“We're only half a mile from the coast,” she said, “and there is a pleasant walk that way. On a clear day like today, you can see Portland.”
They agreed and departed once one of the servants arrived to show them the way, and the negotiations resumed. She was a little relieved to have Mr Lucas away for a time. His presence was oppressive and she found it difficult to concentrate on business matters, yet strangely as soon as he was gone she wished him returned. What must he think of her now?
Ashton spoke to Miss Thomas in an honest and forthright manner about the bridge and why further investment was needed. She listened intently as he explained the percentage of the toll price she could expect to get for her investment. She was eager to invest, having offered before as Robert Adams, but was too late the first time around. However, as an accomplished businesswoman, she knew not to let her eagerness show. She wanted a higher percentage of the toll charges but would settle for less if she had to. In the end, the agreed details would be advantageous to both.
When the negotiations seemed to have been resolved, she looked out of the window. The sky was dark and a few droplets of rain fell.
“I do hope Mr Lucas and Mr Boyd are not caught out in that rain. Now I feel sorry I sent them outside. I should have directed them to the billiard room instead.”
“A bit of rain never hurt anyone!” Ashton got up and stood beside her. “Besides, Mr Lucas is a terrible billiards player and would probably have ripped the cloth on the table.”
She couldn't help but smile. So, there was something Mr Lucas was bad at. “I shall call for tea, so that on their return they can at least be refreshed.”
The ramblers returned fifteen minutes later, only slightly wet, and were greeted with the happy news that Robert Adams was to invest in the bridge.
“If I were a gentleman, I would offer to shake your hand on it,” she said.
“I will shake your hand as a lady, that is enough,” and Ashton held out his hand.
She moved her hand as if she was about to offer it back, but suddenly, she looked at Mr Lucas and remembered his words “you're more male than female’. She pulled her hand back. Then she turned around and walked to the window and seemingly looked out, with a deep sigh.
“Miss Thomas?” Ashton asked.
She heard him, but didn't move.
“Miss Thomas is anything wrong?” he persisted. “Have I said something to offend you?” He spoke in a concerned tone.
She forced her mind to stop dwelling on such painful memories, turned around in a hurried manner and said in a serious tone. “I give you my word, and it will have to be good enough”.
The confused mood of the room was lightened by the arrival of tea a few minutes later. Mr Ashton was unsure what he had said to offend, Mr Boyd was blissfully unaware of any awkwardness and Mr Lucas felt it keenly that Miss Thomas was avoiding speaking to him. She had barely spoken to him, other than what was necessary, and avoided his gaze.
He knew he deserved no special treatment, yet he felt a little shameful being in her house, drinking her tea and taking her money for investment after everything he had said to her that day. He must try and speak to her to make amends properly.
The walk with Boyd had been pleasant – more than pleasant. They went to the coast as directed and the sea air refreshed him after their long journey. It was a beautiful part of the country. Stunning. Unique. Besides that, he was barely able to comprehend everything he had learned: that she took his verbal abuse as she declared her love, all the time she knew she was the one who played a major part in his work as an investor called Robert Adams.
She was Robert Adams. It had taken him aback the moment she said the words. But though he was surprised, he didn't doubt her. No, not now. He would never doubt her again.
So that was what Mr Russell, her lawyer, had alluded to those months ago when he had visited. She had given him leave to know the situation behind her dealings with William Risinger, but not this other secret. He looked over to her. She was an exceptional woman. He always thought she was, it was only Risinger's lies that had made him think the worst of her – and he was foolish enough to believe him. He scolded himself again. He must make amends.
Over these thoughts, he heard Miss Thomas ask them all to dinner that evening, and Ashton accept on their behalf.
“The food at the inn in Axminster is excellent I believe,” she said. “But I would be honoured if you would return later, to save me dining alone tonight if nothing else.”
“But it's such late notice. Will not your cook be angry?” Ashton asked.
“My domestic staff are among the best in the county and are prepared for late requests; but you forget, I knew you were coming today.”
Charles knew he deserved no special attention from her, but perhaps she might forgive him after all. She certainly seemed gracious enough to be kind to him after his behaviour to her.
Mr Boyd asked, “Miss Thomas, I'm intrigued as to why you use a different name for your investments. Is there a reason for it?”
She placed her teacup down. “I will attempt to explain. It's not the greatest secret ever kept; in fact, several other of the companies and partners I invest in already know I'm Mr Adams. But there are some people – one person – who wishes me ill and he almost did me a great deal of harm. It's for that reason primarily that I took the name.”
She continued after a pause. “That is why you must not speak of this to anyone. It could harm your work if this man finds out.” She looked directly at Mr Lucas. He knew whom she was speaking of: William Risinger. She hid her investments because of him. How much harm had he done her that she had resorted to hiding her identity?
Her tone became lighter. “But despite this, I found after a while that it's refreshing being known as a man, especially when I receive business correspondence. I'm afraid that before Robert Adams I found businessmen condescending when they wrote to me. They thought me stupid I'm sure, and in need of a large amount of explanation for anything remotely technical. I trust your reports will not change in tone now you know? I would be very disappointed if they did.”
