“Ah, yes, the business contract. Not my finest hour. Can I blame my mother once again without acting the complete scoundrel?”
“Why did you write that contract?” Yvienne said. He looked a little surprised at her bluntness. “Do you truly want to do business with House Mederos?”
“Yes.” He dropped the familiarity, and all of a sudden Inigho went into business mode, like a lazily swimming shark sighting a seal. “We’re primarily an overland shipping company, but in order to bring in my goods to my customers, we’re at the mercy of the shipping families. You’re a shipping family. If you bring in what no one wants to buy, you’ve gone to great effort for what may be very little demand. Then you have to unload goods at a discount. It’s done you well so far, I admit, but even before the Great Fraud, you were slipping.”
So his mother had said; apparently House Mederos was dinnertime conversation for House Demaris. For a moment outrage stiffened her spine, even as she identified another emotion: exhilaration.
“Even if – and mind you, I say if – there’s a modicum of truth to what you say, I’d like to point out that House Mederos has done very well at anticipating demand. You might even say that we specialize in making a market where there had been none.” She felt a sharp pang of nostalgia. That was so long ago, even longer ago than when the Fraud laid waste to a mighty merchant House. Inigho was right. House Mederos had been slipping.
A uniformed waiter came up to them, removed the broth, and replaced it with their meals. Yvienne almost swooned at the aroma of the chowder, rich with cream and broth and fruits of the sea, and the biscuit was almost as tall as one of Mrs Francini’s. Inigho’s captain’s luncheon was an epic platter of lobster and steak, with mashed potatoes swimming in gravy, and roasted carrots and parsnips. It was Alastra’s specialty, and well-matched to the restaurant’s clientele, who were mainly captains of industry, not sea captains.
Inigho tucked in, and Yvienne followed suit. She would never spurn good food, not after years of starvation. Inigho broke the silence and continued their conversation.
“What if I told you I could guarantee a pre-sold cargo, provided House Mederos meets contract terms and comes in at an agreed-upon delivery date?”
“I would say that’s how you bamboozled my Uncle Samwell,” Yvienne shot back. Inigho grinned. He was enjoying himself as much as she was. If she wasn’t careful, she was going to end up liking him.
“I like your Uncle Samwell. He’s a good sort of fellow, and his heart’s in the right place.”
Yvienne said abruptly, “Inigho, in all seriousness, why House Mederos? Is it because you think we’re desperate?”
His easy grin faltered, and he looked taken aback. At his next words, she reddened – only then did she realize that she had called him by his first name. Then he leaned forward, intense.
“Yvienne, I’m not exaggerating – your House has been running on its reputation for years. We’ve all noticed it. So if it were your father still running things, we wouldn’t even be talking.” A sudden, wolfish smile flickered and was gone. “Well, I had my plans, but never mind. But you. I’ve been watching you. In the past six months you’ve done more to restore House Mederos’s fortunes than anything your father did in the previous six years. You retrenched, consolidated debt, came through on some very lucrative deals, and I have no doubt you will return the House to its former glory within a year. I also know that you know shipping. If anyone can bring my cargo from Malenthia or Grand Harbor, it’s you.”
He sat back and she didn’t say anything for a moment. She was acutely aware of her heart pounding, and she was hard put to regain her composure. Foolish Yvienne, she thought, to be so overset by the simple fact that this man noticed. He noticed her deeds and her triumphs, he understood her trials. What her parents took for granted – “Vivi, run the office, will you?” – Inigho got. She gave a small, inadvertent laugh, and put up her hand to her mouth to stop it. He looked at her quizzically.
“Inigho,” she said, and she could tell that he expected her to say Yes, and it almost made her laugh again. “I am flattered, but – we have no ships.”
“Well, I thought of that. House Demaris could buy a ship, and we would pay House Mederos to sail it.”
No better than hired help. Her laughter stopped. Her cheeks warmed, and she looked down at her soup, running her spoon through the dregs of her chowder. Don’t be angry, she warned herself. Be dispassionate. Consider the offer.
