“I am the youngest,” Victoria stated, as if she could read his mind.
He gave his head a shake. “Tell me. Why would your brother ask for a meeting with me when your uncle has been so successful with his investment strategies?”
Victoria finished a spoonful of soup and then sighed. “Uncle Michael has done well for my father, it’s true, but I wish to go a different route with my inheritance.”
“You already have it?”
She nodded. “My birthday was last week. I find myself in possession of...” She was about to tell him how much her father had settled on her and then thought better of it. “A good deal of funds, most of which I would like to see invested—somehow protected—should I end up married to a fortune seeker.”
Tom paused in lifting his spoon to his mouth. “You’re not already betrothed?” Although Lord Michael had said she would probably never marry, he wanted to hear her side of it.
“I am not.” She hesitated before adding, “Does that surprise you?”
Giving his head a shake, Tom said, “Somewhat. I suppose I expect all the daughters of dukes to be married off when they’re of an age.”
“I’ve done my best to remain a secret to the ton,” Victoria whispered as she leaned over her soup. “Staying in Wiltshire these past few years has helped a great deal.”
“No come-out? No Season or two in London?” he queried.
She shook her head. “Only in Wiltshire, and only because my mother insisted on something. She still holds out hope I will marry and produce a couple of colts,” she added with a quirk.
Tom couldn’t help but wince at the reference to babes as colts. “You wish to remain unmarried?”
A shoulder lifted. “For now. Society won’t label me a spinster for a few years yet.”
“Will you be returning to Wiltshire?”
“Not anytime soon. I told my father I would see to the restoration of Fairmont Park until such time as he can decide if he wants to sell it or give it to one of us.”
Tom straightened. “It’s not entailed?” he asked, pretending he didn’t already know the answer. Besides, it was rare the ownership of an estate the size of Fairmont Park was free and clear. With it’s huge manor house, additional buildings and parklands, anyone would assume it was a Somerset ducal property.
“It is not. And since I am the only one who showed an interest in it, Father challenged me with it.”
“Challenged?” Tom repeated, a grin teasing his lips.
“You should have seen it a few months ago. It was a ruin,” she said. “We hadn’t lived here in some time. I had to enlist the aid of an agency to employ staff for the cleaning and gardening. Most of the furnishings are still in need of reupholstering or repair, but one thing at a time.”
“And the race track?” Tom asked, thinking the grounds and fencing around the turf track looked new.
“I had that done first,” she admitted. “As well as the enlarged stables.”
“The horses. Are they yours, or—?”
“Father’s, mostly. One is mine and two belong to my brothers. Their difference in ages means we’ll have entries in the various horse races every year from this season going forward.”
“You’re training all of them?” Tom asked, trying to decide if he should be scandalized or impressed.
“I am,” she affirmed. “Have I thoroughly scandalized you?”
Shaking his head, Tom said, “You have thoroughly impressed me, in fact. Although, to be honest, I do not own a racehorse nor do I know much about the sport.”
“Given your profession, that’s rather wise of you,” she replied. “Horses are expensive, the sport is filled with ruffians and cheats, and a win at the track is rare.”
“Which is why you want me to invest your funds in something... safer?” he guessed.
She grinned. “I was thinking steam-powered buses.”
Tom dropped his fork, the implement clattering onto his plate.
“Oh, dear. Is there something wrong with the meat?” she asked, her attention going to the platter of sliced ham and various cheeses.
“No. No, it’s fine. It’s very good,” Tom said quickly. “What do you know of steam-powered buses?”
Victoria sighed. “I see how they have replaced horse-drawn carriages on the roads outside of the city,” she replied. “They can cover four-and-twenty miles in an hour—”
“But for only four miles,” Tom put in.
“And twelve miles per hour over longer distances,” she continued, ignoring his comment. “They can travel when road conditions are deemed too hazardous for a coach-and-four. They do not tip over, and since they cannot be spooked, they do not run away with their customers.” She paused to take a breath, and when her guest didn’t offer a remark, she added, “Their brakes do not lock and drag. The buses do not cause as much damage to roads as carriage wheels do. And they can operate at a cost of half of a horse-drawn carriage.”
Tom stared at his hostess, a strange contraction occurring in his chest. She was speaking of features and benefits and costs as if she were an investment advisor.
And she was doing so intelligently.
“Be still my heart,” he murmured as he stared at her.
Her dark brows arched. “I beg your pardon?”
He shook his head. “Apologies. I’ve just... I’ve never heard a woman speak so eloquently on a topic of investment before,” he stammered.
“I am not like most women,” Victoria countered.
“A fact well established earlier this afternoon,” he said with a quirk. He allowed a sigh when he noted how her expression darkened. “I apologize. What you wear when training horses is none of my concern. But your fortune is. That is, if you wish me to assist you.”
“I thought choosing a younger man might be in my best interest,” she murmured.
“You thought I would be older,” he teased.
She grinned, and damn if he didn’t feel as if he’d been bamboozled. “A bit older, yes,” she finally admitted.
