Chapter 17
San Francisco; the Same Day
Alexei lifted a bite of lobster Newburg to his mouth and chewed slowly, then glanced at Laurel, seated beside him.
She was quiet and poised, her light brown hair reflecting the glow from the elaborate chandelier.
On his other side, Sacha was working through his plate of food with mechanical efficiency, his usual smile nowhere to be found.
Across from him sat Beatrice and Genevieve, Laurel Farnsworth’s younger sisters, each flanked by their husbands, who wore suits every bit as tailored and unwrinkled as Farnsworth’s.
Alexei swallowed his food, trying to pay attention to the conversation.
“The fund has already surpassed thirty thousand, and the board expects a full expansion by early spring.” Edward Banning, one of Laurel’s brothers-in-law, dabbed at his face with his napkin.
Alexei took another bite of food, which at least prevented him from yawning.
The pastry that the rich lobster sauce had been ladled over was light and flaky, perfectly balancing the denseness of the brandied cream and chunks of lobster.
Getting the lobster from New England all the way to California wasn’t cheap.
The shellfish would have had to be packed in ice and hauled by rail for days.
Even though, as the owner of a trading company, he could ship delicacies for virtually nothing, he’d never bothered importing food like this. Maybe he’d been wrong not to splurge every so often, though, because the meal was excellent.
“Personally I think the municipal bonds are the smarter long-term play, but one can’t have his way with everything when dealing with a board of directors,” Banning continued, sending his wife Beatrice a tight smile.
“If you want the highest return, real estate is where you ought to be investing,” Dwayne Everett, Genevieve’s husband, responded.
While Alexei didn’t know all the details of Everett’s holdings, he was aware the man had amassed a rather impressive number of rental and business properties in the city.
“There’s nothing like bricks and mortar to solidify a reputation in this town,” Everett added.
“I think both have their merits.” Farnsworth took a sip of wine from where he sat at the head of the table.
His wife was directly across from him, at the opposite end of the long table, in a dark green gown with a dyed ostrich feather sticking out from the side of her carefully piled hair.
“Buildings can burn, ships can wreck, and markets can crash. A wise man hedges his investments and doesn’t rely too heavily on any one thing. ”
“Even if that man happens to own a shipping company?” Alexei asked.
Farnsworth eyed him. “Especially then. One storm can drag multiple vessels to the sea floor.”
He agreed. “I’m sorry to say our father had no desire to diversify his holdings.”
Farnsworth shook his head. “A pity, that, but I’ve heard it’s something you’re trying to correct.”
“Indeed.” Alexei took a bite of food, then looked at Laurel seated beside him, hoping his full mouth and the fact he’d just turned his attention elsewhere would prevent the man from asking any specific questions.
He had no desire to explain his holdings and investment strategies to two men he barely knew and another he’d just cut out of a business deal.
Banning quickly filled the silence, pulling the conversation right back to his defense of bonds, which only seemed to irk Everett.
Sacha muttered something. When Alexei glanced at him, his face was an emotionless mask. But the way he sat, with his shoulders stiff and his back tight, told Alexei enough. That and the fact his brother’s plate was nearly cleaned, never mind they’d only been served the main course ten minutes ago.
It really was a shame neither of them was enjoying himself.
The dining room itself was far nicer than anything they had in Sitka, with mahogany wainscotting, gilded-mirror frames, and hand-painted wallpaper.
The chandelier overhead was large and intricate, showering them in light that glinted off the cut crystal goblets and the porcelain dishes on the table.
But given the choice, they’d both enjoy a simple bear roast or borscht served on plain dishes while his family was crammed around the scarred kitchen table back in Sitka. That would have been far more appealing than this meal, even with the lobster.
“Is the food to your liking?” Laurel asked quietly from beside him.
He turned toward her. She really was quite beautiful, with clear green eyes set into a delicate face and her soft brown hair pulled into an updo that looked both simple and elegant.
Everything about her was finely composed, from the graceful slope of her neck to the faint color in her cheeks to the smooth gown draping her frame.
Her brows knit together. “Or is something not to your liking?”
The food. Right. She’d asked him about it, and rather than answer, he’d ended up staring at her like a besotted fool.
