Page 8 of Impossible
“Og.”
She cocked her head to the side. “Is that a person?”
“Ogden, the stable master.”
She wrote down his name on a parchment to the side of her book, where she’d written a great deal in her lovely, sweeping hand. “How did he know what to collect?”
“He had a list.”
“I see. And he recorded the payments? I can’t seem to find a record of payments since Mr. Acton left last spring.”
“Og must have marked them on the list.”
“He reads, then?” she asked cautiously.
“Er…probably?” Og was over sixty and had worked in the Stonehill stables most of his life. When would he have learned to read and why? Max hated that he felt stupid, especially in front of Miss Treadway. Which was irritating since she was the one making him feel stupid with her endless questions.
That he ought to know the answers to.
But he didn’t. He had no desire to manage this estate. Did it matter if the rents were collected? He didn’t need the money.
“I’ll speak to Og,” she said with another perturbing smile. “Care to answer any other questions?”
“There is one vacant farm.”
“Oh, thank you.” She scribbled the information down. “I wasn’t quite sure. There’s an indication that a lease terminated last fall, but no record if they left or perhaps entered into another lease.”
The farmer had requested to meet with Max, but he’d declined—not that Max would tell her that. Then Og had informed him that the farm had been vacated after the harvest.
“Are there any potential tenants?” she asked expectantly, her blue-gray eyes fixed on him with that bloody curiosity she’d mentioned. She was beyond curious—she wasmeddlesome.
“Not that I’m aware of.” Hell, he really did need a steward, even if he didn’t plan to maintain the estate for future generations. He just needed to hire someone who understood that. Perhaps that was how he could get her to leave him alone. “If I promise to hire a steward, will you return to London?”
“Hiring a steward is an excellent idea!” she exclaimed brightly. “But no, I can’t return to London until the end of the fortnight when Lucien’s coach returns to fetch me. I’m afraid you have to suffer my presence.” She didn’t sound the least bit apologetic.
He leveled her with his sternest stare. “I can send you back in my coach.”
“You do have livestock, then? And a coach?” She snatched up her pencil once more. “How many horses? And how many of them are for riding as opposed to coaching?”
Did she never stop? “What does any of that have to do with the estate?”
She wrote “one coach” on the paper. “Livestock are an expense—their care and whether you need to replace them anytime soon.”
“There is a coach and a cart and some other vehicles.” He shrugged. “You can ask Og when you speak with him.” Shit, now he was encouraging her to speak with his retainers? Og was the only person who might be surlier than him, so it was entirely possible that the stable master wouldn’t spare even a moment for her.
Max ought to warn her about that. He did not.
“What about the horses you ride?” she pressed.
Tension gripped his frame, and he clenched his teeth. “I don’t ride.”
Her gaze widened with surprise. “I see. Actually, no, I don’t see. You’re a viscount. I thought it was a requirement that noblemen gad about the countryside on horseback. How do you even hunt?”
“I don’t ride, and I don’t hunt.” And he didn’t explain. “If I promise to hire a steward, you’ll leave in my coach?”
“No, because I’m not sure I trust you to hire someone. Anyway, youcan’thire a steward within my allotted fortnight. I suppose I could always extend my—”
“No.”
