Chapter 3 #2
“You will make amends, of course,” he said, “as this is the primary reason I asked to meet with all of you. Your workers deserve better salaries and treatment. Those who were let go needlessly will be rehired. The boy who was flogged will be treated by the apothecary.”
Several mouths dropped open. Adrian could not tell if the gentlemen were dismayed or if they meant to argue.
At any rate, no one dared disrupt him.
“I expect you gentlemen to hear this censure and take my words to heart. Do not make false promises and swear to enact change. Simply do the right thing. Otherwise, the consequences next time will fit your crimes proportionally.”
Several of the men nodded quickly, led by Barker and Fitzgerald.
Having worked with him for many years, they knew that Adrian was a man of his word.
He didn’t give idle threats. His reputation preceded him.
Yet, there were still a few who nodded slowly.
Reluctantly. These were some of the men who were afraid to part with their money, and it showed on their big rings and ostentatious clothes.
One man who was seated at nearly the opposite end of the table seemed especially prepared to defend his actions.
His face was red, and he dared protest the Duke’s declaration. “Your Grace.” He stood and leveled a gaze at Adrian that spoke of his discontent. “I cannot possibly be blamed for my workers’ inability to meet what was required of them. They should not be paid what they do not deserve.”
“Cannot be blamed?” Adrian echoed in a low voice.
He leaned forward and narrowed his eyes at the man.
“Should I then bring your accounts to the magistrate, sir? Your good profit would certainly interest him. Were you able to achieve such numbers without your workers? Or perhaps I should turn your ledgers over to the people. I will leave justice in their hands. It would be interesting to see what they’d do to you. ”
The man opened his mouth. Then, he closed it. At this point, he probably realized that he was dealing with a Duke who didn’t jest about such things.
“Good,” Adrian remarked, rising from his chair. He used his height to cast a deeper shadow not just over the table but also over the men gawking at him. “I see that we finally understand each other.”
The men in attendance rose quickly, as if ready to escape. It was a wonder how a few minutes had changed their demeanor. They seemed so eager to meet with the Duke and earn his appreciation moments ago.
Chairs scraped and footsteps shuffled on the way out, as some whispered fearfully about “the Wolf,” who had somehow come to guard the villages.
Adrian didn’t linger either, slipping quietly out the inn’s back door.
The cool night air hit him like a wave, a stark contrast to the warmth inside. He drew his coat tighter around his shoulders and set off along the familiar path toward the estate.
Walking alone was nothing new; he had never felt the need for companionship and he was hardly afraid of his own countryside.
The darkness usually guided him more by memory than sight, each twist and turn familiar beneath his feet. Nobody traveled this way at such an hour, so he was startled when something—or someone—bumped into him.
At first, he noticed the details before the whole picture registered: a basket wobbling precariously in a pair of hands, its contents sloshing almost to the brink, and a soft gasp. A feminine gasp.
“Whoa there,” he drawled, instinctively reaching out to steady the stranger.
He hadn’t expected anyone on this path, let alone a young woman he didn’t know, carrying a basket in the middle of the night.
Where had she come from? Where was she going?
“Careful, miss,” he warned as the figure’s hooded form became clearer. A smirk tugged at his lips. “You ought not be out at this time of night, wandering alone. It is not a good time for foraging.” He nodded to the basket in her hands.
The hooded woman tilted up her chin at that remark, as if she was startled. In that moment, he glimpsed a heart-shaped face, flushing pink even in the dim lantern light.
“Pardon me, sir,” she mumbled, as she straightened her basket.
She bent her knees in a quick curtsy, but just as abruptly stopped, as though she reconsidered halfway through the gesture.
Certainly intriguing.
Adrian’s brow lifted at the whole scenario.
A pretty, unmarred, and clean face. A polished accent. A quick curtsy.
What do we have here?
If he was right, the woman before him was no village girl.
Before he could ask her more questions, she quickly rushed away from him, holding on to her basket as if for dear life or, God forbid, he might think of stealing it.
Adrian had never seen quite a reaction from any woman before. Women generally rushed to him, not the other way around. Amused, he sent another long glance after her and watched as she raced toward an overgrown bit of shrubbery.
