The Heart of a Bluestocking

by Renée Dahlia

  She shook her head slowly. ‘Even discounting the fact that I’ve been ill for a week and may have missed anything new, you’d think that any aspect of the business that might have been involved—a competitor or the like—would have been in existence while this scam was being run,’ she said.

  ‘Yes. Although it may not have become apparent until your father was removed from the business.’

  ‘Oh,’ she gasped. ‘You mean to say that if the scam was put in place to get Father imprisoned, then the advantage must come while he is not in the chair, so to speak.’

  ‘Yes.’ Her shoulders drooped marginally, and she looked up at the ceiling. After a pause, she sighed and bit her lip. He shouldn’t stare at her mouth. Her perfectly kissable, mobile lips. He yearned to kiss them, to discover if she tasted as sharp as her words, like nimbu ka achaar with the punch of chili and lime. His mouth watered and he swallowed. Stop. She is the client.

  ‘I can’t figure it out,’ she said. He blinked as her gaze dropped back to his.

  ‘Could it be internal at Carlingford Enterprises? What is the structure of the business?’ he asked.

  She grinned, a sly half-grin that made him lean towards her.

  ‘Are you telling me that you instructed clients to invest without understanding what they were investing in? That’s not very thorough of you,’ she said. An itch appeared just above his right ear.

  ‘No. Of course I did due diligence, but my clients’ only invested in projects run by Carlingford Enterprises, not the main company,’ he said.

  She winked.

  ‘Your clients couldn’t invest in Carlingford Enterprises, even if they wanted to. It’s a holding company that owns many other companies. Your clients would have invested in those other businesses that the holding company set-up,’ she said. As she spoke, her grin faded but her lips and face became more mobile. He found himself leaning towards her, drawn to her energy. Even her hands joined in, flowing in the air as she articulated the details. ‘Of course, one of our largest companies is called Carlingford Manufacturing Enterprises, and many people confuse it with the holding company. You aren’t the first person to do that.’

  ‘If Carlingford Enterprises owns a range of other businesses, and some of those businesses are open to investor ownership, who owns the parent company?’ he asked.

  ‘I’ve always assumed that Father owns the entirety of the parent company, but he may have brought other investors in during its early days,’ she said.

  ‘Explain, please.’

  ‘All businesses have investment structures before they can grow. I don’t know all the details, but based on Father’s actions, I believe he may have had investors in the past. I’d guess he has since bought them out. That would account for the way he runs the business without a restraint that would come if he had silent partners.’

  ‘You have a good handle on strategy. Remind me not to play chess with you.’ She laughed, a pleased chuckle.

  ‘Wil is the chess master. He works hard not to appear too smart, but he’s terribly astute.’

  Ravi tapped his thumb on the edge of the table. Wil did a great job of appearing to be a pretty fop with not a thought in his head. If Wil was smart, he hid it well, and if he could hide his intelligence, what else might he be hiding?

  ‘Is he? This case has the potential to tear your family apart, and you need to be prepared in case the perpetrator is someone you care about,’ he warned, but she only shook her head.

  ‘There is no reason for Wil to sabotage Father. They may not always move in the same direction—’ She paused, tilting her head slightly. ‘Wil is a solid contributor.’

  ‘For example?’ Ravi wanted to believe her. He took off his glasses and polished them. In his experience at Woodleyville, money corrupted family ties, making a mockery of the relationships. Claire could easily be manipulated by a tricky son who wanted everything, who didn’t want to share with his brilliant sister. How galling might that be? And if this Wil character was also hunting Sanjay? He should warn his brother.

  ‘Wil’s ideas come from the clouds—he has an ability to see the future, I mean who would have thought that investing in toilet paper was such a great plan? Yet, it’s one of our greatest earners. Flimsy paper that people buy only to throw away, when they could just use the news-sheets for free!’

  ‘And do you also contribute?’

  ‘Oh,’ she said, waving her hand dismissively. ‘I’ve had a few ideas, but they were all just extensions of what we currently do. A few improvements to process that resulted in lower cost—that type of thing.’

