Chapter Ten
Sterling woke in a restless frame of mind. He hated having to wait for anything or anyone, yet he had been told by his mother to cool his heels because the estate manager did not have time to meet with him.
Not only was it inconvenient, but nobody had ever told him to wait before.
He understood why Hallaway could not be pulled away, but that did not mean that he could not go to Hallaway or begin his own tour of Wyndview Farm.
Therefore, after breaking his fast, Sterling used a well-worn path to make his way to the vineyard.
It was a familiar sight from his youth when he used to stand on this very hill and look down into the valley and watch the growers tend to the grapevines, planted in neat rows and supported by wooden trellises so that they grew up and not along the ground.
Today men walked the paths and would occasionally stop, stoop, and sometimes inspect a vine.
His father had been able to tell if the grapes were ready almost by sight and only tasting when he was certain that it was time to cut the bunches from the vine.
It was a skill that Sterling had been eager to learn but never had, and even now, he wanted to be down there and be a part of the harvest.
Would he remember anything that his father had taught him?
Tomorrow! He would walk the rows of grapes with Hallaway. He wanted to do so now, but he couldn’t see his estate manager among the men in the vineyard.
Instead, he turned and strolled down to the large barn. Unless wine production had changed, this would be where the grapes were brought, crushed, and poured into oak barrels.
When he stepped inside, grateful for the shade, he was brought back to his childhood once again.
This area used to be huge, and it still was, with two wagons waiting at the end of one opening and between them, men stacked baskets inside so that they could be taken to the fields to be filled with grapes.
The men were preparing for a harvest and excitement filled Sterling’s veins, much like it had when he was a boy, forced to watch from a distance and dreaming about the day he would be a part of making wine.
Beyond that was the wide ramp that led to a large cellar that had been dug out of the ground and lined with stone to keep the wine cool and away from the tropical sun.
But as the grape production grew, tunnels were built to accommodate the volume of barrels produced each year before they were loaded onto ships.
Usually, the large doors remained closed to keep animals, and more importantly, snakes from going down there for relief from the heat. Was there a reason they were open now?
Curiosity brought him further into the barn and then down the ramp where the voices below reached him.
“Do we now have enough oak barrels?”
Sterling frowned. Was that Caroline? Why was she inquiring about barrels?
“More will be delivered tomorrow,” a man answered.
“How many more are you expecting?”
“Twenty,” the man answered as Sterling reached the foot of the ramp.
“I will add that to the total of what we have. I do not anticipate that more will be needed, but when the barrels are delivered tomorrow, order ten more. If we do not use them, they can be stored down here until needed.”
Sterling frowned. Why was Caroline directing the purchase of barrels? Was that not her father’s job as the estate manager?
They had not seen him yet and Sterling took in the vast cellar, not surprised that there were several barrels stacked that nearly took up the entire area and waiting to be filled, but a few barrels remained where some full wine casts were stored.
They grew three types of grapes that became three different types of wine.
Each type was segregated to their own wall and tunnel off each wall.
There was only one barrel on each side—each with a spigot.
On the fourth wall were smaller casks, also with spigots.
“Where is all the wine?” he asked, startling both Caroline and the man she was speaking with, who Sterling did not know. “Lord Sterling Wynd,” he introduced himself.
“Johan Theron,” he responded.
The surname was familiar because members of the Theron family had worked at Wyndview Farm for decades.
Theron then nodded to Caroline. “If you will excuse me,” he then turned and climbed the ramp leaving the two of them alone.
“Where is the wine if we produce so much?”
“Shipped,” she answered. “Very little stays at Wyndview Farm. What remains is one barrel of each kind from last year’s harvest.”
That explained the near empty walls not the smaller casks.
“A few barrels remain local and are taken into town while the rest are loaded onto Trade Wynd ships and taken to ports around the world.”
“Not so far,” he corrected with a smile. “Only to America, England, and the Caribbean.”
“Not to countries on the Continent?”
“They produce their own wine and are of the opinion that theirs is superior to ours.”
“Is it?” she asked with a smile.
“I suppose that would depend on the person you ask.” He chuckled.
She started to walk up the ramp and Sterling assumed they were done in the cellar, which he supposed they were. Instead, he watched her back and the movement of her dress and how it pulled gently against her backside each time she stepped until they emerged back into the large barn.
