Papa’s gaze narrowed in doubt. “Something tells me that Crocker and Huntington will not be receiving similar offers. Neither of them are acquainted with the Duke of Rothschild.”
The palms of her hands began to sweat, making her fight the urge to wipe them on her skirts. “Then it is a good thing we have made his acquaintance.” Perhaps the friendship would be enough. There had been no formal announcement of a marriage, and already this offer had come. Lord Farthington wouldn’t revoke it. Would he?
Turning abruptly, she went back to her desk and rifled through the papers there until she found the ones she sought. She sensed Papa’s gaze on her the whole time. Hoping to avoid a further discussion about the duke’s intentions, she turned the conversation to preparations for their meeting later that afternoon. “Have you had a chance to read my summary on the textile factory? They managed to turn a small profit last year, but I found inconsistencies in their depreciation reporting.”
“Your summary was well done, and yes, I made note of that and it is something to discuss with them. Their equipment would cost a fortune to refurbish as it is. It’s clear that they never built it with innovation in mind.”
He started to walk back to his desk, but a brisk knock stopped him. “Yes, Reginald?”
The butler opened the door. “Lord Holloway has asked to see you.”
“What a surprise,” said Papa, though he did not actually sound surprised. “Show him in, please.”
A charged silence descended when Reginald left to retrieve Lord Holloway. Another earl, he was also a well-known member in the House of Lords, most notably for having the ear of Benjamin Disraeli. This visit was most definitely prompted by their association with Rothschild. While Papa had entertained callers over the past weeks, none of them had been so prominent in Parliament. August hardly dared to meet Papa’s gaze, but when she did, it was knowing and triumphant.
He gazed at her with a pride that was almost frightening in its intensity. He had certainly had cause to look at her with approval and happiness over the years, and he often had. This, however, was beyond approval. It was made even more worrisome by the fact that she had done absolutely nothing to deserve it aside from catching Rothschild’s interest. Is this what it had come to? Her earlier intellectual accomplishments would be wiped aside in favor of her ability to attract a duke?
A deep hollow of dread tinged with anger opened up within her. How did one go about fighting back against a sentiment that had its roots so tangled in visceral emotion? She worried that she might not be able to outrun Rothschild’s clutches. Not when he so easily fed the Crenshaw appetite for acceptance and success.
It seemed as if she was destined to lose either way. If she married, she would most certainly have to give up her place in Crenshaw Iron Works. Duchesses most definitely did not work. If she refused, then she might very well lose her place anyway. What if her refusal so angered Papa that he declined to allow her to continue to hold her position? She wanted to believe it was impossible, but she couldn’t.
There was only one solution. If she could not convince her parents that a match between them was destined to fail—and her previous conversations on the matter indicated that would be impossible—then she would be forced to make Rothschild understand that having her as his duchess would be so disastrous that he would give up his ridiculous notion. The trick would be doing that while keeping from disparaging the Crenshaw name. It wouldn’t be easy, but she was willing to try anything.
Chapter 12
Opportunity, sooner or later, comes to all who work and wish.
Edward Smith-Stanley, 14th Earl of Derby
To: Maxwell Crenshaw, Crenshaw Iron Works, New York, NY
Please come to London STOP Am afraid betrothal is imminent without your intervention STOP Papa has gone mad STOP He sees only the benefit to the company and the family with no regard for my feelings on the matter STOP Hurry STOP
From: August Crenshaw
To: Miss August Crenshaw, 12 Upper Grosvenor St., London
Itinerary to follow STOP
From: Maxwell Crenshaw
Evan waited before approaching the Crenshaws. There were a few reasons that this tactic seemed prudent. The first was that an inherited mountain of debt had taught him that it was not beneficial to appear too eager in a negotiation. Not only did it appear desperate, but it gave the other party the impression that they were in control. To negotiate successfully, one had to maintain control.
Second, Miss Crenshaw—August, as he thought of her more and more—was under the impression that she was in control of her own future. As such, she would need time to come around to the practicalities of marriage to him. His presence would not help that along, given how he seemed to agitate her. He could lead her gently and hope she made the right decision. If she did, then their transition into marriage would flow more smoothly. If she did not, then they would still marry, but he would have a bigger obstacle to overcome.
Finally, he quite enjoyed not being married. If he could hold his creditors at a distance for a short time while they awaited his betrothal, without actually having to be betrothed, then he would. However, he would have to be betrothed eventually, so he found himself calling at their Grosvenor Square townhome two days after the ball.
Instead of being shown to Crenshaw’s study, Evan awaited the man in a finely appointed drawing room deep inside the house. It appeared less formal than the one off of the entry hall at the front of the house, but no less elegant. The furniture was comfortable and stylish in creams with touches of navy and gold. His gaze was caught by two oval portraits set in gilt frames on the mantel. August’s likeness stared back at him with a slight tilt to her lips, as if she held a secret. Her eyes shone with mischief and intelligence. It had been days since their kiss, but a flush of heat stole through him as she stared at him from her portrait.
