by Esther Hatch
The sound of wood scraping on wood caught his ear. He jumped away from the door and ran to the opposite end of the foyer on his toes. He crossed both arms across his torso and tried to stand like a pugilist would.
Pugilists definitely threw back their shoulders and expanded their chests. It was part of their persona, certainly.
The door opened and, without meaning to, he caught Miss Duncan’s eye. She was the first through the door, so it was only natural that he would.
She held his gaze for a moment and then her eyes slid down to the top of his waistcoat again. His pugilist pose had been a good idea. He may not have the scars of a pugilist, but his thickness could pass muster.
“That is a very fine waistcoat for a pugilist. It makes me wonder if perhaps I have heard of you.”
Jonathan pushed his shoulders back further. “I’m still quite new to London. Most likely you haven’t, but hopefully someday you will.”
“Well.” She stepped forward. The foyer was miniscule and there were now four people in it. In a movement that was as unexpected as an uppercut to the jaw, she lifted her hand and seized the top edge of his waistcoat just above his heart. She rubbed the fabric between her thumb and forefinger—not fast enough to create a spark, but a shock still ran through him when the tips of her fingers grazed his chest.
She leaned forward, the top of her head just below his eyes. “This is a very fine silk. And what is more—based on this brocade pattern, it was not produced in Great Britain.”
Her hand was still on his chest. All he could do was nod. The air in his lungs was quickly running low, but he didn’t dare release it. It might be time he was introduced to more wealthy trade families if their women were all like Miss Duncan.
“And the buttons…” Her fingertips dotted their way down his waistcoat until the fabric disappeared under his jacket. “Those are also imported.” Miss Duncan’s voice was not loud, but it was firm, as if touching the buttons on his chest was simply a business transaction, not unlike buying his mother’s home. “But not from the same country. The silk is most definitely from East Asia, but the shape of the button underneath is most likely Persian. This isn’t simply a fine article of clothing for a pugilist, it is a fine article of clothing for any man. It must have cost a fortune.”
Jonathan swallowed. She removed her hand from his person. She had barely touched him, and yet the inappropriateness of it all had him feeling like a confused Eton boy all over again. All three other occupants in the foyer looked at him as if waiting for an explanation. The truth was, this was one of his favorite waistcoats, for all the reasons Miss Duncan had just mentioned, as well as the superior fit. He had bought it the year before his father had passed away, yet somehow it had remained timeless.
It had cost him a fortune. But that was back before he understood the position his family and his tenants were in. Honestly, two years ago his situation had not been so dire. He hadn’t thought it an extravagance.
Jonathan eyed Oliver. It shouldn’t bother him that his friend knew he had expensive clothing, but since he was the one man in London who knew Jonathan’s financial situation, it irked him to think Oliver would judge him as frivolous. “I bought it years ago. And the milliner who sold me the fabric had assured me it was well-priced,” he said to the room.
“I wasn’t disparaging you.” Miss Duncan’s mouth formed an open, inclusive grin, which made him wish the two of them could be friends. “Whatever you paid for that fabric, it was worth it. The colors accentuate the blues and grays of your eyes, and it will hold its shape well for years.” She gave him a wink. “It is striking on you.”
Jonathan blinked. How had he never heard of this Miss Duncan? What part of the country did she hail from? Wherever it was, he would like to visit, if for no other reason than to meet more women like her.
Miss Duncan turned to Oliver. Would she compliment his eyes as well? “It is a pity we couldn’t come to an agreement with Lord Farnsworth.” Her eyes flashed to Jonathan’s once again. And though she was speaking to Oliver, she didn’t stop looking at Jonathan. “If he changes his mind, I hope you will let me know.”
The air left his lungs in a rush. It was never his chest she had been looking at. It was his waistcoat. No amount of disheveled hair and tired eyes could hide the fact that his clothing did not belong to a working man. She knew exactly who he was. And what was more, she still wanted Greenwood Manor, only now she was asking him directly.
Oliver mumbled a quick “for certain” even though Miss Duncan hadn’t been addressing him. Then he opened the door for the two ladies. Miss Duncan gave Jonathan one more nod before turning to leave. She also must have known how to pick just the right fabric to compliment her eyes, for suddenly they weren’t simply dark—they were a painter’s palette of browns and golds and greens.
Once the women were safely away from the office front, Jonathan turned to Oliver. “What is your relationship with Miss Duncan?”
“I have no relationship with her except this one. Her solicitor sent her to me when he heard about Greenwood Manor.”
“You have no other interest in her?”
“Interest? Whatever do you mean?”
Jonathan raised an eyebrow.
“Oh, heavens no. That woman was the sole owner of British Vermillion Textile. It would be impertinent for me to even think…”
British Vermillion Textile. He had heard of it. It was an older company and well established. How had Miss Duncan become the owner? Jonathan gazed out the window of the office door. “She was quite beautiful. I don’t believe I’ve ever met a woman quite so…” What was the word for it?
“Interesting?”
“Yes.” Emphatically, yes.
Oliver removed his spectacles. “Jonathan?”
“Call her back.”
“But I already told her you wouldn’t be selling.”
