“Here?”
“No.” She shook her head. “As much as I would not call my acquaintances robust, there is always the possibility of being seen together here. Which would be most difficult, if not impossible, to explain. I do have a reputation I should like to preserve.”
“Then—”
“Do you know Murdock’s? The booksellers?”
“Yes, of course.” He scoffed as if it were absurd that she should ask such a question. In truth, he’d never heard of it, but Warren probably knew every bookstore in London. Of the two men, Warren had always had his nose in a book of some sort about business or law. While Daniel considered himself well-read, these days he was more inclined to devour newspapers. “I know it well.”
“Good. I shall be there tomorrow, shortly after it opens I think. It’s generally not busy at that time. And, if I were you, Mr. Lewis”—she leaned toward him—“I would come prepared. I would suggest compiling a list of questions about Lady Cordelia, things you think Mr. Sinclair would like to know and I shall do the same. Quite frankly, when given the opportunity to inquire about Lady Cordelia, you failed to learn anything of true significance. I daresay, Mr. Sinclair would be disappointed in you.”
“You took me by surprise, that’s all.” He drew his brows together and glared. “I simply did not expect, well, you.”
“One can only hope, now that the element of surprise has been eliminated, you will be somewhat more competent in your inquiry. Good day, Mr. Lewis.” Miss Palmer nodded, turned, and started toward her carriage waiting outside the park gate.
“I am not incompetent,” he called after her.
She didn’t bother to toss back a response, but Daniel could have sworn he heard the faint sound of satisfied laughter drifting back from Miss Palmer’s retreating figure.
Damnation, she was right. He hadn’t learned anything important about Lady Cordelia. Why he hadn’t even asked what the lady looked like, although he thought he had a pretty good idea. The Amazon in his head raised a brow in a chastising manner. It really didn’t matter what she looked like, he had no intention of marrying yet another bride his father had selected for him. Still, he couldn’t reject the woman out of hand. He may not be a British noble, but his family’s word was just as important to him as to any titled Englishman. No, he would have to find a graceful way out. And the first step toward that was to learn as much as possible about the indomitable Lady Cordelia.
And if he forged a friendship with the lovely Miss Palmer in the process, that was certainly an unexpected benefit.
“Have you seen Mr. Lewis this morning, Gilliam?” Daniel handed his hat and gloves to the butler who, along with the rest of the staff, had come with the small town house he had leased for his stay in London.
“He is in the”—the butler’s composed expression twitched as if he were trying not to grimace at the word—“office, sir.”
Daniel bit back a smile. Gilliam was offended if not scandalized by Daniel’s turning the ground floor parlor into an office, while he and Warren had suites, including their own private parlors and bedchambers, on the upper floors. But renting a house was both convenient and economical. It made no sense to Daniel to take rooms at a hotel for both him and Warren, and lease a separate office when a house served all his needs and was private as well as practical.
When Daniel had arrived in London shortly after the new year, following a brief visit to Italy, he hadn’t anticipated that his stay would last any time at all and had indeed resided in a hotel. His original intention had been to stay only long enough to meet, and hopefully divest himself of, a previous fiancée his father had arranged for him, then return to America. That said fiancée was the cousin of Oliver Leighton, the Earl of Norcroft, and had already fallen in love with Jonathon Effington, Marquess of Helmsley and heir to the Duke of Roxborough, turned out to be one of those unexpected opportunities Daniel always kept his eyes open to. Helmsley and Norcroft, together with their longtime friends Viscount Cavendish and Viscount Warton, had become not only Daniel’s friends but his major investors as well. The transfer of funds from one country to another, contracts, agreements, and the endless other details that accompanied arrangements and expectations between investors and enterprising businessmen had kept Daniel in London now for more than five months and had necessitated his sending for Warren to join him.
“And how is he?”
“He claims to be feeling much better, sir.” Gilliam pursed his lips. “In spite of Mrs. Rumpole’s protests, he insisted on leaving his bed and returning to his duties.”