Apparently, her presence was not even required for her to twist his desire for her the slightest bit higher. Thank God bedding her would prove to be no hardship. He grinned at the nearly besotted fool she had made of him.
“Your Grace.” Evan turned to watch Crenshaw stride into the room. He came over and offered his hand. “It is good to see you again.”
“Likewise. I did not catch you at an inopportune time?”
“Of course not. I only regret that Mrs. Crenshaw is out for the afternoon.”
Evan nodded. Thank goodness for small turns of fate.
“Would you care to sit down?” Crenshaw gestured to a pair of wingback chairs, and Evan took a seat. “I’d offer you tea, but I prefer whisky. How about you?”
“Whisky is fine.” Evan was surprised when Crenshaw reached behind several bottles on a sideboard and produced an unopened bottle of Lochnagar.
“I’ve heard this was your favorite.”
Evan should not have been surprised that the man had researched his favorite whisky. It was common for well-placed families to know the likes and dislikes of their guests to make them feel more comfortable. And while his visit today had not been known, it had been assumed that he would visit at some point. The man was only being a good host by being prepared. What disappointed Evan was how easily things seemed to be proceeding. Beyond one dinner and a brief conversation at Hereford’s ball, Evan had not talked to the man extensively. Yet, he seemed willing to offer up his daughter—either daughter—to Evan on a silver platter, complete with a tumbler of whisky on the side.
August was far more precious than that. The man should have been interrogating him on his plans for her future. Instead, he stood proudly as he handed a whisky to Evan. Taking it with a murmur of thanks, Evan enjoyed the slow burn of the liquid across his tongue as he tasted it, but it settled heavy with the guilt in his stomach.
“I admit that I expected you before now, Your Grace.” Crenshaw settled himself with all the aplomb of a peacock smoothing out his feathers in the chair ac
ross from Evan.
It occurred to Evan that he did not like this man very much. “Why is that, Crenshaw?”
The older man gave him a knowing smile that made his mustache twitch. “Because I know the value of my daughters, and I think you do as well.”
Evan inclined his head, conceding the point. “Ah, but I know the value I bring to a man like yourself. You would not be satisfied with anything less for your daughter.” Did the man even care which woman they were referring to? Probably not. The whisky went bitter on his tongue at his own complicity in this.
Crenshaw threw back his head and laughed. “This is what I so enjoy about you. I admire a man who doesn’t mince his words, who doesn’t try to say one thing while insinuating another.”
“Then we should cut through the preliminaries. I am here to seek your permission to marry Miss Crenshaw.” He might have asked to court her, but they all knew his goal. Crenshaw was right. There was no need to mince his words.
The smile the man wore was every bit the cat who had lapped up all the cream. “Our August will make a lovely duchess for you, Your Grace. There is, of course, more to discuss in the way of financials. I am sure you understand that I’ve had your holdings looked into. I am sorry to say that it doesn’t look good. However, I am certain we can come to an arrangement.”
Evan was stunned at how quickly everything was moving along. While he had not expected the man to put up much of a fight, he had expected something. Some pushback regarding her welfare. Evan nodded. “Of course.”
“I don’t have the figures before me, but I presume you would require the settlements of your debts with a generous sum to start renovations or what have you?”
“Yes.” Evan nodded again, still fairly stunned at the recent developments. “I have had my solicitor, Clark, arrange a meeting . . .” Mrs. Crenshaw’s voice interrupted him from beyond the closed doorway a mere second before it was swung open by a footman. The woman came sweeping into the drawing room.
“How lovely to see you, Your Grace. I am sorry I wasn’t at home when you arrived.” Her face was flushed, and she seemed faintly out of breath.
Had someone gone to retrieve her the moment Evan had stepped into the house?
Evidently, yes. Crenshaw did not appear in the least surprised to see her as he came to his feet and took her hands. “Welcome home, my dear. Isn’t it a lovely surprise to come home and find His Grace visiting?”
Evan had come to his feet as soon as she strode into the room. He offered a curt greeting, suddenly feeling like a prime side of beef on display at a meat market.
Once the woman had settled herself on the settee, Evan and her husband followed suit. Then Crenshaw said with a self-satisfied smile, “His Grace has asked for August’s hand in marriage.”
“Oh?” The way her eyebrows went up in practiced surprise had Evan tossing back nearly all of his whisky. “Thank you so much for the honor, Your Grace.” Then she immediately turned her attention to her husband. “Is that why I heard you discussing settlements and debts?”
Crenshaw had the grace to appear sheepish. If it were real or false, Evan could not tell.
“That is hardly appropriate conversation for the drawing room, Mr. Crenshaw. Not at all. Save it for your study.”
“Of course, dear.” Crenshaw gave her a smirk and diverted a knowing wink at Evan.
Evan managed to keep his voice benign as he said, “As I mentioned, I have arranged a meeting with Clark where we can discuss the finer details. My study at Sterling House is a setting of which I believe Mrs. Crenshaw will approve.”
“When would you like the wedding to take place?” asked Mrs. Crenshaw.
