Chapter Nine
“Katherine, you cannot pay full price for timber simply because you wish to be polite!” Drake huffed, running a hand through his hair in exasperation.
Katherine bristled at his tone, acutely aware that Mr. Burnham, the timber merchant, was watching their exchange with undisguised interest. What had begun as a simple trip to the village market to arrange materials for the ongoing repairs had devolved into yet another battle of wills.
“It is not about politeness,” she replied, keeping her voice level with effort. “It is about fairness. Mr. Burnham’s prices reflect the quality of his materials and the cost of transport from the northern forests.”
Drake’s jaw tightened. “His prices reflect what the market will bear, which is precisely why one negotiates. I’ve purchased timber from Maine to Marseilles, and I assure you, these prices are inflated by at least twenty percent.”
They had actually been having a relatively pleasant morning.
The spring sunshine had brought the entire village out to the market day, and their joint appearance had been met with approval rather than suspicion.
Several tenants had approached to express gratitude for the repairs already underway, and Katherine had felt a surprising sense of satisfaction in their shared accomplishment.
Then they had reached the timber merchant’s stall, and Drake’s businessman instincts had collided spectacularly with Katherine’s established relationships with the local suppliers.
“Mr. Burnham has provided materials to Greythorne for three generations,” Katherine said, conscious that their conversation was drawing attention from nearby marketgoers. “His father supplied the oak beams for the north wing repairs, and his grandfather before him—”
“I’m not disputing his lineage,” Drake interrupted, his voice rising slightly. “I’m questioning his arithmetic. These figures—” he jabbed a finger at the written estimate “—are highway robbery.”
Mr. Burnham’s ruddy face flushed deeper. “Now see here, my lord—”
“Please, Mr. Burnham,” Katherine interjected smoothly. “Allow me to speak with Lord Greythorne privately for a moment.”
She took Drake’s arm—a liberty that would have been unthinkable even a week ago—and steered him several paces away from the stall, toward the relative privacy of a large oak tree at the edge of the market green.
“You are being unnecessarily combative,” she said in a low, fierce voice once they were out of the merchant’s earshot. “Mr. Burnham has always dealt fairly with Greythorne.”
“Perhaps he dealt ‘fairly’ with an estate owner who couldn’t be bothered to verify his figures,” Drake countered, his grey eyes flashing. “But I’ve built my fortune on understanding the true value of goods and services, and I will not be taken advantage of simply because I now bear a title.”
“No one is taking advantage—”
“Five pounds per oak beam?” Drake’s voice rose again, drawing glances from passers-by. “I could ship timber from Scotland for less!”
“Then by all means, order from Scotland!” Katherine snapped, her own temper finally fraying. “I’m certain the tenants won’t mind waiting an extra month for their roofs to be repaired while your shipment navigates the coast!”
“You’re thinking like someone who’s managed these relationships for years,” Drake said, his voice rising with frustration. “But I’m looking at numbers that would bankrupt the estate if we applied them to every repair we need.”
“And you’re thinking like someone who sees only ledger entries,” Katherine countered, her own voice sharpening. “These aren’t anonymous transactions, Drake. These are people who’ve served Greythorne faithfully for generations.”
“I’m not questioning their loyalty,” he replied, running a hand through his hair. “I’m questioning whether loyalty requires us to pay twenty percent above market value when we’re struggling to fund essential repairs.”
“Twenty percent above market value gets us quality materials delivered when we need them, not when it’s convenient for the supplier,” Katherine shot back. “Mr. Burnham has never failed to deliver on time, even when larger estates offer him more profitable contracts.”
Katherine’s cheeks burned as she became aware of how many people were watching their exchange. The Wednesday market was the busiest day of the week in the village, and it seemed every eye was now trained on the spectacle of the new earl and the dowager countess locked in heated debate.
“You speak of matters you don’t fully understand,” she said tightly. “What you see as simple economics involves complicated relationships that affect real people’s livelihoods.”
“Complicated?” Drake’s laugh was sharp and humourless. “Is that what you call paying twenty percent above market value for timber? Or thirty percent premium on roofing slates? No wonder the estate finances are in shambles!”
