“It’s not right, what she’s doing.”
“I know it, sir. You’ve been a good tenant—”
“Not that. I mean if you run the house, then you should have control over who stays and who doesn’t. What if she told you to allow someone who really was having ladies over at all hours of the night? What would you do then?”
The man’s eyes widened. “She wouldn’t.”
“I think she would. She certainly could, and that’s not right.”
“But wot can I do about it? She owns the house.”
“You could re-negotiate. This has been Mr. and Mrs. Feit’s Home for Upstanding Gentlemen for generations. That means something. And if she’s to profit from it, then you should be compensated.”
The man stared at him, obviously confused. That was the problem with so many people in business. They didn’t understand what they could negotiate or how. But of course, that was one of his specialties.
“Talk it over with your wife,” he said gently. “When you’re ready to re-negotiate with Isabelle, come find me. I’ll help you stand up to her. I don’t know why you sold in the first place—”
“It was to help my daughter and her husband start their bakery. It was always her dream, and I couldn’t say no.”
He understood a father wanting to sacrifice for his daughter. “Does Isabelle own any part of the bake shop?”
“No, sir, she does not.”
“Good. Keep it that way.”
“I will. And I’ll get you that meat pie right now. Plus a tart from Missy. And you let me know where you end up. I’ll talk to my wife. She’s never liked the way Lady Meunier acted anyway. Not since she bought the house from us.”
Mr. Feit flashed a quick grin, then rushed downstairs while Jackson began the tedious task of packing up his belongings. His clothing didn’t take long, but his books and papers did. He had boxes of notes on various business opportunities, articles on canal designs, and now a new book on horticulture techniques. He already knew where to send it. Aaron would let him store his things for a while, at least until he settled in new rooms. But he hated to add to the clutter of his friend’s home. If ever a man needed a good housekeeper, it was Aaron.
But that was a thought for another day. Especially since packing up had taken too much of his morning. He needed to meet with a tinker he knew and then pay a visit to Lady Gwen. And then he had to convince her to run away with him to Lincolnshire.
Though God only knew what Isabelle would do to his reputation in his absence.
Chapter Twelve
Gwen woke witha clear head and an overwhelming sense of doom. She had been incredibly stupid. She wasn’t sure how it had happened. Normally she never missed details like this, but somehow in the midst of Lord Sayres’s enthusiasm, she had forgotten basic botany.
The daffodil’s blooming season was at its peak now. Soon it would be over. It had only this moment dawned on her that Lord Sayres had been making plans forthis Season,but they couldn’t possibly get everything in place in time. They’d have to wait until next spring.
She would have to tell him as soon as he arrived this afternoon. She fretted about how she would give him the news even as she tried to focus on ways to make next year successful. It ate at her concentration and she was thoroughly put out with herself by the time the man arrived. She even heard the knocker sound from all the way up in her upstairs garden. But when she made it to the front parlor, she found the place empty.
Spinning around, she addressed their butler. “Mr. Parry, wherever is he?”
The man curled his lip. “Who, my lady?”
“Lord Sayres. As you know very well.”
“I sent him to the kitchen, my lady.”
She frowned. “The kitchen? Whatever for?”
“I thought it appropriate, my lady.”
She arched a brow. “You thought itappropriateto put a future earl in the kitchen?”
“Indeed.”
One word and a blank face. Well, something had obviously happened to put their normally sane butler into a stiff mood. She didn’t try to understand but headed directly to the kitchen.