A knock sounded again, the door opened and Prescott stepped aside to allow Chapman to enter. Then he closed the door, leaving the three men alone.
Chapman strode across the room and extended his hand to Win. “Good day, my lord.”
“Mr. Chapman.” Win shook the other man’s hand, then gestured for him to take a seat. Chapman shook Gray’s hand, then sat down.
“I am assuming you have some information for me,” Win said.
“Indeed I do.” Chapman started to pull out his notebook, paused, grinned at Win and thought better of it. “It appears there are either two separate and distinct Mr. Tempests or he does not exist at all.”
“Oh good, I do love complications,” Gray murmured.
“I shall try to explain.” Chapman thought for a moment. “There is indeed a Mr. Tempest, or someone using that name, who advanced money to John Garret for Garret and Tempest. I still have not been able to determine exactly who he is. However, he is definitely not the same Mr. Tempest being credited with the plans for your house.”
Win drew his brows together. “Mr. Chapman, your attempt to explain is falling short.”
“It is somewhat confusing.”
“That much is clear,” Gray said.
“No one at the offices has ever seen Mr. Tempest. No one speaks of him as if he is simply an absent member of the firm. Furthermore, before the rebuilding of Fairborough Hall, his name was not associated with designs produced by Garret and Tempest.”
Win shook his head. “I don’t understand.”
“I said it was confusing. As I suspect it was intended to be.”
Gray frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I am still trying to put all the pieces together. And while I have not learned anything about Tempest the architect . . .” Chapman leaned forward and met Win’s gaze directly. “There were rumors in certain circles, no more than idle speculation really and quickly dismissed as improbable.”
“Go on.”
“Even before the death of her husband, there was talk—most discreet, I might add, and given no credence—that the true designer at Garret and Tempest was not John but Miranda Garret.”
“Good God.” Gray stared.
Win narrowed his eyes. “Are you sure?”
“The truth is a remarkably elusive thing in this case so, no, I am not completely sure. But I am certain that the style of the designer has not changed since Lord Garret’s death.”
“Of course, it wouldn’t, would it?” Win said under his breath. Oddly enough, Chapman’s revelation was not nearly as startling as he would have expected. It had been obvious from the beginning that Miranda knew far more than she let on.
If indeed she was the architect, and he had very little doubt about that now, it made perfect sense that she would not want the world to know. After all, the design of buildings was not an accepted female activity. Nor was the running of a business although it was obvious she did that as well. And that business would vanish if word got out that the true architect at Garret and Tempest had never been Lord Garret but rather Lady Garret, no matter how skilled she was.
Certainly there would be some progressive sorts that would applaud her independent nature, mostly ladies of independent means, he suspected. Regardless, the fact of the matter was that, here and now, men ruled the world of business. No matter how excellent Miranda was at what she did, she would never be accepted.
He had never questioned that before. It was as it should be. He firmly believed in a woman’s proper place in the world. But now it struck him as, well, stupid to disallow talent and intelligence because of one’s gender.
Good Lord, the woman had reformed him or transformed him or something equally annoying. He’d never had any desire to change his way of thinking and yet—there was no getting around it—he had. She had changed him.
“What now, my lord?” Chapman asked.
“Now?”
“Yes, now,” Gray said cautiously.
“What do you wish me to do now?” Chapman said. “I can continue to attempt to prove that Lady Garret is the architect you have hired, although it seems to me the most straightforward way to do that is to ask her outright.” He shrugged. “And that, I think, would be best left to you.”
Win nodded. “Quite right.”
“Then will you do so?”
“No,” Win said without thinking. “The quality of work is undeniable.”
Gray nodded his approval.
“As such, it really doesn’t matter whose work it is,” Win continued. “My intent has always been to have the house rebuilt. And she has that well in hand. Her reasons for keeping her activities quiet are obvious.” He met Chapman’s gaze firmly. “I assume this information will remain confidential.”
“Without question.” Indignation sounded in Chapman’s voice. “I never reveal what I have uncovered to anyone other than my client. Discretion is part and parcel of what I do. I would never have another job if I did not keep my findings confidential.”
“Quite right.” Gray nodded.
Win thought for a moment. “I know I said I didn’t care as to the identity of her investor, of this Mr. Tempest, but I find I have changed my mind. I do now want to know who he is.”
“Do you?” Gray studied his cousin.
Win shrugged. “It seems like a good idea.”
“And isn’t that interesting?” Gray said under his breath.
“I’ll do what I can, sir.” Chapman rose to his feet and Win stood as well. “But I cannot guarantee success. The man is both clever and elusive. However . . .” He cast Win a confident smile. “I do hate it when questions are too easily answered.”
“That’s where we differ, Chapman. I much prefer questions that are easily answered. And I am not at all fond of deception.”
“Few men are.” Chapman paused. “Might I ask why you do not intend to confront Lady Garret about this?”
“You may ask, but I’m not sure I have an answer.”
“I know I am surprised.” Gray smiled in an annoyingly knowing manner.
