Heiress in Red Silk, Hunter, Madeline [good beach reads TXT] 📗

to the warehouses, to purchase fabrics and ribbons and forms,” Rosamund said. “I want to start as soon as we can.”

“We’ll be needing a girl.”

“You may find one as you see fit. You chose the last apprentice, so I have confidence in your judgment.”

Mrs. Ingram was of an age when fine lines had formed above her lip, like tiny, visual echoes of the ones on the sides of her eyes. She pursed her mouth and those lines exaggerated her expression. “Are you going to tell me how you got that bruise on your cheek? Seems that legacy should protect you, not cause you harm.”

Rosamund’s fingers went to her cheek. “Does it look very bad?”

“Bad enough.” Mrs. Ingram opened the other valise and fished around in it. “You are not to tell anyone about this.” She removed a small wooden box and opened it. “This salve will hide the worst of it. Come here and I’ll dab some on.”

It didn’t look like salve. It looked like paint. Rosamund submitted to Mrs. Ingram’s deft fingers. “You use this?”

“A bit here and there, vain fool that I am. Let’s say that time is not kind and leave it at that.” She stood back. “It will do. Best if you avoid strong light, though.”

Rosamund fumbled for her pocket watch. It was almost ten o’clock. “Perhaps when you go to the warehouses, you will buy me some of that salve for tomorrow.” She took a card from her reticule. “This is where I live. Have the bills made out to me and sent there. I have arranged accounts at most of the warehouses. Here is some money, to pay for hackney cabs.”

Mrs. Ingram took the card and coins. “Accounts and transport, no less. I can see things will be a bit different here than what we knew in Richmond.”

* * *

Kevin knew it was well past ten o’clock, but he checked his pocket watch anyway. From his position at a library window, he could see no activity on the street.

She probably would not come today. Not after last night. Still, he had prepared for her call, just in case. He suspected Miss Jameson was the sort of woman who did not miss appointments unless she sent word that she would.

He hoped she did come. There were decisions to make that should not be delayed.

He paced around the library, unable to sit and think, uncomfortable with his own body. If she did not show, he would go out and either fence or box. Some exercise should rid him of the agitation that made him so out of sorts.

He heard a carriage. He bolted to the window and strained to see it rolling down the street. When it slowed, he bounded out to the reception hall, sped past the servant on duty, and threw open the door. Miss Jameson peered out the cab’s window.

The servant nipped around him and handed her down. She smoothed her skirt before coming toward the door.

She had tried to hide a bruise on her face. Perhaps those who did not know it was there would not notice it, especially in the day’s overcast light. He saw it right away, however. His anger at Philip had never fully receded, and now it spiked again.

He swallowed his reaction and greeted her. “Welcome. We have much to discuss.”

“We do indeed. It is past time, I think, to show me the invention.”

“Of course. However, I have had some coffee prepared, and the terrace is a fine spot from which to see the garden. Let us go there for a few minutes first.”

“I do not need coffee. I have been busy since eight o’-clock. However, I suppose you are newly awake, so I will join you.”

He ushered her through the house to the morning room. Breakfast awaited his father. He gestured toward it. “Would you like—”

“No, thank you. If you haven’t eaten, however—”

“I too had an early morning.” He pushed open the garden door.

A table had been set at the far end of the terrace, away from the morning room. He did not want his father’s interference should the man rise before noon. He settled her down. A servant came to pour coffee.

He looked at her face. The overcast light evoked a special radiance from her skin, as if it penetrated deeply, then came back with subtle nuance. The result was a surface that appeared very white, with the vaguest shadows below her mouth and nose. Unpolished marble statues looked like that, with the material’s crystals absorbing light instead of reflecting it.

Her hand went to the bruise. “I was given some paint to hide it. I don’t suppose it worked if you keep staring at me.”

“I was not noticing the bruise. I know it is there, but few others will.”

“Then why are you looking at me so intently?”

“Because I have something very important to say to you, and I am wondering what you will think on hearing it.”

Curiosity lit her eyes. “Have you decided you want to take on another partner?”

“Not at all. Why would you think so?”

She shrugged. “It has entered my mind that we could use one who has a factory.”

What a nuisance of an idea. He swallowed his annoyance. That was for another day. “I have instead thought that we should reconsider our own partnership.”

She looked at him blankly. So much so that it unnerved him more than he wanted to admit. The practical Miss Jameson had never seen the possibility that he had. She had never entertained the idea that he planned to broach.

Not once.

* * *

Mr. Radnor sat there, looking at her. She sensed surprise in him, but she could not imagine why.

She hoped he was not going to ask her to sign that stupid document again, the one that gave him all control of the enterprise. If he did, she would sell her share, even if they had now developed a friendship of sorts.

He was nothing if not a self-assured man, but right now she saw something else. Not lack of