Gregory accompanied Caitlin to her final stop in the kitchen garden. While she consulted with Julia, he considered what they’d just seen. When Caitlin farewelled Julia and turned to leave, he fell in beside her once more. “So, Rory has quite a bit of experience with woodcraft.”
She nodded. “His passion is woodcarving—he’s made some heart-stoppingly beautiful pieces.” She paused, then went on, “He has a very real talent for it, but of course, that’s not an occupation my uncle would approve of for his eldest son—indeed, for any of his sons.” She met Gregory’s gaze. “As you might by now have guessed, my uncle is an exceedingly conservative soul. Men must be men and thus spend their time in manly pursuits.”
His lips twitched. “I really can’t see anyone thinking Rory less of a man because he likes to carve wood.”
She shrugged. “My uncle is prejudiced. And unbelievably stubborn.” Eyes narrowing, she added, “And blind.”
“Does Rory really know what he’s doing with the lute?”
“He does. I’ve seen several clarsachs he’s made. They’re Scottish harps, very similar to lutes.” Smiling, she met Gregory’s eyes. “Rest assured, Millie won’t be disappointed.”
He smiled back. “I suspect Rory won’t be disappointed, either.”
She laughed and linked her arm with his, and in thoroughly good spirits, they headed for the house.
After that first day when they’d introduced Rory to the carpentry workshop, other than when he appeared at the dining table, during the day, that was where they would find him, working with absolute focus at the last bench. Under his undeniably skilled hands, Millie’s lute was rapidly taking shape.
But two days later, Rory appeared on the rear drive behind the carpentry workshop just as Gregory and Caitlin were setting out in Gregory’s curricle. Rory waved them down, and curious, Gregory drew his team—impatient for the outing—to a stamping halt.
Rory grasped the curricle’s side rail. “You’re on your way to the estate farms, yeah?”
Caitlin nodded. “Yes. Why?”
“Because I think I ought to go along as well.” Without waiting for agreement, Rory swung up and squeezed his bulk onto the box seat.
Surprised, Caitlin looked at Gregory.
He shrugged, flicked the reins, and set his pair pacing on.
Their first stop was Barton Farm, where Joe and Fanny Barton watched over the acres responsible for the bulk of the estate’s wheat and barley crops. After introducing the Bartons to Rory, Caitlin checked the amounts of seeds Joe had on order, then with all as it should be, they took the main road toward Wellingborough and turned south onto the village lane.
“Nice land around here,” Rory called from behind. “It’d be good grazing.”
Caitlin tipped her head back and replied, “It’s better closer to the river. You’ll see.”
Gregory sent the bays sweeping on, past the turnoff to the village and around the eastward curve, then swung south onto the lane that led to the bridge across the Nene. Before they reached the river, they turned in to Roxton Farm.
After being introduced, leaving Caitlin and Gregory chatting with Fred and Martha Swithins about their plans for planting, Rory wandered to the edge of the farmyard. Standing before the fence, he looked over the river meadows as if seeing some picture in his mind.
But when Caitlin called him, he came readily and, smiling, took his leave of the Swithinses, then climbed back to the box seat.
Gregory tooled the horses back to the lane. As he turned their heads toward the bridge, Rory rumbled, “There’s cattle somewhere near—I can smell them.”
Caitlin glanced at him fondly. “The leatherworks I mentioned are just there.” She nodded to the buildings bordering the lane. “Are you sure it isn’t the tannery you can smell?”
“Nah. Although I can smell that as well—who wouldn’t? But live animals smell different.”
Gregory wasn’t about to argue that. The horses took the bridge in style, drawing an appreciative yelp from Rory. Gregory grinned and, shortly after, slowed the pair and turned onto the drive of Home Farm.
Malcolm Hammersley came out of the barn to greet them.
After being introduced to Rory, Martin asked Caitlin to see if Alice could make up some potion for his sheep.
Rory had noticed the portion of the flock Malcolm had corralled in a nearby pen and wandered across to take a closer look.
Gregory went with him.
Leaning on the railing fence, they studied the sheep. To Gregory, they appeared typical shaggy sheep, but from Rory’s expression, he saw something more. Eventually, he offered, “Nice animals. They’re heavier-fleeced than what we run at Benbeoch, but I think our lot probably have more meat.”
