“How old is he?”
Royce cocked a brow at Handley. “Forty-five?”
Handley nodded. “About that.”
“In that case—”
She provided information on the existing Wolverstone households, while Royce, with Handley’s additional observations, gave her an overview of the small staff he’d accumulated over his years of exile. Given he had no wish to keep the Cleveland Row house, she suggested that most of the staff be sent to Wolverstone House.
“Once you’re married and take your seat in the Lords, you and your wife will entertain a great deal more there than has been the case in the last decade—you’ll need the extra staff.”
“Indeed.” Royce’s lips curved as if something amused him, but then he saw her noticing and glanced at his jottings. “That leaves only Hamilton’s fate unresolved. I’m inclined to assign him to Wolverstone House in a supporti
ve capacity to old Bridgethorpe. In time, Hamilton can take over there, but until Bridgethorpe is ready to retire, depending on how much I need to travel between the various estates, I may use Hamilton as a personal butler.”
She raised her brows. “One who travels with you?”
“He knows my preferences better than anyone else.”
She inclined her head. “True. And that will allow all the other butlers to remain in their roles without causing tension.”
He nodded and looked at Handley. “Is there anything else?”
Handley shook his head and glanced at Minerva.
“Nothing more about the households,” she said, “but I wondered if you’d thought further about the mill.”
Royce frowned. “I’ll have to speak with Falwell, and I suppose Kelso, too, before I make any decision.” He glanced at Handley. “Send a message that I wish to see them tomorrow morning.”
Handley nodded, making a note.
In the distance, a gong sounded.
“Luncheon.” Minerva stood, surprised and relieved that she’d survived two full hours of Royce’s company without blushing once. Then again, other than that initial assessing look, he’d been entirely neutral when interacting with her.
She smiled at Handley as he and Royce rose to their feet.
Handley smiled back. Gathering his papers, he nodded to Royce. “I’ll have those letters ready for you to sign later this afternoon.”
“Leave them on the desk—I’ll be in and out.” Royce looked at Minerva, waved her to the door. “Go ahead—I’ll join you at the table.”
She inclined her head and left—feeling very like Little Red Riding Hood; avoiding walking alone through the keep’s corridors with the big, bad wolf was obviously a wise idea.
She had to own to further surprise when Royce chose to sit between Lady Courtney and Susannah at the luncheon table. The meal was strictly informal, a cold collation laid out on a sideboard from which guests helped themselves, assisted by footmen and watched over by Retford, before taking what seats they wished at the long table.
Flanked by Gordon and Rohan Varisey, with the startlingly handsome Gregory Debraigh opposite, she had distraction enough without wondering about Royce and his machinations. Presumably during the day, while he was Wolverstone and she was his chatelaine, he intended to behave with circumspection.
The meal had ended, and she was strolling with the others through the front hall, when Royce walked up behind her. “Minerva.”
When she halted and turned, brows rising, he said, “If you’re free, I’d like to take a look at the mill. It would help if I have a better understanding of the problem before I see Falwell and Kelso tomorrow.”
“Yes, of course.” She was the one urging the matter be dealt with immediately. “Now?”
He nodded and waved her toward the west wing.
They walked through the corridors, the voices of the others fading as they turned into the north wing. A side hall at the north end led them to a door that gave onto the gardens beyond.
Lawns and shrub borders fell away to more rolling expanses hosting larger, mature trees. The ornamental stream burbled beside them as they followed the gravel path along its bank. Ahead, the mill sat built over the stream; partially screened by a stand of willows, it was far enough from the house to be unobtrusive, yet was within walking distance.