Coulter as, not quite so certain now, the agent came rather hesitantly into the room.
Gregory paused with his pen poised above the letter he’d been writing. Understanding that, in dealing with whatever this situation was, he was to play the part of an irascible gentleman who didn’t like being interrupted, he leveled a severely disapproving look on the man trailing behind Caitlin and barked, “What’s this, then, Miss Fergusson? You know I don’t appreciate having my concentration disrupted.”
Caitlin halted before the desk, hands clasped before her, the very picture of a dutiful chatelaine. “Indeed, sir. But this gentleman”—she waved at the man who had halted a full pace farther from the desk—“Mr. Coulter, the agent for Kettering Cloth Merchants, who buy and onsell the woolen fabric Mrs. Jenkins and Mrs. Kirk produce, insists that now that you, the owner, are in residence, he will deal only with you.”
She reclasped her hands and met Gregory’s eyes, plainly consigning Coulter to his mercy.
He glowered at the man. “Well, sir? Is this true?” When Coulter simply stared, Gregory forcefully demanded, “What do you have to say for yourself, sir?”
Coulter gripped his hands tightly and, in a tentative tone, managed, “Well, sir, it’s always good policy to ensure I’m dealing with the actual owner. If they’re available.” He cast a sideways glance at Caitlin. “And, well, especially when dealing with females.” He looked at Gregory and essayed a man-to-man expression. “As I’m sure you know, one can never be certain they’ve quite got their minds around all the nuances of a deal—of contracts and such.”
Gregory couldn’t help but glance at Caitlin to see what she thought of that. If Coulter had been able to see the glitter in her eyes, much less the set of her lips and chin, he would have run screaming from the room. As it was…
