A Curious Courting by Laura Matthews Page B

took the paper she handed him and quickly read through the single paragraph, his brows drawing together in a frown. With an angry flick of the wrist, he tossed the paper from him. “Miss Easterly-Cummings, it is true that I have agreed to offer you first refusal on the property should I ever sell or dispose of it, and it is likewise true that I have endeavored to hire local artisans wherever feasible. I have given you my word as a gentleman that I will abide by those conditions, and I see no necessity for signing a superfluous document.”
    The gray-haired banker suggested soothingly, “And yet there is no reason not to, either, Mr. Rushton. It is merely a formality.”
    Rushton tapped the document with an impatient forefinger. “My word is as good as my signature, Mr. Thomas. I consider such a contract an insult.”
    “There is no insult intended, Mr. Rushton,” Selina said calmly. “The purpose of the contract is to exclude any possibility of misunderstanding. This paper represents my interpretation of our agreement. You might have construed it otherwise.”
    “Well, I didn’t, and I’ll be. . . I won’t sign it.”
    “Very well, Mr. Rushton. There is no need for you to do so. However, if you don’t, I will not sell you the land.” Selina reached out a hand to draw the paper to her and found her wrist grasped firmly by Rushton.
    “Why can you not accept my word?” he rasped.
    “Mr. Rushton, this is a business undertaking. My father taught me to have everything put in writing so that there could be no subsequent confusion.” Abruptly she withdrew her hand from his clasp.
    “If there is any room for misinterpretation, Miss Easterly-Cummings, it still exists.” He lifted the paper and read coldly, “Mr. Rushton shall undertake to employ local craftsmen, artisans and laborers wherever feasible.’ What if I am not satisfied with your local craftsmen, Miss Easterly-Cummings? How local is local? From Quorn, from Melton Mowbray, from Leicester? A ten-mile range, twenty? Who is to be the judge of these matters? Are you? Am I? Is Mr. Thomas? Shall I have the two of you breathing down my neck to see that the bricklayer does not come from as far afield as Ashby-de-la-Zouch?”
    Selina remained untouched by his sarcasm. “I allowed the wording to stay precisely as you and I agreed, Mr. Rushton. This is not a matter over which I am likely to take you to court. I would be annoyed if you were to bring in a contingent of workmen from your own estate, and thereby deny the local workers an opportunity for employment. I am, after all, selling you the land so that some employment may be provided in the area. Of course, if you wish to be perverse, you can sign the document, buy the land and allow it to remain unimproved for the rest of your life. Certainly the contract, on that point, can be loosely interpreted. You fail to see, I think, that you gave your word only to me, and there are men who do not consider that their word to a woman carries a great deal of weight. A gentleman’s honor is often reserved for gentlemen alone. Now, Mr. Rushton, you may sign the contract or not, as you wish. It is not a debatable matter. If you sign, you purchase the land. If you do not...”
    His eyes, sparking with indignation, raked her composed face, but he reached for the pen lying between them, dipped it in the standish and angrily scratched his signature on the document.
    “If you would date it as well,” Mr. Thomas suggested diffidently.
    With a mumbled oath, Rushton did so. He found it difficult to maintain his seat, so great was his annoyance, and he withdrew the purchase price from his coat and thumped it down on the desk. Selina picked it up and handed it to Mr. Thomas, who calmly counted it while Rushton contemplated strangling the both of them.
    “The sum is correct,” Mr. Thomas murmured as he carefully wrapped the bills in a pouch he had extracted from his voluminous pocket. “You sign the deed just  here, Miss