Now Rosalind looked truly startled. “Is that what you think? That I have somehow succeeded where you have failed?”
There was nothing to do but shrug at the question. Admitting that her thoughts had ventured there despite her present happiness was too mortifying and somehow ignoring the beauty she and Thomas had found, as though it were only a fleeting whim.
He deserved better than her doubts, and she deserved security in her emotions.
“Lills,” Rosalind murmured, pulling her closer into her side, “I’ve won nothing. You and Granger love each other, you always have, and your marriage is your own. There’s no comparison because no one else is you, and no one else is him. I’d have killed Granger by now if I were in your place, and he’d have regretted his choice of wife daily. On the other hand, you would have made Will terribly happy.”
“But perhaps a little bored,” Lily ventured with a fond smile for her sister. “I lack your spark in life, and I think Will adores that part of you.”
Rosalind’s smile was surprisingly tender, her eyes casting across the room. “I think he might. Poor man.” She returned her attention to Lily, turning bright once more. “It is good to see you smile when discussing your husband. You were not destined to be a tragic wife.”
“For the first time in a very great while, I do not feel like one.” Lily looked over at her husband, realizing Rosalind was leading her in that direction. “Was this your plan from the beginning?”
“Not at all,” came the quick reply. “I only settled on it when I saw your smile for him. And I’ve been paying attention, and the man is perishing for want of you, so I thought I’d aid my dear brother-in-law.”
Lily coughed a soft laugh, her cheeks slowly beginning to burn as they neared her now attentively watchful husband. “I am sure he will appreciate it.”
Rosalind nudged her with a pointed elbow in her side. “If I’ve done anything right, so will you.” She winked before lifting her chin and beaming. “I’ve brought you your wife, Granger. Won’t you thank me?”
Thomas grinned, which was a rare enough sight in public, and certainly something Rosalind had not seen since childhood. “You are my second favorite person in the entire world, and my favorite sister.”
“Your sister will not like being displaced by a sister-in-law in your affections,” Rosalind pointed out, though her smile had not shifted.
“My sister has never aided me as you just have. I stand by my statement.” To the surprise of them both, he leaned in and kissed Rosalind’s cheek fondly. “You are a beautiful bride, Roz. Riverton is a fortunate man. I trust he knows this.”
Rosalind’s cheeks colored, and she shyly glanced up at her brother-in-law. “You’ve never called me Roz before, Granger. I like the change. In fact, I’m quite fond of it. Perhaps we might be better friends from now on.”
Lily’s heart could have burst with joy as she witnessed the bond forming between the people who were dearest to her in her life. It was all she could have wished for, and she could see it happening before her eyes. Would wonders never cease?
“I should like that very much,” Thomas told Rosalind, still smiling. “You might consider me your elder brother, if you like. It would be my pleasure to step into such a role for you.”
Rosalind’s eyes widened, and suddenly she was wrapping her arms around Thomas in a fierce hug that had Lily’s eyes filling with tears even as she laughed.
Thomas laughed as well, which was no little thing, and kissed the top of her head. “Had I known you would react like this, I’d have saved the offer for a more private occasion.”
“Your reserve will have to recover at some other time,” Rosalind shot back as she released him, a brow raising over damp eyes. “Any brother of mine would need to be accustomed to my antics and let me have my way.”
“So be it, then.” He wiped a tear from her cheek then nodded at something behind them. “Your husband saw that, Roz, and he looks concerned. Best settle his fears before he believes you to be distressed.”
Rosalind sighed heavily, rolling her eyes. “You might as well just tell me to leave the two of you to dance, Granger, not concoct stories about my husband. Will knows very well I am never distressed.” She sniffed once and turned, casting another wink at Lily before leaving them.
Thomas chuckled as he watched her go. “I really do like her. In a terrifying, rather intimidating sort of way.”
Lily could not laugh, could not feel anything but overwhelming tenderness and joy. “I love you,” she whispered.
His eyes were immediately on her, dark and warm. He took her hand and brought it to his lips, lingering far longer than was polite. “Dance with me, Lily.”
She nodded quickly, swallowing hard. “Always.”
The look he gave her was a kiss in itself, and he slowly led her out to the dance floor as though this ball was a celebration of their marriage, and no one else’s.
For all Lily felt, it just might have been.
Chapter Twenty-One
It had been some time since Thomas had spent a day occupied with business and nothing else, but being in London tended to bring about meetings for such things, and there was nothing to be done about it.
His solicitor had been first that morning and undoubtedly the most satisfying meeting of the day. The offer he had submitted for Pendrizzick had been accepted, and the Tremellion family had been generous in their terms. It would only require a few additional details and arrangements for him, and then they could close the deal, and the house would be theirs.
The knowledge that Pendrizzick would soon be a true home for him and for Lily was a bolstering thought indeed. He had given her no indication that he had started the process, and he would not tell her that his offer had been accepted. Only when Pendrizzick truly belonged to them would he share the secret with her. Perhaps he would do so with the carriage already loaded so that they might return to the place at once and begin making it as much a home as possible.