“I know you did. I’ve changed my mind. Call her back.”
“How will I explain…”
“For Pete’s sake, Oliver. She knows who I am. Did you not hear all that silk brocade nonsense? She is no fool, and you are no deceiver of men. Remind me to never enlist your help in deception of any kind.”
“Even still I must have a reason.”
“Then tell her the truth. I didn’t understand how well the situation fit my problems. Tell her all the things you said before about my other lands not operating at a profit, and how this is the only way to save them. Now that I have thought it over, I see the brilliance of this particular business transaction.”
Oliver placed one of the ear pieces of his spectacles to the side of his mouth and chewed on it. “Are you certain you want to sell?”
“I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life. Tell me, Oliver—have you been to Greenwood Manor in the past few years?”
“I visited before making inquiries.”
“And only the manor is to be sold? Not the hunting lodge near the home?”
“Why are you so interested in the hunting lodge? You can’t even properly load a gun.”
“Thank you for reminding me of one more thing I cannot do well. Honestly, Oliver...a pugilist?
“It is the only thing you do well. You certainly can’t hunt.”
“We were pretending.” It was a concept Oliver apparently had no capacity for. Jonathan shook his head. “I don’t want the lodge for hunting. Just tell me if it is to be included in the sale or not.”
Oliver sighed, a deep, soul-searching sigh that seemed to question the way his life was being run. “The lodge was to be retained by you. The only property listed with the sale is the ground directly surrounding the manor and the land adjacent to the roadway leading to it.”
“And Miss Duncan? She is unattached to anyone romantically?”
Oliver narrowed his eyes. “I didn’t think to look into it. That isn’t part of my job.”
There is no possible way Oliver would have lined up this sale without investigating Miss Duncan. “Oliver...”
&
nbsp; “As far as I know, she is romantically unattached.”
That was good enough for Jonathan. He had never entertained the idea of marriage before. He had always thought to wait until he was at least twenty-five. He was two years ahead, but nothing was wrong with that. This would be a business transaction. He would spend enough time with Miss Duncan to be certain they enjoyed each other’s company, and then he would propose they marry. As a tradeswoman, she would see the value to both of them in such a transaction. His parent’s marriage had only been complicated by the fact that his mother had loved his father. Happiness shouldn't depend on other people loving you. But life would be more entertaining if he was at least intrigued by his wife. “I’ll sell Greenwood Manor, but only to Miss Duncan.”
“You are acting as if you are doing me a favor. I am the one trying to help you.”
Jonathan smiled. One of the best things he had ever done was pummel the boys who had picked on Oliver for coming to Eton with the help of a sponsor. “And I am trying to let you.”
Oliver’s shoulders drooped and he sighed heavily. “Farnsworth, this is a bad idea.”
“No,” Jonathan said, a spark of excitement rising in his chest. It wasn’t a bad idea. “It is a challenge.” He loved a challenge, and Miss Duncan would be an amusing one. “And when I best this challenge? Miss Duncan will be my prize.”
“I’m not certain Miss Duncan would like to be considered a prize.”
Jonathan put his eyes heavenward. Oliver and his semantics. “You haven’t been to a ballroom with me. Trust me, there aren’t many women in the world who would snub their noses at becoming a baroness.”
Oliver rubbed his forehead. “But she doesn’t strike me as similar to the women you have been meeting in ballrooms.”
“Precisely.” She was much more interesting. But she was still a woman, and thus far, he had never met a woman whose face did not light up when they learned he was a baron. “This is one of the best ideas I have had since I became baron. Don’t you see?” His head whipped toward the door and his heart beat escalated. “She is the answer to everything. I don’t want to lose Greenwood Manor; she will own Greenwood Manor. I need capital to keep the barony running despite a net loss; she has an astounding amount of capital.” Jonathan slapped his friend on the shoulder. “Oliver, do you realize what you have done? You have solved all of my problems, and done so in a bewitching package.”
Those fiery eyes; her strong chin. That smile. He had always known he would need to marry one day. It might as well be to someone who interested him. “How quickly can she take possession of the manor?”
“As long as negotiations go well, within a month.” Oliver sighed.
Within a month. Wooing her would take a month or two at the most after that. Within three months all of his financial burdens would be gone. Those butterfly-soft fingertips would gently land on his chest daily—not a bad prospect. He could get used to the idea of having a wife if she had fingertips like that.
His solicitor was an absolute genius.
Chapter 2
Did those two men think she was a complete simpleton? Sally Duncan took her footman’s arm and swept up the step into her carriage. She had thought better of Oliver Beechcroft. Mrs. Merryweather might have been fooled by the whole pugilist idea, but even she had most likely caught on that something was amiss. Sally had managed to run a textile company for three years on her own. She was perfectly capable of spotting a very rich privileged man from across the room. This Jonathan with the imperceptible last name was no more a pugilist than she was a horse.
But even that deception she could have forgiven if they had allowed her to buy the manor. The moment she had first seen it, she had known it was perfect—secluded with extensive gardens and, most importantly, far from London.
