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Chapter Four
Despite his very proper shirt and coat, Sophie’s wayward, wanton mind kept remembering what had been under it as he approached the crowd with a confident smile. She had nearly choked on her own tongue when he had pulled open his curtains and filled the window with his splendid nakedness from the waist up. As much as she disliked him personally, it really had been splendid. Certainly enough to know that the broad shoulders which filled that burgundy coat so well were all real and not the least bit padded. And certainly enough to give her wayward, lustful body the sorts of ideas she had been trying to wean it off of for years with little success.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, I presume that you are aggrieved by my plans to sell?’
Several of the villagers around her murmured their disgust. A few, including the rabble-rousing old woman beside her, booed. If any of that bothered him, he covered it well.
‘I would welcome the opportunity to discuss it with you all this instant—but fear that such a discussion will be futile when I am but one voice and you are many, and tempers are clearly frayed. It is also freezing out here.’ He smiled and spread his palms, the very picture of reasonableness. ‘Therefore, in the spirit of conciliation, I am prepared to invite a smaller delegation into this house who can speak for all of you in the hope that together we can reach an amicable compromise while the rest of you await the news in the warmth of your own homes.’ He stared at Sophie directly. ‘Would that be agreeable, Miss Gilbert?’
She nodded warily, wondering why on earth her silly pulse had quickened the moment their eyes had locked when she disliked him so. ‘How small a delegation?’ Because if it was just her and him, that was a big, fat, resounding no.
‘My dining room is currently set up for twelve and I would only need the one seat.’ He smiled his most charming smile, which, dash it, was about as disarming as any she had ever seen.
‘Then we shall gladly take the other eleven, my lord, so long as we can choose who that eleven are.’
‘You have carte blanche to fill those chairs with whomever you see fit, Miss Gilbert...’ His eyes drifted to the sea of placards and furious faces. ‘So long as the rest of your number have the good grace to retreat from my property and desist intimidating and frightening my innocent staff.’ Then he inclined his head politely. ‘If you will excuse me, I think it also prudent that I too retreat while you choose your seconds. I shall patiently and respectfully await them, and you, inside.’ And with that, he disappeared back through his imposing front door which closed behind him.
Because it seemed the best way to do it, she decided to trust democracy again and organised the crowd into distinct groups to vote for their spokesperson. After an eternity, they were whittled down to ten who all fell into step behind her as Sophie led them to the door. Even Mrs Outhwaite seemed to accept that she was in charge—even if she did so with exceedingly pursed lips.
To her surprise, it was Lord Hockley himself who answered her knock and invited them inside with another dazzling smile. One which she was convinced he used with ruthless intent specifically to disarm as he certainly hadn’t deployed it yesterday when she had tried to talk to him. ‘Ladies and gentlemen—welcome to the cluttered mausoleum that is Hockley Hall.’ He gestured to the ad hoc and eclectic mix of antiquities lining every foot of the panelled hallway with a self-deprecating shrug. ‘Please do not judge me on my predecessor’s peculiar, dust-collecting décor as I had no hand in it.’ His blue eyes settled on the threadbare stuffed head of an ancient wild boar glaring down at them from above the doorframe and pulled an expression of comic disgust that made some of their number smile. ‘There are refreshments awaiting you in the dining room.’
Sophie recognised a determined charm offensive when she saw one and the new Lord Hockley bent over backwards to come across as agreeable. He shook every hand heartily as he stood by while servants gathered their coats, making quips and friendly comments which were clearly designed to disarm them all. He even managed to make the sour-faced Mrs Outhwaite smile, which was no mean feat as Sophie had never managed it. Once that was concluded he then ushered them to follow his butler towards the delicious aromas emanating from down the hall as if they were all invited and eagerly anticipated guests rather than an angry mob who wanted his head on a spike. Before she followed, he caught her arm, the heat from his fingers radiating through the heavy fabric of her thickest winter coat to sear and stir her flesh in a most improper way.
‘Miss Gilbert, before we begin, I feel I owe you a very personal apology.’ He smiled his most dazzling smile just for her. ‘You caught me at a bad time yesterday and I lashed out. I was rude and obnoxious, and I am heartily ashamed of myself for it.’
‘I dare say you are, Lord Hockley—a crowd of angry protestors at the crack of dawn will doubtless do that.’ She wasn’t the slightest bit fooled by his sudden affability which had been sadly lacking yesterday. She snatched away her arm, annoyed that the touch of this man—this horrid, selfish, ridiculously attractive man—was playing such havoc with her long-dormant senses. ‘It must be quite galling too, to realise that the ill-mannered fishwife you attempted to fob off, deceive and outright lie to not a day ago now finds herself the duly elected leader of this godforsaken and ramshackle village.’ She smiled sweetly back as his melted, and continued to smile as she sailed regally after the others.
‘I really am trying to be reasonable.’ With ten angry people all shouting at once now that the bacon was gone, and their waspish leader sat in smug silence enjoying the spectacle, Rafe’s patience was stretched way beyond its limits. ‘We are here to find a compromise after all.’