Ashton shook his head. “Of course not. But it gives new meaning to the questions you received at your dinner last year when you were asked whether Mr Adams was to attend.”
“Yes, although Mr Stephenson is fully aware that I am Robert Adams. It amuses him to mention him whenever he can.”
“What made you choose the name 'Robert Adams'?” Charles asked.
She turned to him at last. “Robert was my father's name. Adams was my mother's maiden name. There are portraits of them over there.” She pointed to the corner of the room and they all looked over. Amongst a number of landscape paintings was a portrait of a man and woman. The woman was seated and the man stood beside her. Charles hadn't noticed them before among the finery of the room. Her parents’ portrait was a fine piece of art. She looked like her mother – except more beautiful.
“A sensible choice,” Ashton commented as Boyd walked over to the pictures. “I see no portrait of you?”
She went over to Boyd and stood gazing up at the picture. “No, not yet as an adult. There is one of me when I was nine years old, but that is in another room. I'm rather interested in the techniques of capturing images on paper using light sensitive paper. Maybe I shall have one of those done instead. But then, portraits are often done with a little artistic licence. Especially if the subject is not quite so beautiful as they should be.”
“You will have no need for such licence then,” Boyd said, then added, “The servant told us the ornamental gardens were your father's design.”
“Yes. He liked things ordered. I prefer something less structured, more natural. But I maintain that section of the garden as he liked it, in his memory. I've always thought of myself not as the owner of this estate, but as the custodian for future generations.”
Boyd nodded, and a short time later, a servant entered.
“Ma'am, there is Mr Francis outside. He hopes t
o speak to you about Miss Potts.”
“Mr Francis?”
Charles noticed her surprised reaction and tried to guess why. Who was this man and why he was calling on her?
“Yes.” The servant awaited the instructions.
“I shall come and speak to him.” Then addressing the three visitors, “Would you excuse me for a few moments? I must speak to Mr Francis.” She was aware that she was probably being rude by leaving them, but she didn't care. She didn't care if he thought her discourteous.
Mr Francis stood outside the drawing room in the hallway. Louise approached him and shook his hand.
“Mr Francis, I'm sorry I cannot invite you in properly, but I have business acquaintances visiting at the moment.”
“It is I who should beg your pardon. I didn't wish to disturb you. I shall return at a more convenient time.” He turned to go, but she stopped him.
“No, no we can speak now. I just can't invite you in. You wanted to know about Lu- Miss Potts?”
A broad smile spread across his face. “Yes. I wished to speak to her. I have returned from Manchester to see her. I have obtained a position with a reputable firm.” He blushed as he spoke. “And I wished to speak to her, only to find she has returned to Bedfordshire.”
Louise guessed what he wanted to speak about, and she sensed he knew it too. It pleased her that she was indeed right in her advice to Lucy that Mr Francis had waited to obtain a position before he made her an offer of his hand. But mostly she was happy for the pair. Although she had seen little of them together, she knew enough of them separately to know that they were very much in love. Lucy in her three months of silent brooding, Mr Francis in his deep blush and awkwardness just now when Lucy's name was mentioned.
“Unfortunately, yes, she has returned to Bedfordshire,” Louise said. “But I'm sure if you were to stop there on your way back to Manchester you would find a cordial welcome from her parents. Although I haven't met them, Lucy assures me that they are very agreeable.”
“Was she well when you left her?”
“Yes, perfectly, although a little sorry to return to England. She thoroughly enjoyed her time in Paris. As did I. She was a perfect traveling companion, insisted we went to places that I never would have thought of, or would have considered, much to my own enjoyment. Mr Francis, would your grandparents think it reproachful if I asked you to dine here tonight? They wouldn't miss you for one evening?”
“Why thank you, yes.” Astonishment spread on his face. “It would be an honour. I'm sure my grandparents will be more than happy for me to attend.”
“The honour is mine; in fact, you would be doing me a great service. The businessmen I'm in conference with at the moment shall be dining here too, and I have the feeling that they only accepted out of obligation. It would be most advantageous for me to have a friend at the table.”
The thought that Mr Francis had also accepted out of duty didn't cross her mind. But she needn't have worried, an invitation from such an eminent person was something Mr Francis had never before received. He had heard, like many others, that she kept an excellent table.
“I shall send a carriage for you at seven.”
“But Miss Thomas, that is too much!”
“Nonsense. I know your grandparents have no horse. I couldn't invite you, then expect you to walk.”
. . .
When the three gentlemen arrived back at the inn later that afternoon, Mr Ashton was in a jovial mood. Having secured the funding and having met with Robert Adams, there was little that could dampen his spirits.
They were about to adjourn to their separate rooms to prepare for dinner when they were called into the tap room by the landlord, who inquired if they would need their supper. He was a rather gruff-looking old man, who had obviously seen a fight or two, because of his crooked nose.
It was Ashton who replied. “No, thank you. We're to dine at Glazebrook House tonight.”
The landlord's eyebrows raised up in surprise. “You'll eat the best food then. Miss Thomas is said to serve her guests only the finest.”