“And as you surmised, it is in your best interest to hire me,” he added.
“So why is it you don’t seem sold on the idea of steam-powered buses?” she asked, returning her attention to her meal.
He frowned. “I never said I wasn’t.”
“But you have reservations.”
Angling his head to one side, Tom said, “In the interest of full disclosure, let me tell you that I have invested my own funds in them.”
A flash of anger crossed Victoria’s face before she said, “Then why is it you wish to dissuade me?”
“I don’t.” He took a breath, still impressed by her foresight. He decided he best inform her of the risks of funding such a venture, though. “What you say is true, to a point.”
“What point is that?” she challenged.
“Sir Goldsworthy Gurney and his associates as well as Walter Hancock have done a marvelous job with their inventions. They run reliable services. Should either of them prevail within the cities, hackneys will be a thing of the past. Buses are already providing transportation services to those who cannot afford their own horses, and they offer a quicker trip than the mail coach. I cannot help but think they will be all the rage in the next decade.”
“I hear a very large ‘but’ in your argument,” she murmured, her concern evident in her expression.
“Tolls.”
Victoria blinked. “Tolls?”
He nodded. “I expect tolls will be assessed that will make them too expensive to run in place of the stagecoach services,” he explained. “But until such time as that happens, they could be a very lucrative investment.”
Her brows furrowed at hearing the confusing news. “How long until that happens?”
Tom allowed a shrug. “Ten. Twenty years? At some point, speed limits will be set that will undermine their main benefit.”
“But why?” she asked in exasperation. “Speed is the very reason they’re becoming popular.”
�
�Because horses are a way of life,” he argued. “Which given your avocation has me a bit befuddled as to why you’re not protesting steam buses.”
She allowed a sound of impatience. “My avocation has to do with speed, Mr. Grandby,” she countered quickly. “If it could not be achieved with horses, then I would be doing it with something else.”
The thought of her interest in speed had Tom wondering if she was fast. He could think of a few things they could be doing, and not all of them quickly. A kiss. A tumble or two...
“What other reason can you provide that might dissuade me?”
Pulled from his brief reverie, Tom considered the query and allowed a sigh. “Because sometimes innovation and advancement are prevented from occurring. Every new invention has its critics.”
“Luddites,” she murmured, understanding his reasoning.
“Indeed. But that doesn’t mean we can’t capitalize on steam buses and their benefits now.”
“Then what do I do?”
Tom considered options, knowing many of the overland routes would be served by trains in the coming decade. “Perhaps we propose a different city—or cities—in which to provide a bus service.”
“You mean between them?”
He shook his head. “Trains are already doing that. Or they will in due time.”
“But in the meantime?” she argued. “It’s taken years to lay the tracks for the routes that are just now opening.”
“True,” he responded, his attention on his fork. “You’re thinking the buses could be used in the interim?”
“Yes, and then redeployed to other routes once those railway lines are put into service. It will be years before the trains reach all of England.”
“My Father and I have investments in some of those railways,” he murmured. “Offering a quick travel solution until the track is finished is an excellent idea.” He looked up when he heard her sound of protest. “You don’t agree?”
“I didn’t share my idea with you so that you could go off and do it without me,” she replied.
Tom blinked and then understood her concern. “Oh, but I wouldn’t,” he said with a shake of his head. “I promise. It’s your idea. You would hold the majority stake in the enterprise, depending on your level of investment, of course.”
Victoria stared at him. “How do I know you won’t double-cross me?”
Offended, Tom straightened in his chair. “I... I assure you, my lady, I am an honorable businessman,” he argued. “There would be a contract, of course.” He sighed and then inhaled. “Several, actually, since we’ll have to procure the buses and arrange for a supporting infrastructure before any service can commence.”
“Infrastructure?” Victoria sounded out the word, as if she had never heard it before.
“Buildings to house the buses when they are not in operation. Maintenance men to fix them. Drivers. Spare parts and whatnot,” Tom explained.
She dipped her head. “That all sounds as if it will take a good deal of time.”
“Some,” Tom acknowledged. “But it’s been done in Stratford for the route to London,” he added. When he noted her continued expression of disappointment, he said, “The first one is always the most expensive. And usually fraught with problems. Mr. Hancock has everything working with the Stratford to London line.”
“You’re saying we could learn from Mr. Hancock’s mistakes?”
“Yes, exactly.”
“But... what incentive would he have to provide his knowledge?” she asked. Men rarely shared how they managed to get something to work. How they trained their horses, or how they won at cards, or how they managed to land the most unlikely woman to be their wife.
Tom allowed a brilliant smile to appear. “We make him a partner, of course,” he whispered.
“But... not an investor?”
He shook his head. “Well, he would need to be to some extent. He would be required to help in the acquisition or construction of the buses and in the training of the people who will drive them and repair them,” he argued. “So he would be investing his time.”
“And if Mr. Hancock cannot be compelled to accept the offer?”
