Chapter 1 #2
Tall and thin, the man had a hawklike profile with a narrow nose and thick black hair cut short and neat. Gideon approved of his businesslike appearance, which showed a fastidious nature, but bore no signs of dandyism.
“It’s a relief to find a fellow who has such an eye for detail,” Gideon said frankly, closing the last ledger book and handing it over to Silas.
“I’m afraid I’m a pernickety fellow, or so I’m told, but these things matter on such a large undertaking.
I can’t be constantly fretting over every farthing that goes out, but it is too easy to let a project run away from one, and I am determined that we shall stay within budget. ”
“Aye, well, it’s a generous budget, but you leave the farthings to me, sir. Take care of the pence and the pounds will take care of themselves, I always say.”
Gideon nodded. Despite what he’d said, he always took pains to check the details on any undertaking, but this was the biggest challenge he’d ever faced in his career, one he was determined to make a success of, but he could not drive himself insane trying to manage every detail alone.
He must have men he could trust around him.
So far, Silas had proven himself to be such a man.
Being a cynical devil where his fellow men were concerned, Gideon did not trust anyone easily, but he had been checking up on Silas’ work, both openly and clandestinely, for some months now, and there was never so much as a ha’penny unaccounted for. It was a tremendous relief.
“Would you like another, sir?” Ridley asked, gesturing to Gideon’s now empty tankard.
Gideon shook his head. “No, thank you all the same. I’d best be getting along. I want to have a word with the foreman and I’ve some measurements to check before the men pack up for the day. Don’t let me stop you, though. I’ll see you in the morning, bright and early if you please.”
A rueful expression crossed the man’s face, giving Gideon pause. “Er… Beggin’ your pardon, Mr Bramwell, but tomorrow is Sunday.”
Gideon regarded the man in consternation. “It is? Devil take it.”
“Not precisely, sir,” Ridley remarked with a lopsided grin.
Running a hand through his short hair, Gideon wondered how he’d lost track of the days. “No, indeed, though I shall have that meddlesome reverend after me again if I don’t show my face in his place of worship.”
“Honeywell? Ah, a fine fellow he is. Merry as a gig,”
Gideon pushed to his feet and picked up his hat, his expression wry. “That he is, and quite indefatigable. Ah well. I know when I’m beat, Mr Ridley. I shall see you in church tomorrow then.”
“You will, sir,” Ridley remarked cheerfully, gesturing to the barmaid to bring him another.
Gideon made his way out of the inn, which was a lively place even at this early hour.
Previously, it had been an unsavoury location where only smugglers and the less reputable locals drank.
The influx of workmen, not to mention fashionable visitors to the town, many of them young men looking for a card game or enjoying the thrill of being among less than respectable folk, meant that things were changing.
Whilst the Dog and Duck would never be prestigious by any stretch of the imagination, it had garnered a certain cachet amongst the fashionable menfolk and was the favoured haunt of all the men who laboured on the building projects in the town.
Once outside, Gideon drew in a breath of fresh air to clear his lungs of the fug of cigar smoke that had wreathed the interior. Setting his hat back on his head, he returned to the town, enjoying the walk across the promenade, which gave such a splendid view of the sea.
A woman’s laugh, light and musical, caught his attention and he turned, drawn by the joyous sound, a smile at his own lips as he wondered who was in such good spirits.
The smile froze on his face as he saw three women coming out of the modiste’s shop, each of them carrying a hatbox.
“Oh, don’t be such a ninny, Jenkins. I’ll do no such thing. As if you don’t earn every penny and more having to deal with my—”
Whatever it was Lady Henrietta had been about to say, the words died as their gazes met.
Though it had taken a great deal of effort on his part, they had not crossed paths since the incident at Lord and Lady Hartwell’s wedding breakfast at Hatherley Hall.
He—being socially inept and insufferably rude—had refused to dance with her, and she had taken it as a personal affront.
Admittedly, it had not been his finest hour, and he’d not spoken as kindly as he ought to have done, but it was his first time in polite society in years, and he had allowed himself to forget what it was like to swim in such shark-infested waters. Besides, he never danced.
They had spoken once more that same night, and he’d hardly improved matters when he’d been cad enough to suggest she wasn’t pretty enough for him to dance with.
He’d not meant it, obviously. The girl was ravishing, as she must know, so he could not believe it when she’d taken his words to heart, but she had and… well, she hated him.
An awkward silence ensued.
“Lady Henrietta, good afternoon,” he said, removing his hat and bowing politely. He wished the words had sounded a mite friendlier and not like they were covered in a layer of frost, but it was done now.
“Mr Bramwell,” she replied, lowering the temperature by several degrees.
Her maid, and a woman who could only be her sister, looked between them with interest.
“Cilly, darling,” Lady Henrietta said coolly, never taking her eyes from his. “Might I make known to you Mr Gideon Bramwell.”
“Mr—” the woman repeated, and then broke off with a little gasp. “Oh.”
“Yes, my lady, that Mr Bramwell,” Gideon said, his tone wry, knowing Lady Hetty must have verbally crucified him to her sister. “I am afraid Lady Henrietta, and I did not get off on the right foot.”
“Oh, it was the right foot, it’s only that it was aimed at my insufferable self-consequence, isn’t that right, Mr Bramwell?” she said sweetly.
“Lady Henrietta,” he began, taking a breath.
He supposed he could not blame her for being furious with him.
All the same — “I assure you, my refusal to dance with you was not personal. I never dance—with anyone. I have no excuse for my rudeness that night, however. My only excuse is that I was not in the best of tempers. You ought not to have suffered for it, however, and I apologise.”
She narrowed her eyes at him, considering.
“It was rather a good apology,” her sister murmured.
Lady Henrietta shot the woman a look, frowning, and then let out a sigh. “Oh, very well.” To his surprise, she held out her hand to him, rather like a man would. “Pax.”
He smiled at that, and did not hesitate to take it in his.
An odd sensation overwhelmed him as their hands clasped, his engulfing her smaller, far more delicate gloved fingers.
He thought he heard a slight gasp, and then wondered if it had been him, not her, for he was strangely breathless.
He dropped her hand, the movement a little too brusque.
“Well, now that is sorted, if you will excuse me, I must return to work.” Executing a hurried bow, he doffed his hat and made his escape. Yet he could feel her watching him as walked away, feel the weight of her gaze upon the back of his neck, and it was not a comfortable sensation.