The Offer

by Sara Portman

  Reprehensible, indeed.

  Mrs. Maris abruptly stood. She glared down at Lucy. “I cannot fathom what my aunt has promised you and your husband to persuade you to devise this falsehood in order to convey her message, but I view this entire situation as evidence that the French are a scheming and duplicitous people. We are quite better off without her corrupting influence in our lives.”

  Lucy gaped. She could not keep quiet at such harsh words. “Corrupting influence? That is not at all fair.”

  Mrs. Maris crossed her arms smugly in front of her chest. “Do you often enter people’s homes under false pretenses, Mrs. Brantwood?”

  Lucy’s indignation faltered at the woman’s use of her pretend name. “I do not,” she said quietly, feeling the shame of the continuing lie.

  “Well, then, she has certainly been a corrupting influence in your life. I do not wish to discover the likely effect upon my own.”

  Lucy rose, standing erect in the middle of the awful woman’s drawing room, and faced her with an equally righteous stare. “Mrs. Maris, you are incorrect. Lady Constance is a genuine and caring woman, whose concern for her family is so great that she called upon her friends to aid her in taking all measures necessary to assure herself of the safety and happiness of that family. I consider my life to be enriched by the presence of such a person and would declare that she is likely the most honest person in all of London. I can only be grateful that she is not here now to witness what a shrewish and intolerant woman you have become. I do believe it would break her heart to know it.”

  If Lucy’s words had any measurable effect on the woman’s hardened heart, she did not show it. “I believe it is time for you and your husband to continue your journey, Mrs. Brantwood. I shall not confide in my husband the nature of our conversation here, as I cannot be certain as to the force of his reaction for the injurious treatment to which we have both been subjected.”

  Lucy met the woman’s stare with equal challenge. Lady Constance deserved better than this hateful treatment. Lucy fervently wished the two would never again meet. “I understand your position quite clearly, Mrs. Maris, and apologize for the intrusion in your day. Mr. Brantwood and I will not impose upon your hospitality any longer.”

  Mrs. Maris turned the handle and pushed open the sitting room door. Lucy sailed past the sharp-tongued woman and into the entry hall where Bex stood with Mr. Maris, idly discussing carriages and horses.

  “Dearest, are you quite well enough to be walking about?” Bex asked solicitously.

  “Oh, she is quite recovered, I think,” Mrs. Maris said, with only a hint of irony in her tone.

  Bex strode to Lucy and gazed down at her, brow furrowed in false concern and eyes bright with genuine question.

  Lucy smiled placidly up at him. “Never underestimate the restorative benefits of a strong cup of tea. I think it is past time we be on our way and allow these fine people to return to their day, don’t you agree?” She clutched one of Bex’s arms with both of her own. “Besides, I find I am quite anxious to arrive in Watford.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  “What went wrong?” Bex asked as soon as they were alone inside the carriage.

  “How do you know something went wrong?” she asked in reply.

  “Because you do not wear the self-satisfied expression of a woman who has just righted a great wrong and reunited estranged loved ones.”

  Lucy sighed. “You are right. It was all for nothing. Annabelle Maris is horrid. I hate to think so ill of a person, but she has received every one of her aunt’s letters and chosen not to reply.”

  “Really? Why?” Bex settled into the seat and rapped on the roof of the coach.

  “Because she and her husband have decided that anything associated with the French is, by definition, evil. Therefore, since Lady Constance married a French comte and spent more than a score of years there, she may as well be Empress Josephine in their eyes.”

  Bex’s brows pinched. “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Precisely,” Lucy said with another beleaguered sigh. “Sadly, Mr. Maris lost a brother in the war. She also mentioned other fine Englishmen lost.”

  Bex grunted. “We all knew men lost in the war, but we cannot place those losses on the head of one woman who happened to marry a Frenchman before war was ever contemplated. It’s not as though the Comtesse de Beauchene took up arms against the English herself.”

