3. The Chess Player #2
“Never underestimate an old man with nothing to lose,” Edward replied, his satisfaction evident. Then, with a casualness that fooled no one, he added, “Kate, would you fetch that special port from the cellar? I believe our guest deserves a proper toast to celebrate his gracious defeat.”
Kate hesitated, recognizing the dismissal for what it was—a transparent attempt to create privacy for conversation she was certain she wouldn’t appreciate. But direct defiance would only confirm her father’s belief that she needed managing, so she nodded with as much grace as she could muster.
“Of course, Father.”
The hallway outside the study felt cooler after the warmth of the fire, and Kate paused just beyond the door’s reach. She told her impertinent mind that she was simply adjusting her shawl, but honesty compelled her to acknowledge that curiosity had rooted her feet to the carpet.
“Now that we’re alone, Mr. Moore, I’ll speak plainly.” Her father’s voice carried clearly through the partially open door. “My time is short.”
“Sir, I hardly think—”
“No platitudes,” Edward interrupted with characteristic directness. “I’m dying and we both know it. My concern is for Kate’s future.”
Kate’s breath caught in her throat. She should leave, should respect her father’s privacy, but the conversation concerned her fate too directly to ignore.
“The shipping business is no place for an unmarried woman, no matter how capable,” Edward continued. “My partners will force her out the moment I’m gone. They’re already positioning themselves to claim larger shares of profitable routes.”
“Unless she marries,” Mr. Moore said quietly without any judgment, just simple acknowledgment of reality.
“Precisely. And you’re the first man she hasn’t looked at with outright contempt.”
A pause stretched between them, and Kate held her breath despite her outrage at being discussed like a business asset.
“I admire your daughter greatly, sir,” Mr. Moore finally replied. “But I believe she values her independence too much to consider marriage to anyone, regardless of practical advantages.”
“Perhaps,” Edward conceded. “But a business arrangement between like minds might serve both parties. Marriage need not mean subjugation, Mr. Moore. The right partnership could protect her interests while advancing your own.”
Kate’s hands clenched into fists. A business arrangement. Her father was negotiating her future like a shipping contract, complete with terms and conditions to be settled between the interested parties.
Footsteps echoed in the hallway. Helene was approaching with her measured tread.
Kate forced herself to move away from the door, her mind racing with anger and apprehension.
Had Mr. Moore’s interest in their business been genuine, or was this entire evening an elaborate courtship disguised as commerce?
She would find out, that much was certain.
But she had to admit, however reluctantly, that her father’s observation held an uncomfortable grain of truth.
Mr. Moore was the first man in years—perhaps ever—that she hadn’t regarded with immediate contempt.
She found him, what was it exactly? Interesting?
Entertaining, perhaps? There was something in the way he spoke, the deliberation of his words, the complexity she sensed beneath his reserved manner.
He was a puzzle that required intelligence and wit to solve, not just mere observation, which itself was unusual enough to unsettle her.
Most men bored her within minutes. Or seconds, even. Sometimes, before they speak at all.
But Mr. Moore had kept her attention all evening, and not merely because of his business knowledge. That… made him worth watching. Or perhaps it made him dangerous. Either way, she would need to be very careful with this one.
The entrance hall felt cavernous after the intimacy of the study, its high ceilings and marble floors creating an echo that magnified Kate’s and Mr. Moore’s footsteps as they fell into an unintentional rhythm.
Edward had retired shortly after their port, leaving Kate to fulfill the hostess duties of seeing their guest properly departed.
Most of the lamps had been dimmed for the night, creating pools of warm light that seemed to isolate them from the rest of the world.
“Your father is a remarkable man,” Mr. Moore said casually as servants appeared with his coat and gloves. “Thanks,” he added to the servant.
Kate watched his expression in the lamplight, searching for any sign of the calculation she had overheard. “Did you find your private conversation with him illuminating?”
Mr. Moore paused in the act of accepting his coat, and she saw the moment he recognized the trap in her question. His eyes met hers directly, remaining fixed there.
“You have excellent hearing, Miss Sullivan.”
“An asset in business,” she replied, matching his directness with her own. “Along with speaking plainly. What ‘business arrangement’ were you discussing with my father?”
Mr. Moore accepted his gloves from the hovering servant, taking his time with the ritual of departure. Kate waited, refusing to fill the silence with nervous chatter as so many women of her acquaintance would have done.
“Your father believes you require a husband to maintain your position in the shipping trade,” he said eventually. “I suggested you might prefer ruin to matrimony.”
Kate blinked, caught off guard by his bluntness. “And yet you didn’t discourage him entirely.”
