by Joanna Shupe
Crossing his arms, he snorted a laugh. “Boy, your British really shows through when you are upset.”
She knew this to be true but still asked, “Whatever do you mean by that?”
He waved a hand in her direction, indicating her entire frame. “Your words, the way you speak and sit. You look and sound like the queen on her throne—if the queen were dressed as a Tenderloin trollop.”
“You told me I needed to fit in.” She glanced down at herself. “Do you not like it?”
“Like is not the correct description for a dress such as that. And considering I’ve thought of nothing but kissing you all night—”
“Julius!” Why would he bring up that topic again? Heat rushed through her belly and down her legs. “We must not discuss such things. Ever.”
“Why not?” Slouching on the bench, he extended his legs and crossed his feet at the ankles. His thigh pushed against her knee, yet he made no effort to move away.
She tried to scoot aside, to put distance between his body and hers. “We are friends. That is all we shall ever be. I am attached, as you well know.”
“I know nothing of the sort. You might be making this Robert fellow up. And besides, I am not attached. So there’s nothing to prevent me from flirting with you.” Long lashes fringed his sharp blue gaze. “Worried you cannot resist me, Lady Nora?”
A wave of longing rolled through her at his heated stare, and irritation quickly followed. “You are impossible,” she snapped. “Just when I start to believe my first impression of you was incorrect, you remind me of your true nature.”
“Yes, but that true nature will get you noticed in New York City. Is that not what you want?” He bounced his leg into her knee. “You cannot bring the tiger indoors and expect him to act as a house cat, my lady.”
She pushed his leg away. “I certainly can . . . unless said tiger cares to be tossed back outside with the other jungle animals.”
“Which won’t get you summoned back to England with any expediency.”
Dash it all. The man was right. She needed him—but he also needed her. Otherwise, he never would have agreed to this. In the Haymarket, he’d started to say something about his father. “Tell me why you need to circulate in society.”
“I owe you that, I suppose.” Now serious, he drew in a long breath and exhaled, the angles of his face sharpening in the low light. “My father was a man of business, a deal-maker. Always after the next investment for a quick buck. We weren’t poor but he hated knowing others had more. In ’73, he organized a business deal with three society men to purchase the majority stock holdings of a little-known chemical company. The company had just filed for an important patent and my father thought it was a sure bet. He fronted the money through a demand note from the bank, and the men promised to pay equal shares.”
He paused as if bracing himself. She sensed this was a topic he did not discuss often. “You don’t have to tell me.”
“No, I do. It’s just . . . It’s been a long time since I’ve spoken of it. See, the timing couldn’t have been worse because a bank panic swept over the country immediately after. When the bank called in the note, my father didn’t have the money. So he sent them to the three men who had agreed to the deal. Those three denied any knowledge of an investment with my father.”
Nora gasped. “That’s terrible. Did he not have any proof? A contract?”
“No. My father believed in a handshake, that a man was as good as his word. In the end his naiveté is what destroyed him. He started drinking then, ranting and raving about the Knickerbockers who’d ruined him. He hanged himself a few days later.”
Her jaw fell open. Oh, dear Lord. “That’s positively awful. Your poor family. How old were you?”
“Thirteen. We lost everything. Moved in with relatives and my mother found work as a seamstress. I went to work as an errand boy.” He shrugged. “We survived.”
But his father hadn’t. The unspoken words dangled there as the wheels clattered along the cobblestone street on their way uptown. Curiosity flooded her, as questions concerning his family, his background, and his father raced through her mind.
“And his investors? What ever happened to them?”
“I couldn’t say. He never named them and my family didn’t move in those select circles.”
“Until now.”
He dipped his chin. “So perhaps you understand why I am anxious to stay in society, at least until I can discover these secret investors.”
“Yes, but how do you plan to find them? Do you hope one of them walks up during a dinner party and mentions your father?”
“Yes, though I dare not dream it’ll be so easy.”