  She might think that her sibling rivalry came from her mother, but it seemed to him that her father pitted her against her brother in competition regularly. He must thank his own mother for his balanced childhood when she returned from the sub-continent. He rubbed his eyes and replaced his glasses.

  ‘You’ve painted quite the picture of family involvement in the company,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, both Wil and I have plenty of reasons to see it succeed. Neither of us would do anything to put that in jeopardy. I don’t see how knowing this is going to solve Father’s case.’ She held his gaze and waited for him to budge. He resisted the urge to scratch his jaw. He was becoming addicted to learning more about Dr Carlingford and what drove her. From the moment she’d arrived in his office, name dropping the peerage to gain advantage, she’d interested him. He wanted to capture her mouth with his, and draw out all her secrets. He recognised her drive in himself, and knew that part of the appeal was that she’d bludgeoned her way past the hurdles that society threw at her. Just as he needed to.

  ‘I have copies of the notepaper in my office. Perhaps you should come and see for yourself,’ he said, even though the idea of having her lean over his desk to read paperwork made his blood surge. All those curves, wrapped tightly in her fashionable gown, close to him as they peered at the same piece of paper. He cursed himself for suggesting such proximity. He must find a way to focus on the case, to get his own legal practice, and stop thinking about Dr Carlingford as a vibrant woman that his body yearned for. From the way she held herself apart, she obviously didn’t have any of the same desire for him.

  ‘Great idea. I have a life to go and live. I need to get this done, so I can get on with that,’ she said. She started to stand up.

  ‘I have one further question,’ he said. She sat down again in a rustle of satin, and a hint of violets drifted towards him. He closed his eyes momentarily as he pictured her draped in regal purple silk, standing barefoot in a field of violets, with her gold-streaked hair long and loose around her shoulders.

  ‘Yes?’ Her impatient tone made his eyes pop open. On anyone else, that tone would have sent a cool shiver over him, but from her it only amused him and increased the heat throbbing under his skin.

  ‘Does your father intend for Wil to take over the business in time? Is there a possibility that this scheme has been set-up by Mr Carlingford to test Wil’s ability?’ he asked. Wil hid his apparent cleverness effectively, perhaps Mr Carlingford Snr required proof of Wil’s capabilities.

  ‘You are too perceptive for your own good,’ she said with a dry laugh. ‘It has crossed my mind that this is an elaborate test on Father’s part to find the person who can untangle this puzzle. Father set-up Carlingford Enterprises as a meritocracy; people earn their positions no matter where they started from. His core belief is that connections don’t matter.’ She shrugged and pursed her lips, an action that drew all his focus there. ‘I doubt that Wil would be given the position without having to work for it. But this belief of Father’s has been an advantage for me.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I gained this level of education because Father doesn’t believe that women are less capable than men. It’s a highly unusual perspective and I do appreciate that.’ Her tone rose as she spoke, each world punching out.

  ‘You’ve certainly proved him right. Are you a potential successor? Do you aspire to lead?’ he said.

&n
bsp; She closed her eyes, and took in a deep breath before opening her eyes to glare at him. ‘No, I do not. You misunderstand me. I have absolutely no aspiration to run the business. It is one thing to make suggestions, even great suggestions, from the background. And quite another to be visibly in charge. I believe that Wilberforce would make a more acceptable leader—from the point of view of our investors, customers, and society.’

  ‘I see,’ he said slowly, even though he didn’t. She’d be great. Imagine all that contained force leading a business.

  ‘Do you? Carlingford Enterprises would suffer under my reign. Simply because I’m a woman. Father can’t see it. And as much as I might want to prove society wrong, I will be proved right, and the cost of that isn’t worth it. Perhaps my great-granddaughters could run the business. If it lasts that long,’ she said.