“Forgive me. The food is quite delicious.” He cleared his throat, then raised his eyes to Laurel’s mother. “Mrs. Farnsworth, please give my compliments to your chef.”
Laurel’s father waved his hand absently. “Of course. We brought him in from France last year, and we’ve already decided we’re never letting him go. His cooking is truly extraordinary.”
“I just love hosting dinner parties now that he is the chef. His dishes are the envy of all our guests.” Mrs. Farnsworth gave a delicate laugh and lifted her wineglass, the trio of rings on her hand catching the light.
“Gertrude Downing is fit to be tied that we have a better chef than her. It makes me want to invite her over for luncheon once a week.”
“Mother? You’ve had the Downings over for lunch?
Next time invite me as well.” Genevieve adjusted the heavy pendant at her neck—a pendant that looked to be three times the size of the modest one Laurel wore—then leaned forward, her eyes gleaming with a look of excitement Alexei didn’t quite trust. “I heard they are going to have to close their garment factory. They can’t compete with the prices of ready-made dresses from out east.”
Beatrice wrinkled her nose. “Serves them right for wanting to get into such an industry. Can you imagine wearing a dress made in some dirty factory and not by a dressmaker who measures and fits you and then makes the dress to your exact size?” She smoothed a hand over the bodice of her sapphire-colored gown.
“It took Madame DuBois two weeks to make this dress.”
Genevieve sniffed. “Mine took nearly three weeks. The lace was imported from Bruges. But that’s not the point.
Can you imagine the money their father will lose, needing to close everything?
I don’t even know that they’ll be able to keep their French chef.
They might be forced to settle for an American one. ”
“That would serve Meredith Downing right.” Beatrice tapped a finger against the stem of her wineglass, not seeming the least bit concerned about the potential Finnancial ruin of the Downing family.
“Do you know what she told me at the Wentworth wedding? She had the audacity to assume that my dress was out of style. She said something about it looking like something she’d seen in Harper’s Bazaar three years ago.
Three years! Can you imagine? I felt amply justified in informing her that it had been in December’s edition, and I had promptly commissioned Madame DuBois to make one for me, with a few enhancements, of course. ”
“The nerve of that girl.” Genevieve huffed, then looked across the table at Laurel. “Did she say anything about your dress? It likely was from three years ago.”
“Oh, heavens,” Mrs. Farnsworth sighed and pressed a hand to her chest. “Do not remind me of that atrocity. Laurel, I told you to pay a visit to Madame DuBois in December to have a new dress made for the Wentworth wedding, but there you were, wearing that same dress you wore to the spring ball at the Mercers. I still don’t know what you were thinking. ”
All eyes at the table turned to Laurel. She shifted in her chair, staring down at her plate with her lobster Newburg only half eaten. “It was a perfectly good gown that I’d only worn once. I saw no reason not to wear it again.”
Beatrice dropped her head into her hand. “She’s hopeless, Mother. I don’t know what to do with her.”
“Honestly, Laurel.” Genevieve waved a hand at her sister. “Why do you complain about not having a husband? No man will want to marry you if you don’t even try to look presentable.”
Alexei glanced at Farnsworth, waiting for him to put a stop to the conversation. For a family so concerned about appearances, disparaging a family member during dinner with guests hardly seemed proper. But Farnsworth simply took another bite of food.
“I don’t complain about not having a husband,” Laurel said, her brows drawing down. “That’s Mother. And I do try to look presentable.”
Beatrice shook her head. “That’s the fifth or sixth time I’ve seen you wear that dress, and it doesn’t even have any embellishments. Genevieve is right. You don’t even try.”
“And I know for a fact,” Mrs. Farnsworth added with a disapproving glance, “that you only gave your lady’s maid a half hour to dress you and do your hair before dinner. That’s not trying to make a good impression.”
Alexei set down his fork, the clink of silver hitting the china plate resonating through the room. “I think Laurel looks lovely. Perhaps the fact that she only needs a half hour to ready herself for dinner is a testament to her natural beauty.”
Beatrice coughed into her wine. “You do know Laurel’s twenty-five and hasn’t yet been able to find herself a husband? Daddy’s been trying to find her one for years.”