exchanged their sturdy garments for their Sunday best, and they brought trays with mugs of mead forward to the visitors. Inwardly, she cheered whomever had thought of this excellent strategy of plying the guests with the delicious, mood-lightening drink.
Noel stepped forward to take two mugs. He passed one to Jess, then took a sip. “Extraordinary.”
“An old family recipe,” Fred said proudly. “Proprietary, too. Though,” he added with a wink, “with the right inducement, I’m sure someone will be willing to give up their secrets.”
Jess coughed loudly, and glared from behind the fist she’d brought up to her mouth.
“Everyone finished their mead?” Cynthia asked. When the company nodded, she said, “If you’ll follow Katie, she’ll begin the tour of our operation. Lady Whitfield, a word? I have a question about today’s planned agenda.”
“Of course.” Jess smiled and waved the group forward, including Noel. “Go on ahead. I’ll catch up.”
“This way, everyone,” Katie said, holding up her hands as she walked backward. “There’s much to see and I’m sure you’ll have questions, so let’s begin.”
Once the visitors had moved on—Noel casting a glance at her over his shoulder before joining them—Jess turned to her siblings. Her mind spun out into a hundred different scenarios: their half-dozen workers had failed to show up today, or they’d neglected purchasing enough tallow, or the bees hadn’t produced enough honey. Whatever the situation, Jess would handle it.
But before she could speak, Cynthia demanded, “A duke, Jess?” Her eyes gleamed excitedly. “You never said anything about a duke fancying you.”
“Handsome as Hades, too,” Fred added, waggling his eyebrows.
Jess scowled at her brother. “Shut it. And whether or not Noel, I mean, the duke fancies me doesn’t matter. We’re here to keep McGale & McGale going.” She glanced toward the open-walled structure where they made lye. Katie gestured to the barrels as she likely explained the way in which wood ash was boiled with river water to create the lye for their soap.
Noel stood with the rest of the group, listening to Katie. Having him on her family’s humble farm ought to feel strange or odd, his elegant figure a stark contrast to the workaday buildings and equipment. And yet it was as though she had been waiting forever for him to come here, and at last, he was in his rightful place.
“Did you . . . ahem.” Fred looked at her meaningfully. “With him? For the business?”
Her gaze flew back to her brother. “God, no!” The thought was appalling, churning her stomach. “I’d never.”
“That’s not what we believed at all.” But Cynthia spoke too quickly.
Jess closed her eyes and counted slowly to five. When she felt sufficiently calm, she opened her eyes and said, “I’m getting back to the others to, you know, legitimately save our family business.” She walked away, her pace sedate and even in case anyone from the Bazaar looked in her direction. When she rejoined the others, she made certain her expression was calm and interested.
As Katie continued to explain how liquid lye was created, Noel leaned close to whisper, “Making mischief behind the scenes?”
“I don’t hide my mischief—I do it in plain sight.” She explained in a low voice, “Just a few logistical questions about the post-tour luncheon.” She continued to smile at him, hoping he believed her, willing everything to work out. Because it had to. There simply was no other choice.
Chapter 21
Throughout the tour, Noel couldn’t stop himself from glancing at Jess. The information the McGale siblings presented them was fascinating—Noel used soap daily, but had virtually no idea what the process of making it entailed—yet he found himself looking for her whenever they moved from one step of the procedure to the next.
She watched it all with a careful expression, taking note of everything, listening carefully. She also sent discreet glances toward the Bazaar guests, as if assessing their reaction to the business.
It was only natural—in a way, Jess had been the one to bring McGale & McGale to everyone’s attention. Surely she’d be invested in whether or not they agreed with her assessment.
Mostly, though, Noel gazed at Jess because he simply liked to see her. He watched the play of thoughts across her face, and savored the sunlight caught in her hair, and noted a thousand details that he tucked away to revisit and cherish later.
There was a poem he dimly recalled from school. Typical male, the poet had gone on and on, employing every verbal trick in the book so he might get under the lady’s skirts.