Chapter Three
Chapter Three
Graham
“She’s invited me back to Bath,” Mr. Lane said. His sturdy wooden chair creaked as he leaned back, clearly trying to fight the grin that lifted the creases in his face and brightened his eyes. “I feel half my age again.”
I crossed my arms, fighting my own grin. I’d never seen my friend look both so unraveled and alive at the same time. Happier than he’d been when we’d first met three years ago and made a small fortune together. At first, he’d intimidated me beyond reason. Everything about him bled sophistication: the golden fob watch dangling on a chain at his hip and the way his hair grayed primarily on the sides. His light-blue eyes pierced straight through a person, and he spoke with such confidence as though he were the cleverest man in every room. Most of the time he was.
But now, three years into our partnership, I leaned back in my seat, crossing my arms loosely, and examined the easy way the skin around his eyes crinkled as he spoke of Ms. Peale.
“She seems taken with you,” I said, encouraging him. We’d met her at the Pump Room at the beginning of the year while investing in a new theater in Bath. She’d eyed Mr. Lane right away and joined us on many outings every time we visited to oversee progress. “And she is handsome.”
“Beautiful,”Mr. Lane said with feeling. He shook his head, and a light flush colored his cheeks. “But I cannot go.”
“Nonsense. Of course you’ll go.”
“You are young,” he said pointedly, as though I needed reminding. “You do not yet understand the complexities of marriage. Nor do you have a daughter as obstinate as mine.”
I hoped I never would. “Miss Lane will understand.”
He rubbed his temples, clearly at war with himself. “I made her a promise. Years ago. I won’t remarry until she is married and settled.”
I reeled back, then quickly tried to steel my surprise. We rarely spoke of Anna, keeping family and business behind their respective, distinctive lines. But even still, I knew Mr. Lane wouldn’t have made such a promise without the utmost care. He loved Anna. He endeavored to put her first above all else. But he deserved happiness too.
“I know, I know.” He looked away with a laugh. “I’d thought she’d find someone at eighteen. There are certainly plenty of respectable gentleman in London vying for her attention. But here we are. She’s nearly one-and-twenty, and while I love her”—he gave me a look as though he needed me to remember that singular fact—“I do not wish to remain alone for the rest of my life.”
I nodded, feeling compassion and determination to help my friend. “If she won’t marry, find something to keep her distracted,” I said. I thought of the woman whose dog had barked at Tom and me in the street. “Get her a pug or a terrier.”
Mr. Lane smirked. “Speaking of distractions, what do you have for me this time, Everett?” he asked.
My stomach flopped like a fish on dry land as the necessary details pushed to the front of my mind. This opportunity felt like a turning point in my life. A crossroads where one path led me to success, and the other kept me stagnant forever. I hated being out of control, but hopefully, after this, I’d never need anyone’s help ever again.
I cleared my throat and looked Mr. Lane straight on, unflinching. “Land in Brighton. Fourteen acres to develop. The seller means to move north to live a more private life. Because I’m well-acquainted with the family, they’ve offered me the first opportunity to buy.”
I watched him carefully for any reaction, any outward indication of his thoughts. Mr. Lane was a first-rate player. When it came to business, the man gave nothing away. If you wanted his partnership, you had to earn it. And the fact that I had earned his favor so many times still astounded me. Perhaps I would find out today that I’d become too confident. Too bold.
Moments passed, and still he did not blink. He was the same man who spoke about love and family, who’d encouraged me to visit my home for a fortnight instead of seeking out more investment opportunities. But the business side of him was more serious. More firm and intimidating.
“That much land would be a great undertaking,” he finally said. “Brighton’s popularity may not last. Especially with how fickle the Regent can be.”
Confidence.I nodded. “I believe it will last. The Marine Pavilion is unlike anything you’ve seen. Rumor has it, he only means to improve it. Doctors are traveling to the sea with their patients, and tourism brings wealth and industry. As with any venture, there is always risk, but I cannot imagine the land will depreciate. The profits, should we divide and hire builders, are substantial.”
Mr. Lane dipped his pen in ink, his hand hovering over a blank page. “Tell me your plans.”
I pulled out a paper from inside my coat upon which I’d neatly sketched the land and my plans, unfolded it, and slid it across the desk to him. Always be prepared, Mr. Lane had said when I’d first come to him years ago. Know every detail.
I pointed to the small rectangles I’d sketched inside the larger drawing. “We could divide the land into forty-three parcels and hire an architect to assist in building the homes,” I said. “And if we sold each plot at, say, fifteen hundred and seventy-five pounds ...”
He took the page, then drew a long rectangle with his pen and wrote out a calculation.
I arranged the same numbers in my mind, as I had a hundred times last night, seeing them as though they were written on the wall behind Mr. Lane. “Sixty-seven thousand, seven hundred and twenty-five,” I said.
