suddenly. I would first have to see your vineyards.”
Henri appeared taken aback. “But why, monsieur ? They are impeccably kept. My secret recipe for adding the cultured yeasts and sugar yield the finest champagnes in all of France! You have drunk of my champagne. You know it to be the best.”
“’Tis quite fine, de Picassaret, I’ll agree with you. I simply need more time to study the situation and learn more about champagne.”
“Impossible!” Henri sputtered. “I want an answer from you today, this minute!” His voice rose as his complexion mottled bright scarlet. “You must give me an answer now. I insist!”
Henri reached over and grasped the arms of Garrett’s chair in his hands. He leaned close, spittle flying, and demanded, “Now! I want you as my partner now ! I want this settled before I sail for France.”
Garrett remained composed as Henri hovered inches from him. His voice was low when he responded, but his tone was deadly. “Remove your hands from this chair, monsieur , or they will be removed from your wrists.”
Henri stared at him blankly for a moment. Slowly, he released the chair and stepped back. He seemed uncertain of where he was. Garrett was afraid the man had gone mad before his very eyes. What else could explain such bizarre behavior?
The manservant rushed into the room. Garrett wondered how much of their conversation he’d heard.
“I am sorry, my lord,” he addressed Garrett, even as he went to Henri and put an arm about him. “My master has been under much strain lately.”
Henri looked at Garrett with clearer eyes now. “Lord Montayne, consider my offer. If you wish to come to Chateau Maraine to inspect my vineyards, you would be most welcome. I sail for France the day after tomorrow.”
He turned to his servant. “Come, Bertrand, we must go to mass again. There is much I wish to discuss with God.”
The pair left the room, leaving Garrett puzzled by such odd behavior.
Garrett retraced his steps and exited Lord Fenton’s home, reclaiming Ebony from the stable boy. As he mounted, Garrett wondered about the state of Henri de Picassaret’s mind. Had he witnessed a spell of madness? Why had de Picassaret become so unhinged when Garrett had refused to act immediately? He had noticed the Frenchman was a bit high-strung in the past, but today he had been truly unbalanced for a few minutes.
Garrett pondered over their meeting as he headed for his London home. A steady rain fell and showed no sign of letting up. Soon he was soaked to the skin, cold, and irritable. The pounding in his head began a constant beat. He couldn’t wait to arrive. A drink would do him wonders.
He spotted her a few short blocks from his destination. He could not be mistaken. She wore a simple tunic of brown cloth, but her head was uncovered. A long braid of golden hair trailed down her back. Carrying a heavy basket balanced on one hip, she trudged along the uneven street. He wondered briefly if she’d sold his cloak.
“Lady Montayne!” he called out as he leapt off Ebony. “Wait!” He rushed to her, grabbing her elbow.
The woman started and her basket fell from her grasp. Apples rolled all along the muddy street. Garrett stared into brown eyes filled with fear, not the amethyst ones that had haunted his dreams.
“’Twas my mistake,” he quickly apologized. “I thought you someone else.” He released the stranger’s arm. The woman backed away. She then looked out over all the apples spilled from her basket. Her lip quivered.
Garrett realized how precious the fruit must have been to her. He removed a few coins from his purse. “My fault entirely, madam. Will you accept payment for the damage I have done?”
He took her hand and placed the coins into her palm. Surprise flooded her face, and she looked at him in wonder.
“Thank ‘ee, milord.” Her voice quivered as she spoke.
He bowed to her and remounted Ebony.
Was he going as crazy as Henri de Picassaret? Or had he been
Henri appeared taken aback. “But why, monsieur ? They are impeccably kept. My secret recipe for adding the cultured yeasts and sugar yield the finest champagnes in all of France! You have drunk of my champagne. You know it to be the best.”
“’Tis quite fine, de Picassaret, I’ll agree with you. I simply need more time to study the situation and learn more about champagne.”
“Impossible!” Henri sputtered. “I want an answer from you today, this minute!” His voice rose as his complexion mottled bright scarlet. “You must give me an answer now. I insist!”
Henri reached over and grasped the arms of Garrett’s chair in his hands. He leaned close, spittle flying, and demanded, “Now! I want you as my partner now ! I want this settled before I sail for France.”
Garrett remained composed as Henri hovered inches from him. His voice was low when he responded, but his tone was deadly. “Remove your hands from this chair, monsieur , or they will be removed from your wrists.”
Henri stared at him blankly for a moment. Slowly, he released the chair and stepped back. He seemed uncertain of where he was. Garrett was afraid the man had gone mad before his very eyes. What else could explain such bizarre behavior?
The manservant rushed into the room. Garrett wondered how much of their conversation he’d heard.
“I am sorry, my lord,” he addressed Garrett, even as he went to Henri and put an arm about him. “My master has been under much strain lately.”
Henri looked at Garrett with clearer eyes now. “Lord Montayne, consider my offer. If you wish to come to Chateau Maraine to inspect my vineyards, you would be most welcome. I sail for France the day after tomorrow.”
He turned to his servant. “Come, Bertrand, we must go to mass again. There is much I wish to discuss with God.”
The pair left the room, leaving Garrett puzzled by such odd behavior.
Garrett retraced his steps and exited Lord Fenton’s home, reclaiming Ebony from the stable boy. As he mounted, Garrett wondered about the state of Henri de Picassaret’s mind. Had he witnessed a spell of madness? Why had de Picassaret become so unhinged when Garrett had refused to act immediately? He had noticed the Frenchman was a bit high-strung in the past, but today he had been truly unbalanced for a few minutes.
Garrett pondered over their meeting as he headed for his London home. A steady rain fell and showed no sign of letting up. Soon he was soaked to the skin, cold, and irritable. The pounding in his head began a constant beat. He couldn’t wait to arrive. A drink would do him wonders.
He spotted her a few short blocks from his destination. He could not be mistaken. She wore a simple tunic of brown cloth, but her head was uncovered. A long braid of golden hair trailed down her back. Carrying a heavy basket balanced on one hip, she trudged along the uneven street. He wondered briefly if she’d sold his cloak.
“Lady Montayne!” he called out as he leapt off Ebony. “Wait!” He rushed to her, grabbing her elbow.
The woman started and her basket fell from her grasp. Apples rolled all along the muddy street. Garrett stared into brown eyes filled with fear, not the amethyst ones that had haunted his dreams.
“’Twas my mistake,” he quickly apologized. “I thought you someone else.” He released the stranger’s arm. The woman backed away. She then looked out over all the apples spilled from her basket. Her lip quivered.
Garrett realized how precious the fruit must have been to her. He removed a few coins from his purse. “My fault entirely, madam. Will you accept payment for the damage I have done?”
He took her hand and placed the coins into her palm. Surprise flooded her face, and she looked at him in wonder.
“Thank ‘ee, milord.” Her voice quivered as she spoke.
He bowed to her and remounted Ebony.
Was he going as crazy as Henri de Picassaret? Or had he been
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