Daniel grinned. Mrs. Rumpole saw herself as much as a substitute mother as she did housekeeper to the two men who now resided under the roof she considered hers as well. “I would have liked to have seen that battle.”
Gilliam sighed. “I daresay, it’s not over, sir.”
Warren claimed he was suffering from nothing more serious than a common cold, but the man had been so miserable he had finally taken to his bed yesterday and had allowed Mrs. Rumpole to minister to him with gallons of hot broth and an odd-smelling tea that she claimed would cure anything.
“Probably not.” Daniel chuckled, crossed the entry hall and pushed open the doors to see his longtime friend and employee sitting at one of the two large desks that dominated the room. “Are we feeling better today?”
Warren glanced up from the notebook before him. “I no longer feel as if death would be a blessing, so, yes, I am feeling better.”
Warren’s eyes were red rimmed and his voice still nasal and slightly hoarse, but he wasn’t nearly as pale as he had been yesterday.
“You look…”
Warren raised a brow.
“Better,” Daniel said firmly. “Not good, mind you, but definitely better.”
“Thank you. I would hate to look better than I feel.” Warren managed a weak smile.
Daniel studied his friend. “Are you sure you should be out of bed?”
“If I stayed in bed another minute I would go stark, raving mad with boredom. If Mrs. Rumpole didn’t drown me with soup and tea first.” Warren shook his head and sighed. “Although, as much as it pains me to admit it, it is somewhat comforting when one is ill to be the object of motherly attention.”
“And no one provides motherly attention quite the way Mrs. Rumpole does.” Daniel grinned and moved to his desk.
Both men had lost their mothers at an early age and Warren’s father had died shortly before he began his college studies, leaving only a small inheritance to guarantee Warren’s education. Daniel, as the son of a wealthy man, had had limitless resources. That the two men met during those years was not at all odd, but both considered the fact that they had become fast friends nothing short of a miracle. Warren had studied law, Daniel commerce and finance, and now they shared a mutual ambition and a vision of a vast network of interlocking railroads that would revolutionize transportation in the United States and make them both very wealthy. While Warren was, at the moment, officially Daniel’s employee with a title of secretary, it was a temporary position until their plans began bearing fruit. Then Warren would take his place as Daniel’s partner. Until that time, Warren was just as stubborn as Miss Palmer when it came to earning his own way.
“Have you seen that letter from my father?” Daniel riffled through one of many untidy stacks of paper that graced both his and Warren’s desks.
“The one you barely looked at yesterday before you stalked out of the room?”
“Yes, yes, I know, I know.” Daniel huffed. “I should have read the entire thing and I shouldn’t have lost my temper but damn it all, the man’s continuing effort to control my life infuriates me. Besides, he only writes when he has something to say that is guaranteed to drive me mad.”
“Then it’s a good thing his travels keep him busy and your paths have not crossed in months.”
“We don’t seem to get on well in the same room.” Where was that blasted letter anyway?
“Didn’t you crumple his letter up
and throw it across the room?”
“Damn.” Daniel collapsed into his chair. “Mrs. Rumpole has probably—”
“I, however, being efficient even in my dying moments, rescued it before Mrs. Rumpole had the chance to tidy up.” Warren glanced at the piles of papers on his desk. “It’s here.” His gaze shifted to Daniel’s desk. “Or there. Somewhere.”
“Good to know there are moments when your usual competency fails,” Daniel muttered, leafing through the closest stack of documents.
“I’ve been ill.”
“There are times when I feel quite in”—Miss Palmer’s comment as to his incompetence flashed through his mind”—intimidated by your mastery of virtually everything.”
Warren scoffed. “Nothing has ever intimidated you, nor, I imagine, will anything in the future.”
A vision of flashing green eyes popped into his head. “You’d be surprised,” Daniel murmured. “I assume you read it?”
