I’ll have my man of business prepare the necessary documents.”
Mr. Walditch, Mr. Parley, and Baron Mentmore added their own plans to invest. By the time they’d voiced their intentions, the McGales looked as though they were on the verge of joining hands and dancing in a victorious circle.
Even Jess grinned, clearly pleased that she’d guided everyone to a worthwhile venture. He felt it from her, the sense of relief so profound it eased through Noel’s own bones.
“Potential is ripe here,” Noel said. “I’m in.”
“I think this calls for a celebration,” Fred said. “More mead, and I baked a honey cake in hopes of this very outcome.”
The glasses were all refilled, and moments later, Cynthia came out bearing a large platter with an impressive golden-brown cake. Strawberries and blackberries adorned the top of the cake and encircled its sides. She cut slices for everyone, adding a dollop of whipped cream with the berries.
As everyone ate and drank, contentment gripped Noel. He resisted the urge to stroke his hand down Jess’s thigh beneath the table, but he felt her beside him just the same.
Conversation went on, slightly drowsy from the long day and the excellent meal.
Jess stood. “Please don’t get up,” she said when Noel and the other men began to rise. “I just need a good stretch of my legs before we return to Carriford.”
“A walk sounds the very thing, Lady Whitfield,” Noel said as he got to his feet. “Machines that get too little use turn rusty.”
Together, they strolled away from the table. They took a path past several fields full of growing crops. The air was filled with green scent and the fragrance of rich soil—though he was ignorant of what precisely they grew—and bees droned beneath the late afternoon sky.
A glance behind him confirmed that everyone at the table continued to chat amongst themselves and with the McGales.
Noel reached down and took Jess’s hand. They’d removed their gloves for eating, so their palms pressed snug against each other. Her fingers were like the opening stanzas of a poem he knew by heart.
He stroked his thumb back and forth over hers, her skin soft but not in the same way as most ladies. There was a slight hardiness in the feel of her, as if she did more than pour tea, write letters, and practice at the pianoforte.
“You must feel at home here,” he murmured.
She glanced at him. “Why do you say that?”
“You mentioned a rural upbringing. Unless you made that up to hide the fact that you and your jewel-thieving family traveled from glamorous city to glamorous city, breaking hearts and stealing precious gems.”
“We only turned to stealing so that we might pay for our dear old gran’s medical treatments.” She guided them off the path and down a sloping hill, where tall grasses brushed against their clothing. When he stiffened at the sound of something rustling in the brush, she said, “Don’t worry—there are several mousers at this farm that keep everything rodent-free.”
Grateful, he exhaled. “I’m certain McCameron would give me a roasting if he knew my loathing of mice and rats. An inescapable part of being a soldier, he said. That, and weevils.” He shook his head. “No, thank you, kindly.”
She made a quiet scoffing noise. “Farm life’s not for you, then. Because there’s no avoiding a host of wriggling things and creatures with pincers and many, many legs.”
They reached the bottom of the hill, and stood on the banks of a cheerful river, water streaming over rocks and gently chuckling. The last strains of daylight played upon the river’s surface.
“So, your life wasn’t just rural, it was downright agrarian.”
“I grew up on a farm,” she said after a moment. “There were no glamorous cities or carefully plotted robberies. Just cows and goats and a fair share of manure.” She shot him a look. “You wouldn’t have liked it.”
“Here, now,” he said in mock affront, “I once had to wear a woolen waistcoat instead of one made of silk. Never say I’m not adaptable.” With his free hand, he stroked a finger along her cheek and then down her neck. Her warm, silken flesh thickened his thoughts far more than any mead they had imbibed.
“Carriford suits you well enough,” she said, leaning into his touch. “Is a farm entirely too rustic?”
He looked behind him at the fields that stood at the top of the slope. “Don’t know if I’d make for much of a farmer. But with the right inducement, I’d be willing to try.” He