He’d instructed his solicitor to also begin the process of arranging a let on their London house, if not an outright sale to interested parties. It said a great deal about the nature of London that his solicitor was neither surprised nor irked by the matter, and that he assured Thomas that he would have all prepared, if not a few offers, before the week was out.
With his solicitor, he had also surveyed the reports from his estate manager at Rainford and made necessary arrangements for the care of his tenants and estate. All was in good order there, as it ever was, and his estate manager could have made any and all decisions regarding care of the place and the finances associated with it without deferring to Thomas at all. It was purely an act of deference and technicality at this point, he was quite certain, but it was still satisfying to be included in the decisions. Most of the time.
His next meetings were with shipping agents from his various investments, each eager to assure him of the security of his funds, as well as to humbly request additional funds in order to further certain interests. But Thomas was no longer one to jump at every chance, and had asked of each man in return that they send him the details and plans requiring his additional investment so that he might make an informed, careful decision about the matter. It was never a popular answer to give, but he refused to manage his business affairs in any other way.
It had served him well before, and it would continue to serve him well.
Gads, he was tired. Sitting here in White’s, waiting for his next meeting, he wished he had spread these meetings out over several days rather than combining them all into one. What had he been thinking?
He knew the answer the moment he had asked himself the question.
He had wanted to spend more time with Lily, and sacrificing one day was better than sacrificing several mornings to these ventures of his. He had spent so long as of late stripping himself of the cares of his businesses and finances, reveling in the stability he had long sought, that he had forgotten there was actual satisfaction in the work itself. Not
quite as much as working the land himself in the mine, but he still found the neat lines and numbers of ledgers to be rather gratifying.
It would seem he was born to be a man of occupation and not a man of leisure. Or, at least, a gentleman who truly took an interest in his business affairs. Yet even with those truths, there was nothing in them to compare to the feelings he had experienced in Cornwall with Lily. In the life he had begun to live with her.
His interests in the mine had taken on a more passionate edge in that life. His mind had been more alert and aware of the details all around him. He’d been able to separate the interests of a financial aspect from the interests of his emotions, and that had made all the difference.
For years, he had repressed any personal interests, despite his feelings being the motivation for his actions initially, and focusing entirely on financial and business interests. He had sacrificed his wife and his own happiness for those ends, and it was only by the grace of his wife that he had managed to recover anything of his marriage when he’d finally been satisfied there.
He could not fall into that trap again. Could not put anything before his wife or their family. Could not obsess over details that would not lead to his ultimate happiness, no matter how it might concern him. Only Lily could be paramount in his life. He should have learned that long ago.
Drumming his fingers on the table before him, Thomas pulled out his pocket watch, glancing at its face with a heavy sigh. He had promised Lily he would return before dinner, and that they would spend their evening together quietly and comfortably in the parlor, just as he’d always wished.
Waiting here was not part of his plan for the day.
But Lord Whitlock had invited him to meet here, and Thomas had included it in his day of business affairs to keep his time away from home to a minimum. What exactly Whitlock wanted was not clear, but Thomas was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.
Unless he continued to be tardy in his arrival. Then Thomas might be less accommodating. It was only just.
“Apologies, Granger, I was detained by my children.” Whitlock hurried to the table and sat without any flourish or airs, shaking his head. “I’m terribly fond of them, but to settle a dispute over whose turn it is to leap over the other down the stairs seems a trifle much.”
Thomas blinked. “Down the…? Your children were hopping over each other on the stairs?”
Whitlock turned his hand palm-side up in a gesture of acknowledgement. “Hence the lengthy part of the conversation on my part, mostly to protect them all from the wrath of their mother, should she discover the game.”
“Is this a frequent occupation for them?” Thomas asked, starting to laugh over the image forming in his mind of the Whitlock children’s antics. “Your daughters must seem angels by comparison.”
A faint snort came from the marquess. “These are my daughters. Believe me, the girls are as rambunctious as the boys, and the only relief Kate or I have is in the baby. Awake or asleep, that child never gives us cause for concern.” His brow furrowed, and he suddenly crossed himself quickly. At Thomas’s quirked brow, he smirked. “I take no chances where the curses of fate are concerned. I’d toss salt or spit, if we were not in a hallowed place.”
Thomas gave him a bemused look. “I was not aware that White’s was considered hallowed.”
“Only to some.” Whitlock straightened, leaning his elbows on the table and surveying Thomas carefully. “To business. You like a worthy investment, wouldn’t you say?”
“Where the risk is acceptable,” Thomas agreed with a nod, “and the returns guaranteed.”
Whitlock nodded soberly. “What if I can guarantee moderate returns, but the chances of impressive returns improve daily?”
Were the words coming from any other man, Thomas would have had a healthy dose of skepticism about such a claim. But as the man relaying it was Lord Whitlock, his skepticism was low. Present but low.
“And the risks?” he inquired, folding his arms.