“Indeed!” Ashton said, and decided to try and obtain more information. “Tell me, is Miss Thomas well-liked in the area?”
“Yes, she's liked. Has people queuing up to work for her. She pays well and even pays the doctor's fees for her staff, should they need him. She knows the name of all her tenants, and her staff.”
All three men listened intently. The landlord continued in a soft West Country accent: “She's a worthy trustee of the estate and is kind to the poor. Yes, she's well liked. Nothing much to dislike about her. Folk round here worry who she might marry though.”
“What do you mean?”
“People fear she'll come back from one of her trips to London engaged to some worthless fellow. So far, we've been lucky. But it will happen one day, I'm sure. Then we'll be in trouble.” He wiped the counter with a cloth, even though it was already spotlessly clean.
“I've heard she's somewhat eccentric?” Ashton asked.
“She is a little. The very rich often are, although I think her only really strange way is that she rides her horse like a man: astride and with trousers on. I've seen her several times too. A great horsewoman she is, as good as any man. A strange sight it is though. Some people say she rides bareback too, but I've never seen it.
“Her old governess Miss Gately that was, lives up yonder. Says she was a lovely child and hasn't a bad word to say about her. Says Miss Thomas thinks every child from every background should be taught to read and write and given an education. Not sure I agree with that. She started the school up the way and pays for it all though she don't boast about it. Every job available at her estate has at least ten people wanting it, not that there are many going. Nobody leaves a good employer such as her unless it's in a wooden box. Not put her rent up for five years. Not like Sir Giles – he's a bad ’un. No, you'll not hear a bad word against her.”
“Rides her horse like a man!” Ashton laughed. “I must remember that tonight as we're sitting at dinner.”
But Charles didn't share his humour. He wouldn't laugh at her. He had seen a side to her today that he never knew existed; she was guardian to so much, bore so much responsibility by herself. He mulled over her words; not spoken so that he could hear, but heard all the same as she said them to Mr Boyd while they looked at her parents' portraits:
“I do not consider myself the owner of all this, I'm simply the custodian for future generations.”
If he had accepted her offer of marriage, then perhaps he would be the one deciding where the money to invest was to go. He never had any problem getting funds for anything he designed, especially in these recent years as his reputation as a master engineer grew. What would he do with such a large amount of money? He knew; he would give it back to her. She must lead a lonely life, for although she had many grateful servants and tenants, at the end of each day, as they went to their quarters or houses, she was alone. He started to see why she craved family life so.
No, he wouldn't laugh at her. Circumstances beyond her control had carved her characteristics, and without her father to guide her. It was no wonder she had strange opinions and habits. But he realised now that she could no more walk away from this responsibility she had been born into than he could walk away from his engineering.
He started to regret even more the way he had spoken to her that day – how he had chided her, how he had put her down! He was determined tonight he must at least speak to her again, to try to make further amends. If not for his own conscience, then for Jane's.
Chapter 15
As Louise dressed that evening, she could hardly have known all her guests were eager to attend. She assumed they had accepted her invitation out of obligation, but she couldn't have known that all of them had a keenness to speak to her at length over dinner. Despite knowing her position in life was elevated above many, she never believed herself above those gentlemen who were at the pinnacle of the industrial world. As for Mr Francis, s
he was sure he would soon be her friend's husband, and for that alone, he deserved her civility. She descended the great staircase at Glazebrook and trembled a little at the thought that yet again, Mr Lucas was to be in her home. This led her to check and double check every arrangement to the point where her normally patient servants grew exasperated. It was only when the clock struck seven thirty that she took a sip of wine for courage, and waited for the sound of the carriages that would herald their arrival.
She often gave dinners for friends and acquaintances, but generally preferred to eat the more plain food that was served for the servants on those nights when she was alone. Her cook, the best in Devon, thought this very irregular, but followed her orders and simply prepared her mistress's food with the utmost care and attention. Despite her position as mistress, she didn't believe it worth the effort for the cook to prepare delicate dishes for only one person. So, on such occasions as these, the servants were more than obliging to make extra effort for their most highly regarded employer.
The guests arrived in their separate carriages only a few minutes late. They stepped out and their host awaited them in the sitting room. It was warmed by a blazing fire and lit by many candles.
The introductions were made. “You are Charles Lucas?” Mr Francis said after a moment, with eyes wide. “The famous engineer?”
“Yes,” Charles said in reply, not flinching from Mr Francis's reaction. Louise watched on, a little amused. Had she also been so obviously in awe all those months ago when she first met him?
Soon enough they all found themselves seated for dinner in the grand dining room. Mr Ashton and Mr Francis were seated either side of her at the head of the table. Mr Lucas, and Mr Boyd were furthest away, but since the table could seat twenty people, they all sat at one end. Louise's gaze went over the spread. Everything was just as she had arranged it – the best silver and dinner service and her finest crystal glasses all added to the finery and opulence. She was determined to give them a taste of elegance – to give him an idea of what he had rejected. He might not like her class and wealth, but she wouldn't hide what she had. Why should she?
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