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‘Have something to eat. It might help to improve that mood you’re in,’ Hart said after they settled in with their steaming mugs of coffee and buttery-smelling breads.
‘I’m fine.’
‘You don’t appear to be fine. You look as if you will rip apart our waiter should he offer you more coffee. Which is rather inconvenient since I believe I will be having more than one cup.’
‘Lyonsdale is wrong about this. You know that, don’t you?’
‘Lyonsdale will never change.’ Hart brushed a lock of his black hair out of his eyes. ‘You know he is not one to part with his money easily.’
‘But how could he not see the immediate value in this?’
Hart picked up his knife and began to spread marmalade on his bread. ‘Instead of obsessing over the fact that Lyonsdale would not give us all the money we require, let’s talk about who we should approach next. You always get so offended whenever someone doesn’t see your vision or care to invest.’
‘I do not.’
‘Yes, you do.’
‘No, I don’t.’
‘Yes. Yes, you do. You should see how that vein in your temple is pulsing right now.’
Lane rubbed his temple before he caught the mischievous glint in Hart’s eye. ‘You’re an ass. And if it is pulsing, as you say, it’s because I’m with you.’
His response only served to make Hart laugh. ‘You, my friend, view life far too seriously. Stop trying to prove something. There is no need. You already are successful.’
‘I’m not trying to prove anything. I am trying to make money for you and me and I would think you would appreciate that.’
‘I do. However, we both know that there is more to this than that and that’s why you’ve taken Lyonsdale’s decision so hard.’
‘And when did you suddenly become qualified to say what my motives are? You, of all people. You are a complicated wreck and you know it.’
‘Correction. I was a complicated wreck. Now, I’m just complicated.’
‘How does Sarah live with you?’
‘She finds my complications endearing.’
‘At least someone does.’ To avoid having to look at Hart’s cocky grin, he turned his attention away from his friend.
And spotted Mrs Sommersby, sitting not far from them.
She was wearing a pink and green dress as she sat with a red-haired young woman. Both women appeared to be enjoying each other’s company as they placed their orders with their waiter.
‘...are much less conservative in their investing than Lyonsdale,’ he heard Hart say, breaking into his study of Mrs Sommersby. ‘I believe there is a good chance that I can get them to commit to this.’
‘Who?’
‘Weren’t you listening to me?’ Hart scanned the area of the room where Mrs Sommersby sat as if he were trying to determine what had captured Lane’s attention. With so many people sitting near them, it would be impossible for him to work it out. Hart must have come to that conclusion as well, since he looked back at Lane. ‘I’ll be heading back to London in two days to handle some additional affairs that need my attention and will speak with a number of potential investors then. Hopefully, soon, we will have the funds we need to create this spa of yours.’
At the mention of the spa, Lane found it hard to swallow the bread in his mouth. ‘Hopefully they will be more willing to invest in it than Lyonsdale was.’
Not wishing to dwell any further on his aggravating day, Lane’s attention was drawn back to Mrs Sommersby, who was now speaking in an animated fashion to her companion. Narrowing his focus on to her lips, he tried to determine what she might be saying. Some people were proficient in reading lips. Lane discovered he was not.
‘I propositioned the older one once. Years ago, before I met Sarah.’
The fact that Hart had leaned closer to him when he said it made it hard to ignore the comment.
‘Who?’
‘The dark-haired woman sitting with the red-haired chit you’ve been staring at.’ With his head, he nodded in the direction of Mrs Sommersby’s table. ‘She’s a widow by the name of Sommersby. The beauty beside her with the flaming hair and full lips I’ve never seen before, so I cannot help you there.’
The idea of Hart and Mrs Sommersby together made Lane’s stomach drop. It shouldn’t matter to him who this woman chose to spend time with. He didn’t even know her. ‘What makes you believe I was staring at any woman in this room? Perhaps I was simply staring off, not wanting to continue to look at your face.’
The studied expression Hart was giving him made him shift a bit in his seat.
‘My mistake.’
‘Do you have any particular investors in mind that you’ll be contacting?’
‘I do. There are two gentlemen in particular that—’
‘What did you say when you propositioned her?’ Lane felt his forehead wrinkle as he continued to try to push away the image of Mrs Sommersby with his friend.
‘Pardon?’
‘Mrs Sommersby? What did you say to her...exactly?’ Having the need to do something with his mouth so he would just stop talking, Lane took a sip of coffee and waited.
His friend chose that very moment to take a bite of bread, prolonging the time it took him to answer. ‘I don’t remember my exact words.’
