Mistletoe and Mayhem - Cheryl Bolen Page 0,71

toward the younger lady, winked, and swept a hand at Cassandra’s abandoned chair. “Won’t you be seated, my lady?”

When she perched on the edge of the chair, Miss Cartwright pressed a hand down on another laugh.

“Come and play for us, Charlotte,” Mother called.

“You might as well practice on us, Miss Cartwright.” George turned in his seat. “Cassandra and Nancy, sing a duet for us, if you please. Miss Cartwright will accompany you.”

Lady Glanford turned her chair to watch the performance, and he studied her profile, remembering. Mere days into her first season, Glanford had drummed up a scandal. Their marriage had spared the girl’s reputation and Glanford’s creditors. After, there’d not been one whiff of gossip about her, though her husband’s antics had kept the scandal sheets aflame, at least in those early days of their marriage.

Glanford had been dead over a year, yet she still wore a somber gray, the gown simply-styled, the waist higher than current fashion. A thick bun at her neck tamed waves that glimmered in the candle light, dark blonde without a trace of white, and her only jewelry was a gold cross embedded with garnets. Her wealth—whatever was left of it—was not on display here at Loughton Manor.

“So, you are to be Miss Cartwright’s chaperone?” he asked. “I doubt your services will be needed for the entire season.”

“What do you mean?”

“She’s a comely girl. A friend of my sisters, so she must be…lively. And I’ve been given to understand she’s well-dowered.”

Her gaze narrowed on him. “If I do this, I intend for her to take her time choosing.”

He caught his breath. There’d been ferocity in that statement.

Miss Cartwright would be allowed a choice? How would Lady Glanford manage it? She wasn’t often in London, and certainly didn’t move in the highest circles.

“I intend for her to have every opportunity to meet worthy young men.”

Ah. She didn’t want the men of the highest circles. Men like the group in the Townsends’ garden. Like her late husband, and Fitz.

And himself?

“Worthy?”

She nodded.

“And young?” He scoffed. “I’m not sure you’ll find those two qualities combined in the gentlemen of the ton.” He smiled. “Present company excluded.”

Color rose in her cheeks and her lips moved up in an answering smile that didn’t reach her lovely eyes. “Perhaps. In any case, I’ve a good eye for fortune hunters of any age.”

“Her dowry will certainly draw interest.” He recalled Fitz’s belief that Mother was matchmaking, and this lady’s sharp gaze at dinner when his arm brushed Miss Cartwright’s. “Do you think I’m a danger to her?” He drawled the question like one of the rakes who frequented White’s.

“I don’t know you well enough to say. However, you are engaged in a business endeavor, and business endeavors always require capital. You are undoubtedly looking for more funds to invest.”

“Or, the project may be fully vested.”

The gray gaze pinned him, intelligent and challenging, stirring him. This lady was not just a beautiful widow. She might be a sharp businesswoman, if she was ever allowed to engage in trade.

“So, you and your partners foresee no problems? No cost overruns? No unexpected expenses?”

There were always unforeseen matters arising. The solving of them was part of the fun. Crossing swords with this lady was fun as well.

One slim finger tapped the arm of her chair. “Building a railway is not like commissioning a shipload of goods, where a gentleman, on the expectation of great profits, might sink a fixed amount, perhaps all of his wealth and then some, and learn it has been lost to the Barbary pirates with every hand, every bottle, and every crate.” The tapping accelerated. The steady gaze darkened. “In such a case, one loses in one fell swoop. For example, as one might have, if one invested in the Matilda Rose.”

The Matilda Rose? Why bring that up? The ship had been lost years ago. Plenty of fellows had lost money, but not him. On his father’s advice, he’d withdrawn from the risky investment, and so had Fitz.

He shoved down a nagging unease, gave into annoyance, and forced a laugh. “My dear Lady Glanford. It’s rare to meet a woman so well versed in business.” He leaned forward in his chair and lowered his voice. “Perhaps I’ll be a danger to you. Do you know, you are seated under the mistletoe?”

Her finger stilled. She stood and extended her hand.

No rings, no bracelets, no other adornments. He bent over white fingers and brought them firmly against his lips.

Her shiver shook him down to