  ‘But—’

  ‘No.’ She spoke over him. ‘We are in the year of 1888—women can’t vote. Barely any girls get more than a basic education, and most don’t even get that. Men rule the world. It’s absurd to think that men would do business with a female tycoon. Father is blind to the impact. And don’t think about this from my point of view.’ She stood up, and started pacing along the far wall of the dining room. Her long gown swished in the air as she spun around at the end of the room, and the gas lamps on the wall silhouetted her. His hands itched with the need to trace her elegant shape. He wanted the weight of her against him, to capture all that energy with his body. He shifted on his chair to make himself more comfortable as his desire pressed into the fabric of his unmentionables.

  ‘Of course, I know I could run Carlingford Enterprises and do it better than most. But I must consider the bigger picture. This isn’t about me. You saw how the men treated me at Scotland Yard. Now imagine them as customers or investors, and their reaction to buying a product from a female-led company. We wouldn’t lose a few customers—we’d lose most of them. There wouldn’t be a business to run, no matter how hard I work or how good I am.’ Energy poured off her in waves, a cascade of bruising hurt that society could stifle her so much. There was no rebuttal to her argument, but he wished he could invent time travel and see her succeed in a time when all those problems weren’t so substantial. She kept moving back and forth along the far wall of the room, and he was glad that the table provided a barrier between them.

  ‘If all of that is true, and I believe it is,’ he added the second part quickly as she turned to him with her hands in motion.

  ‘It’s true. Men—’ she glanced in his direction then looked away, ‘—most of them, anyway, are fragile creatures who don’t like threats to their position in the world. The repercussions to the business would be immense.’ She paused, and dropped her hands to her sides.

  ‘Then why are you so invested in finding the answer to this case? Why isn’t Wil helping your father?’

  ‘I—’ She paused. ‘I can’t speak for Wil, but I’m doing this for Father because I care for him,’ she said. Her hands spread wide in front of her. ‘He is my champion. The only person who has seen me as a brain with potential. I would do anything for him.’ The depth of admiration in her voice called to him, and he shifted in his chair, his legs relaxing and spreading under the table, and his back twisting so he faced her square on. He wanted her to speak about him like that, to care for him that much, for her to know he saw her in the same light. A smile built slowly and warmth filled his chest, as if she was the sun shining on him and heating his whole world.

  ‘Even take over the business?’ He couldn’t help tease her, and his smile stretched wide. She grinned back at him, and the warmth inside his chest surged.

  ‘I just told you. I won’t be doing that,’ she exclaimed. He laughed, and she inhaled sharply. ‘Oh, you said that to rile me.’

  ‘Yes.’ He stood up and gestured to the door. ‘Shall we look at the notepaper?’ She nodded, walked around the end of the table, and swept into the hallway.

  Chapter 8

  Claire paused at the doorway, and glanced up and back the hallway. Mr Howick stepped past her, only a whisper away from touching her arm. If she leaned just a fraction, her arm would brush his. She pulled herself into herself, away from the sudden urge that beset her.

  ‘This way,’ he said, and began to walk away from her. She forced her body to follow him along the hallway, even though their conversation had shaken her. The combination of his gaze—heated and stormy—and his insightful comments on her family, made for a churn in her stomach that contrasted with the heat flickering just under her skin. He wasn’t the first handsome man to attract her eye, but she’d always found a reason to dismiss the others. Mr Howick unsettled her, because, if she was truly honest with herself, his insights and perspective made him difficult to dismiss. She enjoyed arguing with him. If it wasn’t for that lingering uncertainty about his motivations, she’d give serious thought to indulging herself with him. Wouldn’t she? She’d never taken those risks before, never even contemplated them. People assumed she’d been free with her favours. She’d deliberately made them think that, because it was a useful way to keep people at a distance in certain circles. But when it came down to the key moment, she’d kept herself apart and alone. It was only rational when all the risk lay with her, while any man could walk away with no consequence. She stomped along, using her feet to bash out her frustration. Damn it. How could talking to someone be so tempting? She hadn’t even touched him. Her palm tingled in memory of shaking his hand in his office. Fine. Only once, and even then, she’d worn gloves. She squeezed her hand into a fist, then shook it out.

