Page 22 of The Viscount's Silent Pugilist

Slowly breathing in and out, Jonathan steadied his erratic heartbeat. He looked over his shoulder and exhaled in relief because Kilsby was climbing into a carriage that was pointed away from them.

Jonathan crouched next to Gen. “He is gone now,” he whispered. “And if he ever comes near you or Floppy again, I will string him up by his bollocks.” He assisted the pale-faced, quivering woman onto her feet. “Come along. We shall stick to the alleys as we head home.” He gave Floppy a few firm head pats. “You are a good, good boy. How about some bacon?”

Floppy tilted his head, and as God was his witness, Jonathan swore the mutt barked out something that sounded a lot like,Bacon, bacon, bacon!

*

Jonathan would notlet the confrontation with Kilsby ruin his chances of hiring a new man of business. Luckily, by the time Peters escorted the interviewee into the study, Jonathan had let go of most of his anger.

Now smiling, Jonathan stood. “Thank you, Peters. Come in, Mr. Thorton.”

Peters closed the study door, leaving behind a brow-furrowed Mr. Thorton.

The visitor schooled his befuddled look and approached Jonathan’s desk. “Good day, Lord Davenport. I am quite pleased to meet you. I am Jacob Thurstan.”

Well, damn.Thurstan, not Thorton. Although an easy mistake to make on a first meeting, Jonathan had probably done it because he couldn’t read the card Griffendale had given him. How bloody embarrassing.

Jonathan feigned a light-hearted chuckle. “I was simply ensuring you knew your own name. Now that we have settled that, please have a seat.” He swept his hand toward the chair on the other side of the desk.

Both of them sat, then the man handed Jonathan a wordy document.

Jonathan regarded it for a moment. Hundreds of letters moved about, switching directions. What a devil of a conundrum. He should have known the man would provide a letter of reference that he’d be required to read. Luckily, most of the time, a smile, charm, and a bit of manipulation solved these difficult situations and was the method he’d used to successfully hoodwink his instructors and his classmates these many years. All he had to do was trick Jacob Thurstan into telling him what was written on his paper.

“’Tis a very thorough reference.” Jonathan tapped on the document. “Why don’t you elaborate on your experiences that make you uniquely qualified to be my man of business?”

Thurstan’s cheeks turned scarlet. “Lord Davenport, I must confess, I am confused. That is not mine. I found it in the hallway, right outside your door. I told your butler that I would give it to you.”

Jonathan winced. It seemed he was so disorganized that his bloody piles were bleeding into his hallway.

“My lord,” Thurstan said, leaning across the desk and whispering as if the room had ears, “I believe that is a missive about your Millhurst Dairy Farm. It seems that a man named Jack Nashel passed away.”

No!That couldn’t be. Jack was a damn fine bloke. Even as his heart hurt and his stomach soured, Jonathan was thinking of a way to fix his blunder.

“Exactly,” Jonathan said. “Perhaps ‘interview’ is a better word than ‘reference’. I would like for you to explain to me what is in the missive and what suggestions you would make if I were to hire you as my man of business.” Jonathan slid the note across the desk.

“Of course, my lord.” Thurstan turned the paper around to study it.

Both humiliated and impatient to know what had happened to one of his farmers, Jonathan willed the man to respond quickly.

At last, Thurstan cleared his throat. “The missive is from the village pastor. It seems Mr. Nashel’s heart gave out on him. The doctor was called, but nothing could be done.”

But how could that be? Nashel could not have been more than two and thirty.

“He has a wife and five children,” Thurstan said.

Jonathan knew that much. “And?” he asked.

“If you are unable to travel to Millhurst to check on the status of the farm to make sure it is still running smoothly, I could go for you and then report back to you.”

Splendid answer.

“If you would like me to see to his widow and children, I can do that as well. For now, the pastor and the villagers are looking out for them. His oldest son is fourteen, so he has taken over his father’s responsibilities at the farm.”

Fourteen with the weight of the world on his shoulders. Jonathan needed to do something to help.

“If he was a loyal worker, perhaps you would like to provide an allowance to his widow.”

“Yes,” Jonathan murmured. If the pastor hadn’t intervened, a widow and children under his protection might be without food or shelter. He caught himself scraping his fingers through his hair and dropped his hand.