Page 8 of The Spinster's Resolve

T he letter was signed by a certain Mr Gabriel Stone, which perplexed the ladies. It gave no indication of the purpose of the meeting, which struck them as rather odd.

Grace could keep it a secret no longer and finally told Heather and Mrs Merriweather what had happened with Mr Gibbs. As expected, they were both shocked and furious that she had put herself in such danger.

Mrs Merriweather was the first to speak, her voice firm with concern. ‘I say you refuse to go, Miss Grace. This is all highly irregular, and frankly, I do not think it safe for you. Gibbs already tried to force himself on you—goodness knows this Mr Stone may be no better! There have been many troubling reports about Skye Manor.’ She shook her head in censure. ‘Even though Gibbs has gone, for all we know, this new steward may have been sent to cover up his crimes.’

She assumed Mr Stone was the new steward, though he had not stated so in the letter.

‘Pooh-pooh,’ Heather interjected. ‘I wager it is nothing as serious as that. Maybe this is our chance to put a facer on these villains, Gracy. I will go with you.’ She looked determined, as though preparing for battle.

Grace rolled her eyes at her sister’s theatrical boldness. ‘Heather, you must stop with this “all men are evil” nonsense. You know it is not true.’

Heather looked ashamed at the chastisement. ‘I know... You are right. I—I will try.’

Satisfied that Heather was at least open to reason, Grace nodded approvingly before brightening. ‘But I do have an idea.’

Both Mrs Merriweather and Heather exclaimed loudly, ‘Oh no!’

Their immediate protest flattened Grace’s enthusiasm slightly, but she pressed on regardless. ‘I have decided to go, for I would be doing the residents of Skye Estate a great disservice if I did not. But,’ she added quickly before Mrs Merriweather could interrupt, ‘I will go in the same disguise I used when Charles came to visit, to deter any unwanted attention. And I shall take Jimmy with me for protection.’

Mrs Merriweather turned an alarming shade of deep pink, clearly agitated. She wobbled in her seat, upsetting Garlic, who had been enjoying a nap in her lap. Heather, on the other hand, cheered. ‘Huzzah!’ she cried, delighted by her sister’s resolve.

THUS DISGUISED, GRACE arrived at Skye Manor in the plush ducal carriage sent for her. The servants were briefly surprised to see her arrive in such a fashion but quickly schooled their features. In fact, some of the footmen nodded their approval as they led her into the study.

‘Wait outside, Jimmy,’ she instructed. ‘If I call, come in at once.’

Jimmy nodded, lingering just beyond the door—his presence reassuring.

The study was much altered, dishevelled and sorely neglected. Nevertheless, despite its sorry state, nostalgia assailed Grace. She had spent long hours here, poring over figures and discussing agricultural innovations with Travers.

Her reverie was broken by the sound of someone clearing their throat at the doorway. Turning swiftly, she nearly lost her balance at the sight before her.

A man—the most handsome man she had ever seen—was leaning against the doorframe.

He could have been plucked straight from the pages of her imagination. Strikingly tall, broad-shouldered, and muscular, his elegant London attire was perfectly complemented by dark, wavy hair and a sun-kissed complexion—evidence of recent travel. His piercing hazel eyes were set in a mature, well-defined face. He looked to be not yet five-and-thirty, though the easy, almost boyish smile he flashed her made him seem younger.

Not wanting to gape like a fish, Grace pulled out her handkerchief, feigning a cough to mask her surprise and embarrassment. At the same time, she dropped into a clumsy curtsy, hoping it would lend credibility to her ‘ailing’ charade. She was rather pleased with her performance—despite the way he cocked his head to one side, his keen gaze studying her as though she were a rare specimen.

‘Miss Skye, I appreciate your making the journey to Skye Manor at such short notice. Please allow me to introduce myself. I am the new man of business to the Duke of Armitage—Gabriel Stone—at your service,’ said the vision as he bowed charmingly. He emphasised the word ‘new,’ which did not go unnoticed by her.

If she did not know any better, she would swear he could see through her disguise. He surveyed her from head to toe, his expression momentarily puzzled but otherwise betraying nothing.

Irritated by his scrutiny, she responded testily, ‘Might I enquire why I have been summoned here?’

Unruffled by her tone, the gentleman stepped fully into the room. He seemed to take up all the surrounding space, exuding confidence—too much confidence, she thought—and she instinctively took a step back, suddenly wary.

Is he one of Gibbs’s cronies? No. Taylor would have warned me.

Steeling herself, she squared her shoulders, hoping her stance conveyed defiance rather than trepidation. The movement did not go unnoticed.

‘Rest assured, madam,’ he said, his voice deep and steady, ‘I mean you no harm. I simply wish to ask you a few questions.’

This surprised her. ‘What do you mean?’

He did not answer immediately. Instead, he turned to call for a maid, instructing her to bring tea. Grace, already uneasy, was further annoyed by his calm, measured demeanour.

