“Perhaps not today,” Jonathan allowed, “but anything could happen tomorrow. The best adventures are unpredictable.”
“I predict I won’t be here to find out,” Beattie said. “Once you alight at your cottage, I shall turn around and go home. You might not believe in permanence, but I’ve got a wife who’ll be keeping supper warm for me. Something to consider.”
“Pah,” said Jonathan. “If I can’t decide on a home until I’ve seen them all, how am I supposed to take a wife? Do you know how many more women there are than cities and hamlets? Even if I limited myself to conversing five minutes with each one, I’d never meet them all in a hundred years.”
“You don’t have to meet them all,” Beattie said in exasperation. “Find a good one and keep her.”
“I don’t want a good lass,” Jonathan explained. “I want a splendid lass. I want the best lass. Nothing else will do.”
“And ‘nothing’ is what you’ll end up with,” Beattie predicted. “I hope you like suppers alone.”
“Be alone?” Jonathan clutched his chest. “I’ve taken every meal with a different person for as long as I can remember.”
Well, for as long as he’d been on the road—which was the only bit he chose to remember.
Not that Beattie was listening. He stared openmouthed at the majestic castle soaring up into the sky at the top of the mountain. It looked like something out of a fairy book. Or it would, if it weren’t surrounded by a living black moat of holiday-makers in smart carriages, and swarming pedestrians in bright-colored woolen caps.
“Turn here,” Jonathan commanded, shaking out the small hand-drawn map that had come with his invitation. “To the right, past the pond, curve about until... here!”
One might not think a village of a thousand souls would require much in the way of maps, but the Duke of Nottingvale was nothing if not thorough. It was a quality Jonathan very much admired, and it boded splendidly for their upcoming business partnership—if the presentation went as planned.
He leapt to the ground the moment Beattie halted the hack, and had to grab the edge of the footrest to keep his feet from flying out in front of him when his boots skated weightlessly across a hidden patch of ice.
Two matched footmen burst from the cottage with twin expressions of horror, but they were far too well-mannered to scold their guest for leaping down from a carriage like—what had Beattie said?—aye, like an overeager puppy.
Jonathan liked puppies. Everyone liked puppies. There were far worse things one could be compared to.
As the footmen carried Jonathan’s trunks into the cottage—and really, only a duke could refer to this sprawling detached brick country home as a cottage—he turned back to Beattie to make his goodbye.
“Safe travels back to your wife.” He tossed an extra sovereign up toward the perch. “I’ve left a small coin purse in the carriage for you to do with what you will. If it were me, I’d purchase a horse on my way out of town.”
Beattie nearly missed catching the sovereign. “How much coin is in the back of my carriage?”
Jonathan waved a hand. “I didn’t say you could purchase ‘the’ horse. Perhaps I want the famous one for myself. I know nothing about horseflesh, but the best studhorse in England can’t be a poor investment, can it?”
Beattie stared at him. “If they wouldn’t sell it to Prinny—”
“Then he didn’t offer the right price. I agree, I agree. You’re a crafty one.” Jonathan slapped the side of the carriage. “Go on now, before you beggar me dry.”
As the wheels crunched over the snow, it almost sounded like Beattie muttered, “No one will believe this story.”
Jonathan grinned to himself. All good stories were slightly unbelievable, and the best stories were the least believable of the lot. It was his sworn mission to live the unlikeliest tale he could devise.
“Mr. MacLean,” said the duke’s butler. “Allow me to take your hat and your coat. I’m afraid His Grace isn’t expected until the day after tomorrow.”
The duke’s butler did not add, “Because you’ve arrived two days early.”
Partly because a duke’s butler was far too refined to make such a pointed observation, and partly because someone as well-prepared as Nottingvale would keep his cottage ready for guests at all moments, despite only hosting once per year during his annual Yuletide party.
“No, thank you,” Jonathan said politely, keeping his hat and coat. But he tipped the butler twice as much as the footmen all the same. “I’ve only just got here. I want to explore a bit before I settle in.”
He would spend more than enough time in the duke’s house once the others arrived. His partner, first. Jonathan had arranged the meeting, and Calvin was bringing all the illustrations and samples necessary for convincing the duke to invest in their sartorial venture. Jonathan had agreed to meet Calvin a day early to practice their proposal. Which meant, from tomorrow on, Jonathan would be stuck inside. This afternoon was his opportunity to explore the outside.
For such a small village to feel like an adventure, the key was to walk everywhere. It would take longer and he would notice more. Jonathan loved noticing things. He had learned to draw in order to remember all the things he noticed. He usually ended up giving those drawings away, aye, but that was because a vagabond explorer must travel light.
All Jonathan kept were memories.
He made exaggeratedly careful steps in the packed snow along the edge of the road. Sliding down a hill could be great fun when done on purpose, but twisting an ankle was no start for an adventure.
Also, he was wearing the smart traveling attire that Calvin had designed, with extra coat pockets and a cashmere-lined waistcoat. An impeccable carriage outfit, one which Jonathan could foresee being worn on countless future exciting journeys, so long as he didn’t rip a hole in the knee flailing about on tricky hidden patches of ice between here and the castle.
Not that he was going straight to the castle. That was what ordinary people did when they visited Cressmouth on an ordinary holiday. The castle employed most of the town and housed most of its visitors. There could not be a more boring place to start.
Jonathan wanted to know who these people were that did not live or work in the castle. They couldn’t all be dukes, and ducal servants. Some must be ordinary villagers, that couldn’t be helped, but the same logic indicated some villagers must be extraordinary, and those were the people Jonathan wanted to meet.
Cottage, cottage, cottage... He was friendly, aye, any gentleman ought to be, but not so pushy as to knock on the doors of complete strangers in the hopes of becoming momentary friends. The trick was to run across them casually, whilst they were walking down the street or riding an overpriced studhorse about their farm. Cottage, cottage...
What’s this?
He jerked stock still, a posture that could have been mistaken for military precision were it not for the extremely flattering, extremely comfortable, only slightly wrinkled carriage outfit he wore as his uniform.
This was a shop of some kind, with the living quarters upstairs, and a charming stone chimney with a faint plume of smoke.
From this angle, Jonathan couldn’t make out the wooden sign swinging from squeaking hinges beside the door, but enough candles were lit inside to give the impression sunlight flowed out, rather than in through the many windows.