Love and the Single Heiress

Chapter 16

Today's Modern Woman needs to maintain an air of mystery in order to keep her gentleman’s interest alive. Once he knows-or thinks he knows-everything about a woman, he will consider her a “solved” puzzle and seek out a more intriguing enigma to decipher. To achieve this mysterious air, Today’s Modern Woman should never allow a gentleman to be too certain of what she’s thinking, or how she’s feeling.

A Ladies’ Guide to the Pursuit of

Personal Happiness and Intimate Fulfillment

by Charles Brightmore

Catherine entered the library, and smiled at the sight of Spencer sitting in his favorite wing chair before the fire, his nose buried in a book.

“Shakespeare?” she guessed, with a smile.

Spencer looked up and nodded. “Hamlet.”

“Such a sad story for a lovely day.”

One shoulder lifted in a shrug, and he averted his gaze, apparently finding something fascinating on the carpet-a gesture she recognized as one that signaled something was troubling him.

She approached his chair, then leaned down to lightly kiss his still damp hair. “Did you enjoy your morning soak?”

“Yes.”

“Is your leg hurting?”

“No.”

“Would you like to join me for a walk in the gardens?”

“No.”

“A ride in the curricle?”

“No.”

“A trip to the village?”

“No.”

“Accompany me on my visit with Mrs. Ralston?”

“No.”

Catherine sank down to her haunches in front of him and dipped her head until she caught his eye. She clasped his hand and smiled. “Can you tell me the names of three chess pieces?”

A puzzled frown creased his brow. “Knights, bishops, and pawns. Why do you ask?”

“I wanted to hear you say something other than ‘yes’ or ’no, ‘” she teased. When he did not smile in return, she squeezed his hand. “What’s troubling you, darling?”

Again his shoulder lifted. He plucked at his jacket with his free hand, and Catherine waited, forcing herself to remain silent even as she watched him struggle with whatever was weighing on his mind, knowing that he’d tell her when he was ready.

Finally, he drew a deep breath, and blurted out, “Mr. Stanton left.”

Catherine’s breath hitched. Ah. So that was the source of his distress. Well, she could certainly understand. Andrew was most assuredly the source of all her disquieting, conflicting thoughts. “Yes, I know he left. He told me planned to ride by the springs to say good-bye to you. Did he find you?”

“Yes.”After a few more plucks on his jacket, Spencer finally lifted his gaze and looked at her. “I wish he could have stayed here.”

As do I. The thought slapped Catherine like a cold, wet rag, and she pressed her lips together, as she realized for the first time just how very much she had not wanted him to leave.

Damnation, how had he worked his way into her life, into Spencer’s life, so thoroughly, in such a short period of time? She and Spencer had managed very well without any male interference for many years, and she realized with sudden unquestionable clarity that Andrew’s presence in their lives threatened to disrupt the peace and serenity they enjoyed.

And with all her attention on her own dismay at his return to London, she’d failed to consider how his sudden leave-taking might affect Spencer. Clearly her son had formed a strong attachment to Andrew. If Spencer was distraught by Andrew leaving for an overnight, how would he react when Andrew left for good after a week’s time? If his current expression were any indication, her son would be crushed.

“He told me about the vandalism at the museum,” Spencer said, jerking her thoughts back. “Do you suppose he’ll really be back tomorrow night?” he asked, his voice filled with both hope and doubt. “It sounds as if he’ll have much to do in Town.”

“I’m certain he’ll try. But as he cannot leave London until he puts things back to rights, don’t be too disappointed if he must stay away longer.”

“But I don’t want to miss any of my riding or pugilism lessons. And we haven’t even begun with fencing. And Mr. Stanton shouldn’t miss his sw-” Spencer’s words cut off as if sliced by a knife. His eyes widened, and color rushed into his face.

“Shouldn’t miss his what?” Catherine asked.

“I can’t say, Mum. It’s a surprise.”

“Hmmm. You two have devised a fair number of surprises together.”

Spencer’s lopsided grin broke out, and Catherine’s heart smiled in response. “We’ve had a grand time.”