“What?” he said, and she looked up. He was considering her. “Why not?”
Because it proves exactly what I suspect, that you think House Mederos is desperate and grateful.
“It is certainly possible with certain adjustments,” she said, choosing her words. “As I not only have care for House Mederos’s fortunes, I also have care for her reputation. And I fear that whether we sailed one ship or an entire fleet owned by another House, it would damage that reputation.”
He raised an eyebrow and his reply was curt.
“Pride is costly, Miss Mederos,” he said. “Are you sure you can afford it?”
Oh, are we back to surnames? Inigho Demaris did not like being turned down. Perhaps that was part of the hidden depths his mother spoke of.
“I will not sell my House’s reputation cheaply or at all,” she said. “Mr Demaris, I will consider your offer. I think we can help House Demaris out of her dilemma, but I’ll need more time and study.”
“Not too long,” he warned, albeit lightly. “Trade waits for no one.”
“We’ll speak further. Send over your full proposal to the office and I’ll review. I’ll have an answer no later than Freyday.”
“Fair enough,” he said. “And now, continue to eat. There’s no reason we can’t be friends, you know.”
There’s every reason, she thought, but he was right. Whatever came of this – a business partnership or something more – she liked Inigho.
They chatted over the rest of the meal, very generally, but she could tell a lot about him from the idle conversation. He loved trade. His eyes lit up when he spoke of the family business, of House Demaris’s expeditions across the Desert Sea to the Chahoki empire. He quizzed her about the overseas shipping business, and they traded notes on the business gossip of the city. They even talked about the Great Fraud and the business with Trune. House Demaris was a Guild member in good standing, but Inigho had not been at the dinner that night. Else I would not think of doing business with him. He expressed frustration that the city had let Trune slip. Yvienne couldn’t resist.
“What do you think of this business with the Harrier?”
“The Guild didn’t make any friends among the constabulary with that decision,” Inigho said. “I’ve heard that Renner himself is annoyed. But I can understand the Guild’s point. Trune embezzled significant funds and that’s the Guild’s money. I’d like to see him found and brought to justice, and if it takes a Harrier, then that’s good enough for me.”
It was the most enjoyable lunch she had had – ever. She regretted its conclusion, over tiny cups of bold coffee that made her head buzz and her heart pound. And finally, it was time to go.
She set her napkin next to her bowl and stood, and he stood too. He reached out his hand and she clasped it, merchant to merchant. The misses will be swooning, she thought. His hand was warm and firm.
“I’m glad we’re going to be in business together,” Inigho said, and his smile was back, crinkling the corners of his eyes. “You’d be a stubborn adversary.”
She smiled too, but with more reserve. She would have to find other ways to test Inigho’s character. That flash of temper – if the man couldn’t even take the mildest of setbacks, would he be a good business partner?
He followed her out through the dining room, the misses all pausing in the midst of gathering their belongings and purchases to watch them go, and while he scrawled his signature next to his account, the maitre d’ helped her into her damp coat.
“Can I have my carriage take you anywhere, Miss Mederos?” he said formally. “It’s a wet, nasty day.”
Why not? It wasn’t as if walking alone would quell the rapturous gossip.
“Thank you, Mr Demaris. I’m going to the office, so a lift would be appreciated.”
Inigho was all solicitousness. The carriage came round, drawn by two wet, stamping horses, their backs and harness covered with waterproofed rugs, and driven by a similarly uniformed coachman. He handed her in and hopped in after her, and she sank down with a sigh. Walking was all well and good, but a ride in a well-sprung conveyance was a luxury. When we are restored, she promised herself, she would make sure the family owned a well-made carriage. They barely bounced over the rough streets.
They spoke but little during the short ride. Both were comfortable in their own thoughts. When the carriage pulled up in front of the Mederos waterfront office, Inigho paused with one hand on the door handle.
“You know what my mother wants,” he said. “I want you to know you shouldn’t feel pressured, one way or another, about that. This is strictly business.”
With sudden daring, Yvienne smiled. Why not? No one could see.