“That’s why you’ve been trying to buy your way into high society over the years.”
“Quite unsuccessfully until you came along. I cannot risk being banished, Nora, not until I discover the names of those three investors.”
She pulled at a loose black thread on her cheap satin skirts. Staying in society was all fine and good to suit his purposes, but following the rules would not get her summoned home. “So how do we scandalize New York without getting banished from high society?”
“A very good question.” The intensity of his regard caused her to squirm. She could read the accusation there, the recrimination over her plan.
“You’re attempting to make me feel guilty. It won’t work. After all, you see these men around town, at the clubs and restaurants. Why do you need dinner parties and balls to do your sleuthing? For that matter, why not hire a Pinkerton that you Americans seem so fond of?”
“Oh, a Pinkerton!” He smacked his forehead with the heel of his hand. “If only I had thought of that.”
The sarcasm behind the words was not lost on her. “I take it he was unsuccessful.”
“They were unsuccessful. Not one of the four investigators I’ve hired over the years could discern anything. People, especially Knickerbockers, are absurdly distrustful of any outsider. Which is why spotting them at Sherry’s or Delmonico’s yielded nothing. They wouldn’t talk to me.”
“What about the clubs?”
He shook his head. “The only club that didn’t outright refuse my application was the Players Club. I’ve been told to reapply to the Gotham, which I did last week. I estimate my odds at 65 percent in favor of acceptance this time.”
“Shall I ask Uncle James to have a word with someone on your behalf?”
“Thank you but I’ve already spoken to him.”
He had? What else had Julius been up to?
“Now,” he continued. “I’ve taken you to the Haymarket, as per our agreement. Shall we discuss the week’s social engagements?”
She straightened, her spine coming off the seat as her shoulders pressed back. “But tonight’s outing was a failure. We went largely unnoticed and drew no attention of any appreciable kind. This hardly counts toward fulfilling your promise.”
“Dear woman, I never promised to get you noticed. I promised to escort you on one outing, which I did. The results of said outing were never in my control. If they disappointed you . . .” He lifted one shoulder.
“That is hardly fair.”
“No one ever said life would be fair, milady. Most of us lower types learn that lesson early.”
Did he honestly believe he could outmaneuver this new Nora, one who would no longer stand idly by while others made decisions for her? “Fine,” she said, holding his electric-blue gaze. “I’ll have a list of the engagements sent over to you tomorrow.”
He studied her face for a long moment as he stroked his jaw. “Thank you for being so reasonable. Now, am I to drop you at the front door or have you devised a plan to sneak back into the house?”
“The mews, please. My maid will have left a small door there unlatched for me.”
He smirked, not showing the least bit of surprise at this news. Letting his lids fall closed, he rested his head on the seat. “Beware. I am quickly learning your tricks, Lady Honora.”
/> Julius reviewed the list of social engagements from Nora and burst out laughing.
His assistant, Martin, had already procured the week’s engagement list from James Cortland’s secretary. Unsurprisingly, the two lists didn’t match up.
The woman had no idea with whom she toyed. Did she honestly believe he wouldn’t verify her list after last night? The lie had been right there on her face when she’d offered to send over the week’s social schedule. Clearly upset over the failure of the Haymarket outing, she no longer cared to adhere to the rules of their arrangement.
Fine.
He could also play that game—and he looked forward to besting her.
He grinned, imagining tonight’s dinner party. Rather, imagining the expression on Nora’s face when he arrived at the correct location for said dinner party. She would not be expecting him, and he anticipated catching her off guard.
“You certainly are happy today,” Martin remarked from his nearby desk, catching Julius’s attention. “Did one of your stocks triple in price?”
He set aside Nora’s list. “No. Just thinking of this evening.”
“With your fiancée?”
“We are attending a dinner party. I plan to surprise her.”
“I don’t know if that’s wise, sir. In my limited experience, women do not take well to surprises.”
