Page 5 of The Tempting of Thomas Carrick
Thomas swiftly weighed his options, but could see no reason to prevaricate, and perhaps it was best that Nigel learned there was unease among the estate’s farmers, all of whom were clan. Thomas dipped his head to Nolan, acknowledging the point. “I’m not.” He looked at Nigel. “One of the farmers wrote to me and mentioned the matter as a problem.” Thomas could see no reason to mention Bradshaw’s name nor that the man had requested that Thomas speak directly to Manachan.
Now that he’d learned of his cousins’ recent exploits and taken the measure of their current interest in the estate, Thomas had to wonder if Nigel really was performing as well as he would no doubt like to think. Manachan’s shoes were large—very large.
Nigel fell ruminatively silent at Thomas’s words, as if digesting unwelcome news, but, eventually, he slowly nodded. “I didn’t realize they were put out by it. You can leave the issue with me—I’ll deal with it.”
Thomas hesitated, then offered, “It might well be that all that’s required is an explanation of your new strategy.” Whatever that might be.
“Indeed.” Nigel nodded more definitely. “I’ll take care of it.”
“We’re going back tonight.” Nolan drained his glass, set it down, and eased forward in his chair. Across the low table, he caught Nigel’s gaze. “We’d better get on.” Nolan glanced at Thomas and smiled. “And leave you to get back to your desk, cuz.”
Nigel humphed and finished his drink. Thomas did the same and rose as his cousins got to their feet.
Together, the three made their way out of the club. They paused on the steps to shake hands and, with faintly awkward expressions of familial bonhomie, to bid each other adieu.
Then Nigel and Nolan strode off to the stable where they’d left their curricle, and Thomas headed back to the bustle of Trongate.
* * *
Thomas sank into the chair behind his desk. The two pages of Bradshaw’s letter still lay on his blotter. He regarded them for a moment, then picked up the sheets, folded them, and set them in the bottom drawer to the left, where he kept all correspondence relating to the estate.
As he pushed the drawer closed, the question of what his cousins had been doing in Glasgow resurfaced in his mind. He’d asked, but they hadn’t actually replied, not specifically. They’d told him at length of all their carousing, real and quite possibly imagined, but they hadn’t touched on what had brought them there. Thomas knew the clan coffers would never stretch to cover the profligate lifestyle his cousins had described; he’d taken their descriptions with a very large grain of salt. They’d either exaggerated or fabricated. Possibly both.
Yet something—some reason—must have brought them to Glasgow. Why else had they come?
After a moment, he shrugged. “Presumably they came on estate business.” And, in reality, the estate and its business were no business of his. “And, thank God, I am not their keepers.”
With that heartfelt statement, he lifted the top file from the pile on his desk; opening it, he settled to review the company’s dealings with Colliers, a shipping line operating out of Manchester who were looking to expand their business in Glasgow, and who were hoping that Carrick Enterprises, with whom they had several lucrative agreements, would help ease their way.
Twenty minutes later, a tap on the door heralded Quentin. His uncle stood in the doorway regarding Thomas, then with a smile, Quentin nodded at the file in Thomas’s hands. “The Colliers?”
Thomas laid the file down. “They’ll be here at four.”
“Well, when you’re finished with them, don’t forget you’re expected for dinner in Stirling Street tonight.” When Thomas wrinkled his nose, Quentin grinned. “Your aunt sent a message, just in case you were in any danger of forgetting.”
Thomas sighed and tipped his head back against the chair’s raised back. “More young ladies.”
“Undoubtedly.” Quentin’s expression was amused. “As neither she nor you are going to give up, you’ll just have to weather the course.”
If only Thomas could be sure there would be a prize worth winning at the end. He raised his head and nodded. “I’ll be there.”
His grim tone had Quentin chuckling as he retreated down the corridor.
The interruption had broken Thomas’s concentration; his thoughts, freed, tugged him back to the question of what had brought his cousins to Glasgow…
He shook aside the distraction and refocused on the Colliers file. “Regardless of what brought them here, because they were here, I don’t need to go down to the estate—and for that, I should give thanks.”
And because he didn’t need to journey to the lowlands, he could concentrate on taking the next vital step in forging the life he wanted.
All he needed to do was find some young lady strong enough, vital and vibrant and enthralling enough, to oust Lucilla Cynster from his mind.
* * *
Two mornings later, Thomas walked into the Carrick Enterprises office to find Dobson standing before Mrs. Manning’s desk. Mrs. Manning was seated behind the desk as usual. Both she and Dobson were staring at a letter set prominently across the top of the blotter. There was a certain expectant tension in the air.
Dobson and Mrs. Manning glanced at Thomas, then Dobson reached for the letter, but Mrs. Manning snatched it up and held it out. “Good morning, Mr. Carrick. This just arrived by courier.”
“I see.” Strolling forward, Thomas took the packet. “Thank you.”