“You… like Mr. Stanton?”

“I do, Mum. He’s very… decent. He’s a kind and patient teacher, but best of all, he doesn’t treat me as if I’m made of glass. Or as if I’m a child. Or… defective.” Before she could reassure him, his gaze turned quizzical, and he asked, “Don’t you like him, Mum?”

“Er, of course.” She wasn’t certain that a tepid word such as like properly described her attraction to Andrew, but she couldn’t very well tell her son that she desired the man. “Mr. Stanton is very…”Seductive. Tempting. Delicious. “… nice.”

And kind, her inner voice interjected, and she could not deny it. She had only to recall how Andrew had treated Spencer and herself to know it was true.

“Do you think he could be persuaded to stay longer than one week, Mum?”

Catherine froze at the question, anticipation and panic colliding in her. Not only for her own chaotic feelings, but for Spencer’s as well. “I think we need to accept that Mr. Stanton’s life is in London, Spencer,” she said carefully.

“Even if he were to stay on one or two days longer, which I greatly doubt he could, what with your uncle Philip not being in London, Mr. Stanton would still have to return to London.”

“But he could visit us again?” Spencer persisted. “Very soon? And often?”

Catherine prayed none of her dismay showed. Good God, she’d planned that once Andrew returned to London, and their brief affair was history, their paths would rarely, if ever, need to intersect. Seeing him again “very soon” and “often” when she had no intention of resuming their affair would be… awkward. Torture is more like what it would be, her irritatingly honest inner voice corrected. She mentally stuffed a handkerchief in her inner voice’s mouth to silence its unwanted musings.

“Spencer, I really don’t think-”

“Perhaps we can visit Mr. Stanton in London.”

Catherine simply stared, stunned. Never before had he made such a suggestion. After she swallowed, she said as casually as she could, “You would want to travel to London?”

Spencer pressed his lips together, then shook his head. “No,” he whispered. “I… no.” He jutted his chin out at a stubborn angle. “So we’ll just have to make certain Mr. Stanton visits us. Surely he would if we both asked him, Mum.”

Catherine patted his hand, then rose. “Perhaps,” she murmured, knowing she would not extend such an invitation and hating herself for giving Spencer even that small bit of hope. The affair had to end. Permanently. Which meant that once Andrew returned to London at week’s end he would make no more visits to Little Longstone.

Andrew turned in a slow circle, surveying the museum’s damaged walls and floor, the empty spaces where paned glass should have glistened. His hands clenched, in a perfect match to his tight jaw, while anger pumped through him. Bastards. By God, they’ll be bruised and bloodied bastards if they are ever caught.

“As you can see, all the broken glass has been swept away,” Simon Wentworth reported. “The glazier will be here within the hour to speak with you about commissioning new windows. I’ve taken on six additional men to help with the floor and wall repairs, which, as you can see are extensive.”

Andrew nodded, blowing out a long breath. “Extensive does not begin to describe this damage.”

“I agree. The way the wood is hacked up, well, it quite gives me the shivers. Smacks of violence, if you ask me. Would hate to meet up with the fiends who did this.”

Andrew’s jaw tightened. I’d love to meet up with the fiends who did this. “How long before the repairs are completed?”

“At least eight weeks, Mr. Stanton.”

Damn it to hell and back. That meant another two months of workmen’s wages to be paid, two more months of paying for storage for the museum’s artifacts, to say nothing of the two-month delay in opening the museum. Or the exorbitant cost of the materials. He knew exactly how much the windows, walls, and floors had cost the first time around.

“Any word from the investors?” Andrew asked.

Simon winced. “I’m afraid bad news travels quickly. Mr. Carmichael and Lords Borthrasher and Kingsly, as well as Mrs. Warrenfield, sent ‘round notes requesting to see you today. The letters were rather tersely worded, I’m afraid. They await you on your desk.”