Tom angled his head back and forth. “We offer more or we take our offer to Sir Goldsworthy.”
Seemingly satisfied by his answer, Victoria gave a nod. “Would you tell me if I was being foolish?”
“About what?” he asked, his attention having returned to his lunch.
“About this. About steam buses,” she replied.
“Oh. Well, of course,” he assured her. When he noted her look of expectation, he added, “If you’re waiting for me to tell you you’re being foolish, you will have a long wait.”
A smile finally split Victoria’s face, and Tom was struck in more ways than one.
He almost looked over his shoulder to discover if Cupid had taken aim and fired on him.
Damn the chubby menace.
Chapter 5
Ruminating
A half-hour later, still in the orangery at Fairmont Park
Their luncheon finished and the last of a bottle of wine poured, Victoria regarded her caller with curiosity. “Tell me, Mr. Grandby, why is it you have agreed to take me on as a client when you don’t even know how much I have to invest?”
Holding the stem of his wine glass between a thumb and forefinger, Tom gave her query a moment of thought before he responded. “I am intrigued.”
“Intrigued?”
“I have four sisters, and only the youngest is not yet married,” he explained.
Emily would soon be, given what he had learned the day before and then last night at White’s.
Newly returned to London and a banker in Threadneedle Street, James Burroughs had admitted to a fascination with Emily. A common desire for a simple and quiet life as well as their easy rapport with one another meant they would make an excellent couple. The fact that James had his own fortune meant that neither Tom nor their father needed to be concerned with Emily’s.
“If Emily had come to me wanting to protect her fortune from her future husband, I know I would do whatever I could in my power to see to its safety,” he explained. “I would do nothing less for you.”
Victoria narrowed her eyes. “And if my future husband took exception to such an arrangement?”
Tom allowed a guffaw. “You would never agree to marry a man unless he approved the arrangement.”
Allowing a wan grin, Victoria nodded. “Well said.” She seemed lost in thought for a moment before she suddenly added, “Pray tell, what is the time?”
Tom pulled his Breguet from his waistcoat pocket. “Half-past three,” he said with some surprise. “I cannot believe we’ve been in here for two hours.”
“Neither can I. I am so sorry, but I really must be going back to the stables,” she said. “It’s past time for the next horse.”
“Of course,” Tom said as he stood up. “I’ll get started on a proposal this evening.”
“Fifty-thousand pounds,” she stated.
“Fifty-thousand?” he repeated, startled by the amount.
She nodded. “That will leave me with enough to live on for some time,” she added. “And pay for some new furniture for the house.”
Even though he was curious as to how much she was holding back, Tom didn’t ask the amount. He trusted she would spend it wisely. “If you’re thinking of buying furniture, does that mean you’re keeping the house?” he asked as he held the door for her. He offered his arm as a blast of cold air greeted them. They hastened their steps along the loggia until they reached the house.
Victoria took a deep breath. “I think I will tell Father I wish to keep it,” she murmured as they entered, warmth once again surrounding them.
“Might I make a suggestion?”
She led him to the ground floor parlor, to the table where he had left his leather satchel. “Of course.”
“Choose what you like and make this place your own,” he murmured. “They might just be t
hings, but... well, you’ll enjoy the house much more if you like them.”
Victoria angled her head to one side. “Spoken as if that is what you do with your own home.”
“My office, actually. I like to surround myself with beautiful things.” He paused, gave a leg, and lifted her hand to his lips. “Good day, my lady. I shall send a formal proposal when I have it ready for your review.”
About to reply that she would see him to the door, she instead dipped a curtsy. “Good day, Mr. Grandby.”
Victoria watched as her caller made his way to the front door, her hand held at her waist as she relived the moment his lips had touched her knuckles.
How was it possible the simple courtesy could leave her hand tingling?
How was it possible he would say words she never thought to hear a man utter?
Be still my heart.
Had he said it in jest?
Perhaps.
But there had been that odd flicker in his eyes, as if he was seeing her in an entirely different light.
You have thoroughly impressed me.
That comment had been sincere, she was sure. She remembered how it warmed her, how it had changed both the way she regarded him as well as their conversation for the rest of the meal.
For two hours!
How was it possible his cologne could surround her as they ate their simple luncheon, the citrusy odors of the lime trees mixing with his amber and sandalwood to form such a warm and comforting scent?
And how was it possible she had wanted nothing more than to have him kiss her on the lips when he took her hand in his?
They hadn’t spoken of anything intimate. They hadn’t alluded to anything too personal. Well, except for his comment about surrounding himself with beautiful things.
Now that she knew that about him, she wanted to know what those things might be. Wanted to see them for herself.
And she wanted to know more. Much more.
Everything.
Oh, Mr. Grandby, what have you done to me?
Whatever it was, she didn’t have time to consider it at that moment. She had a two-year-old colt who needed his daily run and a yearling in need of a workout.
The Choice of a Cavalier (The Heirs of the Aristocracy Book 3) Page 4