Evan shifted uncomfortably at the abrupt change. The conversation had gone better than expected, but it felt wrong, as if they had been lying in wait for him. Sweat prickled out along his brow as he felt the claws of their trap closing around him. Also, he had to admit to himself there was a fair bit of disappointment. It was not winning if August had not chosen him herself. He had done absolutely nothing to win the right to marry her.
Reminding himself that this marriage was indeed a good and necessary thing, he said, “As soon as things can be reasonably arranged. Sometime in May, perhaps. I would prefer to have Miss Crenshaw offer her opinion on such details.”
Mrs. Crenshaw preened prettily and started blathering on about dates and venues. It appeared that it had not occurred to her that he was right. August should have some say, he felt, and yet she would be the last person to agree to any of this.
“Excuse me, but do either of you not care to discuss any provisions for your daughter?” The words were out before he could call them back. The couple looked at him with matching expressions of bemusement. How was it that he, the fortune hunter planning to take their daughter away from them, was the only one concerned with her future? “While we do indeed need to discuss the financials of the match, should we not also discuss Miss Crenshaw’s needs and wants?”
Mrs. Crenshaw was the first to smile. “What more could she need? The settlement will be quite generous, I assure you, with a proper annuity.” She glanced at her husband for confirmation, and when he nodded, she said, “So she really has no need to worry.”
“But as I understand it, she has a position at your firm.” This he addressed to Crenshaw, because the wife appeared to not have a strong grasp on who her daughter was. Evan had spent only a fraction of the amount of time with her that her own mother had presumably spent with her, and he knew August would worry about this arrangement a great deal, whether there was need to or not.
“Yes?” prompted Crenshaw.
Evan stifled an exasperated sigh and said, “She will not be content to leave that position.”
The man shrugged. “She has always known that her position was temporary at best. She is a woman, and her place is ultimately in the home. We have raised her to accept that. It would have always come to that eventually. So it has come to that a little sooner than she had planned.” He shrugged.
Evan’s blood pounded in his head as he fought a wave of anger mingled with disappointment. Is this what it had come to? He was forced to take her from her place in the world and shove her into another as if they were interchangeable?
“I know about Farthington’s proposal to Crenshaw Iron Works . . . about India and the railways.” It was hardly a secret when the clubs were nothing but nonstop talk of politics and money.
Crenshaw nodded. “Yes, it appears the union of our families has already begun to bear fruit.”
Evan swallowed against the disgust rising in his chest. He had never despised himself more than he did at the moment, casually discussing August’s future as if she were not even a part of it. “I want her to have a stake in that. In the operations here in England.”
“Absolutely not,” said the man.
“Why, that’s the silliest thing I’ve ever heard, begging your pardon, Your Grace,” said his wife.
“Why? Is she not capable in her current capacity in your employ?”
“Of course she is. It’s not about her abilities; it’s about what is right. How could she possibly divide her time between a professional position and her family? Her children would suffer. Your children. Her responsibilities to the dukedom would go unattended to.”
Several voices came from the entrance hall. One of them he recognized immediately as belonging to August.
“That will be my problem to address, not yours.” He cursed inwardly in anger at not being able to finish this discussion. “It is something we will have to discuss at length. I did not plan to tear her away from all that she knows.” Standing when the voices were right outside the door, he said, “Do not announce the betrothal to her. Let me tell her.” He was aware that his lowered voice sounded more like a growl, but he no longer cared what her parents thought of him. It was clear that he could be as brutal as he wanted and they wou
ld agree to have him as a son-in-law.
Mrs. Crenshaw frowned, but Crenshaw readily agreed just as the door swung open again. “Oh!” Violet drew up short with August at her back.
“What are you doing here?” August asked, her eyes wide with both fear and anger. She glanced at the faces of her parents as if she had guessed what had happened in her absence. Not that it would take some sort of genius intellect to understand why he was here.
“We’ve been having a fine chat with His Grace,” answered Mrs. Crenshaw, turning to greet her daughters. “Isn’t it wonderful that he has finally paid us a call?”
Violet was the first to recover herself, offering a greeting. August, however, still stood there staring at him as if she could not believe she had come home to this. A woman wearing a gray gown with no adornments whom he assumed to be their chaperone filled the doorway behind them, completely oblivious to what had happened in the room. “My, what a lovely day it turned out to be now that the rain has passed.” She paused, mouth open in shock when she noticed him.
“Good afternoon, Miss Violet, Miss Crenshaw, madame,” said Evan. “I came because I hoped to speak to Miss Crenshaw.”
The word alone must have been implied, because there was a great deal of shuffling about until he was left alone with her. To her credit, the chaperone had prevaricated, torn between her duty to a young, unwed woman and the Crenshaws’ obvious desire to leave them alone together. In the end, Mrs. Crenshaw took her hand and led her from the room mentioning something about tea.
“You’ve been plotting, I see.” August came farther into the room, taking a seat on the settee and folding her arms across her chest.
The Heiress Gets a Duke Page 16