Whitlock grinned. “Nil. Well, almost nil. The project is happening regardless, and it has the potential to grow exponentially. For men of vision and the patience to see it through.”
Thomas narrowed his eyes in an effort to hide the prickle of excitement beginning in his chest. “I’m listening.”
“My brother David lives in Scotland with his wife and children,” Whitlock told him, lowering his voice. “They live relatively quietly nestled in the Highlands, managing their estates and such. But David also has his ear to the ground with regard to promising opportunities, and there are things stirring in the lowlands. What would you say to investing in railways?”
“In what?” Thomas shook his head, his mind whirling. “Is that what I am hearing about? New methods of transport, using teams of horses to pull loads along tracks of iron and steel rather than relying on roads or canals?”
Whitlock nodded quickly. “The very same. There are existing railroads in Yorkshire, Surrey, and Swansea, all of which have been successful in their own right, and another is in the process of creation in Liverpool. Horses do well enough, but there are whispers of other means of power being developed, and should that take place, there would be no end to the possibilities. David has met with several parties about the Scottish rails, and they are eager for investment. I’ve pledged myself to the project and wondered if you might be interested in the same.”
Interest was certainly something Thomas was not lacking in this venture, but his sense and reserve slid firmly into place. “I am interested,” he said slowly, “but I would need to see some numbers and estimates. Do you think it might be possible for David or his contacts to have reports sent to me?”
“Of course!” Whitlock knocked on the table twice, smiling as though Thomas had already agreed. “I have a grand feeling about this, Granger. I’m no gambler, and if I can be convinced, I daresay you will be as well.”
“We shall see,” Thomas allowed, not quite ready to grin at the prospect. “I’ve a great deal of investments at the present, and may have to divert funds from one of them to this project if I deem it plausible. Making that decision will not be easy.”
Whitlock waved a dismissive hand. “You’ve a head for business and sound judgment. I have no doubt you will know at once what can go.”
Thomas only shrugged.
The marquess cocked his head, smiling in bemusement. “Something tells me Cornwall agreed with you. Have you courted your wife creditably?”
There was no way Thomas was divulging that information in the same discussion as business ventures, and he was certainly not doing so in a club of all places.
He shrugged again, saying nothing.
Whitlock’s brows snapped down. “Reserve as a method of punitive treatment is crass and ungentlemanly. You came to me, remember, so I daresay I have earned a measure of satisfaction on the subject.”
“I have no complaints about my life at the present,” Thomas said with a slight smile. “Nor with my wife, our relationship, or our arrangements.”
A slow, smug smile crossed Whitlock’s lips. “Very good, sir. To the victor, the spoils.”
Thomas scoffed softly. “Whom would you be naming the victor in this?”
“Probably your wife. The whole thing makes fools of men, but the ladies seem to adapt well enough.”
That was too true.
Thomas’s eyes flicked up to a footman of the club heading toward them, a letter sitting on a tray. Whitlock was a man of some importance, so it would come as no surprise that communication would come for him at any given time.
“A missive, Mr. Granger,” the footman intoned, surprising them both by stopping before Thomas and bowing.
“Thank you,” Thomas murmured, plucking the folded parchment up. The seal on the back was that of his solicitor, which was even more peculiar, as he had seen the man just a few hours before.
He snapped the seal and unfolded the pages, scanning quickly. The floor might have fallen away beneath his feet for the upend
ing its contents produced. Thomas swore softly under his breath, reading the lines again and again.
“Trouble?” Whitlock asked, no sign of amusement in his tone.
“A cotton mill in Manchester I’m heavily invested in caught fire,” Thomas grunted, his stomach churning. “Burned to the ground. All contents and machinery lost.” He blinked, then pushed out of his chair. “If you’ll excuse me, Whitlock, I must ascertain if I am shortly to face ruin or not.”
Without waiting for a response, Thomas strode away from the table, the feeling of impending illness continuing with him. He would not be as destitute as he had been five years ago, there was no question there, but it could be that he would need to pull all assets from other investments to salvage his situation. Or funnel profits from the estate. Or a hundred and three other things that might help, if only he knew the extent of the issue.
Security and solvency had been his aim from the day of his ruination, and he’d be damned if he’d let either of them slip now.
Something had to be wrong.
She had been sitting here at the table in the dining room for an hour now, and there was no sign of Thomas. She had known that he would be gone for the day, but he had assured her that he would be home for dinner, and that their evening would be spent in quiet contentment together. He’d been so thrilled by the idea that it had begun to sound perfect to Lily as well, and she’d prepared everything specifically for such.
She’d ordered supper to be even simpler than its usual fare and to have it brought to them in the drawing room so they might capture again the simplicity they’d enjoyed when they had dined with the villagers at Wheal Venton. She’d taken her hair down, and her gown this evening had been specifically chosen for its whimsy rather than its finery: a simple muslin dotted with small flowers reminiscent of bluebells.
Everything was in order, and her excitement had reached its peak at the appointed time for the meal to begin.
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