He gestured for her to sit by the window as the tea was served. Taking a cup, she smiled warmly at the maid. ‘Thank you, Martha.’

The gentleman arched an eyebrow at her familiarity. Grace knew full well that acknowledging servants was frowned upon, but she had always found such etiquette ridiculous.

Seating himself opposite her, he withdrew a letter from his inner coat pocket and handed it to her.

Grace’s breath caught. She recognised her own writing at once. A jolt of alarm shot through her—the letter!

She had taken such great care to ensure its safe delivery to Lord Armitage. How had it fallen into his hands?

Panic surged through her, heart pounding. She scanned for an escape and was relieved to find the door still open.

‘What is the meaning of this?’ she demanded, though she cursed the slight tremor in her voice.

His expression remained calm and unreadable. ‘Madam, when I say that I will not harm you, I mean it.’ His tone had an honest reassurance, which settled some of her nerves.

Grace took a moment before answering, carefully placing her teacup and saucer on the table. After all, was it not natural for the Duke to give his ‘new’ man of business the letter? She felt foolish for being so quick to startle. But she excused herself in the next moment—these were unusual circumstances. She second-guessed herself. What if the letter had fallen into the wrong hands? How would she know? Giving the man time to talk seemed the best way to uncover the truth. Rather than making a further fool of herself, she remained silent.

‘This letter reached Lord Armitage safely and unadulterated, I assure you. He sends his most sincere gratitude. I might also add that His Grace will offer you any assistance should you ask. In fact, because of you, he was made aware of the corrupt ring of criminals under his employ. You were quite right—his letters were being intercepted by Barnes, his previous man of business. We believe he was the mastermind behind the operation and in league with Gibbs. Since His Grace began investigating the matter, suspicious activities have been reported from several other Estates as well. Barnes and his accomplices were extorting the tenants for higher rent and pocketing the difference. Lord Armitage has sent trusted men to investigate them.’

Mr Stone now relaxed back in his chair, his confidence unwavering. ‘And I am here to investigate the suspicious activities at Skye Estate and act as a steward until I can recruit a trustworthy replacement. Unfortunately, by the time I arrived here to remove Gibbs from his post, he had already vanished. He is still at large, but I am sure we will find him eventually.’

His deep voice lent an air of gravitas to the situation, but she was certain there was more to this story. Still, for some reason, Grace found his presence oddly reassuring.

He continued, ‘The problem is that I am His Grace’s man of business and have little experience in stewardship. Not to mention that I have been greeted rather frostily by the staff and tenants so far, and they appear reluctant to cooperate with me.’ He raked a hand through his wavy locks, clearly bemused by the locals and their opinions.

Grace’s breath hitched at the gesture. Stunning.

‘That is all very well, Mr Stone, but what is it you wish to ask me?’

His smile did not reach his eyes as he asked, ‘What do you know about Gibbs? I would like to know what else you discovered about him.’

A chill ran through her. Is he investigating Gibbs on behalf of the Duke? Or is he working for Gibbs, checking to see if I know too much?

‘Why do you assume I know anything more about him or his activities here?’ she replied blandly.

‘I...’ He hesitated. ‘Did you see or hear anything else about them?’

Grace stilled. ‘Them? I did not mention anything about his associates in my letter.’

‘Oh?’ He smiled disarmingly. ‘One of the tenants must have told me.’

She remained silent, her mind racing. Something was amiss.

‘I only ever saw Gibbs. Everything I know is in that letter. What I would like to know is how anyone else learned of it. Who could have tipped off Gibbs?’

He took a few moments before haltingly answering, ‘I... That is what I am trying to find out.’ His eyes darkened, and his voice hardened. ‘Why did you get involved? Who sent you?’

Grace bristled at the interrogation, momentarily lost for words. As she became visibly flustered, he exhaled sharply and softened his tone. ‘Forgive me. Travelling has made me irritable. Who else knows about the letter?’

Grace was convinced he was hiding something. What if he was here to cover up Gibbs’s crimes? She had no desire to involve Heather or Mrs Merriweather, so she lied.

‘Nobody. Now, if that is all, I shall take my leave.’ She half rose from her seat, eager to escape.

‘Just a moment. Here—your tea is getting cold.’

Reluctantly, she sat back down as he handed her the cup.

‘Some rudimentary checks on the Estate paperwork quickly revealed that the last time any semblance of order was in place was when you were here. Everyone I have met speaks highly of you, Miss Skye...’

His voice trailed off as he studied her, a prolonged, searching gaze that made her heart race. Grace initially thought he was trying to gauge her reaction, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing what she was thinking. She sipped her tea instead, though a troubling thought niggled at her—could he see through her disguise?

Clearing his throat, he continued, ‘I would be grateful if you could tell me who your steward was and where I might find him to offer the position again.’

Leaning back in his chair, he resumed his quiet scrutiny, an almost amused glint in his eye. Grace stiffened, resisting the urge to fidget beneath his gaze. But when she felt a slow heat creeping up her cheeks, she quickly masked it with defiance, squaring her shoulders and finishing her tea with deliberate ease. His eyebrow quirked, as if accepting an unspoken challenge.

