He sat down across from Nathan and continued speaking. “It doesn’t take a week to fix a shoe, so either there was something more seriously wrong or the town grew on you so quickly you could not leave.” He saluted with his pint. “That has been known to happen.”
Nathan started at him before shaking his head ruefully with a chuckle. “My horse is fine.”
The man leaned back in his chair, a victorious smile on his face. “So it was the town.”
“Something like that,” Nathan allowed. “I am the new owner of Windent Hall.”
“Ah, my new neighbor. Jacob Knightly, of Ridgestone.” Knightly offered his hand.
Nathan took it and shook it, introducing himself. The handshake stilled, but Knightly didn’t release his hand. “Nathan Grant, the parliamentarian?”
Nathan stared at their clasped hands until Knightly released his grip and scowled into his ale again, sullen once more. Hell and damnation. He had hoped this miniscule town would be a safe haven from all of that, but it appeared he was wrong.
Knightly took a swig of his ale. “What brings you to Taft? Last I heard, you were on the road to prime minister.”
“I have retired from public life,” Nathan muttered, drinking deeply.
“Oh? Why is that?” Knightly looked at him curiously.
Nathan gave him a baleful glare. “Jacob Knightly, second son of the Duke of Maberly?”
It was Knightly’s turn to tense. “Yes,” he admitted cautiously.
Nathan furthered his attack. “What was your moniker? The Earl of Escapades? Had to marry a mouse of a governess after ruining her? How goes the squeaky clean life of a country gentleman, hmm?”
Knightly’s face darkened but his response was interrupted by the boy bringing Nathan his pie. Glancing back and forth between the glaring gentlemen, he didn’t linger for an extra coin but scampered off quickly.
The stare was held for several long moments until Knightly gave one slow nod. “I believe we understand each other.”
Nathan picked up his fork and poised to break into his chicken and mushroom pie. “Excellent.”
Before he could break into his pie, a strong hand manacled his wrist and Nathan looked into the dangerous eyes of an angry husband. “But utter one word against my wife,” Knightly growled, “and you will—”
“Jacob?”
Knightly looked up to see the petite brunette in a blue dress. Nathan’s wrist was promptly released as the man stood up. “You were finished quickly.”
The lady looked at him with caution. Nathan rose as well. “Yes,” she said, “Mrs. Pennystone couldn’t fit me in today. I made an appointment for next week.”
“Claire,” Knightly said, “this is Mr. Nathan Grant, our new neighbor at Windent Hall. Grant, my wife.”
“Mrs. Knightly,” he greeted with a bow.
The lady smiled at him and Nathan could understand why Knightly had married the governess after all. “Mr. Grant, welcome to Taft,” she said in a calm, steady voice.
They exchanged small talk for several minutes, Mrs. Knightly even managing to extract a promise to dine with them, before Knightly said, “I believe we are keeping the man from his lunch.”
“Oh,” she said, glancing down at the cooling pie. “My apologies. Would you care to join us?”
“Claire—”
“Thank you but no,” Nathan refused politely. “I am needed elsewhere shortly and will not make good company.” Take the bloody hint, Mrs. Knightly.
She smiled at him. “Very well, but do not forget that dinner invitation. I will send over a letter confirming the date.”
He bowed to her. “Indeed.”
The couple selected a table on the other side of the room, and Nathan sat back down and began to eat. He could see the two in the corner of his eye, conversing comfortably. Knightly didn’t seem put out by his marriage to this country governess; indeed, he seemed to be enjoying himself.
Nathan was halfway through his pie when a flurry of yellow movement had him choking on his food. He had forgotten that Miss Collins had told him she lived with the Knightlys and now she was here, in the pub, approaching their table with the damned vicar trailing behind her, a puppy dog look in his eye.