Win considered the question. “As I said, it doesn’t matter in the scheme of things. Not really. As it is her secret, it seems it is not up to me to reveal it.”
“I see.” Chapman nodded. “But she deceived you.”
“Not just me.” He chuckled. “The entire world. Damnably clever of her, really.”
“If the truth was revealed, her business would fail.” Chapman shook his head. “No one would deliberately hire a female for work of this nature.”
“Not deliberately, no.” That too now struck Win as a pity.
“She is a woman concerned with the welfare of her employees. If her true position becomes known, they would be out of work.” Chapman nodded thoughtfully. “Which explains why she set up a fund to assist them. She must realize her deception cannot go on forever.”
“Especially now that she has taken a public role in the construction at Fairborough,” Gray added.
Win met his cousin’s gaze. “Exactly why she is holding me to my promise of a bonus. That is money above and beyond anything else that she could put directly into her employee fund. She must understand that time is no longer on her side.”
“I’m afraid I’m still confused as to why you don’t tell her you know,” Chapman said.
“Because I wish for her to tell me herself.” The moment Win said the words he knew they were true. “Lady Garret and I have forged a friendship of sorts and I would much prefer she trust me enough to tell me the truth.”
“I see.” Chapman chuckled. “That’s the way of it then.”
“The way of what?”
“Indeed it is, Mr. Chapman,” Gray said abruptly and rose to his feet. “If that is all for today?”
“It is.” Chapman nodded and stood, then addressed Win. “I shall do whatever is necessary to learn the truth about Mr. Tempest.”
Win considered the other man thoughtfully. “I do hope this unanswered question isn’t the one that defeat
s you.”
“That, my lord,” Chapman said firmly, “is not a possibility.”
The men exchanged a few more words with Chapman promising to contact Win as soon as he learned anything new; then he took his leave.
“Interesting,” Gray said, retaking his seat. “But not especially surprising, I would say.”
“No, it’s not at all surprising.” Win shrugged and sat down. “I should have recognized the truth myself. There is a way she looks at the drawings and plans, a look in her eyes when she watches the progress at Fairborough that speaks of pride of ownership. And indeed she should be proud of her work.”
“Yes, she should.”
“She has done and is doing an excellent job.”
“Indeed, she is. And it seems to me your questions have now been answered.” Gray studied his cousin closely. “So explain to me why you have changed your mind. Why do you want to know about Tempest?”
“Because, whoever he is, he has a hold, if only financial, on Miranda’s company and therefore on her life.”
“And what will you do if you find out who he is?”
“I don’t know.” Win shook his head. “But it seems in Miranda’s best interest to find out the truth of it.”
“Oh, she’ll certainly see it that way.”
“I daresay she might see this as being none of my concern. Regardless, whether she likes it or not, she has become my concern.”
“Oh?”
“We’ve become friends,” Win said firmly, “good friends. This is no more than I would do for any friend.”
“Yes, of course, exactly what I was thinking. And I suspect what Chapman was thinking as well.”
“Why did you interrupt him?” Win studied the other man. “When he made his cryptic comment about the way of it?”
“I simply wanted to save you the effort of denial. Chapman was obviously about to charge you with having fallen in love with her.”
“Don’t be absurd. The man’s powers of observation may well be acute when it comes to recognizing intrigue, but he knows nothing about matters of the heart.”
“And yet I would say his observation in that quarter was quite accurate.”
“Utter rubbish.”
“Still, you are not going to confront her but rather wait for her to confide in you. Wait for her to, dare I say, trust you?”
Win nodded. “Exactly.”
“As one friend would trust another.”
“Precisely.”
Gray fell silent, his gaze thoughtful and considering.
“What are you thinking now?” Win said sharply. He did not like the look on his cousin’s face.
“I am simply wondering what has you so scared.”
Win scoffed. “I am not the least bit scared.”
“I have never seen you scared in matters involving a woman before.”
“I am not scared.” Win rolled his gaze toward the ceiling. “What on earth do I have to be frightened of?”
“If it was me, I would be afraid of making yet another mistake,” Gray said in a casual manner. “I would be afraid that having at last fallen in love, if that feeling was not reciprocated then my heart would be crushed. I would be afraid that a woman who was continuing the work she had done with her late husband was not entirely willing to let him go. I would be afraid that she was still in love with a dead man.”
“Then it’s a good thing I am not you,” Win said in a sharper tone than he had intended, but he could not dismiss Gray’s comments, nor could he ignore the thoughts crowding his mind.
Was Miranda continuing with the work she and her husband had apparently done together because it was her desire to do so, or was it important to her because it had been important to him? Was allowing Mr. Tempest to take the credit for her work any different from when her husband had done so?
In spite of her claim that it was time to make changes in her life, that she was not opposed to remarriage, had she really moved on? As long as Garret and Tempest existed, wasn’t her husband still present in her life, at least in spirit? Was she fighting for her company’s survival for her employees? Or for a dead man?
He wasn’t at all sure he wanted to know the answer because he wasn’t at all sure why he wanted to know. Yet another question he didn’t have an answer to.
“That is fortunate.” Gray chuckled. “I would hate for you to be in that position.”