That was a step too far, and Katherine felt her carefully cultivated control snap.
“The estate finances are in shambles because my husband gambled away a fortune at the gaming tables and kept a series of expensive mistresses in London! Not because I paid Mr. Burnham a fair price for quality materials!”
The words echoed across the suddenly silent marketplace. Katherine clapped a hand over her mouth, mortified at her outburst. She had never spoken so publicly about Edmund’s failings, had maintained a dignified silence even in the face of gossip and speculation about their marriage.
Drake looked equally stunned, clearly not having expected such a vehement—or revealing—response.
Into the awkward silence, a woman’s voice carried clearly from nearby: “Lord, they quarrel worse than me and my George after twenty years of marriage!”
A ripple of laughter broke the tension, and the market’s usual buzz of conversation gradually resumed, though many glances still flicked their way.
Drake recovered first.
“Katherine,” he said, his voice now deliberately modulated, “perhaps we should continue this discussion somewhere less... public.”
“An excellent suggestion,” she replied stiffly. “Though several minutes too late.”
His mouth twitched, though whether in annoyance or amusement, she couldn’t tell. “Nevertheless. Shall we return to the manor?”
“After we conclude our business here,” Katherine insisted.
She would not flee the market like a scolded child, no matter how much she might wish to disappear at that moment.
Drake sighed but nodded his agreement. “Very well. But I will not pay his asking price.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to,” Katherine replied, regaining some of her composure. “Despite what you seem to think, I am not utterly ignorant of financial matters. A fair negotiation benefits both parties.”
They returned to the timber merchant’s stall, where Mr. Burnham watched their approach with visible apprehension. Katherine noticed several other vendors and marketgoers lingering nearby, clearly hoping for another explosive exchange.
“Mr. Burnham,” Drake began, his tone now coolly professional, “it seems Lady Katherine and I have different perspectives on what constitutes a fair price for your excellent timber.”
The merchant shifted uncomfortably. “My lord, I assure you my prices are competitive for the quality—”
“I’m certain they are,” Drake interrupted smoothly. “For a small order. However, given the extensive repairs planned throughout Greythorne, we will be requiring a substantially larger quantity than initially discussed.”
Katherine glanced at him sharply, recognizing the negotiating tactic. By increasing the order size, Drake was creating an opportunity for Burnham to lower his per-unit price while still making a healthy profit on the larger volume.
“How much larger, my lord?” Burnham asked, interest clearly piqued.
“At least three times the original estimate,” Drake replied. “Possibly more, depending on what we discover as repairs progress. In addition to the tenant cottages already discussed, the manor itself requires significant work, as do the home farm buildings and the mill.”
Burnham’s eyes widened slightly at the prospect of such a substantial sale. “That would be a considerable order indeed, my lord.”
“One that would guarantee you steady business throughout the season,” Drake noted. “Provided, of course, that we can agree on terms that benefit both Greythorne and your enterprise.”
Katherine watched with reluctant admiration as Drake smoothly guided the conversation toward a compromise. It was clear he was a skilled negotiator, firm but not antagonistic, identifying mutual benefits rather than focusing solely on price reduction.
“What terms did you have in mind, my lord?” Burnham asked cautiously.
“A fifteen percent reduction from your quoted prices, with payment in three instalments rather than upon delivery.” Drake glanced at Katherine. “And a guarantee that we will source all timber for this season’s repairs exclusively from your establishment.”
It was a masterful proposal—the price reduction was significant but not insulting, the payment terms favoured the estate’s cash flow while still ensuring Burnham would be paid in full, and the exclusivity clause gave the merchant security that Drake wouldn’t take his reduced prices and then seek an even better deal elsewhere.
Burnham hesitated, clearly making calculations in his head.
“Twelve percent reduction,” he countered. “With the first payment upon order rather than delivery.”
“Fourteen percent,” Drake returned without hesitation. “With guaranteed orders for the next three seasons, assuming quality remains consistent.”
Katherine could practically see Burnham’s mental arithmetic. A slightly smaller immediate discount in exchange for guaranteed business for three years was an excellent trade-off for the merchant.
“Done,” Burnham agreed, extending his hand.