Page 8 of What the Heart Knows

“I’m recently retired from the army and looking for a place to settle. When George became my valet, he expressed a wish to visit his family. I agreed, since no pressing matters required my attention.”

She knew few men who’d even consider a servant’s wishes. “Fascinating, and what do you think of our village?”

“I’ve seen too little of Fenwick to form much of an opinion. At my request, George’s showing me about.”

A good enough explanation for wanting to know about local activities, legal and otherwise. She lifted her eyebrows. “What might persuade you to settle here, sir?”

Copefort gave a slight shrug. “That would depend on what I learn.”

“Quite wise,” she murmured.

“Here’s all the trim I could find, Miss Fenneman.” Beuth, a tall spare man with sparse gray hair, stepped from behind the curtain separating his storage from the public area of the shop. He laid several bundles on the countertop beside the bolts of cloth and lace.

“Thank you, Mr. Beuth. I’d like a moment to examine these.”

“Certainly, Miss Fenneman. Meanwhile, I’ll help George and this other gentleman, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.” She turned her attention to the spools of trim.

“How may I help you, sir?” Beuth queried.

“Mr. Copefort,” George said, “is my employer. He’s interested in learning about Fenwick on Sea. You’ve lived here longer than most and could suggest places he should visit.” Turning to Copefort, George continued. “Mr. Copefort, allow me to introduce you to Mr. Alfred Beuth, Fenwick’s greengrocer, mercer, and apothecary.”

“I’m happy to help you, Mr. Copefort. Are you looking to amuse yourself, or are you perhaps thinking to settle near Fenwick?”

“A little of both. If property is available, I would be pleased to look at it. However, I don’t wish to spend every minute in pursuit of a small manor.”

From the corner of her eye, Meg watched Beuth study Copefort.

“Hmm.” The shopkeeper stroked his chin. “A small manor, you say. How small?”

“I think that would depend on the condition of the property.”

“Aye,” Beuth nodded. “I can make up a list for you. A few estates have gone abandoned and are known to be for sale. Also, I know of other owners who might be open to selling, if the price is right.”

“Thank you. George will return to pick up the list this afternoon. Is that satisfactory?”

“Aye, should be ready by then. What are you thinking to show Mr. Copefort in the meantime, young George?”

“I promised to show him the countryside and introduce him to some of the other residents.”

“You should take Mr. Copefort up Trout Creek way,” Beuth suggested.

“You once said there was good fishing near your home, George,” Copefort said.

“There is, though nothing to compare with the salmon and trout streams I’ve heard of in the north.”

“Regardless, I do enjoy a relaxing hour or two with a line in the water.”

A man who enjoys fishing and lacks snobbery is an unusual man. Perhaps there is more to Mr. Copefort than a pleasing appearance and an intriguing voice.

“Ahem, I beg pardon,” Meg interrupted. “I must disagree with George on this matter.”

“Oh?” Brow raised, Copefort tilted his head.

“Trout Creek is fine fishing ground. I’ve not been able to visit some of the more notable streams. However, I’ve spent many a pleasant hour at Trout Creek procuring enough fish to feed my entire household.”

“Truly? I know no ladies who enjoy fishing.”