Ecton is a shady character who even his so-called close acquaintances aren’t all that fond of. Interestingly, those close acquaintances—hedonistic, profligate, and untrustworthy although they undoubtedly are—nevertheless hail from titled ranks, as does Ecton himself. So he’s not slumming. From what I’ve gathered, the group formed at Eton and have hung together in mutual support of their dissolute and disreputable ways.
I suspect they egg one another on in finding outrageous ways to alleviate their boredom. You know the sort. But while I can easily see where the others—there are at least four regulars of the group besides Ecton—get their funds, namely from their long-suffering parents, when it comes to Ecton, who has already come into his patrimony, I haven’t been able to find any source of income other than his estate, and you will know the circumstances there better than I.
Gregory frowned. He reviewed his conversations with Lord Loxton and the other locals. What had they told him about Ecton’s estate? Nothing specific, but the implication had been that the estate—and certainly the house—was run-down. More, the Hall’s people had been sure that Ecton’s acres weren’t used for any agricultural production, so there was no money coming in from that.
Toby’s information aligned with Therese’s assertion that Ecton didn’t have a penny to scratch himself with. After a moment of futile speculation over how the man intended to finance the purchase of Bellamy Hall, Gregory shook his head and laid Toby’s letter with the rest.
That left him looking at the last letter in the pile.
He stared at it, knowing the writing was familiar… “Aha! Nicholas!” Eagerly, Gregory picked up the letter, opened it, and spread the single sheet. As he read, a smile bloomed and grew, eventually wreathing his face.
On reaching the end of the missive, he sat back, delighted. “It’s certainly a good week for the Suttons. With this news, they’re financially in the pink. Or more accurately, deep in the black.”
He’d sent Nicholas samples of the leathers the Suttons produced, asking if Nicholas felt there would be any interest from the saddlemakers located around Newmarket. As the head of the Cynster racing stables and, these days, with Prudence married and in Ireland, also in overall charge of the Cynster stud, Nicholas wielded significant influence over everything to do with horses in Newmarket, the home of England’s Jockey Club.
Gregory had expected Nicholas to show the leather to his saddlemaker and, if the firm showed interest, to put them in touch with Gregory. Instead, Nicholas wrote that the Cynster stables were interested in securing sufficient quantities of the Suttons’ leather for their favored saddlemaker to produce new saddles for all their riders, both the racing saddles and the various types of training saddles. Nicholas floated the notion that he would be willing to pay a premium to ensure that the Cynster order was filled as a priority, before any other saddler gained access to the Suttons’ product.
Nicholas hadn’t explained the avidity of his interest, leaving Gregory to surmise that there was some specific benefit to having saddles made with leather of exceptional quality.
Regardless, he was beyond delighted. On impulse, he rose, folded the letter, tucked it into his coat pocket, and headed for his room.
After changing into breeches and boots, he strode to the stables and had Melton saddle his gray gelding. Melton had retrieved the horse from the Alverton Priory stables soon after Gregory had taken up residence at the Hall; earlier in the year, he’d left the horse—a hunter—with his brother-in-law, assuming that he would travel to Lincolnshire to hunt at some point, but he hadn’t had the time.
He smiled at the thought of all he had been doing—had been accomplishing—and with a nod of thanks, took the reins from Melton, swung up to the saddle, and set off along the drive, circling the house to the forecourt, then heading for the leatherworks.
An hour later, richly satisfied with the latest outcome of his endeavors to strengthen the Hall’s businesses, Gregory rode back into the stable. After surrendering his horse to Melton, he walked out into the late-afternoon sunshine.
He paused in the stable yard and looked up at the looming bulk that was Bellamy Hall. Massive and over-ornate it might be, yet it looked like home.
Felt like home.
Smiling to himself, he started along the drive, making for the house’s north door. As he walked, he looked inward, examining the feelings coursing through him—satisfaction, a certain type of pleasure, triumph of a sort, vindication, and quite a few others more nebulous.
This is the happiest I’ve felt in years.
That was the simple truth.
He wondered where Caitlin was. He glanced up, then diverted to the kitchen garden. Pausing under the archway, he looked around.
Julia spotted him and waved. “If you’re looking for Caitlin”—she pointed to her left—“she headed for the rose garden.”
Smiling, Gregory saluted, turned, and made for the nearby rose garden.
Bathed in spring sunshine, the walled sanctuary was pleasantly warm. He spotted Caitlin among the roses and strode down the central aisle toward her.
She heard him coming, looked up, and smiled in a welcome that warmed him in a way the sun never would.
Smiling in return, he joined her on one of the narrower side paths. He grasped the hand she offered and would have drawn her to him and stolen a kiss, but she glanced warningly to her left.
Looking in that direction, he saw Alice and Millie, heads down, busily snipping at some bushes growing beneath the roses.
Alice glanced up and smiled. “Good afternoon, Gregory. Have you come to steal Caitlin away?”
He grinned. “If I may.”
Her eyes twinkling, Alice looked at Caitlin and, with one gloved hand, waved her off. “We can finish here. You’d better go and learn what news our dear owner has to share.”
Caitlin turned wide eyes on him. “Do you have news to share?”