  “Agreed,” Lucy breathed, relieved to be back in the company of a rational person. “I cannot believe the sympathy I harbored for that woman. She clearly has none for others.”

  “She is well matched with her husband, I suppose. He was a rather surly individual, wasn’t he? I’d say he was extremely put out by the entire episode and lacked sufficient manners to pretend otherwise.”

  “They do deserve each other,” Lucy declared, lifting her chin with the finality of the decision. She could not help but add, however, “I cannot put them out of my mind. I grieve for Lady Constance. She will be devastated to learn the truth.”

  “She will no doubt be greatly disappointed, but she seems to be a resilient woman,” Bex said easily. “Her life has taken many turns and she has adapted. She will no doubt adapt to the latest with aplomb.”

  Lucy looked at Bex for a long moment. He was right. It seemed an odd reversal to have Bexley Brantwood applying such pragmatic wisdom to her concerns. It was…comforting.

  Lucy could not think of one other man of her acquaintance, save her father, with whom she could have such an open and frank conversation. But that had always been the way with Bex, she supposed, because of their unorthodox beginning.

  “What is your business tomorrow?” Lucy asked. Bex answered with a dismissive shrug that apparently warranted the effort of only one shoulder. “It’s quite likely uninteresting to you, but as you’ve asked, you are now forced to be polite and hear about it.”

  Lucy smiled. As though she were alone in a carriage with Emma, Lucy slouched indecorously against the cushions, half lying upon her side, and laughed as she told him, “I am well and trapped, sir. Please do tell me all about it.”

  His eyes glinted with laughter of his own as he leaned against the opposite cushions in the mirror image of her arrangement. “Very well, tomorrow shall be about the business of textiles.”

  She skewered him with a look meant to tell him he was being incorrigible. “Yes, you mentioned your business was textiles,” she said with more pique than she really felt. “I’m only wondering what they have to do with you.”

  “I have an investment in a manufactory in Watford.”

  “So this is one of your wagers?” she asked. “What sort of manufactory?”

  “A textile one,” he said, one side of his mouth quirked upward.

  She cut him a look.

  “It is a weaving shed with new machines.”

  Now Lucy was genuinely intrigued. “What kind of machines?”

  “Power looms,” he said. “To weave cloth faster and more efficiently.”

  “More efficiently than by hand?” she asked.

  “Originally, yes, but power looms have existed for some time. The design here is intended to be faster and more efficient than other power looms, and also to weave finer cloth.”

  “I see,” Lucy said, leaning on one elbow as she listened. “How does it work?”

  “Well, I believe I shall learn the full answer to that question tomorrow.”

  “Do you mean to say you don’t know how it works? But you’ve invested in it?”

  “I don’t know how it works in detail,” he admitted. “That’s the entire point of my earlier explanation. I am not the inventor. I am merely one of many investors who hope to make a profit if the operation is successful. I know they use something called a Crompton’s mule to spin the yarn, which then goes into the power loom, which is powered by steam and weaves the fabric.”
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  “What if the machine is not a success?” Lucy asked.

  Bex sighed. “That would be unfortunate.”

  Instinctively, Lucy had the sense it would be very unfortunate indeed. She knew she should probably not pry into his personal financial affairs, but she was concerned for him—and likely too curious for her own good. “Were the funds for this investment also borrowed?” she guessed.

  One eyebrow lifted sardonically as Bex lounged upon the other cushioned bench. “You pay very close attention,” he observed. He was silent for a moment following that comment and she thought he would not answer. He did not, after all, owe her an answer. The question was an impertinent one. Then he did answer her, in a quiet, grave tone, all the while watching her reaction. “There are men willing to lend funds for such an investment.”

  Lucy was immediately concerned. “If the investment fails, will you have to repay the loan?”

  “The loan must always be repaid.” His eyes were shrouded now.