Andrew banked his anger and forced himself to concentrate on the matters at hand. Obviously, Mrs. Warrenfield, Mr. Carmichael, and Lords Borthrasher and Kingsly were no longer taking the waters in Little Longstone and had returned to London. Lord Borthrasher had already made a sizable investment to which he was considering adding a significant sum, while the other three had been on the verge of handing over funds. The museum’s success depended upon actually securing those monies…

“Answer the letters, Simon, inviting the investors to meet me here at five this evening.”

“Do you think it’s wise to let them see this?”

“Yes. If we don’t invite them, they will come here on their own anyway, and that will reflect badly on us. They need to know precisely what happened and what steps we’re taking toward repairs and ensuring this does not happen again. We don’t want them to think we’re trying to hide something. Investors who feel as if they are not being told the entire truth can become very nervous, and nervous investors are not something I care to heap upon the mess we’re already facing.”

“I’ll send the notes off right away, Mr. Stanton.” Simon turned, then headed toward the small office tucked away in the far corner of the room.

Andrew blew out a long bream, then removed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. There was much work to be done, and by God, he wanted some of it completed by the time he sat down to write to Philip about this.

Catherine paced in front of Genevieve, her peach muslin gown swirling about her ankles every time she turned in the confines of her friend’s cozy drawing room. “I’m glad he’s gone,” she said, proud of the decisive ring in her voice.

“So you’ve said,” Genevieve murmured. “Three times in the past hour alone.”

“Well, only to reiterate my point.”

“Which is what precisely?”

“That I’m glad he’s gone.”

“Yes, that is, er, evident. However, you do realize that Mr. Stanton will be returning to Little Longstone. Tomorrow.”

Catherine waved aside the comment. “Yes, but by then I’ll have everything once again settled into perspective. I’m certain my chat with you will clear up all my… confusion. Then, he’ll be here for only a few more days, and poof!” She snapped her fingers. “Back to London he’ll go.”

“A prospect that makes you happy?”

“Deliriously happy,” Catherine agreed. “Then Spencer and I can resume our routine without interruption.”

When Genevieve made no reply, Catherine glanced toward the settee. The expression of utter disbelief on her friend’s face caused her footsteps to falter, and she halted. “What?”

“Catherine, has it not occurred to you that the ‘interruption’ Mr. Stanton has brought to your routine is a good thing?” Before Catherine could reply, Genevieve continued, “From everything you’ve told me, the man is divine. Naturally he’s irritating at times, but as I’ve told you, all men are. However, all men are not the other things your Mr. Stanton is-handsome, strong, romantic, thoughtful. An accomplished and generous lover.”

Heat rose in Catherine’s cheeks, and Genevieve laughed. “Yes, I can tell that without your divulging any specific details, darling. The look of a well-loved woman is written all over you.”

“I never said he wasn’t all those things,” Catherine said. “But-”

“And the friendship he’s taken the time to forge with your son is clearly bolstering Spencer’s confidence. Surely that must please you.”

“In one way, yes, but it also represents another source of concern. I fear Spencer stands to be devastated when Andrew returns to London for good.”

“And what about you, Catherine?” Genevieve asked gently, her blue eyes soft with concern. “Do you, too, stand to be devastated?”

“Certainly not,” Catherine said, but somehow the words badly affected her knees to the point that she sought refuge in the wing chair opposite Genevieve. Once seated, she continued, “Today’s Modern Woman is not devastated by the end of an affair.”

“Darling, any woman would be devastated by the end of an affair if she cared deeply for her lover. I know firsthand of such heartbreaking pain, and trust me, I would not wish it upon anyone.”

“Well, I run no risk of that as I do not care ‘deeply’ for Andrew.”

“Really?”

Catherine laughed lightly. “I don’t mean to imply that I don’t care for him at all. ‘Tis just that I barely know him. I’ll readily admit that I desire him; however, deeper feelings that could leave one ’devastated‘ only develop over long periods of time. And most often between people who share common interests and backgrounds.”

Genevieve nodded. “Naturally a lady of your noble lineage would share few common interests with a man of Mr. Stanton’s background. Why, he’s a commoner! Even worse, a colonial commoner.”

