Very little a Malcolm did could surprise him. More often, the know-it-alls irritated him. He made a mental note not to marry a Malcolm.
His question to Rainford about what to look for in a wife now haunted him. Wealthy and not a Malcolm didn’t encompass it all, but it certainly eliminated everyone here.
The topmost floor of the tower had been renovated with real windows for his great-great-grandfather, who had studied astronomy over a century ago. It was almost a museum of Ives’ hobbies. Gerard had boxed up a fair number of them to clear a table for his own collection.
He set the Roman medallion next to a crude replica of a horse carved from limestone. He’d kept the horse because it contained the memories of its previous owner riding free and bareback across green hills and through thick forests. There hadn’t been forests like that in England in centuries.
He picked up the small silver toothpick, but the old Georgian philosopher who’d once used it had nothing to say tonight. He set it on the other side of the medallion.
“Talk to each other,” he said dryly. “Let me know if I deserve to find treasure. Otherwise I may marry and give you over to the housekeepers, who will box you up and store you in the dungeon.”
Was that a ghostly hmpf he heard? He sat down to make notes in his journal, but his thoughts kept returning to the beekeeper, especially the part where she ran her hands over him. She had a lady’s tender skin, not a farm worker’s, but then, she was a Malcolm. They generally came from aristocratic families.
The bell he’d installed at the back exit rang. It allowed the few men on the estate to reach him without going through a protective cordon of females.
After finishing the meat pie the kitchen had sent up with the tea, Gerard clambered down the stairs to his ground floor office. If he was inclined to stay here for any length of time, he would hire a manservant to handle this sort of thing.
Having no servants in the tower encouraged him to move on before winter.
Avery waited outside. An educated man of good family, Avery had the thick shoulders and torso of a bull. The middle-aged estate agent dressed better than Gerard in rich tweeds and tailored doeskin. But then, the old bachelor lived on the estate and didn’t have anyone or anything eating up his pay.
Gerard gestured at the usual chair in his office and took his oak one behind the desk. “That was prompt. I didn’t mean to convey urgency.”
The steward propped his wool cap on his knee. “The ladies work themselves into a lather elsewise.”
Gerard acknowledged the truth of that. “Am I wrong in thinking they object to your dog?”
“We have badgers digging up the orchard, a fox after the henhouse, and rabbits gnawing their way through the early crops. The dog’s good at routing them. Makes a good guard dog as well. Don’t know why they’ve taken a dislike to the creature.”
“I gather the animal takes his reward in honey. The beekeeper rightfully objects. The animal needs to be trained to stay away from the skeps.” Feeling the ache in his jaw and wrist, Gerard thought it a pity the beast didn’t learn from the pain of bee stings.
“Your beekeeper is an over-reaching harridan,” Avery said with unusual anger. “She had the orchard dug up for flower beds while I was away at market. And now she’s demanding the carpenter build some new-fangled hives to coddle the insects, instead of burning them out the way it’s always been done.”
Appeasing the tension between his excellent, but traditionalist agent, and the castle’s more open-minded tenants had always been a problem.
“You should know by now that the ladies have my father’s full support. They do not take on projects at a whim. I’m certain the beekeeper met with a committee of the ladies to discuss what she can do to aid the estate.”
Although Gerard was well aware that, to his tenants, providing bouquets for the hall would qualify as reason to dig up unused ground and plant flowers. But honey was a valuable crop and so they weren’t being unreasonable.
“I tell you, the beekeeper is a trouble maker. You’ll regret encouraging her. I can’t keep the hound out of the orchard without a fence.” Avery scowled. Caught by surprise at Gerard’s unexpected arrival, he apparently hadn’t had time to visit a barber. His shaggy brown hair hung down his neck and his ferocious mustache bristled.
“A fence around the hives wouldn’t hurt,” Gerard agreed without rancor, although he mentally winced at the additional cost. “The lady is out there alone and unprotected. If she’s contributing to the estate’s welfare, then we should provide what she needs. Keep the dog leashed until then. I don’t want to have to right more skeps while I’m here.”
“Aye, will do,” Avery said grumpily. “You want me back in the morning to go over the books?”
“I realize I’m too early for the harvest to be in. Give me time to study where we are. The day after tomorrow, perhaps?” He placated the man, knowing he was good at what he did.
Rising, he escorted Avery to the door. As the agent strode off, Gerard noticed one of the women tending a rose bed in the evening gloom. Her gray gown almost disappeared in the shadows. He thought it might be the beekeeper, but she glanced up and vanished into deeper darkness.
Hell, maybe she was a ghost. Weirder things had happened.
Bored, he finally headed for the main house to greet the occupants of his castle.
Finally, a spirit voice whispered. And he wasn’t even carrying the medallion. That sent a shiver down his spine.
Iona set the bouquet of late roses in a porcelain vase on the entrance