  Lucy sat up slowly. “That seems a very reckless risk to take. You are investing in a machine you know very little about and with money that isn’t even yours. If the venture fails…” She sighed. “Oh, Bex. There could be grave trouble for you.”

  “I shall survive,” he said, but his eyes were clouded with doubt.

  Lucy stared. How could he have been so reckless? What had he been thinking? “Why, that’s worse than gambling over cards,” she said. “At least if you lose at cards, you have lost your own money. A cardplayer could end with nothing, but you risk ending with less than nothing. You may end with a great debt and no way to repay it.”

  Bex laughed. “Cardplayers can just as easily gamble with borrowed funds.”

  Lucy stared. “Do gentlemen actually do that?”

  He nodded. “Quite regularly, I assure you.”

  Lucy was aghast. “That’s horribly irresponsible.” She looked at Bex, a new wave of concern washing through her. “What will you do?” she asked. “If the investment is lost, how will you repay it?”

  “It is my strong hope that the investment will not be lost. That is why I am traveling to Hertfordshire to observe progress.”

  “Oh, Bex,” she breathed. “I am frightened for you.”

  He shook his head. “There is no need to be frightened. It is not as grave as that. I will manage something.”

  “Manage something” did not constitute much of a plan as far as Lucy was concerned. She was contemplating all manner of dire consequences, though in truth she didn’t really know—and didn’t really want to ask—what might happen if he failed to repay the debt. “I wish you hadn’t taken such a risk,” she told him.

  Bex sat up and looked at her earnestly then. “My father, blackhearted soul that he is, once told me every man must use what he has at his disposal. I have nothing—no funds, or property, or particular brilliance. What I do have is a willingness to take on risk—a willingness to allow my destitute situation to become worse—perhaps much worse—if all my investments fail.”

  “There are other investments?” she asked softly.

  Bex nodded. He held Lucy’s gaze for a long, imploring moment and she had the distinct impression that he was asking her to understand—asking her not to judge him too harshly.

  She complied. There was desperation behind his recklessness. He was not idly playing a game. He understood the risks and accepted them, as the only currency with which he could barter. How could she fault him for trying any way possible to gain his independence—to become a man capable of standing on his own, as any man would hope to be?

  “This one will not fail,” she said vehemently. “I’m sure of it.”

  Bex’s easy smile returned. “Well, if you’re certain, then we can consider the matter already settled,” he said. “I hope you won’t be offended if I choose to make the visit regardless.”

  Lucy smiled, pleased that he was behaving as himself again. She would be so anxious if she were in his position. As it was, she was experiencing considerable anxiety on his behalf. How would she sleep, waiting to know? She looked up. “When will you know if the venture is profitable?” she asked.

  Bex released a long exhale and shook his head. “That is difficult to say. Progress has taken longer than originally planned. My hope tomorrow is to discover the cause for delay and see what can be done for it.”

  “May I accompany you?” she asked impulsively.

  “Tomorrow?” he asked. “To see the weaving shed?”

  “Yes,” she said, a little breathless at the excitement of the prospect, now that she’d thought of it. “I’d very much like to see it. I’m quite curious about the power looms. And now that I know how important it is to you…” She leaned forward. “Well, I’m rather anxious to see how it’s working—if it’s working.”

  Bex reached forward and squeezed her hand gently with his own. “It is very sweet of you, Saint Lucy, to be so concerned on my behalf, but we are traveling the countryside together today under the guise of being husband and wife. It would be highly inappropriate for you to continue to accompany me in places where we are known to be otherwise.”

  “But we should be chaperoned if Lady Constance accompanies us as well,” Lucy said, unwilling to be set aside so easily. “And I am not the privileged daughter of a peer. I have spent countless hours among hardworking people. I am not frightened by low manners or ragged appearances, if that is your concern.”

  Bex eyed her.

  “We shall see.”