“Precisely,”Catherine said, although Genevieve’s ready agreement and true words irked.

“ ‘Tis a blessing that your attraction to Mr. Stanton is merely physical and that his departure for London at week’s end will not affect you adversely in the slightest.”

“A blessing indeed.”

An exasperated sound escaped Genevieve. “Catherine, what I am about to say, I say out of love, friendship, and loyalty to you.” Leaning forward, she pinned Catherine with an emotion-filled stare. “I have never, in my entire life, been forced to endure listening to a more ridiculous pile of rubbish. I’m utterly flabbergasted that I heard such idiotic notions coming from you, of all people. Not to mention lies.”

Dismay, edged with stunned amazement, not to mention a dose of hurt, flooded Catherine. “I would not lie to you, Genevieve.”

“It’s not me, but yourself that you’re lying to, my dear. You may say ‘I’m glad he’s gone’ and ‘I’m only engaging in a temporary affair’ as many times as you wish, but even a million utterances will not make those words true. You’re certainly not convincing me, and I think, if you took the time to examine your own heart, you’d realize that you can’t convince yourself, either. No matter how hard we try to wish away our heart’s desire, we cannot. We may choose not to act upon it, but we cannot ever fully wish it away.”

Catherine opened her mouth to reply, but before she could utter a word, Genevieve pressed on. “Even if we assume for one insane moment that your feelings for Mr. Stanton fall into the lukewarm category, have you given any thought at all to his feelings for you? Because I assure you, they are anything but lukewarm.”

Genevieve’s words threatened to bring to the foreground emotions Catherine refused to examine. “I realize he cares for me, but he agreed that when the week is over, our affair ends as well.”

There was no missing the combination of concern and annoyance emanating from Genevieve’s eyes. “Darling, he more than cares for you. I could see it plainly at the duke’s soiree. The way he looked at you when he knew himself observed, and even more telling, the way he looked at you when he believed himself unobserved…”She breathed out a long, shivery sigh. “My God. The passion, the want, the emotion in his eyes was blatant. Watching him look at you, waltz with you, I felt as if I’d walked in on an intimate tкte-а-tкte. You are sadly mistaken if you believe that man will simply vanish from your life in a week’s time.”

“I do not intend to give him a choice. He knows full well, as do you, that I’ve no intention of marrying again. And even if I wished to shackle myself to another husband, I certainly would not choose a man whose life is in London. I’ve no intention of removing Spencer from the security of our home, from the life we’ve created here in Little Longstone, from the healing warm springs. And if my husband and I were to live separately, lead separate lives, what is the point in marrying? Spencer and I have already suffered through such an arrangement, and once is quite enough.”

Genevieve leaned back and raised her brows. “Has Mr. Stanton asked you to marry him?”

“Well, no, but-”

“Hinted that he intends to ask you?”

Catherine frowned. “No, but-”

“Perhaps you are worrying for naught. Perhaps all he wants is a long-standing affair.”

“Which is unfortunate as I was, and am, only willing to engage in a short-lived affair.”

Genevieve nodded slowly. “Yes, well perhaps that is best. After all, a prolonged affair would entail spending more time together, which in turn could lead to those feelings that might leave one devastated when the affair ended.”

“Exactly.”

“Best to cut things off before there is any risk of developing a deeper attachment.”

“Precisely.”

“After all, except for in the biblical sense, you barely know Mr. Stanton.”

“Correct.”

“What do you know of his background? His family? His upbringing? His life in America?”

“Nothing,”Catherine answered, relaxing a bit. Finally, this conversation was on the proper course.

Genevieve frowned. “Although… you were very well acquainted with Lord Bickley before he asked for your hand, were you not?”

A warning bell chimed in the back of Catherine’s mind. “Our families were well acquainted, yes,” she admitted.

“Indeed, I recall you mentioning that you’d known him nearly your entire life, is that not correct?”

“Yes.”

“And you believed that he was a decent, kind, loving man.”