“Absolutely. A letter from your father in which he lays out the rest of your life for you is not to be missed.” Warren chuckled in a manner that would have been described as wicked if he had sounded healthier. “And I must confess, considering all the various revelations it contained and the repercussions to come gave me a great deal of entertainment as I lay in my sickbed being force-fed soup. Why, it quite kept my mind off the ever-present possibility of Mrs. Rumpole clutching me to her bosom and rocking me to sleep.”
“She wouldn’t.” Daniel laughed then paused. “Would she?”
“Of course she would. In spite of the fact that we are both past thirty years of age, she sees us as the sons she never had.”
“At least I am spared an interfering mother. A father determined to run my life is bad enough.” Daniel leaned back in his chair and mentally braced himself. “Go on then, Warren. I’m ready. What are these revelations?”
Warren chuckled. “Oh, I don’t think you’re at all ready.”
“I’m as ready as I’ll ever be. Now, tell me, was there by any chance mention of some sort of business transaction with this Lady Cordelia’s father?”
“Excellent guess. I’m impressed.” Warren tapped his pen on the desk. “Your father wishes to acquire half interest in Lady Cordelia’s father’s—I forget his name—”
“Lord Marsham,” Daniel murmured.
Warren studied him. “So you did read most of it?”
“No. I’ll explain in a moment. Go on.”
“Very well. Lord Marsham owns a rather impressive shipping line that your father wants to merge with his steamship interests. It would give him entree into shipping in this part of the world, strengthen his position in British ports. Apparently, according to the letter, while Lord Marsham needs an influx of capital at the moment to keep from going under, the line is sound overall. So the proposition, in a business sense, is a good one.”
“And how does this marriage fit in?”
“Your father thinks the joining of the son of a captain of American industry with the daughter of an old and honorable English family will benefit both sides financially and socially.”
“He would think that. He’s never quite gotten over the fact that he was not born with position and wealth.”
“And marrying you to a titled family, aligning himself with such a family, will give him the prestige and legitimacy that he wants?”
“Exactly.” Daniel shook his head. “It’s times like this when I regret not having a sister he could marry off to serve his purposes.”
“Don’t be absurd.” Warren aimed his pen at his friend. “I know you. You’d never let a beloved sister be bartered off as part of a business deal.”
“I’d trade a sister’s future without hesitation if doing so would save me.”
Warren laughed. “Then it’s fortunate you don’t have a sister, although I don’t believe you for a moment.”
“Believe me,” Daniel said firmly and ignored the thought that this was exactly what Lady Cordelia’s father was doing. Poor, sturdy Lady Cordelia was in as much of a fix as he was, except that she wished to marry whereas he did not. Good God, he might well be the stout-hearted lady’s only chance. Damn. Well, he certainly was not going to marry anyone out of a sense of pity. “You know,” he said thoughtfully, “it strikes me that if my father’s purpose is to improve his social standing, he should be the one to marry.”
“You think that, do you?” Warren said slowly.
“I do indeed. It’s a brilliant idea and gives everyone what he wants. I want my freedom. My father wants affiliation with a prestigious family.”
“Isn’t Lady Cordelia a bit young for him?”
“Not at all.” Daniel waved away the objection. This really was a good idea. “She’s twenty-five years old. Younger women marry older men all the time.”
“That certainly does happen,” Warren murmured.
“And my father has always liked younger women.” Daniel thought for a moment. “She would hold more appeal for him if she were an actress or singer I suppose, but I imagine her family connections and youth would offset anything else.”
“What about the lady in question? What does she get?”
“Precisely what she wants, a husband. And a wealthy one at that.” Daniel snorted. “And while she is allegedly selective, I daresay one rich American will serve as well as another under these circumstances.”
“And you think your father would be acceptable to a young lady?” Warren bit back a grin. “Has your father then grown taller, thinner, reacquired his hair, and adopted a charming nature since our last meeting?”
“My father has always been charming when the need arose. As for the rest of it”—Daniel waved off the comment—“appearance is not important.”
