“Incentive? But…” Eyes widening, Jones sat back. “What about the shilling per bushel more?”
Clarice regarded him steadily. “But that’s the price you’re offering. There’s no extra incentive there. Nothing to recognize the difficulty of what you’re asking the growers to do. Nothing to address their moral dilemma.”
Jones’s expression stated that he’d never before encountered a moral dilemma, at least not in business. “Ah…” He opened and closed his mouth, then looked at Jack. “I’m not sure I follow.”
“Oh, come now, Jones.” Jack looked faintly peeved, a weak man faced with a vacillating conspirator. “You said you were keen to seal the deal—here’s your chance. A token of esteem, as it were, in appreciation of the Avening growers selling you their crop, and eight hundred bushels of the best quality apples will be yours.”
Jack widened his eyes at Jones, urging him to seize the moment, and their bait.
But Jones suddenly blinked. “Eight hundred?” He glanced at Clarice. “I thought it was over one thousand bushels last time.”
“The crop varies considerably year to year.” Unperturbed, Clarice glanced at Jack. “I understand that this year, eight hundred bushels is what we could contract to sell you.”
Her tone was cold, distant—discouraging. Jones clearly considered questioning them further, but after studying her haughty, unyielding expression, he sank back into his chair.
A moment ticked by. Jones frowned into the remnants of brandy in his glass.
Clarice pointedly shifted to look at the mantelpiece clock, then she turned to Jones. “Mr. Jones, if you’ve nothing further to add, I have matters awaiting my attention—”
“No, no! Please…” He looked at Clarice, then Jack. “I was just considering what I could do….” He swallowed. “By way of incentive.”
It was clearly a difficult notion for him to digest. Clarice remained in her chair, lightly tapping her nails on the wooden arm.
Jones looked at her fingers, then at Jack. “How many growers are there?”
Jack pulled a face. “I’m not sure.”
“Seventeen.” Clarice leveled her gaze on Jones. “Why?”
“I was thinking, shall we say two pounds apiece to each grower in er…recognition of them selling to me?”
“Three pounds,” Clarice said.
Jones stared at her. They watched as he calculated swiftly in his head.
“Three pounds to each grower, plus a shilling per bushel above the market price, and you’ll have eight hundred bushels of Avening apples.” Clarice held Jones’s gaze, then raised a coldly arrogant brow. “Do we have a deal, Mr. Jones?”
Jones swallowed, then nodded. Quickly. “Yes. A deal.”
“Excellent.” Jack leaned back in his chair, his genial smile wreathing his face. “Here—I had my man draw up a contract for the sale. You just need to fill in the figures, and sign there…”
Clarice preserved her haughty distance as Jack had Jones put his signature to the deal. They’d had no idea if they could wring more from Jones; the satisfaction in having succeeded was sweet.
The contract duly signed and witnessed, Jones rose. He stared at the document as if he couldn’t quite understand how it had come into being.
“Well, Jones, come harvesttime we’ll deliver eight hundred bushels to your store in Bristol.” Jack clapped him on the shoulder and turned him, unresisting, to the door. “Once you send me the draft for the incentive, the deal will be locked up tight. Congratulations!”
Jack offered his hand. Jones seemed to come out of his daze; he reached for Jack’s hand, his face clearing. “Thank you, my lord.” Jones actually smiled as he shook hands. “A pleasure doing business with you.”
Jones turned back to the room and bowed low. “Lady Clarice.”
Even from across the room, Clarice could read the smugness in Jones’s eyes; he thought he’d at long last bested her. Regally, she inclined her head. “Until next time, Jones.”
His smile faltered for a moment, but then broadened again; he turned to the door Jack held open. With an almost cheery nod, he left.
Jack saw Jones to the front hall and left Howlett to show him out. Returning to the study, he found Clarice still regally ensconced in the chair by the desk. He closed the door, then crossed the room. Halting before her, he held out both hands.
She looked up at him, then placed her hands in his and allowed him to draw her to her feet. Leaving them a mere inch part. Their eyes met; their gazes locked.