Catherine frowned. “I see what you are trying to do, Genevieve, but what you are saying only serves to prove my point. Yes, when I married Bertrand-a man I’d known my entire life-I believed us well matched. I thought him kind and decent. And although I did not harbor any deep, heartrending emotion toward him, I felt respect and an affection that I was confident would bloom into an abiding love. I honestly cared for him. And look how disastrously my marriage turned out. If I’m capable of so misjudging a man I’d known for years, how could I hope to properly judge a man with whom I’m barely acquainted?”

Genevieve searched her gaze for several seconds then said, “I shall give you an honest answer to that question Catherine. Lord Bickely was cosseted and fussed over his entire privileged life. I’d wager to say that if Spencer had been born perfect, you and your viscount would have maintained a formal, friendly union, without either of you ever developing any ‘deep’ or ‘heartrending’ emotions toward one another. It was when adversity was thrown at your husband that he showed his true character.”

“I wholeheartedly agree. My father has often said that how a man handles difficulties is the true test of his worth.”

“And look how Mr. Stanton has handled himself since arriving in London. He has remained steadfast and loyal to your brother and their museum project. He kept a calm, cool head, protecting you and administering aid when you were hurt. He set his own concerns aside to escort you to Little Longstone to ensure your safety. He has taken the time to develop a relationship with your son. He is not a pampered aristocrat, but a man who has made himself. In the short time you’ve known him, you’ve shared more intimacies with him than you did with your husband of ten years. That is how you know what sort of man he is.”

Catherine closed her eyes and pressed her fingertips against her temples. “Why are you saying these things? I came here hoping you’d help me see things more clearly.”

“That is precisely what I am attempting to do. I believe the problem is that I am not saying the things you wish to hear.”

She lowered her hands into her lap and offered a weak smile. “No, you’re not.”

“Because I’m your friend. Because I don’t want you to make a mistake that you’ll regret the rest of your life. Because not facing the truth, not listening to your heart is more damaging, more hurtful than any other pain. And I do not think you’ve really examined your heart in this matter, Catherine. You’re afraid to do so, which, given your past, is completely understandable. Indeed, I would be frightened as well were I in your position. But you must try to put your fears aside. You were denied happiness for so long, my dear. Don’t deny yourself again.”

“But don’t you see, I’m not denying myself! I wanted a lover, so I took one. I don’t want a husband, so I won’t take one. There are precisely four reasons why a woman should marry.” She ticked the items off on her fingers as she said, “To increase her fortune, to better her social standing, to have a child, or if she requires someone to take care of her. As I am financially secure, am high enough in precedence, already have a child, and do not require someone to take care of me, I’ve absolutely no need or desire for a husband.”

“There is a fifth reason for a woman to marry, darling.”

“What’s that?”

“Love. But since you’re obviously not in love-”

“I’m not.”

“Well, that’s that.”

“Yes, it is. I’m happy, Genevieve.” As for examining her heart, she’d done so thoroughly enough. She’d certainly delved as deeply as she intended to.

For several seconds, Genevieve said nothing, just treated Catherine to an unreadable look. Then she smiled.

“I’m glad you’re happy, darling. And very relieved that you won’t be suffering a broken heart. And obviously you know what is best for you. And Spencer.”

“Thank you. And yes, I do.” Yet even as she said the words, Catherine had the sneaking suspicion that she’d agreed to something she should not have.

“Now tell me dear, whom do you think you’ll take as your next lover?”

Catherine blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“Your next lover. Do you think you’d prefer an older, more experienced man? Or perhaps a dashing young Brummel sort you could easily bend to your will?”

A most unpleasant sensation prowled over her skin at the thought of another man touching her. Before she could reply, Genevieve mused, “And I wonder what sort of woman will next warm Mr. Stanton’s bed? I’m certain he won’t be lonely for long. Heavens, you saw how the duke’s nieces all but salivated at the sight of him. And London is positively littered with gorgeous, sophisticated women looking for a distraction from their daily lives. Mr. Stanton would certainly provide a lovely distraction.”