“Perhaps, but this woman deserves one.” Julius had to admit, the English rose did keep him on his toes. Their heated exchanges and discussions invigorated him as nothing else ever had. He actually looked forward to seeing her, more than he had with any other woman.
Speaking of other women, he’d best deal with Poppy. He glanced at his pocket watch. By now she’d be lingering over breakfast before going to the theater for afternoon rehearsals. “I have an errand to run downtown, Martin. I should return in an hour or so. Watch Jackson Consolidated for me, will you? If it goes below three and five-eighths, call the floor and buy as many shares as you can. I expect to see a drop either today or tomorrow, and I can turn around a handsome profit when it does.”
“Yes, sir.”
Confident in his assistant’s abilities, he rang for the brougham. “Anything for me to review on the drive?” he asked.
“A few ideas.” Martin dug a stack of paper out from the chaos of his desk. “Some trends that might be worth noting.”
“Excellent.” Julius accepted the stack and placed it into his satchel. “Let’s see if your ideas match mine. Perhaps it’s time you started dabbling with your own account.”
Martin’s cheeks reddened. “Oh, I don’t have the capital—”
“Allow me to worry about the capital. I believe in taking risks and you’ve developed a good eye for these things. Let’s discuss it when I return.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Julius gathered his satchel and started for the hall, his leather soles snapping on the Italian marble. The main floor was quiet today, the way he preferred during work hours. Brandywine somehow managed to keep the place running smoothly without chaos. The man was a marvel.
The front bell sounded as Julius was pulling on his gloves. Brandywine appeared seemingly from thin air to deal with the caller.
“I am out,” Julius told him quietly. “No matter who is calling.”
The butler nodded and opened the heavy front door. “Good morning, ma’am. How may we help you?”
“Good morning. I am here to see my son. I believe this is his house.”
Julius froze. He’d recognize that cold, disapproving voice anywhere.
What in hell was his mother doing here?
Dear God. She’d never come to visit, not once in twelve years. He moved toward the door, needing to verify this turn of events with his own eyes.
Sure enough, his mother stood on the stoop, a hansom at the curb. “Mother. What a lovely surprise.”
Brandywine snapped his fingers, summoning two footmen to handle the luggage. Julius hardly noticed, his attention squarely on the woman before him. Dressed in her usual severe and simple black attire, she stepped over the threshold and into the entry. Her wide eyes took in the surroundings, the marble and the stained glass. The smooth stone and priceless art. He held his breath, awaiting her reaction, some appreciation of his success. Some small acknowledgment of what he’d accomplished.
His stomach sank as she frowned, actually frowned as if he’d done something wrong in amassing a fortune envied by even J. P. Morgan himself.
He should’ve known.
Any small amount of happiness at seeing her faded. Suddenly, he was thirteen again, unable to make her understand why he wanted to work on the stock exchange instead of in a factory or on a farm. He ground his teeth together and planted his feet as the door closed behind her. “Why are you here?”
His curt tone must’ve surprised her. She blinked a few times, blue eyes so like his own staring back at him. “I am here to meet your fiancée, of course.”
His jaw fell open. “My fiancée?”
“Yes, a Lady Honora, if I am not mistaken.”
“But . . .” How did you find out? She is not truly my fiancée. Why do you care? He had no idea where to begin. He hadn’t seen his mother in months and she rushed to the city for this? “How did you learn of the engagement?”
“I do still have friends in the city, Julius.”
“Of course you do,” he blurted, instantly chastised. “I merely thought . . .” You hated everything about me. Seemed crass to voice it but the words hung there nonetheless.
“I know you and I have had our disagreements, Julius, but I am still your mother. I should like to meet the woman you are about to marry.” She stripped off her black cotton gloves—was that a split seam between the fingers?—and held them tight in her palms. “May I stay?”
“Of course, of course,” he heard himself say. “Come in. Let’s get you settled. Brandywine?”