Mr. Lane looked up, furrowed his brow, then continued writing on his page.
My gaze caught hold of a little painting on his desk. A young girl with smooth brown curls dangling over her shoulder, soft eyes, and a smile that brightened her features. Anna. She looked happy. Content, even.
Perhaps the artist had been generous.
The truth was, Anna Lane had impossible standards. No man living could possibly meet them and, having seen for myself how often she waved off suitors, what little admiration I’d initially harbored upon meeting her evaporated. Too much time with Anna and her blistering remarks left a man feeling as unwanted as an empty ink jar. Luckily, I did not need her good opinion to befriend her father.
“Sixty-seven thousand,” Mr. Lane announced, then cleared his throat. “Seven hundred and twenty-five pounds. Quite a profit margin.”
I nodded, no less sure of the numbers than I’d been before, and he raised a brow.
“Well, the profit certainly looks good,” he said. “But does the land?”
That was the question. Our investment, like the many other opportunities we’d taken together, depended on the smaller details as well as the larger. “In my opinion, yes. The soil is prime for building and only a short distance to the sea. I own property not far from it. My mother and sisters live there now.”
Mr. Lane scratched his head and sniffed. “With what you’ve presented, I’d be a fool not to invest alongside you. But what exactly are you offering, Everett?”
Finally, the point. Typically, we split profits twenty-five percent to seventy-five in his favor because, while I could find the best investments, he had the money and connections. He’d been so generous with me over the last few years, largely, I assumed, because of his friendship with my late grandfather.
Never had I been so bold with Mr. Lane. Would he think me overstepping to ask so much of him? I’d finally reached a place financially where I could afford to take big risks; I just needed someone with a large enough purse to make that risk bearable. If I landed this deal—if I made as much money as I intended to make—I could afford to present my sister with a dowry full enough to tempt a decent husband. I could offer my mother a comfortable living for the rest of her days.
And I could expand my holdings and provide for a family of my own eventually. Modest, of course, all modest in comparison to Mr. Lane’s lifestyle. But compared to how bleak things had seemed for me when I’d left Cambridge, I would be living like a king.
I braced myself, infusing my voice with the confidence of a man twice my age and experience. “You and I will go in as even investors.” I met his eye firmly and was surprised to see not a flinch of disregard in his. “I will stay with my family in Brighton for the foreseeable future to oversee the work, and you would lend trusted builders and architects.”
A soft knock sounded on the door.
Mr. Lane watched me appraisingly, then said, “Come in.”
Lyons entered. “Forgive me, Mr. Lane. But Miss Lane once again insists you join her for dinner before the food grows cold. She said to tell you”—the poor man cleared his throat, wincing with mild embarrassment as he continued, determined—“that she will march down here herself to retrieve you if you do not come at once.”
Spoiled woman. What did she think we were doing, playing a game of spillikins? These were important matters—money and business and securing futures. Honestly, I’d rather be home spending time with my family, but this investment could not wait. I would not be here otherwise.
Mr. Lane looked at me, any embarrassment of his own masked by a polite smile, and I remembered my place. Though I’d come to appreciate the inner workings of the Lane household, and admittedly felt close with Mr. Lane, I was not a member of his family. Another line, distinct and firm.
“One moment more, Lyons, thank you. We have just finished.”
Finished? A weight dropped to the bottom of my stomach. I’d considered the possibility that Mr. Lane would not wish to invest. This one in particular was a long game. We likely would not see profits for at least a year, and that was after extensive work on my part. But investing alone meant tying up too much of my carefully acquired savings. My family had waited long enough to live their lives without fear of poverty, without having to tread as though the ground beneath us could break at any moment.
More pressing, the time I’d been granted to present enough funds to purchase the land was expiring. I needed an investment partner, and now.
The door closed behind the butler, and I waited with bated breath. I would let him speak first.
“You mentioned a short timeline,” he said, standing and shuffling papers around on his desk.
I stood to match his height and moved around my chair. “I have one week before the seller moves on to other interested parties.”
He blew out a breath and raised his brow. “I should like to see the property myself first, but I don’t know how I’ll find the time. With Ms. Peale’s invitation to Bath, and Anna, here ...”
What could I say? My adamant assurances would do the man no good. It was either he trusted me, or he didn’t.
He rubbed his jaw and turned thoughtful. Serious. “You know I respect you, Everett. You’re every bit as honorable as your grandfather was.”
I clasped my hands behind my back. “Thank you, sir.”
“But to invest such a sum without having seen the land myself ... I worry that to trust any man so fully would be a fool’s errand, and I do not wish to set such an example for you.”
My stomach sank. But I nodded. “Of course, sir.” Where would I find another partner on such little notice? Let alone convince him of my plan?