“Perhaps,” she said. “Or perhaps not.” She leaned forward and kissed him full on the mouth.
Inigho was stunned for a moment and then he put his arms around her and pulled her onto his lap so they could kiss more thoroughly.
The busy people of the waterfront, if they weren’t hurrying to get out of the fog and rain, might have thought it odd that the Demaris carriage stayed still for so long outside the Mederos offices, the patient coachman and the horses standing in the rain, the horses now and again shaking droplets from their blinders. But they would have seen nothing amiss when Miss Yvienne Mederos, the eldest daughter of House Mederos, exited the carriage as demurely as any merchant’s daughter, and hurried briskly into the warm office.
Chapter Fifteen
Albero came back into the foyer, closing the door behind him. His cheeks were ruddy from the chill and his dark hair and his coat had silver droplets on them. He is quite the handsomest butler in Port Saint Frey, Tesara thought.
“The cab is here, Miss Yvienne, Miss Tesara,” Albero said. “And yes, I checked the driver thoroughly,” he added before they could ask.
“Thank you, Albero,” Tesara said, drawing on her gloves and setting her warm cloche on her hair, tucking her bun underneath it. “I doubt very much it would happen again.” All he and Mrs Francini knew was that it had been an attempted robbery. There was no need to frighten them with the news that Trune had returned, and he was after Miss Tesara again.
“Can’t be too careful, miss.”
“No, indeed,” Yvienne said. She was dressed for the office, her wool coat over her arm, wearing a dark blue wool dress that set off her coloring to its most advantageous. She carried a fur muff that sagged. She was armed, Tesara knew. They were sharing the cab; Yvienne to the office, and Tesara to the bank, to finally deposit the incriminating funds acquired by the Gentleman Bandit. Tesara half-hoped that Trune’s coachman would try again, but she knew he would not. He was surely planning his next attack, though.
Tesara shook her head. “He won’t try anything, and if he does…” she flexed her fingers in a sign that only Yvienne could see. “Anyway, we should go. Don’t you have an appointment with the Harrier?”
Yvienne nodded. “And the TreMondis this afternoon for an economics lesson.” Her expression softened. “I’m quite looking forward to it. Their father is dreadful but the children can’t help that. They are sweet.”
“Oh dear, it’s true,” Tesara said. “Governessing ruined you, Vivi. It’s sad, but there it is. Now the truth is out – you are a soft-hearted childminder.”
Yvienne made a rude noise. “Just because you never liked our governesses doesn’t mean all children should share that fate.” Tesara watched as Albero helped her into her coat, as correct as always, except there was a flicker of something between them as Yvienne turned to him to smile her thanks. Tesara raised an eyebrow, unnoticed by the two of them.
“We can share the hack as far as the Esplanade, and then I’ll go on to the office on foot,” Yvienne said. “I like to walk past the shipyards anyway. There are some glorious ships taking shape.” She sounded wistful.
“Soon we’ll have the Mederos fleet back,” Albero said.
The sisters didn’t look at each other. “Yes, indeed,” Yvienne said, her voice light. “Thank you, Albero. See you at dinner.”
“Have a good day, Miss Yvienne, Miss Tesara.”
Despite her certainty that Trune wouldn’t try another attack, Tesara felt a pang of anxiety as the cabbie drove them down the hill, negotiating the steep, slick street by setting and releasing the brake and talking the horses through it. She and her sister faced each other, their coats filling the cab with material. It was raw and cold. Her sister looked careworn in the gray daylight.
“How goes the House?” Tesara asked, her voice low, though there was little chance they could be heard by the driver. “I know you think I don’t have a head for business – and I don’t – but if there’s anything I can do, you must tell me.”
“We need more business,” Yvienne admitted. “Father took out two loans before he and Mother left, and the interest is not onerous, but I’d be happier if we had income from new ventures. That’s why it’s so important for me to work with Inigho – I mean, House Demaris – on this contract.”
Tesara narrowed her eyes. “Uncle is right. You do like him.”