Pushing aside her irritation, she focused on the Estate. She was relieved to hear of planned improvements, but how could she be certain he truly represented the Duke? What if this was merely a ruse to learn what she knew—so he could take over where Gibbs had left off? The thought sent a chill through her. She dared not mention the missing girls now.

Instead, she asked, ‘So what happened to the man of business? Did he reveal anything further about the activities on the other Estates you mentioned?’

He seemed momentarily taken aback by her directness, his expression shifting. A pause. Then, ‘I can see you are not one to be overlooked, Miss Skye.’ His lips twitched, as if he found her response amusing.

‘Unfortunately, we could gather no information from him—he vanished before Lord Armitage could have him arrested.’

Grace frowned. How convenient. The very man who could provide answers had disappeared without a trace. And how had they even discovered her letter in the first place?

More importantly, she asked, ‘How can I trust you, sir? You say His Grace sent you, but what proof do you have? For all I know, you could be an accomplice of Gibbs or Barnes.’

He hesitated, a frown creasing his brow. For the first time, he appeared... uncertain. A flicker of something—guilt, frustration?—passed over his features before he masked it with that infuriatingly smooth confidence.

Grace had never felt so intently observed before. She lowered her gaze, afraid she might betray too much of her thoughts. When she dared look up again, she found him still watching her, a faint, unreadable smile on his lips.

Time for the handkerchief again. She launched into a sudden coughing fit.

The spell was broken.

‘I do not have proof,’ he admitted. ‘Even if I did, I suspect you would not be easily convinced. Therefore, you will simply have to take my word for it.’

He tilted his head, his expression turning wry. ‘But if I were a villain, would I not try to silence you rather than ask for your help in setting things right?’ He spread his hands in a gesture of mock surrender. ‘I doubt I could make matters worse than they already are. So you will have to take a leap of faith—or, if you prefer, keep an eye on me to ensure I am up to the task.’

A twinkle of challenge lit his eyes.

Grace had to admit his reasoning was sound, though she suspected he was also mocking her. Still, the idea of watching him closely had its merits. Perhaps if she played along, she could ensure the Estate’s tenants were truly protected.

Only one problem.

‘I am pleased the tenants and staff of Skye will finally be treated better, but I am afraid the last steward died two years ago,’ she said.

Mr Stone looked perplexed. ‘But the accounts were in order—until eight months ago. Who managed them?’

Grace hesitated. Would he be the sort of man who believed a lady’s place was among embroidery hoops and tea sets? Not that there was anything wrong with that, but she had long refused to be confined to such things. If her answer unsettled him, so be it.

Boldly, she replied, ‘I did, sir.’

A flicker of surprise passed over his face, but he held his tongue. Instead, something else shone in his gaze—was it... admiration?

‘Most impressive, Miss Skye. Who taught you?’

‘My father, and later, our last steward, Travers. He was hesitant about new agricultural methods, so I turned to books and articles. I made mistakes, of course, but I had patient people around me, willing to let me learn.’

As she spoke, he suddenly leaned towards her, as though drawn by some unseen force. Grace inhaled sharply, startled by his closeness. The scent of sandalwood and something inherently masculine filled her senses, sending an unwelcome flutter through her stomach.

Then she realised—he was merely reaching to refill his teacup.

Annoyed with herself, she jerked back abruptly.

He noticed. That ghost of a smile returned, and she knew—he knew—the effect he had on her. The brute.

His tone turned indifferent. ‘And I believe Mr Charles Skye has taken over your care?’

The question stung. It pained her to admit that she had been disowned by her only living male relative, but there was no use in hiding it—he could learn the truth easily enough.

‘No, sir, he did not. But I have my independence.’

Something shifted in his expression. A flicker of understanding. And was that... concern? Grace quickly turned the conversation elsewhere before she thought too much about it.

‘You can advertise for a new steward. I am sure you will find someone suitable, Mr Stone.’

He was silent for a moment, his expression unreadable. Just as she was about to rise, he spoke again.

‘I do not have the luxury of time, Miss Skye. I must travel abroad soon and wish to resolve this matter before I leave.’

She arched a brow. ‘As a man of business, I would think you need to stay close to the Duke.’

‘Quite right. But I am only holding this position temporarily until His Grace finds a suitable replacement,’ he replied smoothly. Then, after a pause, ‘Miss Skye, I am looking for someone trustworthy, hardworking, and knowledgeable. You fit the bill. This may seem unorthodox, but how would you feel about working with me to set things right—at least until I find a new steward?’

Grace stiffened at the word trustworthy, fully aware of the irony. When she hesitated, he added, ‘I will, of course, compensate you for your time—and ensure you are protected from any gossip.’

Thoroughly shocked by this turn of events, Grace did the only sensible thing she could.

‘I will think about it.’