true.”
“Exactly,” Grey said, nodding. “A delicious little mystery, is it not? Unless it’s simply a prank.”
“And you asked me to accompany you because . . . ?”
“As unlikely as it may be, I’m rather fond of your company. Besides, should anything happen to your father, you could inherit Miss Chase.”
“How old is she?” He bristled inwardly at the thought of anyone wanting to harm the maligned beauty.
“Eighteen or thereabouts.”
“Why doesn’t she just leave?”
“The terms of the will make it impossible, barring a few exceptions. For instance, she can leave under a husband’s care, but any husband would have to be approved by your father, and really, where is she to meet someone suitable? Or your father could remove her himself if he is willing to keep her under his direct supervision. Which means he would have to agree to let her travel with him, and we both know this is as likely to happen as pigs taking flight, which, by the way, a widow in Doncaster claims to have seen last week.”
It was true. Hayden’s father was constantly traveling throughout Great Britain and Europe. He wouldn’t consider for an instant curbing his wanderlust in order to make a home for an orphaned girl.
“Not that the girl hasn’t lately made the suggestion,” Grey added, looking amused.
Hayden tilted his head inquiringly.
“She has written letters hinting she would very much like to spend some time with her guardian. Needless to say, she has been disappointed in the answer.”
“How is it that this is the first I have heard of her?” Hayden asked.
“Your father probably just forgot to mention Miss Chase to you. It’s not like she’s had any reason to be forefront in his mind, and he does have rather a lot of things to occupy his thoughts,” Grey answered, stabbing the last bit of meat in his bowl and lifting it to his mouth.
“Colonel Chase succumbed to cancer five years ago,” he went on, “around the time your father became involved in the London dockworkers’ strike. I suspect Miss Chase simply got lost in the shuffle. It’s not as if she needed his immediate attention, in any case. And your father is always beginning some reform plan or other. Like the canal system on his estate. Or, for that matter, the pottery factory he meant to build here.”
“Excuse me?” Hayden said.
“He came up here soon after Colonel Chase died, you know,” Grey said, “to look in on the girl and to see if he could restore his hunting lodge. While he was mucking about, he discovered that Little Firkin’s riverbanks are composed of some sort of extremely rare, premium goop that makes the crockery makers swoon.
“So, what with the guild movement becoming so popular, he decided to build a pottery factory here and turn the townspeople into self-sustaining crafts-men. He even went so far as to have a spur line run up here to build the factory and export the pots. Didn’t you wonder why this little backwater was served by a twice-weekly train?”
Hayden hadn’t, but he wasn’t going to admit it. “Of course.”
“Hmm. Well, as you can see, there’s been more importing than exporting going on.”
“What do you mean?”
Grey looked at him sympathetically. “Gads, boy. Look around. Little Firkin is living on expectations.” Hayden looked back out onto the street. Grey was right. Neat, well-maintained shops lined both sides of the street, their glass display windows boasting stacks of pricey-looking goods being browsed by casual shoppers decked out in quality clothing, nary a patch to be seen. Even the dogs lurking about the back of the butcher shop looked well-fed and complacent.
His attention, however, did not stay long on the affluence of Little Firkin, because at that moment, across the street, the lovely Miss Amelie Chase had stopped. Sunlight spilled over her titian-colored hair and kissed an apricot blush on her smooth, round cheeks.
Hayden shoved his chair
“Exactly,” Grey said, nodding. “A delicious little mystery, is it not? Unless it’s simply a prank.”
“And you asked me to accompany you because . . . ?”
“As unlikely as it may be, I’m rather fond of your company. Besides, should anything happen to your father, you could inherit Miss Chase.”
“How old is she?” He bristled inwardly at the thought of anyone wanting to harm the maligned beauty.
“Eighteen or thereabouts.”
“Why doesn’t she just leave?”
“The terms of the will make it impossible, barring a few exceptions. For instance, she can leave under a husband’s care, but any husband would have to be approved by your father, and really, where is she to meet someone suitable? Or your father could remove her himself if he is willing to keep her under his direct supervision. Which means he would have to agree to let her travel with him, and we both know this is as likely to happen as pigs taking flight, which, by the way, a widow in Doncaster claims to have seen last week.”
It was true. Hayden’s father was constantly traveling throughout Great Britain and Europe. He wouldn’t consider for an instant curbing his wanderlust in order to make a home for an orphaned girl.
“Not that the girl hasn’t lately made the suggestion,” Grey added, looking amused.
Hayden tilted his head inquiringly.
“She has written letters hinting she would very much like to spend some time with her guardian. Needless to say, she has been disappointed in the answer.”
“How is it that this is the first I have heard of her?” Hayden asked.
“Your father probably just forgot to mention Miss Chase to you. It’s not like she’s had any reason to be forefront in his mind, and he does have rather a lot of things to occupy his thoughts,” Grey answered, stabbing the last bit of meat in his bowl and lifting it to his mouth.
“Colonel Chase succumbed to cancer five years ago,” he went on, “around the time your father became involved in the London dockworkers’ strike. I suspect Miss Chase simply got lost in the shuffle. It’s not as if she needed his immediate attention, in any case. And your father is always beginning some reform plan or other. Like the canal system on his estate. Or, for that matter, the pottery factory he meant to build here.”
“Excuse me?” Hayden said.
“He came up here soon after Colonel Chase died, you know,” Grey said, “to look in on the girl and to see if he could restore his hunting lodge. While he was mucking about, he discovered that Little Firkin’s riverbanks are composed of some sort of extremely rare, premium goop that makes the crockery makers swoon.
“So, what with the guild movement becoming so popular, he decided to build a pottery factory here and turn the townspeople into self-sustaining crafts-men. He even went so far as to have a spur line run up here to build the factory and export the pots. Didn’t you wonder why this little backwater was served by a twice-weekly train?”
Hayden hadn’t, but he wasn’t going to admit it. “Of course.”
“Hmm. Well, as you can see, there’s been more importing than exporting going on.”
“What do you mean?”
Grey looked at him sympathetically. “Gads, boy. Look around. Little Firkin is living on expectations.” Hayden looked back out onto the street. Grey was right. Neat, well-maintained shops lined both sides of the street, their glass display windows boasting stacks of pricey-looking goods being browsed by casual shoppers decked out in quality clothing, nary a patch to be seen. Even the dogs lurking about the back of the butcher shop looked well-fed and complacent.
His attention, however, did not stay long on the affluence of Little Firkin, because at that moment, across the street, the lovely Miss Amelie Chase had stopped. Sunlight spilled over her titian-colored hair and kissed an apricot blush on her smooth, round cheeks.
Hayden shoved his chair
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