Julian drew a sheet of paper toward him. "The deposit will be accounted for. Grant will receive no assurance of a completed sale without Eleanor's consent. I will write to him tomorrow."
"You will make us look foolish."
Julian remembered Eleanor standing beside her open trunk, saying that she had told him about the road in March. He had dismissed her then, as he had dismissed her that morning.
"We have managed that already," he said.
Margaret's face flushed. "You would take her side against your own mother?"
"I am trying to establish what happened."
"Then establish it without pretending your wife is innocent of every difficulty."
She turned toward the door. Julian did not stop her. When she had gone, he placed Grant's letter beside the rejected agreement and sat for a long time without touching either.
At dawn, Eleanor left Ashkam Hall in the carriage she had arranged the previous evening, accompanied by her maid for the journey. Julian watched from an upstairs window. He had intended to speak to her before she departed, but by the time he reached the entrance hall, the carriage had passed through the gates. The empty drive seemed strangely unfamiliar.
An hour later, he ordered his horse saddled and rode toward the market town. He told himself he needed to inspect the workshop and determine whether Eleanor's objections were justified. Yet, when he dismounted outside the modest brick building, it was her voice he listened for.
Through an open window came the rhythmic thud of a press and the murmur of workers beginning their day. Eleanor stood near a long wooden table, her sleeves turned back, examining a damaged book with Thomas Reed. A young apprentice approached with a tray of freshly printed sheets. She thanked him by name.
Julian remained in the doorway unnoticed. Then Thomas looked up and saw him. The foreman's expression changed. "Your Grace."
Eleanor turned. Her hands were stained with ink, and a loose strand of hair rested against her cheek. She did not look surprised.
"Good morning, Julian," she said. "Have you come to purchase my workshop, or would you care to learn what we do here?"
"I would like to learn," Julian said.
Eleanor studied him for a moment, then stepped aside. "Very well, Thomas. Would you show His Grace the drying room?"
The foreman glanced at her, evidently uncertain whether this was an invitation or a punishment.
Eleanor's mouth twitched. "He has come a considerable distance. We ought not disappoint him."
Julian removed his gloves. "Lead the way, Mr. Reed."
Thomas guided him through a narrow passage where bundles of paper stood on wooden shelves. The air smelled of leather, paste, and freshly cut linen. In the drying room, water had stained the ceiling above a long workbench. Several buckets stood beneath the damaged section.
"We move the finished sheets whenever it rains," Thomas explained. "Mrs. Bennett—Her Grace—approved repairs yesterday. The carpenter is expected tomorrow."
Julian examined the beams. "How much will it cost?"