‘Well...what is it that you think you might have said to her?’
‘Well... I think I might have asked if she’d care to take a turn with me in the darkened gardens during a ball we attended together. It was probably a cold night and I may have offered to keep her warm as we looked at the stars.’
‘Have you had much success with that suggestion?’
‘You’d be surprised.’ Hart took another bite of bread.
An inexplicable lump formed in Lane’s throat. ‘So you are intimately acquainted with the woman?’
‘Mrs Sommersby?’ Hart shook his head. ‘No, I thought you were just referring to the suggestion in itself. I’d had a bit of success with it in the past.’
‘But not with her?’
Once again, Hart shook his head, but this time the movement was slower. ‘No, no. If I recall correctly, she was flattered, but I am certain she definitely declined.’ Picking up his cup, he looked over to where Mrs Sommersby was sitting. ‘Before Sarah, I had a marked preference for older women.’
‘She’s not that old,’ Lane replied, sounding almost indignant, which was strange since he had no reason to feel insulted on her behalf.
‘Well, she is certainly older than the girls the mothers try to throw into your path when you are an earl attending a ball, I can tell you that. I found older women more at ease with themselves and they know their desires much better than a girl out of the schoolroom usually does. And if you find the right one, you don’t have to fear being trapped into marriage.’
‘Is that why you spent your time with married women?’
‘I had no desire to deflower a virgin and then leave her reputation in tatters. And I never saw the appeal of paying for sex. Married women whose husbands had mistresses were my haven.’
‘But you said you propositioned Mrs Sommersby and she’s a widow.’
‘Yes, but she’s a widow who had made it known that she was not interested in marriage. With her looks and lively character, and that bit of information, I was taken with her for an entire Season.’
‘An entire Season?’
‘It was a number of years after her husband died and as I said, years ago. And just because I was taken with her doesn’t mean that I was celibate for all those months.’ The smile on his face reached his eyes. ‘Perhaps that was why she turned me down. She’s a shrewd one, that one.’
‘Perhaps she simply didn’t find you attractive.’
‘We both know that cannot be the reason.’
‘Have you always been this confident in your charms?’
Hart appeared to give the question consideration. ‘Yes. I suppose I have been. But that doesn’t signify now. Now I am a contented married man who can look back with pleasant nostalgia on the life I led. What about you? You are not one to place your relationships out for the world to see. Are you as confident with women as you are with business? I’ve not witnessed that side of you in all the years we’ve known each other.’
The waiter came to their table to clear away their plates, saving Lane from having to answer.
‘Lane?’
Damn. He hated the thought that went into answering questions like this. Years ago, Lane learned no good came from analysing his feelings. It was best to move through life without thinking too much about what anything made him feel. He had become quite skilled at it.
‘I do well for myself.’
The vague comment made Hart laugh. ‘With the money you’ve made I’m sure you do and I’ve been told you are not hard on the eyes.’
Lane sat up a bit taller. ‘By whom?’
‘Miss Violet Westfield, one of Sarah’s friends. She saw us together some time ago. I can introduce you when you are back in London, if you like?’
Was his wife’s friend as attractive as Mrs Sommersby? Not that Mrs Sommersby was an outstanding beauty, but she was pretty and there was just something about her. He turned back to take a look to try to determine what it was.
‘If we can get the funding we need, it might be some time before I’m back in London,’ he replied, keeping his eyes on Mrs Sommersby.
‘And your decision is based solely on your need to remain here on business?’
When Lane looked back at Hart, he wanted to hit that all-too-perceptible smirk off his face.
‘Yes.’
‘Hmm. Well, I’m sure you have things that you need to address back at the coffee house and I promised Sarah that I would be home by noon to go with her for a drive around the countryside, so why don’t I ask for the bill and we can leave?’
‘I’ll take care of it. Why don’t you go on ahead? I’m going to sit here and finish my coffee.’
‘Your coffee?’ That smile was back on Hart’s face. ‘I see. Well you wouldn’t want to leave any coffee in that cup of yours, now would you?’
‘No, I would not. And stop looking at me like that. I told you, I’m just finishing my coffee.’
‘If that’s what you want to call it, that is fine with me. I can’t imagine where you might find another cup of coffee in this town.’
‘You really should go. It would be a pity if you returned late to your wife and caused her to bar you from your bedchamber tonight.’
‘That is not likely to happen—however, I’ll let you enjoy your coffee in peace.’ He stood up and adjusted his cuffs. ‘I will stop by to see you before I leave for London.’
‘When do you expect to have an answer for me?’