‘A compromise, according to Mr Johnson’s dictionary, can only occur when both parties give a little, my lord. So far, and do please correct me if I am wrong...’ Miss Gilbert offered him the insincere smile of a strict schoolmistress admonishing a wayward pupil. ‘All we have ascertained is that you intend to sell come hell or high water and there is nothing we can do about it beyond accept your assertion that you will try your best to find the right buyer.’ She had him there, he supposed, because that, in a convoluted nutshell, was all he had allowed himself to commit to in the last hour despite all their increasingly heated protestations. ‘There is an ocean of difference between try and will, my lord, and we have no reason to trust you when we do not know you.’
‘You have my word as an officer and a gentleman that I will try my best to find you the right buyer, Miss Gilbert. At this early stage in the proceedings, I cannot promise any more than that.’ He offered his best placating expression to the other ten scowling faces, all but one were male. ‘This has come as a bolt out of the blue for all of us, and while your concerns here this morning are understandable, it is still a little soon to expect me to make concrete promises when I have barely had any time to make any concrete plans.’
Stay calm. Appear reasonable. Stay measured. Remain in control at all costs.The sage advice of his favourite colonel during his military training had been his mantra ever since when he encountered insubordination in the ranks. It had never failed him yet.
‘Why don’t we let the dust settle and reconvene this meeting when we all have a clearer understanding of the situation? Nothing good ever comes from a hasty overreaction spewed in anger without full possession of all the facts.’ Assume the unswerving gravitas of command and they will follow. ‘Facts which I do not yet have myself even.’ Rafe made sure to catch every eye as he scanned the table, another tip gleaned from his colonel at the start of his career as a young officer, relieved to see them all dip their heads as they contemplated the common sense in his cautionary words.
Except the final pair of fine brown eyes did not dip. They held his with the same unswerving gravitas. ‘But what if the right buyer offers considerably less money than the wrong buyer?’
‘I am not a greedy chap, Miss Gilbert.’ Just one in a hurry to be shot of all this. ‘And as Mr Spiggot will be the one brokering the sale on my behalf, I am sure he will do all the due diligence necessary to ensure whoever purchases this land will treat it with the respect it deserves.’ Which sounded eminently reasonable even though Rafe felt a sharp pang of guilt for stretching the truth. Mr Spiggot would certainly liaise with the initial interested parties to vet and weed out the charlatans, and his solicitor would draw up the paperwork needed for the deed of sale so he would ultimately do the lion’s share of the work. ‘He was born and bred here, wasn’t he? A local who you all trust.’
Several heads bobbed, their owners relieved the task would be handled by one of their own.
Cool as a cucumber, Miss Gilbert smiled tightly again. ‘If I did not have your word that you are indeed an officer and a gentleman, my lord, I would swear that you are a politician. For you possess a politician’s ease of saying absolutely nothing of any substance with the utmost conviction. You sidestep and deflect with such effortless, seamless and convincing fluidity, I dare say you would do well in parliament should you ever feel inclined to serve your country again.’
It was Rafe’s turn to smile without humour at her blatant insult. ‘Alas, my political ambitions are as lacklustre as my landowning ambitions, Miss Gilbert, and I have done my service and some. All I want after too many years on the campaign trail is a quiet life. It has long been my dream to raise some horses in peaceful solitude.’ And that was the whole and unvarnished truth.
‘You have land aplenty to raise horses here, my lord.’ She had him there too, damn it.
‘When would I find the time to, Miss Gilbert, with such a large estate to run?’
If his charm wasn’t working, perhaps his military background would find some sympathy from the nine men and one other woman she had brought in with her. Some of them must have experience of his particular sacrifices for king and country. ‘After I was wounded at Waterloo...’ He rubbed his ribs as if the shrapnel scar still pained him. ‘I promised myself that I would chase my dreams for a change rather than dedicate every waking moment to the service of others. After ten years fighting for my country, I had more than earned it and was in the process of purchasing some land in the middle of nowhere when I learned of my inheritance.’ The partial truth again and his toes curled inside his boots at the shocking number of white lies tripping off his tongue to get them off his back. He was certainly in the process of working out how the hell he was going to pay for some land when a veritable fortune and the solution had dropped out of the sky from nowhere and landed in his lap. ‘I am eager to complete the purchase and live the quiet life that I am due.’
‘So, from that we must conclude that your mind is made up and no matter what sound arguments or concerns we put forward, the sale of this estate is inevitable.’
He offered her a curt nod. ‘My mind is quite made up on that score.’ This wasn’t about them, or even him—not that he would admit that. It was about Archie and what was best for him.
‘In less than a week?’ She quirked one dark eyebrow before she raised them both in fake surprise, not caring one whit that she was admonishing someone who was technically—according to his unexpected new title—far above her station. ‘Now who is overreacting in a hasty manner, my lord? When Whittleston-on-the-Water might be the perfect place for you to fulfil all your dreams, if only you would give it a chance once the dust has settled.’ Sarcasm dripped from her tone.