He shook his head and followed his path once more.
As if by destiny, moments later, he spotted the same young woman again, further up on the path. He slowed his progress so that she might cross in front of him. For a few paces, they continued in this fashion, with her stepping carefully over fallen tree branches and him following in her wake.
Then, the lady glanced back at him and her hood slipped from around her head altogether.
In the silvery moonlight, he could see how her face had grown pale. Her alabaster skin shimmered.
She frowned at him and lifted her chin sharply. “It is most unseemly to follow a woman at night, sir.”
He laughed at the presumption, as he tried to keep a decent distance between the two of them. He stepped on the other side of the road so that the two of them were walking parallel to each other along the same path.
Who is this woman to think this way?
“I am merely going home, miss. You are on my usual path. Do you lay claim on the entire road, then?” he asked.
“I… Well, no. No, I do not. I simply wish for an appropriate distance between us as we move forth,” she huffed and turned her back on him, seemingly determined to ignore him and go on her merry way—if the way she scampered and darted could ever be called merry.
“Is that a London accent I’m detecting? What is a lady like you doing around these parts?” he asked.
“I’m afraid you are quite mistaken,” she replied, revealing more of the London accent she just denied.
“I am not mistaken,” he said, now thoroughly enjoying himself.
Earlier, he had craved some new experience that would break up the monotony of his days. His meeting up with this young woman was most fortunate for their conversation and the ensuing meandering through the forest were not any parts of his regular routine.
“I’m afraid you’re a rather poor liar, my lady,” he added.
“That is very rude of you to say, sir,” she snapped, and Adrian caught the flash of her blue eyes even in the dimly lit country road.
Adrian laughed, even as he felt unsettled by this woman. She was beautiful, alone, and trying to act like somebody else, but failing miserably.
“You’re clever and quick-witted, but I will give you a little advice,” he said. “If you wish to pass yourself off as a commoner, you may need a little more help with that accent.”
“Sir, I am not here to be liked and… and I do not need your advice or your persistent presence by my side,” she retorted, as she walked faster. Away from him.
Adrian had to swallow a burble of laughter.
“So, you are not from around here, then.”
She didn’t reply but kept on walking.
“You know, ladies with such polished accents as yours typically do not ignore their interlocutor’s questions. One would dare to label such behavior quite rude,” he goaded, knowing that it would rile her up.
He was right.
“Rude?” she retorted. “I find little rudeness in ignoring strange, pestering men. Which is why I do not make a habit of talking to them.”
“You have been talking to me for a while now, so I mustn’t belong in that category,” he teased, as his grin widened. “Besides, I already told you that I am merely on my way home. Perhaps I should be the one asking you not to follow me. Nobody comes this way at this hour.”
Adrian suspected that she was on the way to the vicar’s home because that was where the path led. It was the vicar’s house or his, and he didn’t remember inviting such a spitfire to his abode.
“A chance meetin’, then—an unlucky one at that,” she snapped.
He clucked his tongue lightly, amused by the way she had quickly adapted her speech. “That will not do now, Miss. I already heard your real voice.”
“Best not be talkin’ to strangers, sir,” she huffed, not in the least sounding like she was used to being subjugated.
“We’ll have to remedy that, then,” he mused. “My name is Adrian. If you give me your name, then we’ll no longer be strangers.”
“I am… I’m not that naive,” she spluttered.
“Most women I’ve encountered would have already offered their names at his point,” he noted, smirking. He was savoring her defiance. “Would you have called all those women naive?”
“No, I cannot speak for them,” the girl replied, bouncing back to her more polished accent. “But it is my experience that a lady should not simply offer her name to a gentleman. They ought to be properly introduced first before…”
Her words broke off there and Adrian could see by the way her mouth set into a grim line that she was annoyed with herself.
She had said too much, given away more than she meant to do. While she might have been chagrined, Adrian was intrigued. This somewhat unguarded moment had made him more curious. She didn’t seem to be used to deception.
Why does she think she must play at pretending? Her act did not fool me initially, and she must know it is futile to persist now.
“I can only speak for myself and what I know,” she went on, as she hurried along the path.
The basket in her hands made a gentle thumping noise as it bounced off her side in a continuous rhythm.