Was Gray right? Was Win so concerned about making another mistake that he refused to see when the right woman was at last standing directly in his path? Even his soul mate, if one believed in such nonsense.
Of course, there was the distinct possibility that while he might have found his destiny in her, she might have already found it with her husband. It would be just his luck to have finally found his soul mate only to discover she had found hers in someone else.
“Have you ever considered the idea of soul mates?” he said abruptly.
“Well, yes, I suppose,” Gray said slowly. “I feel very much that way about Camille. But then I have loved her for most of my life.”
“What if she was dead?”
“That is not something I wish to think about.” Gray stared at the other man. “And I can’t believe you asked that.”
“All right then, what if you were dead?”
“I’m not sure I like that any better.”
“Humor me. If you were dead, do you think Camille would find another man so perfectly suited to her as you? Another soul mate?”
“This is a serious question, isn’t it?”
Win nodded.
“Very well. If I were dead . . .” Gray grimaced. “I suppose it would depend on when I was dead. I mean if I were to die forty years from now, I’m not sure Camille could or would find someone to take my place. I’m not sure she would want to. There would be too much of life we had shared, I think. However, if I were to die tomorrow . . .” He winced and met Win’s gaze. “This is a dreadful conversation, you know.”
“I do.” Win nodded. “Go on.”
“I don’t like this game,” he muttered, then sighed. “If I were to die when Camille was still a fairly young woman I would hope that she could find what we had shared with someone else. I would hope—because I am not the least bit selfish, mind you—that she could indeed find another soul mate, as it were.”
“So you’re saying there is a possibility, even if one has found and lost a soul mate, to find another?”
“Yes, I suppose. At least I would hope so.” He glared. “I hope you are happy now, whereas I am very much feeling my own mortality and I don’t like it one bit.”
“Not happy exactly, although I do appreciate your effort. You see, I can’t help but wonder . . .” Win blew a long breath. “If you’re wrong. If one only has one soul mate per lifetime. And if one has already met and married one’s soul mate, even if he has died . . .”
“And I think you are making up absurd excuses that are so esoteric in nature as to sound quite brilliant when, in truth, they are nothing more than a way for you to avoid admitting your feelings. And doing something about them.”
“I am going to cling to the fact that you called it brilliant and ignore the rest,” Win said.
“However, I can play as well as you do. Consider this, cousin.” He leaned forward and met Win’s gaze firmly. “Continuing the premise that one has only one soul mate, what if you did meet and marry someone you were convinced was your soul mate? You were well suited to one another and indeed had a lovely life together.”
“Go on.”
“Well, what if . . .” Gray paused in the manner of a storyteller reaching a climactic moment. “You were wrong?”
Chapter 18
“All in all, I think everything is going exceptionally well.” Clara glanced at the notebook in her hand. “This month’s payment to Mr. Tempest’s account has been made and even better, you will be able to return to London for good in a few days.”
Miranda stared at the other woman. “I will?”
&
nbsp; Clara nodded. “Mrs. Clarke has given birth to a healthy baby boy. She is doing quite well, although Emmett still seems a bit dazed. He was in the office earlier and said as soon as she is back on her feet, he will take over your duties at Fairborough.”
“I see.” Miranda paused. This was not at all what she wanted. “There’s no hurry, really. We wouldn’t want to push the poor woman.”
“Of course not, but—”
“I know when my sister Diana had her children, she had no difficulties whatsoever, yet it still took weeks for her to be able to get back to normal.”
Clara’s eyes narrowed. “Weeks?”
“In some cases, months,” she said in a serious manner, ignoring the thought of how delighted Diana would be to discover she’d had all that time to recover.
“Well, then we can’t ask him to leave London daily to travel to Fairborough,” Clara said slowly.
“Absolutely not.” Miranda nodded firmly.
“Unfortunately, this means you shall have to continue to reside at Millworth.”
“That is unfortunate.” Miranda heaved an overly dramatic sigh.
Clara stared at her for a moment, then grinned. “Dare I ask, Lady Garret, just whom do you think you’re fooling?”
“I have no idea what you mean, Miss West.”
“You know exactly what I mean.” Clara rested her hip against the edge of one of the desks and studied Miranda. “You don’t want to come back to London.”
“Nonsense.” Miranda scoffed. “I miss London terribly. It’s simply that the fresh country air is so very stimulating.”
“The country air, is it?”
“Absolutely.” Miranda inhaled deeply and resisted the need to cough. “While there is nowhere in the world that can compare to London, English country air is the best in the world.”
“Which explains why you look so delightfully refreshed.” Clara studied her for a moment. “And I must say that dress is most becoming.”
“Another one of my sister’s. I did stop at the dressmaker on my way here for a final fitting.” Indeed, since she and Bianca had arrived in London this morning, she’d scarcely had a minute to think. Exactly as she wanted it. Thinking would serve no one well. Especially as there was only one thing—or rather, one person—on her mind. “My new wardrobe will be delivered tomorrow.”
The Importance of Being Wicked (Millworth Manor) Page 20