“Why are there smaller barrels separate from the others?”
“Those are Father’s experiments,” she answered. “He has been grafting grape roots in an effort to create a better grape for a better wine.”
“Has he been successful?”
“I can ask a servant to bring you a glass and take you below so that you can taste for yourself.” She smiled as her brown eyes lit up with humor.
“Would you join me in that tasting?” he asked.
“I have already sampled the wine and prefer not to do so again.”
“Is it truly so awful?”
“It is drinkable, but the quality is not what one would expect from Wyndview Farm. I believe Father is hoping that it will still age well and become superior.” She strolled for the entry to the barn. “I am not so optimistic.”
“Then I will also forgo a sampling,” he decided with a chuckle as they stepped into the sun. But he could not fault Hallaway for attempting to improve their wine and perhaps one day he might be successful.
Caroline did not wear a hat, and he wondered if she ever did due to the delicate spattering of freckles across her nose and the golden bronze of her skin.
It really should not be a surprise. Even during the colder months, it was still warm enough to spend out of doors without too much extra clothing, unlike England, which could be cold, damp, dreary, and chill a person to their bones during the winter.
Caroline did not possess the pale and porcelain complexion that Society adored. Instead, she appeared healthier with her tanned skin. The debutantes in England would look sickly next to her.
“What is it that you do around here, Mrs. Sutcliffe?” She seemed to be everywhere he went.
“I assist my father when I can.”
“Such as inquiring about barrels.”
“He needed to know if there would be enough as he expects a larger grape harvest than in the past,” she answered. “I can now tell him that there will be a sufficient supply as he requested.”
Perhaps that is all there was to it, but when she had been below, she had spoken with authority. Sterling had a gnawing feeling that she was more than an assistant to her father, but with no proof or explanation for feeling in such a way.
It was very odd.
*
Caroline stood in front of the mirror, surprised by her reflection.
The rose dress with delicate white lace fit well and even though it had been designed for an innocent debutante, it was not girlish.
In fact, she had not worn it during her only Season because her mother thought the modiste had erred in cutting the bodice too low.
It may have been inappropriate for a miss of nine and ten, but it was not for a widow of four and twenty.
She slowly turned and tried to get a glimpse of the back of her head the best that she could.
It had been so long since she had taken the time to curl and pin her hair and wondered if she shouldn’t arrange it in a more moderate chignon given her status.
Except, she liked the cascade of curls brushing her neck.
It made her feel feminine, pretty, just like she had so long ago, instead of a widow with a young daughter and aging, forgetful father to take care of.
Maybe if Lord Wyndham saw her dressed as the granddaughter of a baron, he would forget that he found her standing in the wine cellar discussing the purchase of barrels. It was also a reminder that she needed to be more careful because he could wander anywhere at any time. He did own the property.
But she would not think about that tonight. She was going to her first ball in years.
With a lightness and anticipation almost foreign to her, Caroline bid goodnight to her daughter and made her way to the main house where Lady Wyndham was waiting for her in the lavender sitting room, but her son was not present.
Caroline would be more comfortable if he remained at the estate. Except, then she would worry about who he was talking to and what he was being told, or if he went in search of her father.
“I do hope that Sterling does not keep us waiting long.”
“I will not.”
Caroline turned at his voice and nearly sucked in a breath. Dressed in finery of black with a gold waistcoat and simple cravat, was enough to speed up her pulse, especially since she remembered what his chest looked like beneath the white linen.
Goodness! What was wrong with her? Just because she looked forward to the evening did not mean that she should allow attraction for her father’s employer to muddle her mind.
Yet, she could not help but admire Lord Wyndham because he was indeed the most handsome gentleman she had ever met.
It was a shame that he was not always as pleasant as his appearance.
“Well, then, come along,” Lady Wyndham called as she came to her feet.
Lord Wyndham approached his mother and offered his arm.
“Not me, you will escort Caroline. I am past the age of needing or wanting one.” She then marched past him, out of the room and down the corridor.
“Mrs. Sutcliffe,” he said holding out his arm.
Caroline wanted to tell him that it was not necessary, but she couldn’t speak the words. Unconsciously, she placed her hand on his sleeve to be led to the carriage.