‘Sarah and I had planned to leave on Friday. You’ll have your answer in about a week or so.’
A week of not knowing if they would be able to proceed was going to feel like an eternity. His grip tightened around the handle of his cup. One of the worst things about needing other people to help finance his business ventures was that it put him at someone else’s mercy. More than anything he hated having to depend on other people. After living the first sixteen years of his life in the Foundling Hospital, he had learned very early on to live his life without being dependent on anyone for anything. It took a great deal of effort to relinquish some of his control.
‘Do try not to be such a curmudgeon while I am gone. You wouldn’t want Mrs Sommersby to find out what a grump you can be.’
It was very tempting to trip Hart on his way past him and as his friend walked towards Mrs Sommersby’s table he almost wished he had done it. In true Hart fashion, he looked back at Lane with a smile before he altered his course slightly, missing the table where she sat.
Every nerve in his body was strung tight. Relying on others was not something he was comfortable with, but unfortunately it was part of doing business. And now he would have to wait a week before he knew if they could move forward with their plans.
As his vision began to clear, Mrs Sommersby came into focus. How long he had been staring sightlessly at her, he had no idea. She was listening intently to what her companion was saying. What did women talk about when they weren’t in the company of men? The question had never occurred to him until now. Once more, Lane tried to read lips and once more he failed miserably.
She had this way of gracefully moving her fingers as she continually spun her cup in her saucer. It was distinctly possible that she wasn’t even aware she was doing it, but oddly enough watching her movement was easing his agitation. Suddenly she looked his way and, as their eyes met, a slow smile spread across her face. Something inside him shifted and it felt as if the sun had come out for the first time during this very gloomy day.
Chapter Seven (#u75f4568f-8407-5714-a0b0-45f922e8c629)
Spotting Mr Lane sitting approximately four tables away from her in the bustling Lower Assembly Room had made a fine morning even better. It had been quite some time since Clara had captured the attention of an attractive man in his thirties—at least one that was unaware of her lofty family connections or her very comfortable financial position. And even though she knew his attention had more to do with the fact she was probably one of the only people he recognised in the room, it still was a wonderful feeling.
When she dipped her head as a silent greeting, he returned the gesture with the smallest of smiles.
‘I would so love to see The Rivals,’ Miss Harriet Collingswood said, drawing Clara’s attention away from Mr Lane and back to the conversation she had been having with her new friend. Harriet was the older daughter of her neighbour; the one the Dowager had suggested might be in need of their help finding a husband. ‘My mother doesn’t like Mr Sheridan’s work and has refused to take us to see the play,’ she continued. ‘She had seen two of his plays in the past and found little humour in them. However, I heard they are quite amusing and I do so love to laugh.’
Giving Harriet a sympathetic smile, Clara resisted the urge to see if Mr Lane was still watching her. With a concerted effort, she focused all of her attention on the woman sitting across the small round table from her.
The more time Clara spent with the young woman, the more she discovered she liked her. Taking her to the spa this morning to drink the waters with her and then bringing her here to the Lower Assembly Room for breakfast had proved to be a wise decision. It had become apparent that spending time with her while Clara searched for potential husbands for the woman would be rather enjoyable.
Although, currently, it was proving to be impossible to keep her attention on her for very long. The urge to glance over at Mr Lane was too great and her gaze slid over to him once more.
His eyes were still on her.
She needed to appear composed and unaffected by his attention. She was a middle-aged woman. His attention shouldn’t make her want to smile, yet it was taking great effort on her part to keep her expression neutral as she quickly looked back at Harriet. ‘And your sister? Does Ann have a desire to see the play?’
‘No. Ann prefers operas. She tends to favour whatever is considered the height of fashion at the moment and has heard that many women of the ton favour it. Have you seen any of Mr Sheridan’s plays?’
‘I have seen all of his work and every production.’ This might be just the opportunity Clara was looking for to remove Harriet from her family long enough to introduce her to potential suitors. ‘Do you think your mother will be willing to spare you for one evening? If she would, I’d be happy to take you to see it at the Theatre Royal. I have a box there.’
The invitation appeared to embarrass Harriet, who lowered her eyes to the table. ‘That is very generous of you, but I don’t want to impose on your time that way. Please do not think it was my intention to try to garner an invitation from you.’
‘The thought never occurred to me and it would be no imposition at all. I’d enjoy your company.’ She fiddled with her cup in its saucer, trying to decide how to best ask the question that sprang out of her curiosity about the sisters. While she was thinking how to tactfully phrase her question, Harriet took matters into her own hands.
