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Monroe shrugged. “As long as he pays his bills.” After asking Patty to take old Chattan a dram, Grant strolled over to join the gathering around the brothers.
The vicar gave him a friendly wave. “Mr. Kendrick, how are you? I do believe you’ve met my brother, John.”
The captain stood, casting Grant a broad smile from under his broad mustache. “We had the pleasure of meeting the other day, along with anexcessivelycharming young lady.”
He winked at Grant.
Bastard.
Grant had to control the impulse to drag the captain across the table by his waxed mustachio and toss him out the window, mostly because of the promise he’d made to himself to stop breaking other people’s furniture. He and Graeme had demolished more than a few pubs in their wild youth, not to mention the occasional society drawing room.
The vicar looked startled. “Who are you referring to, John?”
“The lovely young lass who was hanging about your garden with Kendrick, here,” his brother replied. “They seemed much engaged ... in conversation.”
Grant mentally frowned. Was the idiot trying to provoke a fight with him?
“It was Miss Calvert,” he said to the vicar. “I was helping her repair the damage to your garden.”
“Is that what you were doing?” Captain Brown mockingly asked.
Grant crossed his arms and gave the captain the slow smile that had sent more than one bullyboy into rapid retreat. The man blinked, momentarily disconcerted.
“That’sexactlywhat I was doing,” Grant replied.
The vicar cast a swift look between them before smiling at Grant. “That was exceedingly kind of you and Miss Calvert. Coming home to find my garden so well restored was a great comfort after such wanton destruction.”
The captain rolled his eyes. “Good God, David, it was simply a bunch of flowers. Hardly the end of the world.”
His brother stiffened. “Perhaps not, but losing the church’s silver was a blow, I hope you’ll admit.”
The captain gestured to Patty before sitting back down. “Yes, bad luck, that. Sorry, old boy.”
“Och, it was more than bad luck,” said one of the local crofters. “’Twas a sin, is what it was.”
The vicar mournfully nodded. “Indeed it was, Mr. Robertson.”
“A bleedin’ crime,” Robertson’s wife piped up. “A body canna sleep safe in her bed, what with villains roamin’ the countryside. They’ll be murderin’ us next, mark my words.”
Patty marched up and thumped another mug of ale in front of Captain Brown. “Och, stop yer nonsense, Jennie Robertson.” Then she whacked one of the other villagers on the shoulder. “Make room for Mr. Kendrick, ye booby. Where are yer manners?”
“It’s fine, Patty.” Grant quickly hooked an empty chair and pulled it over to sit across from the vicar.
“And I am forgetting my manners,” said the vicar with an apologetic smile. “Please do join us, sir.”
“Yes, do.” John tilted his head, inspecting Grant. “Kendrick, I believe you run the Glasgow offices of your family’s trading company, do you not?”
Grant impassively returned his gaze. “I do.”
That earned him another broad, mustachioed smile. “I’ve been meaning to speak to you and Sir Graeme about an investment opportunity that I’m sure you’ll find most interesting.”
The vicar shifted uncomfortably. “This is not the place for such a discussion, my dear John. I suspect Mr. Kendrick simply wishes to enjoy his pint.”
His brother waved an expansive arm. “We’re all friends here. We’ve already had quite a good discussion with some of the villagers, have we not?”
An approving round of assents greeted the captain’s statement. Clearly, some of the locals were receptive to his pitch.
“I don’t generally discuss business outside the office,” Grant replied. “But please feel free to give me the broad outlines.”