His butler moved forward. “Mrs. Hatcher, please allow me to show you to your room.”
“My daughter, Agatha, is here as well. She is dealing with our driver and will be along shortly.”
Julius cursed under his breath. His sister was also here? Good Lord, it would be the family reunion from hell. “Why did you not allow me to send a carriage for you?”
“We know how busy you are. We didn’t want to trouble you.”
So they’d rather surprise him by showing up on his doorstep?
“. . . show you to the rose suite. It is the finest room in the house,” Brandywine was saying.
Julius fought a wince. His mother would hate the rose suite. Undoubtedly, she’d be more comfortable in the stripped-down servants’ quarters. Brandywine would choke upon hearing she didn’t employ a maid—a fact that would pose a conundrum for the staff with regards to the duties required each day. Julius pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers.
The footmen passed with her trunk and he heard Brandywine ask, “Just the one trunk, ma’am?”
“Yes. I do not require much.”
Unlike my son. She didn’t say it but the implication was plainly there. Julius clasped his hands behind his back and stared up at the stained-glass windows he’d imported from a German monastery. While he wasn’t religious by any means, he liked the colors and the images of the three saints depicted there. Serious and pious, the trio guarded the entry and reminded him how small and insignificant we all were in the end.
Even more reason to live as grandly as you dared while alive. One had no idea when it could all be ripped away.
He strode deeper into the house, toward his office. Screw the rest of the world. There was money to be made.
Chapter Nine
A dozen or so society types crowded the Griffin salon, a blur of beaded silk dresses glittering under the dull yellow glow of the gasolier. Nora accepted a glass of champagne from Mr. Cooke, an older man with prodigious jowls.
“I had hoped to meet your fiancé this evening. A shame he could not join us,” Mr. Cooke said, sipping his own champagne. D
rops of liquid caught on his bushy mustache.
She avoided staring at Cooke’s dripping facial hair and hid a smile. Yes, a shame Julius hadn’t been able to attend. While part of her experienced a twinge of guilt over her deception, she recalled how he’d backed out of their agreement. Ten minutes inside the Haymarket did not constitute an entire evening—and he well knew it.
Cooke continued on the topic of Julius. “He’s reported to be a sharp one. Heard he gave a stock tip to Pendleton the other night that paid off quite handsomely.”
That caught her attention. She remembered Julius once saying he was asked for stock advice nearly everywhere he went and rarely answered. “I hadn’t realized Mr. Hatcher was providing business advice.”
“Not merely advice, my lady. Been near clairvoyant from what I understand. I am hoping to get a nugget or two of my own to use on the exchange.”
“I thought gentlemen here avoided discussing business.” In England, the topic was never raised in society. Discussions regarding money or commerce were incredibly gauche amongst the haute monde.
“Officially, yes. The wives like to believe money sprinkles down from the heavens, of course, but most of the gentlemen play the exchange or the ponies. Anything to chase away the boredom.”
She sipped her champagne, her mind racing. If these stock tips did not produce earnings, would there be social repercussions for Julius? Undoubtedly he aided these men in the hopes of discovering his father’s investors, but Nora still wanted to protest on his behalf. She had the ridiculous urge to protect him from the obvious greed and selfishness behind the solicitation.
Which was insane. Julius hardly needed her protection.
“My father uses Parliament to chase the boredom,” she said. “I believe he merely likes to yell at the opposition.”
Mr. Cooke chuckled. “As I am certain your ladyship has heard by now, politics in America is a nasty business. Anyone with a bit of sense stays as far away from that as possible.”
“Stays away from what?” a familiar male voice asked behind her.
No, it could not be. Nora spun and nearly dropped her glass at the sight before her. Julius stood there in a well-crafted black swallowtail coat and matching trousers. His dark blond hair had been tamed, swept away from his arresting face, and the rugged features she so often tried to ignore hit her square in the chest. Good heavens, he was handsome.