Warren choked then coughed, grabbed his handkerchief and sneezed into it. “Appearance is not important? When did you come to that conclusion?”
“It’s a consideration for me, not crucial but a consideration, but then I am not looking for a match to enhance my business and social positions.”
“So your father should be the one to marry Lady Cordelia?”
“Why not? It was his idea, his arrangement.”
“Why not indeed?” Warren paused. “However, there could be a child from such a union. Another heir to the Sinclair fortune.”
“I couldn’t care less and you well know it.” Daniel’s insistence on building his own fortune, with no help from his father, was one of many ongoing disputes between father and son. Even now, Daniel’s enterprises were financed by adequate, if limited, wealth left him by his maternal grandparents. “Still, I suppose someone closer his own age might be a better idea. Which doesn’t solve the question of what to do about Lady Cordelia, but would prevent any further arrangements like this in the future should I manage to extricate myself from this one. It seems to me there are any number of titled, well-connected widows in this town who would do nicely. Viscount Warton has a widowed aunt, Lady Radbury.” Daniel chuckled. “Quite a spirited woman, too. She would give my father a merry chase.”
Warren bit his lip. “Yes, I suppose she would.”
Daniel studied his friend for a moment. He had the look of a man who knew something of great interest. Something most amusing. Daniel recognized that look. “What do you know that I don’t know?”
“Any number of things, I should think.” Barely suppressed amusement sparked in Warren’s eyes. “You really should have read that letter.”
Daniel narrowed his eyes. “Why?”
“It was filled with all sorts of interesting information.”
“What?”
“I suppose I should offer my best wishes first.”
“On my proposed marriage? Don’t even think of it.”
“I wasn’t.” Warren got to his feet, crossed the room, and extended his hand to Daniel. “But do let me be the first to congratulate you.”
Daniel rose, grasped Warren’s hand cautiously, and studied him with suspicion. “On what?”
“On marria
ge of course.”
“I’m not—”
“Not your marriage.” Warren grinned. “Your father’s marriage.”
“A bit premature don’t you think?”
“Actually, it’s overdue.” Warren shook Daniel’s hand. “Congratulations, old man, you have a new mother.”
Daniel stared in disbelief. “A mother.”
Warren nodded. “A mother.”
Daniel chose his words with care. “What do you mean, a mother?”
“Stepmother is a more accurate term.”
Daniel shook his head. “I don’t understand.”
“It’s really quite simple. When a man’s father remarries, the new wife becomes his stepmother.”
“A know what a stepmother is, I just didn’t know I had one.” Daniel sank into his chair. As much as he had just proposed marriage for his father, he really hadn’t given the idea serious reflection. Now or ever. He shook his head as if to clear it, then stared at his friend. “Stepmother?”
“Stepmother.” Warren grinned. “You should see the look on your face.”
“I didn’t expect this,” Daniel said under his breath. Aside from his father’s occasional and unimportant involvements through the years with various women he’d seen on stage, he’d always been too busy building a financial empire to pursue any woman to the point of marriage.
“Does it upset you then?”
“No, it’s just…Odd, the very thought of it. And shocking as well.” He looked at his friend. “Did his letter say anything about her?”
“Only that she was an opera singer and you would meet her soon.”
“An opera singer.” Daniel groaned. “Probably younger than I am and interested in nothing more than his money.”
Warren stared. “Is this concern I hear? For your father?”
“No,” Daniel snapped then sighed. “Yes, of course it is. He’s my father after all. I would hate to see him taken in by a fortune hunter, there’s nothing more to it than that.”
“Of course not. I never thought it was anything more in spite of the bilious look on your face. You don’t look at all well. I should summon Mrs. Rumpole to bring you some of her tea.” Warren’s brow furrowed thoughtfully. “But oddly enough, I feel better. Much better. Better than I’ve felt in days.” He strolled back to his desk. “Imagine that.”
Secrets of a Proper Lady Page 4