“It would be presumptuous to speak definitively on your behalf.” He pulled on his gloves slowly, each finger settled in smoothly. “Unlike the gentlemen who seek to manage your fortune, I’ve no interest in managing you, Miss Sullivan.”
The words should have been reassuring—perhaps too reassuring; wasn’t this, after all, what she was truly seeking?—but Kate’s vigilance only sharpened. Men who claimed to have no interest in control often exercised it far more effectively than those who announced their intentions beforehand.
“What do you want then, Mr. Moore?”
“Currently?” His smile held a hint of genuine amusement. “To prove the viability of smaller vessels in the West Indies trade. Your father’s ships are impressive, but they’re not optimized for hurricane season, I’m afraid.”
Beyond her suspicions, Kate felt her lips curve slightly upward. His ability to return their conversation to business matters felt refreshingly honest after an evening of her father’s matchmaking hints.
“My father seems convinced you’re husband material,” she pressed though, determined to find a weak spot.
“Fathers often see what they wish to see,” Mr. Moore replied, settling his hat at the proper angle. “Particularly when they’re worried about their daughters’ futures.”
Their eyes met in the lamplight again, and Kate felt the weight of genuine curiosity settle over her irritation. “And you? What do you see when you look at me, Mr. Moore?” she continued her questionnaire with a boldness she didn’t even suspect she had until this moment.
Mr. Moore took one careful step closer, his expression steady and confident.
“Someone who, like myself, has crafted a life that doesn’t quite fit society’s design.”
The observation—made from such close quarters and in such a manner—instantly flushed Kate’s cheeks, causing her to swallow hard, unable to tear her gaze away from the green eyes that stared at her so intensely; the comparison, somehow, made things feel even more intimate than she had anticipated.
She opened her mouth to ask him what he meant—what aspects of his own life had required such careful crafting—when the butler appeared with that measured urgency signaling a genuine crisis.
“Forgive the interruption, Miss Sullivan. Mr. Phillips has sent word from the docks—the Mariner’s Lady has returned to port with damage to her hull.”
Kate’s attention immediately shifted to business matters, as she took a step back, a movement that coincided with Mr. Moore’s own reaction. “At this hour? What of the cargo?”
“Intact, miss, but requiring immediate attention according to the harbormaster.”
Kate felt torn between her duty to the business and her curiosity about the man who seemed to understand her unusual position so clearly.
The Mariner’s Lady carried valuable cargo that could deteriorate rapidly if not properly handled, but the conversation with Mr. Moore felt unfinished in ways that went beyond mere social politeness.
Mr. Moore reached for his stick then. “You should go. Seawater causes rapid deterioration to tea crates, and delay could cost you the entire shipment.”
Kate narrowed her eyes as she stared at him. “How did you know it was tea?”
“The Mariner’s Lady was refitted last spring for the China run. She’s primarily a tea vessel now, with specialized storage for moisture-sensitive cargo.”
The precision of his knowledge sent a shiver down Kate’s spine as she assessed her mysterious guest for another time.
His research into her operations was definitely more extensive than he had admitted thus far—a fact that raised the question of his true intentions once more; intentions she was no longer sure she wanted to know for certain.
“You truly have done your research, haven’t you?”
Mr. Moore’s bow was perfectly proper, but she caught something in his expression that suggested he understood her growing wariness. “I’ve kept you too long already, Miss. The docks await, and morning will bring its own complications.”
Kate made a sudden decision, driven by impulses she didn’t entirely understand.
If Mr. Moore’s interest in their business was genuine, if his knowledge came from careful study with the goal of investment rather than ulterior motives, then perhaps the best way to test his character was to see how he responded to the reality of her work.
“Come with me,” she offered.
“To the docks?” His surprise seemed genuine, as though the invitation was the last thing he had expected.
“Unless you find such matters unsuitable for after-dinner conversation?” Kate challenged, curious to see how he would respond to the unconventional proposal.
Mr. Moore’s smile was answer enough before he spoke. “On the contrary. I find few things more compelling than watching you work, Miss Sullivan.”
Kate turned away to hide her pleased expression, calling to the butler, “Have the carriage brought around immediately. And fetch my ledger from the study—the one with the Mariner’s Lady’s manifest details.”
As servants hurried to fulfill her orders, Kate wondered what she had set in motion.
Taking a gentleman to the docks at night was hardly conventional behavior, but then again, nothing about her life had ever fit conventional patterns.
Perhaps it was time to discover whether Mr. Moore’s claims about valuing independence extended to accepting its practical implications.