Being one of that breed himself, Gregory knew better than to accept that appearance at face value. Smoothly adopting his London-gentleman-rake persona, he held out his hand. “Lord Ecton.”
“Cynster.” Ecton gripped Gregory’s hand rather limply, then released it and executed a flourishing half bow. “I heard you were in residence, sir, and thought to strike while the iron was hot, so to speak.”
Puzzled, Gregory waved Ecton to the armchair opposite his. As his guest gracefully arranged his limbs, Gregory resumed his seat. “I understand our acres run parallel.”
“For a short distance, yes.” Ecton met Gregory’s eyes and smiled self-deprecatingly. “I fear Ecton Hall is much smaller than the Bellamy estate. But of course, London is where we both belong. I believe we have several acquaintances in common. Lord Eccles and Sinclair Kirby. Oh, and Lord Philby, of course. I’m sure you know him.”
“I’m aware of those gentlemen,” Gregory admitted. All were several years older and ran in a very different set; the named gentlemen were certainly of the ton, but none were exactly highly regarded members of society’s elite.
Undeterred by Gregory’s guarded tone, Ecton rattled on about recent happenings in the ton. From his airy comments, anyone unaware of the facts might have imagined him a jewel in the haut ton crown.
Gregory knew better.
His distrust of Ecton steadily increased as the man segued into explaining that he’d only just returned to Ecton Hall after spending the earlier months of the year at a succession of hunting and shooting parties in the north. “After that, I returned to London, and it was there that I learned that the old bat who lived here—Mrs. Timms—had finally departed this mortal coil.”
Despite his rigidly impassive expression, something must have shown in Gregory’s face. Ecton—who Gregory was aware had been watching him like a sly hawk—blinked, then said, “I say, you weren’t related to the old dear, were you?”
“No,” Gregory replied. “I wasn’t.” Although, of course, Timms had been an honorary great-aunt and a much-loved one at that. More, Ecton’s comment suggested that Timms had had no time for him—which meant that Minnie hadn’t had, either—and Gregory knew both ladies had been excellent judges of character. Maintaining his impassive, outwardly relaxed façade, he inquired, “Tell me, Ecton, what brought you here today?”
Ecton spread his arms, indicating everything around them. “I thought to come and have a chat. How are you finding life in this backwater? I daresay you’re here purely to put the place in order.” Ecton shuddered. “I can’t imagine living in such restrictive surroundings—no parties, no dinners, no carousing with one’s fellows. Given the company you’re accustomed to keeping, you must be missing London already and be desperate to return with all speed.” He tipped his head, his gaze sharp as he tried to read Gregory’s face. “I know I am. I assure you I’m already counting the days until I can make my escape.”
Trying to grasp what the man was about—for he was surely there for some reason—Gregory countered, “So what brought you to the area—to Ecton Hall, which, I assume, is your ancestral home?”
Ecton heaved a dramatic sigh. “Sadly, yes. But as to what brought me here”—Ecton linked his hands around his raised knee and adopted an expression no doubt intended to convey his seriousness—“on learning of Mrs. Timms’s demise and asking around, I learned that you had inherited the estate.” He met Gregory’s eyes. “I have long harbored a desire to buy the Bellamy Hall estate and add its acres to my own, which, as I mentioned, are considerably fewer. Consequently”—leaning back, Ecton released his knee and raised his hands—“here I am, come to make you an offer for this rambling pile.”
The smile on Ecton’s face didn’t reach his eyes, and when Gregory showed no reaction, Ecton hurried on, “I’m aware of the many…shall we politely say ‘hangers-on’ to which the estate has become home.” His lip curled as he sneered, “Country bumpkins, the lot of them, with not an ounce of breeding between them and so caught up in their little hobbies, as if such esoteric endeavors have any value at all in the wider world.”
Gregory bit his tongue and fought to ensure that his expression remained inscrutable.
Ecton shook his head and refocused on Gregory. “I’m sure that you’ll have seen for yourself what a crazy situation has been allowed to develop here. You must be quite desperate to wash your hands of the entire wretched crew and return to more civilized climes. That said, I assure you I have no intention of taking advantage of your need.”
Ecton believed every word of that statement. From all Gregory could see, Ecton possessed not the slightest doubt that Gregory viewed the estate’s residents exactly as he did.
“I’m willing to offer a reasonable price, based on the current value of land in the area.”
Gregory held up a hand; he’d heard enough. “Thank you for your interest, but I have no wish to sell the estate.”
Ecton frowned. “Whyever not?”
Gregory shrugged. “Suffice it to say that I feel no urge to divest myself of the property.”
“Not even for ten thousand pounds?”
Gregory smiled tightly. “No. I’m wealthy enough, and the estate was a legacy. I prefer to retain ownership.”
Ecton was genuinely puzzled. “I can probably manage a little more…?”
When Ecton looked at him hopefully, Gregory shook his head. “I’m not attempting to drive up your price, Ecton. I truly have no interest in selling.”
Having convinced himself otherwise, Ecton didn’t believe that. He looked frustrated, but not defeated.
Gregory rose, and reluctantly, Ecton came to his feet.
Gregory waved to the door. “Come. I’ll walk you out.”
That was a sign of courtesy, one Ecton wouldn’t refuse. Transparently wracking his brain as to what else he could say to persuade Gregory to accept his offer, he walked beside Gregory to the front hall, out of the door Cromwell leapt to hold open, and onto the front porch.
There, Gregory paused.