  Lucy smiled. She was certain once they had been reunited with Lady Constance the two of them working together would be infinitely more persuasive than she would be on her own. “I am very concerned for you, you know,” she said. “I was only just thinking how relaxed and comfortable we are, like family who have known each other for years. If I have pried inappropriately into your private affairs, it is only because I have become too comfortable around you to remember that I should not.”

  Bex leaned back on his cushion and drew one bent knee up onto the seat. “I do enjoy not having to behave so mannerly around you. It does feel as though I have known you for much longer than our actual acquaintance,” he said, echoing her previous thoughts.

  “I agree!” Lucy exclaimed. “It feels rather like we are brother and sister.”

  His brow lifted sardonically at her observation. “I’m the only man who’s ever really kissed you and you describe your feelings about me as ‘sisterly.’ You are devastating to my ego, dear.”

  She laughed. “Well, that part wasn’t sisterly at all.”

  “I should hope not.”

  “It was quite exciting, actually,” she said, knowing it was a little bit wicked for her to say it. “In the end,” she added matter-of-factly, “I can admit that you were correct and kissing you was quite nice. It was certainly more exciting than that poor man at the Ashbys’ who was looking for his sweetheart.”

  Bex laughed. “Take care, Saint Lucy. It is wicked of you to admit you enjoyed it.”

  “I don’t see why, really,” she said, despite have just thought so herself. “There is no reason why I, as a grown woman, should not admit that it was a very pleasurable experience. We are not courting. I’ve no reason to play coy, though I’m not sure I could, even if I had a reason.”

  “I’m sure you could not. You are, as we have established, rubbish at deception.”

  She considered her performance earlier in the day and could not object to his conclusion, so she ignored it. “We have no continuing romantic connection to each other, either legitimate or illegitimate.”

  “What do you mean by that?” he asked.

  “Only that neither one of us would be in a position to consider the other for a proper relationship, and we would clearly not engage in an improper relationship. The kisses are simply pleasant memories between two people who shall hopefully remain friends.” She smiled at
him.

  “I imagine we will,” he said. “But I wonder… You are correct when you say I am not courting you. I’m of no use to any woman as a husband. But how can you be so certain I do not have lustful intentions for a scandalous affair?”

  “Because you know I am no more available for an affair than you are for a marriage,” she said simply. “We are too practical to engage in either.”

  Bex laughed throatily. “While I admire your pragmatism, you do understand that usually, if a man and woman reach the point of considering a love affair, practicality is not necessarily the prominent factor in their decision.”

  “It should be,” Lucy said. “Practicality should always be a prominent factor in one’s decision making.”

  “You must explain how anyone might practically decide to engage in a passionate liaison,” Bex said, his gray eyes glittering with amusement.

  “Well,” Lucy said, pausing to give fair consideration to the question, “if I were to engage in a clandestine affair, you would be the ideal choice.”

  * * * *

  Bex stiffened. He was quite certain he had heard her correctly, but her expression as she awaited his response was so disproportionately placid, he doubted. He lifted one brow and remained carefully neutral as he asked, “Would I, now?”

  “Absolutely.”

  And so he had been correct. His body responded even as he kept his voice calm. “Oh, please explain.”

  “Well, you’ve already kissed me—more than once—and I already know I like it. Plus, even though I’ve never done any of the things that lovers do, I’m knowledgeable enough to expect that the whole thing could be awkward and embarrassing rather than pleasant or exciting.”

  Bex stared into her pertly lifted chin and her steady, unblinking gaze and knew that Saint Lucy of Beadwell had no blasted clue just how much she was torturing him at this moment. A more worldly woman might have engaged in the same conversation as a teasing flirtation, but not Lucy. She was pragmatically discussing a hypothetical love affair with a man while alone in a closed carriage and she truly had no idea of the havoc she was wreaking. Bex shifted in his seat to ensure his frock coat covered the evidence of her effect and knew he should not allow her to continue, but he couldn’t seem to deny himself the sweet torture of hearing why this pixie-sized angel would choose him for a partner in a scandalous liaison.