  She kept her gaze firmly on the end of this hallway, and deliberately not on Mr Howick’s broad shoulders, encased in a navy blue jacket. She tried not to look at how his long legs strode ahead of her, eating up the distance yet somehow relaxed and in control of his world. This latest evidence only added worry, and she frowned at his back. She wished she had his confidence that he would find the culprit, and that it wouldn’t be someone she cared for.

  He opened a door, and waved her through. She stepped into book lover’s heaven. Large windows with deep yellow, almost gold, drapes lined one wall, drawing natural light into the room. The other three walls were lined with bookcases, stretching from the floor nearly all the way to the elevated intricate plaster ceiling. The top two feet of the wall were painted in a rich red, and portraits, presumably of Dalhinge family members, hung in the space, all staring down at the current generation as they relaxed and read books. Claire glided into the room, and walked straight to the bookshelves. She ran her fingers lovingly across the leather spines, then paused as she read the author’s name. She spun around.

  ‘You have a first edition of Jane Austen,’ she said breathlessly. He moved quietly until he was just one pace away from her, and she looked up into his deep brown eyes. They darkened into the rich colour of freshly brewed coffee. She couldn’t look away.

  ‘Second. It’s the 1813 version of Sense and Sensibility.’ He stood so close that his breath rinsed over her skin in a warm zephyr. She licked her lips, her tongue darting out to wet the sudden dry that his proximity caused. His gaze dropped to her lips and he leaned closer. She closed her eyes as her heart started to hammer in her chest. But he didn’t kiss her as she expected. His finger traced her cheek, and her eyes flew open.

  ‘That’s it. I want to see those golden flecks glow,’ he whispered. His fingertip, slightly rough on her soft skin, caressed her jawline. The subtle pleasure of his touch, and his gaze, made her tremble slightly. She placed her hands on his chest. Firm muscles quivered under her touch beneath all the layers of his clothes as she pushed against him. She dropped her gaze to her hands as he took a half-step away from her. The movement took him only slightly further away, but she immediately missed his heat. She wanted to know what he’d feel like wrapped against her. A hot shiver raced down her back and she swallowed. Could she take that last step and demand the kiss that he offered? Could she risk it?

  ‘You’ll see whe
n you open it that it has “by the author of Pride and Prejudice” on the title page, not “by a lady” like the first edition.’ His voice was gruff, deep and throaty, even though he recited the fact without much care.

  ‘You speak as though the book is an investment, not a beautiful, wonderful story.’ She dropped her hands from his chest as the moment between them dissipated. Her body stayed warm as she moved further from him until she stood at the other end of the rug.

  ‘Lord Dalhinge is the Austen fan, not me.’

  ‘I suppose you prefer more weighty titles?’ she said. She tensed, waiting for the judgement against so-called frilly, feminine novels.

  He laughed, a low, awkward chuckle.

  ‘Not at all. Robert Louis Stevenson is more my style. I enjoyed Dr Jekyll recently, and I’ve read Treasure Island several times.’

  ‘Really? For the adventure, I guess. But it has no female—’

  ‘I know. It’s not a balanced book.’ He shrugged. ‘I also enjoyed Gissing’s Thyrza that came out last year.’

  ‘Now that’s a romance. Not a happy one, but it’s all about unrequited love.’ She grinned at him as he tilted his head and looked askance at her.

  ‘It’s a study in social class.’

  ‘Yes, that as well, but it’s a love story too.’ She couldn’t help a little swagger in her step as she stepped towards him. He looked so put out at her statement.

  ‘Never mind that. We are here to look at this billhead on the notepaper left at the post office.’

  ‘What’s the matter? Did I ruin the book for you?’ She grinned at him, and he laughed back.

  ‘No. I guess I’d never thought about it from that point of view.’

  ‘It’s not my kind of book. I prefer a happy ending. There is enough angst in the world without reading about it for leisure as well.’

  ‘Dalhinge says the same. I must have a charmed life, as I enjoy the deep emotions of difficult books.’ He waved his hand dismissively and an aggressive heat flooded her cheeks.