“Still, I cannot imagine passing up what seems to be such an obviously good investment. Land of that size is so rare an opportunity. Not to mention the profits, and you offering to oversee the work.”
My gaze settled back on his, firmly and resolutely, as the gates parted for one last chance to convince him.
“Mr. Lane, if your hesitation is solely set upon the land, I assure you—”
The door burst open, and our attention pivoted.
Anna, in the doorway, dressed in an apple-red gown like some forbidden fruit. Dark brown hair cascaded over her shoulder from a coiffure at her neck, dangling above her exposed collarbone and smooth, porcelain skin, enough to drive a man mad with every breath she took. I gave myself a full second to appreciate the vision that was Anna Lane before reminding myself of her poison.
Her honey eyes met mine accusingly, like she knew I’d let my gaze wander, creating the strangest ripple effect in my chest, then she scoffed and looked heavenward. The vivacity with which she had opened the door seemed to drain out of her.
“Good evening, Miss Lane,” I said, but my voice had lost its confidence.
She parted those full lips and enunciated each syllable in my name with painful precision. “Mr. Everett.”
Why did I ever think her response would be different? That her features might soften upon seeing me like they so often did in ballrooms with her friends.
The line had been drawn, and she was decidedly on the other side of it.
And thank heavens for that line, for the woman hated me. She was like fire: unrestrained and scalding if you got too close.
But just like fire, she was captivating. Some unexplainable part of me loved to watch her temper ignite. Loved to see her fuming with frustration. A pretty little thing, Anna. Especially when a man knew the right words to say.
Tilting my head, I watched her with exaggerated appreciation. She hated when I complimented her. “Might I say, what a stunning dress.”
“You may not,” she said flatly, not hiding her disregard. It stung; it always did. But I would never fire back.
“Annie, Mr. Everett only means to pay you a compliment,” Mr. Lane said as he tucked in his chair. “You must learn to receive them graciously.”
My lips twitched. “I am more than happy to help her practice. There is so much to compliment.”
Her father moved around his desk and pressed a kiss to Anna’s temple, but her eyes stared daggers at me. “You must be hungry, Mr. Everett,” she said as her father pulled back and stood between us.
“How kind of you to worry, Annie,” her father said.
I crossed my arms, steeling myself. This would not be a gracious invitation to dinner. Anna did not care one whit if I starved to death at her feet.
Still, I played my part. “I am indeed.”
She placed a lace-gloved hand upon her hip. Amusement infused her plastered smile. “A dinner basket, then? For your walk home?”
She wanted to be rid of me without displeasing her father. Well, I wouldn’t make it easy on her, brilliant a move as it was. I shot back an amiable grin and sweetened my voice to a sickening measure. I might be forced to concede, but not without poking at her embers first.
“How thoughtful of you, Miss Lane. Your father speaks often of your generous heart, but I am overcome with gratitude to be a firsthand recipient. You are truly a diamond among women. As beautiful inside as out.”
Anna stepped nearer. Tauntingly. “In that case, I shall have Cook add extra portions of the goat cheese, which I remember you are so fond of.”
I hated goat cheese. But I smiled. “So generous. So kind.”
“Heavens, I hope I am not interrupting business.” She smiled at her father. “But Papa, you did promise to be punctual this evening, as we have something very important to discuss. And we cannot have the food getting cold.”
His eyes sharpened. “Yes, of course I remember. Everett, forgive me. I shall have to cut our meeting short.”
“Need I remind you of our time restraint, Mr. Lane?” I hurried to say. “Did you have any further questions before I go?”
He looked between us and took in a long breath that lifted his weary shoulders. He seemed to think it through, then exhaled, and said, “A life lesson for both of you: Never make important decisions on an empty stomach.” He turned to me with an encouraging smile. “The hour is late. Come, Everett. Dine with us.”
“Papa,” Anna chided.
Her surprise mirrored my own. Not for being invited to dinner, which I often was, but because I’d been invited into what felt like a private conversation.
Either he was unaware of his daughter’s intentions for the night, or he disregarded them entirely. “I am not appropriately dressed, sir,” I said.
“Nor I,” he said with another sigh. “But you’ll forgive us this casual dinner, won’t you, Annie? Shall we?”
Anna’s cheeks blossomed pink, but not out of embarrassment. She was angry.
Clearly, she wanted something.
Mr. Lane motioned for me to follow him out of the study and in to dinner, so I offered Anna my arm.
True to form, she turned her nose up at me, took her father’s arm, and smiled the most innocent and gracious, helpless and hopeful smile that could turn any man’s heart to utter mush.
A smile that would one day trick some poor hapless man into marrying her.
She spoke something softly in her father’s ear and he laughed, then she glanced over her shoulder and frowned at me.
I smiled back, if only to play the old game we always played.
Who would win her father’s attention tonight?