Two lines, though, kept sticking in Noel’s head: But at my back I always hear / Time’s wingéd chariot hurrying near.
Jess was not his forever. Hell, he didn’t know if she was his now.
“You’re aware of what happened four months back,” Cynthia McGale said in her broad Wiltshire accent. There was something familiar about the way she spoke, the rhythm of her words, but he could not quite identify what that was.
Cynthia nodded to a heap of charred timber, the grass around it scorched.
“The fire,” Noel said.
Fred McGale said grimly, “That building was where lye and rendered fat were combined in the saponification process. Dangerous work.”
“That’s what caused the fire?” Lady Farris asked.
“There’s the rub,” Cynthia said. “’Twas a lightning strike that started the blaze. We all heard it and ran out, me and Fred and—” She stopped abruptly. “And my other sister.”
“But you couldn’t save the structure or anything in it,” Jess said, her words firm. “Correct, Miss McGale?”
“We lost the building and equipment, my lady,” Cynthia said, “and that’s why we need you. Because we know that if we got everything back up and running, made a few improvements and had our production volume increased, we’d be a roaring success.”
“Which would also be dependent on our investors spreading the word,” Fred McGale added. “If people knew about us, they’d want our soap.”
“How do you know that for certain?” Lady Haighe asked.
“Because everyone who tries McGale & McGale soap becomes a repeat customer,” Cynthia said. “We know this for a fact—and have the record of sales to prove it.”
The visitors murmured amongst themselves, and Noel had to admit that what the McGale family offered sounded promising.
“We’d like to see the accounting ledgers,” Jess said. “To see how profitable the business was before the fire.”
“Our sister—the one who isn’t here—kept them,” Fred said. “They show McGale & McGale’s profitability when we did have all of our structures and equipment. We would be happy to provide that for you, Your Grace.”
“Here they are.” Cynthia motioned toward one of the workers, who brought forward two volumes. She handed the books to Noel. “Feel free to look at them during our luncheon, but I’ll need both back before you leave today.”
“My thanks.” He flipped one open to find very thorough auditing of business costs and profits. “Where is your other sister?”
“She’s . . .” Fred cleared his throat. “Working. She has been employed off the farm for several months.”
“Neither one of us has seen her in some time,” Cynthia added.
“Shame,” Noel said, returning his attention to the ledger. She’d done a fine job of recording the expenses and revenue. The handwriting looked oddly familiar. He tried to place where he’d seen it, picturing in his mind a woman’s hand recording something in a notebook with that same penmanship.
Ah, well. It didn’t signify. What was of importance was the careful and detailed accounting in the ledger, revealing the sustained profit of the McGale operation.
When everyone had finished examining the books, they were returned to Cynthia McGale’s care.
“Luncheon next, I believe,” Jess said.
“Right this way, my lords and ladies,” Fred McGale said.
He led the group to a long table that had been set up beneath the branches of an oak. Wildflowers in ceramic jugs were placed at intervals down the middle of the table, and a collection of unmatched plates marked each person’s place. Since they were not in a formal setting and he wasn’t required to seat himself according to rank, Noel offered Jess a place beside him. She smiled and took the proffered chair.
The McGale siblings and two of the farm’s workers brought out platters of simple, homey food, including roast chicken, cucumbers dressed with vinegar, and apples baked in honey-sweetened pastry.
As the sun inched lower in the sky, it cast golden light through the oak leaves, and between having Jess beside him, the mellowness of the mead, and the languid June air in this bucolic place, Noel couldn’t recall a more enjoyable day.
Beneath this sense of calm and peace, anticipation sparked through him. He had another night with Jess beneath his roof. Another night before their time together ran out—but it didn’t have to come to an end. Tonight, he’d show her with all the ways he could how much she meant to him.
“My lords and ladies,” Cynthia McGale said, holding up her hands, “Your Grace. Thank you all for your visit today. Have you any further questions?”
After a moment, Lady Farris said, “I have none. The moment I return to London,