be earnings, though.”
“Earnings come slowly. Most expect when they begin a business that it will equate with instant revenue. That’s not the case. One operates at a loss for many, many months. Sometimes years. And even then, there’s the cost of all that goes into the upkeep that makes the road to a high return a very slow one.”
He spoke from experience.
And Lila found herself discountenanced by the fact of how ignorant she’d been. Even after Peterloo, and after having witnessed the class struggle with her own eyes, she’d still not had a proper appreciation for how easily life came to those of her station.
She wished to open a business. She wished to purchase a building, and she’d simply assumed she had all the necessary funds to fuel everything that went into her operation. And as he’d sat here, she’d been even more woefully ignorant to all that went into proprietorship . . . and just how costly it all was.
Whereas, Hugh? He, who worked his days and nights, toiling relentlessly, still found himself struggling financially. It was why he’d felt a sense of debt to his partners. It was why he’d not had the luxury of simply challenging them outright. “I have some funds.” It seemed somehow wrong to speak of those monies that had come to her through nothing she’d done. Through no accomplishments of her own. Unlike Hugh, who’d worked with his hands to make every last pence to his name.
“Funds?”
“Not enough for all you’ve outlined here. There is a portion of my dowry, however, that reverts to me should I not wed.” And even more were she to marry. Never before had she considered just how unfair those terms were.
“How much?” he asked. There was such a forthrightness to that question that no member of Polite Society would have dared ask. And it was just another reason she appreciated him all the more. For in discussing business, there should be a frank candidness.
“Twelve thousand pounds.” That she had access to were she not to marry. Another twelve would come to her if she wed. Which she would not . . .
Unbidden, an image slipped in of her and Hugh, married . . .
He whistled and grabbed the previously discarded notes, reexamining them. “The operational cost will not pose any difficulty; however, having the funds to establish the setup doesn’t mean a person can’t lose their money by missteps.” And it spoke even more to him that he’d not pass judgment on her for simply having been granted that good fortune through her birthright. “And you’ve a family who supports you in doing what you would with your funding?”
They supported Lila . . . but would that sentiment expand to include her taking on a venture, as Clara had? Nay. You already know the answer. She shifted and stole a furtive glance at the covered portrait of Sylvia and Norman. Nor would Henry turn over one pence more when he learned of her intentions. She knew her brother enough to know that. Even changed as he’d been with marriage, he’d not support this endeavor.
Hugh’s gaze followed hers to the black bombazine draped over that gilded frame. “They . . . don’t know.”
How was it possible for a person to know so very much about her that he might predict her very thoughts? “They don’t.”
“Have you kept your intentions from them because you think they’ll disapprove, or because you think they’ll attempt to stop you, Lila?” he asked.
She didn’t think . . . she knew. “Both.”
“Seems like someone as bold and courageous as you would at least be honest with your family about your dreams.”
“It is complicated.”
“Your brother-in-law was killed in a boxing match at Gentleman Jackson’s. Your brother is protective of you because you’re a lady, and your mother wouldn’t countenance a daughter who operated a business, let alone one that catered to fighting. Do I have the right of it?”
She blushed. “You might have touched on all the key points,” she mumbled. Clever as he was, of course he’d make all those accurate suppositions.
Hugh tossed his notepad down at their feet. “None of this is real.”
“It is,” she said defensively. Lila hurried to recover the discarded notes and drew them protectively close.
“It isn’t. Not if it’s cloaked in secrecy.”
She opened her mouth to argue him on it, but the air stuck in her chest. He was right.
Just as she’d been wrong about so many things.
“I’m sorry.”
He looked at her askance. “I don’t . . . ?”
“I