Smiling, Jennifer announced, “I’ve brought bottles of our latest run of perry to celebrate, if anyone would like to try it?”
Everyone was eager. In the end, the Edgars and Hammersleys joined the Hall’s residents for luncheon, and a rowdy celebration, fueled equally by delight over the excellent agreements and Jennifer’s rather strong perry, ensued.
At one point, Caitlin leaned her head briefly against Gregory’s shoulder, and when he looked at her, she raised her glass, and her smiling eyes met his. “Well done!” She toasted him, then lowering her glass, murmured, “Quite aside from the financial success, this has knitted not just those three businesses but all of us closer together. It’s a shared victory. I’ve never seen us so…united.”
Glancing around the table, taking in the high spirits and the strong and, yes, strengthening sense of camaraderie, he murmured back, “I hadn’t thought of that, but you’re right.” He met her gaze and smiled. “That’s an additional, unlooked-for benefit.”
There was no denying that a group united in common cause was much less vulnerable to attack.
Once luncheon was over and everyone scattered, returning to their regular tasks, Gregory made for the library and the latest batch of letters that had arrived that day. Cromwell had left the letters on the salver on the corner of the library desk. Gregory sat, drew the salver his way, and sorted through the pile, hoping against hope that someone would have written with the solution to the mystifying secret of why Ecton wanted to buy the Hall—so that Gregory would know exactly what threat he and the Hall faced—but…
He grimaced. “Damn.” None of the day’s letters were from those to whom he’d written.
He sighed, leafed once more through the envelopes, then settled to read a purely social missive from a longtime friend.
Over breakfast the next day, a letter arrived, addressed to Messrs. Walter, Fellows, and Martindale. The three painters, seated next to each other at the table, with Daniel beside them, stared at the letter as if it were a snake.
After several seconds of complete stillness, Rory snorted. “For God’s sake, just open it. It can’t bite.”
The looks on Melrose’s, Tristan’s, and Hugo’s faces stated they weren’t entirely convinced of that, but eventually, with every eye now upon them, Melrose, seated between the other two, gingerly picked up the letter, broke the seal, and carefully unfolded the sheet.
Three pairs of eyes locked on the writing, scanning the lines.
“Good Lord!” Tristan’s eyes lit. “It’s from the owner of an art gallery in London.”
“And look here.” Holding the letter, Melrose pointed at a paragraph and all but bounced in his chair. “He wants to see our works with a view to including them in an exhibition. He asks particularly for scenes of the ruins and the countryside.”
Hugo was equally excited. “He—Mr. Crawford of Crawford Galleries in the Burlington Arcade—writes that we were mentioned in passing by Sir Gerrard Debbington and also by a Mr. Cynster, another artist who shows at the gallery.” All four pairs of eyes, Daniel’s included, rose to look down the table at Gregory.
“But you don’t draw,” Melrose said.
Gregory grinned. “Another cousin, Carter Cynster. One of my uncle’s protégés.”
“Ah.” Melrose glanced at the letter, then looked back at Gregory and smiled like a beatific cherub. “But it’s you we have to thank for mentioning us to your uncle and his protégé.”
He pushed to his feet, and his friends rose with him. As if rehearsed, the three painters laid their hands over their hearts and bowed. “From the bottom of our hearts, we thank you,” Melrose said.
“Hear, hear,” came from the other two.
The trio straightened, and still smiling beatifically, Melrose said, “You truly can have no idea how much this means to us.”
Smiling, too, Gregory replied, “I didn’t have to do much, and in reality, what comes of this will be up to you.” His gaze on the three, he added, “You can repay me and everyone at the Hall by doing your best to impress Mr. Crawford.”
“Lord, yes!” Tristan turned to Hugo and Melrose. “When are we going to go down?”
Melrose picked up the letter and sat again. “It says here…”
The three tossed around possible dates and how long it would take for them to put together the most impressive portfolios.
Eventually, they fell silent, then, again virtually as one, they turned to Daniel, who had been sitting quietly eating beside Hugo. “I say!” Melrose exclaimed. “Did you bring any more paintings with you?”
“Besides that glorious one you gave Caitlin,” Tristan clarified.
Daniel waggled his head. “A few.”
Hugo beamed and clapped him on the shoulder. “You should come with us and speak with Crawford, too.”
Daniel looked uncertain.