Heat suffused Catherine’s body. An impossibly unpleasant sensation prowled over her skin at the thought of another woman touching Andrew. She narrowed her eyes at Genevieve, who regarded her with the innocence of an angel. “I know what you are doing, Genevieve.”

Her friend smiled. “Is it working?”

Yes. “No!” She jumped to her feet, a myriad of emotions pummeling her. Confusion. Frustration. Anguish. Fear. Jealousy. And anger. Her hands clenched, and she tried to decide if she was more angry with Genevieve for goading her, at Andrew for bringing all these unsettling feelings into her life, or at herself for allowing the situation to evolve into this.

“I don’t care who his next lover might be,” she fumed, anger convincing her she spoke the truth. “Nor do I know who mine will be. But I’m certain I’ll find someone. Why should I be alone?”

“Why indeed?”

Genevieve’s complacency only further served to fuel Catherine’s ire. Determination stiffened her spine. “Exactly. I shouldn’t be alone, nor do I intend to be.” Reaching down, she picked up her reticule. “Thank you, Genevieve, for this chat. It has proven most… enlightening.”

“Always glad to help, my dear.”

“Now, if you’ll please excuse me, there is someone I must call upon.”

Something that looked like worry flickered in Genevieve’s eyes, but was instantly replaced with her normal insouciance. “Of course. Shall I see you out?”

“No, thank you. I know the way.”

And I know exactly where I’m going.

Andrew stood a bit apart from Mr. Carmichael, Lords Borthrasher and Kingsly, and Mrs. Warrenfield, waiting for them visually to assess the museum’s damage. Finally, they turned toward him, each bearing grim expressions.

“This is dreadful,” Mrs. Warrenfield murmured in her deep, raspy voice, her words partially muffled by her black veil.

“A frightful mess,” Lord Borthrasher agreed, his lip curled with distaste, his cold, vulturelike stare skimming over the room.

Lord Kingsly’s beady eyes narrowed, and he folded his arms over his paunch. “Never seen the likes of this.”

“Looks to me like it might take even longer than the two months you’ve estimated to put this back to rights,” Mr. Carmichael said, slowly stroking his chin, drawing Andrew’s attention to the man’s intricate gold ring bearing a square-cut diamond surrounded by onyx. Carmichael then clasped his hands behind his back and glared at Andrew. “Have you nothing to say, Mr. Stanton?”

Andrew’s gaze encompassed the group. “I am confident that two months will be sufficient time. I’ve spoken with the glazier regarding new windowpanes, and additional workers have been hired on to re-lay the floor. Barring any unforeseen problems, we will be fully caught up in two months’ time.”

“You mean barring any further unforeseen disasters,” Lord Kingsly said. “Have the scoundrels who did this damage been apprehended?”

“Not yet.”

“And it is most likely they won’t be caught,” Mr. Carmichael added with a scowl. “I’m appalled at the abundance of crime I’ve witnessed since arriving in London only a few short weeks ago. Pickpockets and thieves abound everywhere, even in the best parts of the city. Why, it was only a matter of days ago that Lady Catherine was shot-in the supposedly safe section of Mayfair.”

“The man responsible for that crime has been caught- much in thanks to your efforts, Mr. Carmichael,” Andrew reminded him. “It is true that criminals exist in England, but unfortunately they are everywhere.” He offered the man a half smile. “Even in America.”

“A fact of which I assure you I am aware,” Mr. Carmichael said in a frosty voice.

“Footpads everywhere,” Lord Kingsly chimed in. “Can’t trust anyone nowadays.”

“I completely agree,” Mr. Carmichael said, his narrowed gaze never leaving Andrew’s. “Tell me, Mr. Stanton, what guarantees do we, or any of the other investors have, that something like this won’t happen again?”

“Good heavens,” Mrs. Warrenfield said. “Again?”

“Certainly possible,” Lord Kingsly interjected before Andrew could reply, “especially as the perpetrators haven’t been caught. Probably some sort of game to them. Recall something similar occurring a few years back to Sir Whitscour’s renovations on his Surrey estate.”