Mama might not have loved the idea of her two daughters living so far from home, but she would have acquiesced eventually. Victoria would have loved the home and the adventure of being away and out on her own. The past three years, Sally had been so focused on British Vermillion Textiles that she hadn’t even noticed how much Victoria had wasted away.
Now it had all come to naught thanks to a chest-padded lord.
Or at least she assumed the man must have been Lord Farnsworth. What other rich young man would be interested in her meeting with Mr. Beechcroft?
Mrs. Merryweather fidgeted in the seat next to her. “I’m sorry you weren’t able to purchase the estate.” Her features didn’t seem overly disappointed. “However, I can’t help but think it might be for the best. You should be in London meeting with suitors and enjoying the end of the Season.”
Besides wanting to give Victoria a true home, suitors were the reason she wanted to leave London. Her broken engagement from Mr. Harrison had been kept a secret, but the last thing she wanted to do was fend off more men like him. Sally had thought Mr. Harrison had understood her, loved her, and even loved Victoria. She had thought Mr. Harrison was a man like her grandfather. He had seen her potential and—society be hanged—had given her the company he had started on his own as a young man. Her grandfather knew what she had been capable of, and she had lived the last three years going above and beyond his expectations to prove him right.
In the end, Mr. Harrison had been more like her father than her grandfather. She winced. Her father had been a good man. She had loved him deeply. But he had always wanted a son; someone who would take over the company. He had only ever seen Sally for what she was not, and not for what she could be—not even for what she was.
The longer she lived, the more she realized her grandfather was a strange man, to look at his granddaughter and see an heir. It was a rare thing even her father hadn’t been able to do.
“Where are we going?” Mrs. Merryweather asked.
A fair question. Sally no longer had an office, so home was the only choice. She opened her mouth to say as much when there was a rap on the carriage door. Sally bent her head out only to find Mr. Beechcroft, his spectacles practically falling off his nose, standing below her.
“Mr. Beechcroft?”
“I beg your pardon, Miss Duncan, but would you consider coming back inside? Something has changed and Lord Farnsworth is now willing to entertain your offer.”
Sally’s eyes narrowed. Mr. Beechcroft was slightly out of breath, but the way his eyebrows furrowed made it obvious he knew exactly how unprofessionally he was behaving.
Lord Farnsworth apparently didn’t. The so-called pugilist was still standing outside Mr. Beechcroft’s office, and when her eyes caught his, he threw a hand up in salute.
A salute? Was the man mad? Had the padding on his chest gone to his head?
She shouldn’t have touched his buttons. But he had been so smug, and he had put his solicitor in a very awkward position. She hadn’t wanted to leave without making known she was no dunderhead incapable of knowing a gentleman when she saw one. And if she could manage to make him uncomfortable in the meantime? Even better.
“Will you come back in?” Mr. Beechcroft awaited her answer.
Her spine stiffened. Of course not. Who offered a home and then rescinded the offer, only to offer it again? She took a deep breath and reminded herself this was no different from her trade deal with China for unprocessed cocoons. Their price had seemed unreasonable, but with British sericulture crushed by disease, she had swallowed her pride and accepted their terms. Being the first of the British textile companies to do so had proved extremely profitable.
“Will your pugilist be present?” she asked.
“He doesn’t need to be.”
“And the terms will be the same? He hasn’t raised his price?”
“He has not.”
“Very well, then.”
Mr. Beechcroft opened the carriage door and helped her down. He motioned for her to go ahead of him as they walked across the street. She turned to look for Mrs. Merryweather only to find Mr. Beechcroft making frantic waving motions to his pugilist.
Lord Farnworth pointed t
o his chest and frowned, but eventually must have understood his solicitor, for he turned on his heel and walked away.
With the strange lord out of the way, the tightness that had started at the back of her neck began to loosen. She was about to become the owner of Greenwood Manor.
She hadn’t been this nervous and excited since Grandfather had told her she was going to be running British Vermillion Textiles. It was a good sign, since she had sold the company in order to buy it.
“You’ve done what?” Mama’s eyebrows always rested high upon her forehead, but at the moment they lifted to the point of ridiculousness.
Sally reached for a biscuit and set it on her plate beside her tea. Victoria was in her room, reading. She usually joined them for tea at least, but she had found a book on Egypt that fascinated her enough to keep her in her room even longer than usual. Ever since Mr. Harrison had commented on Sally’s neglect, she had made a point of getting Victoria outside in the garden every chance she had. But for this tea, it was best to speak with her mother alone. “I’ve bought an estate in Dorset. I didn’t want to tell you until it was all settled, but now that it is, I wanted to let you know that I will be leaving London this week.”
“First you sold Vermillion and now this?”
It had torn a piece out of Sally’s soul to part ways with her grandfather’s business. But these next few years with Victoria she would never get back. The manor hadn’t taken all of her money. There was enough left that once Victoria was older and secure in the knowledge that she mattered, Sally could start up a business again. She would honor her grandfather by doing what he did—starting from scratch and leaving something beautiful behind. But for a minimum of two years, she would focus on Victoria. No one should feel unimportant and overlooked, and Sally should have seen that long before Mr. Harrison pointed it out.