To her horror Yvienne’s expression turned impish. “A little. Maybe. We’ve kissed,” she added with a full-on grin.
“Vivi! My rule-abiding, prim sister kissed someone?”
“What?” Yvienne maintained wide-eyed innocence. “It was just a kiss. It was lovely though. He’s rather good at it.”
Tesara couldn’t help laughing. Correct, older Inigho Demaris good at kissing… She was reminded of Jone’s kiss. It was nice, but she didn’t think it lovely. In truth, she had been so astonished that it was only until it was over that she had time to think about it.
And it doesn’t matter, she thought. Jone has gone to sea, and I much preferred him as a friend than as a beau.
The carriage slowed, and Tesara caught her breath. Yvienne tensed. Then the carriage made the correct turn, and they both relaxed. The coach merged into traffic along the Esplanade, and the wheels rumbled over the stone causeway, the roadway smoothed by generations of foot traffic and horse-drawn carriages. At the Bailet Hotel, the cabbie pulled up.
“All right then. Be careful,” Yvienne told Tesara. She gathered her things.
“I will. If Trune or his coachman tries it again, he won’t have any easier of a time.” She demonstrated, running her finger across the thin window frame, a curl of fire trailing along it. “I am very good at controlling it now.” She snapped her fingers and the fire disappeared, and with it the slight queasiness.
Yvienne gave her a long look. “If anyone else finds out–”
“No one will find out,” Tesara said. She gave her sister a kiss on the cheek. “Make the Harrier believe you.”
“I will,” Yvienne said. “See you at dinner.”
“See you at dinner.”
The Bailet lobby was dark, with only small table lamps to provide light for the patrons. Men and women in traveling dress waited amidst their luggage, and the bell rang for the bellhops with intermittent genteel tones. Every wing-backed chair was occupied, and none by the Harrier. Yvienne went to the front desk, where a correct young man gave her as intimidating a smile as his sparse mustache and spotty cheeks would allow.
“May I help you, miss?”
“I have an appointment with the – with Mr Abel Fresnel,” Yvienne said. “On House business.”
There – that was enough to make the youngster jump to. He snapped his fingers, and a young page materialized out of nowhere.
�
��Tell Mr Fresnel in Room Twenty-three that he has a visitor,” he told the page. The little boy bounced off at full speed. “Miss, would you like to wait in the ladies’ salon?”
Normally Yvienne would have preferred the lobby to being sequestered in a stuffy anteroom for propriety’s sake, but today the option was welcome. She didn’t recognize anyone at the hotel, but she had no interest in attracting attention.
She was pleased to see that she had the ladies’ salon to herself. It was warmed by a small fire in the grate and lit by floor-to-ceiling windows that let in the gray, morning light. It was furnished with small uncomfortable chairs upholstered in an alarming floral print, a faded chaise longue, and a dressing table, presumably for the tired traveler to address her toilette. There was a pile of several outdated ladies’ gazettes on an end table. Yvienne was alone for the moment, and she paced, trying to settle her nerves.
Then the door opened, and the Harrier entered. He gave her the same sweeping overview he had plied the first time they met. She had the distinct impression that he took more than her measure.
“Miss Mederos,” he said, dropping the unsophisticated accent. “How do you do?” He reached out his hand.
Not so fast, Mr Fresnel. She wasn’t Elenor. Yvienne curtseyed. For a second, some expression crossed his face – rue? amusement? – and was gone. She was struck again by his odd sort of portliness that belied the way he carried himself. He was still now, but he moved with a litheness that reminded her of an acrobat. He inhabited his body as if it were completely at his command. She decided not to waste any time.
“How do you do, sir. For the moment we have privacy, so we shall make use of it. Before I tell you, I demand your word that you will not tell anyone in the Guild that your information comes from House Mederos.”
He raised an enquiring eyebrow. “And why is that?”
“It’s enough that I demand it, sir, before I give you the information you need.” She had no desire to bring any more Guild attention down upon her family. This interview was dangerous enough as it was.
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