“I remember that,” Lord Borthrasher agreed, lifting his pointed chin. “The minute Sir Whitscour set things back to rights, they were destroyed all over again. Might have a similar situation here.”

“I give you my word that steps will be taken to ensure the museum suffers no further damage. We’ll hire additional guards to patrol the perimeter,” he said.

“All well and good,” Mr. Carmichael said, “but I understand from the magistrate that the museum was already under guard, and that your man was rendered senseless by the vandals. Regardless of how many guards you might employ, they would be no match against a potential gang of evildoers.” He shook his head. “I’m afraid, Mr. Stanton, that what I’ve seen here, coupled with what I heard last evening, convinces me that investing in your museum is not a risk I’m willing to take.”

“What you heard last evening?” Andrew asked. “What are you talking about?”

“Rumors concerning the financial security-or rather lack thereof-of this museum enterprise were running rampant at the soiree I attended. As were questions regarding the authenticity of some of the relics you and Lord Greybourne claim to possess.”

Andrew forced his features to remain perfectly settled while anger shot through him. “I’ve no idea how such vicious rumors started, but I’m surprised that you would pay heed to such ridiculous gossip, Mr. Carmichael. I assure you that the museum is in sound financial shape. I’d be happy to show you, all of you, the accounts as proof. As for the relics, they have all been authenticated by experts attached to the British Museum.”

The chill did not leave Mr. Carmichael’s eyes. “I do not wish to see the accounts, as this project is no longer of any interest or consequence to me. I’m only thankful that I’d yet actually to sink any funds into this folly.” He turned to his companions and bowed. “You three should, of course, make your own decisions regarding this matter. Lords Avenbury and Ferrymouth, and the Duke of Kelby anxiously wait to hear what we’ve seen here today, and I’m guessing they will not find the report favorable.”

“Easy for you to walk away, Carmichael,” Lord Borthrasher grumbled. “It’s too late for me. I’ve already handed over five hundred pounds.”

“An investment that will prove profitable once-” Andrew began.

“ ‘Fraid I’m with Carmichael on this one,” Lord Kingsly said. “Greybourne’s a good man, but ’tis clear his interest in the museum has waned since his marriage, and I’m not eager to throw away any money. My wife does that quite well enough already.”

“I must concur with the gentlemen,” Mrs. Warrenfield said, her husky voice filled with regret. “I’m truly sorry, Mr. Stanton, but as you know, my health is quite fragile. It simply would be too much for my delicate state to be constantly worrying about not receiving any return on my investment.”

Andrew gritted his teeth. He could see by their expressions that no amount of cajoling on his part would change their minds-at least not today. “I see. While I understand your concerns, I assure you they are groundless. When the repairs are completed, I hope you will reconsider.”

Their expressions withered any hope of that outcome. After bidding him good day, they left as a group, and Andrew dragged his hand down his face. Bloody hell. Lord Kinglsy and Mrs. Warrenfield had each hinted at investing one thousand pounds. Yet losing that wasn’t nearly as crushing a blow as losing the five thousand pounds Mr. Carmichael had expressed interest in investing. And how many other potential investors would follow their lead and retreat? He suspected Avenbury, Ferrymouth, and Kelby would follow like sheep. He’d hoped to have some good news to relay when he wrote to Philip this evening, but unfortunately good news was proving difficult to come by.

He blew out a long sigh and raked his hands through his hair in frustration. Vandalism, harmful rumors, deserting investors-any one of these problems could spell disaster. The combination of all of them boded very poorly for the future of the museum, which in turn did not bode well for Andrew’s personal finances, which were largely invested in the project. Now, more than ever, he needed the handsome reward offered to him by Lords Markingworth, Whitly, and Carweather for discovering Charles Brightmore’s identity. He could only pray that the reward would not prove to be out of his reach.

Seeing that the cleaning procedures were under control, he decided it was high time he devoted some effort to the Brightmore endeavor. After telling Simon that he’d return in several hours, Andrew left the museum.

One way or another, he would find the answers he sought.