Page 26 of The Trouble with a Dare

“Certainly,” Grace said, bristling a little. “But Sterling likes to do things for himself. He enjoys it.”

Bainbridge gave her a sceptical look that suggested he thought this a very odd way to go on. Grace caught Mr Stanhope’s eye and noted his lips twitch.

“Where on the farm?” Bainbridge demanded.

Grace hesitated.

“Not hiding, is he?” his lordship asked with what seemed to her a deceptively mild tone.

“Of course not, when he didn’t even know you were coming,” she said, perhaps with more heat than was necessary.

“Bainbridge, do behave,” Arabella said in an audible whisper.

Bainbridge stiffened, his brow furrowing with indignation. “Why should I? You’ve been fretting yourself to death for weeks now, and I can’t bear another minute of it. I promised to put your mind at rest, that I’d see what manner of man he was, so you could stop worrying. If he’s a decent fellow, he’ll understand her friend’s concerns and speak to me. If he ain’t, we’ll take her home with us.”

“What?” Grace said, startled. “Take me home?”

“Certainly. To Royle House. Blasted mausoleum could house an infantry, and we wouldn’t notice, there’s plenty of room,” Bainbridge said, as if this explained everything.

Grace turned her panicked gaze upon his wife.

Arabella rolled her eyes. “A bull in a china shop,” she muttered under her breath. “Darling Grace, I am sorry, but I confess have been dreadfully worried about you and that has made my husband quite unreasonable, for he does not like me to worry. If he could only meet Mr Oak and see what kind of man he is for himself, I am quite certain we will all be able to relax and have a lovely visit together.”

Grace looked from Arabella to Bainbridge, and then to Florence and her husband. “But you already know Sterling,” she said to Mr Stanhope. “Can you not reassure Lord Bainbridge?”

“I tried,” the man said succinctly. “May as well talk to the wall. He wants to speak to Sterling himself. You’d best get it over with, or he’ll turn the place upside down looking for him.”

“Well, I….” Grace sighed. She knew from Arabella’s letters that Bainbridge was more a force of nature than a man, and could only agree with Mr Stanhope’s advice. Sterling may not enjoy the marquess’s visit, but she believed him well capable of holding his own and not being mown down by the fellow. “I believe he’s in the large barn on the east side of the farm. They are sorting the gimmers for auction.”

“Gimmers?” Arabella repeated, nonplussed.

Grace smiled, pleased to have gleaned this small piece of knowledge from her husband so far. “The young female sheep that have just been weaned.”

“Right you are. Stanhope, with me,” Bainbridge barked and strode out of the room.

Mr Stanhope gave a long-suffering sigh, executed a smart salute to the assembled company and followed him out.

“You don’t think—” Grace began anxiously, as visions of mayhem and bloodshed filled her mind.

“No, no, don’t fret,” Arabella said, sliding her arm through Grace’s. “I admit Bainbridge is only half-tame, but he’s not the least violent unless provoked, and that’s surprisingly difficult to do. Your husband may wish to do him an injury in short order, but Bainbridge is fairly indestructible, so I shan’t fret either. I suggest we leave them to their own devices. Now, how about some tea and cakes? And then can you tell us all about your new husband in peace.”

With this not entirely reassuring comment, Grace had to be satisfied, and she hurried off to ask Mrs Gladwish to bring refreshments.

Sterling was in the midst of sorting which sheep were being sent to auction when he saw Henry waving to him from the door of the barn. There was another very large man standing beside him who looked so impossibly out of place in his current surroundings it was laughable. He looked like the sort of fellow who ought to lounge about on a throne, most likely giving commands to lop his subjects’ heads off because he was bored and needed entertaining. Sterling did not need an introduction to realise the fellow was a nobleman. Irritated at being interrupted with no warning, he barked a few instructions to his shepherd and waded through the ocean of woolly bodies that bleated and bustled each other indignantly as he passed.

“Henry,” Sterling said with a nod, eyeing his friend’s companion warily. That he was also being silently weighed and measured was quite obvious.

“Sterling,” Henry said, giving him a smile that seemed a tad strained before he turned back to the intense figure beside him. “Lord Bainbridge, may I introduce my friend and neighbour, Sterling Oak? Sterling, the Marquess of Bainbridge.”

Sterling regarded the man, whose gaze was no less forceful now the introductions were over. It took more effort than he liked to keep his expression neutral. He felt very much like a dog with a bone, his hackles rising as a threat entered his territory. Try as he might to remind himself that he was every bit as civilised as this over-bred, polished nobleman, the sight of the man’s impeccable tailoring and shiny boots made him unreasonably annoyed.

Henry, no doubt well aware of the combustible atmosphere, shifted uneasily and cleared his throat. “Sterling, I think you know Mrs Oak is a very close friend of his lordship’s wife.”

“Like sisters,” Bainbridge cut in, his cut-glass accent sliding over Sterling’s skin like nails down a blackboard.

Sterling looked from Henry to Bainbridge and back again and folded his arms. Henry gave him a pleading look, which Sterling ignored. Instead, he looked back at Bainbridge and waited. Bainbridge studied him with undisguised interest, no little suspicion, and no apparent qualms about the possibility of fraying Sterling’s temper.

“Are you going to make her a good husband?” Bainbridge said after an interminable silence, during which Henry had started sweating.