Chapter Twenty-Three
Hiring Jacob Thurstan was one of the best business decisions Jonathan had ever made. He’d given the man a small office on the third floor, and Thurstan had attacked the documents piled on Jonathan’s desk with gusto. Soon they would all be read, dealt with, and filed away.
“I have some difficulty reading if I am presented with too much information at once,” Jonathan had explained to Thurstan the day he employed him.
He’d lifted his chin and swallowed his pride as he’d presented his reading thingamabob.
“Which is why I use this. Gen—” he’d continue referring to her by her shortened name publicly until she told him to do otherwise—“the pugilist I sponsor, made it for me. A veritable miracle because it eases my eye strain.” Not all of it, but enough that he could read at least half a page at a time without getting a headache.
Jonathan had not detected judgement when Thurstan said, “Ingenious, my lord.”
“Miss Gen also suggested that graphs and charts might help me process information,” Jonathan added.
“What a marvelous idea, sir,” Thurstan had declared enthusiastically. “I enjoy making such things because they help me organize my thoughts.”
“I actually have a symbol code I use when recording wagers,” Jonathan said.
“If you would like to teach it to me, I’m sure we can incorporate it into our communications and organizational methods,” Thurstan declared so enthusiastically that it was obvious the challenges of the position pleased him.
Jonathan’s conscientious man of business created visuals that were masterpieces.
The Davenport farms were mapped out and placed beside pictures of the crops and the season’s yields.
Thurstan did the same thing for the farmland Jonathan rented to local farmers.
He represented every individual inhabiting each property with a neatly drawn stick figure—one of Jonathan’s coding methods.
He created intricate graphics showing every detail of the timber sales and coal mines—timber in green and coal in gray.
For the first time since Ralph Kincaid’s death, Jonathan knew what was happening at each of his properties and with his investments.
He had a calendar of property maintenance.
He knew who owed him and whom he owed. Thankfully, he now had proof that his holdings were still profitable.
Most importantly, he didn’t plan to neglect one of his workers’ or tenants’ families ever again.
Additionally, Jonathan was no longer drowning in shame. Genevieve had been correct. Once he embraced his reading difficulties, he no longer felt embarrassed by them.
As Genevieve’s mill edged closer, the Davenport household adhered to her strict schedule.
There were early morning runs, companionable breakfasts of eggs, porridge and fruit, late afternoons and early evenings at The Silk Knuckles Saloon, a prodigious amount of perfectly prepared meat at dinner, and early bedtimes.
Jonathan’s only complaint was the lack of kisses, touches, and private time with his secret fiancée.
First of all, Genevieve seemed intent on following Coach Valentine’s no tupping for a week before a mill rule.
Not that it mattered, because his mother hadn’t left them alone for more than a few minutes, except for their runs, since the night they’d made love.
The woman was turning out to be more of a pego-jammer than the mutt.
Each time Jonathan was about to pull Gen into his arms, his mother swept into whatever room they happened to be in, chirping nonsense.
“My, ’tis lovely today,” she cheerfully announced a few times a day.
Not at all. London was smoggy and gray at this time of year.
“Heavens, breakfast was delicious,” she’d declare as she barged into his study in the late afternoons.
Mrs. Porter was the epitome of cooks, but his mother’s constant declarations were unnecessary. Not that he and Gen were ever alone in his study these days, since Thurstan spent so much time with him.
“Do not keep Gen up late tonight, Jonathan,” his mother reminded him every evening.
“She is training hard and needs her sleep.” Her furrowed brow and pursed lips seemed to say, I know what you did the last time I left you alone.
Don’t do it again. Although maybe that was his guilty conscience speaking.
More than once, while in the middle of their run, Jonathan considered pulling Gen behind a building or tree to kiss her.
But a viscount caught kissing a bloke would be the scandal of the decade, not to mention dangerous as hell.
He’d also abstained because he channeled his energy into keeping up with her.
Besides that, she was much too dedicated for him to do something self-centered that sabotaged her training.
However… Now that Gen was his fiancée, she seemed to have pulled back on the outward signs of affection—the looks of adoration, the stolen touches—but that was probably due to the no-tupping-before-a-mill rubbish. At least, that is what he told himself.
Still, he’d been looking forward to spending time alone with Gen during the carriage ride to Redhurst House.
Even if they couldn’t rut like beasts, he could at least kiss and fondle her.
But yesterday, Nicolas had declared, “Davenport, why don’t Josie, Franny, Edward, and I ride to Griffendale’s estate with you, your mother, and Gen? ”
“What fun,” his mother had said. “Unfortunately, I won’t be attending.
Gen, I am sorry to miss your first mill, but there is so much to do with the new girl’s school, our fight for female autonomy, and Helena’s social events.
I also told Calder that I will help him care for The Silk Knuckles Saloon while Josie and Franny are gone. ”
“Do not work yourself to exhaustion,” Jonathan had said.
His cautionary reminder was unnecessary because his mother seemed happier and healthier than she’d been in years. Since Coach Valentine had Harry and Jane Brown to help him run the saloon, he didn’t need her assistance. He suspected his mother simply wanted to spend time with the man.
Jonathan pulled himself from his reverie to give his carriage driver the last-minute instructions. “Ivan, I’d like to arrive at Redhurst House before noon.” That would give them the afternoon to settle in and relax.
“Then we should be on our way, my lord,” Ivan said.
“Time to board,” Jonathan called to his fellow travelers.
“Aren’t we waiting for Mr. Robinson?” Ivan asked.
“Unfortunately, he is not able to join us,” Jonathan said.
According to Franny, he’d had to work. Although Jonathan enjoyed the lawman’s company, this was probably for the best since it meant there was more room for the rest of them in the tight quarters.
Thankfully, the duke sent his personal carriages for Roseanna and the male fighters.
Nicolas nudged Josie toward the carriage. He clutched her hips and lifted her onto the mounting block.
“I might be pregnant, but I’m not an invalid,” she snapped. “I can climb into a bloody carriage.”
Nicolas grinned at her. “Beautiful, pregnant, and feisty, just the way I like my ladies.”
Although Josie scowled at her husband, her eyes sparkled.
“Gen, go on ahead of me,” Franny said. “I need to speak with Lord and Lady Davenport for a moment.”
His mother, who’d insisted on seeing them off, wrapped her arms around Genevieve. “Good luck, my dear. You will be marvelous. I am so very proud of you.” She pecked Genevieve’s cheek with genuine affection.
Gen bussed her back, then waved goodbye as she and Floppy climbed into the carriage.
“Oh, how I adore that girl,” his mother said, her hands over her heart.
Marvelous news since she would soon be Genevieve’s mother-in-law.
“What do you need, Franny?” Jonathan asked.
“Edward actually left the city a couple of days ago, and he asked me to give you this if he didn’t make it back in time.” Franny withdrew a note from her coat pocket and handed it to his mother. “Good day, my lady.” She bowed and then entered the conveyance.
His mother regarded the missive with wide eyes. “Whatsoever do you think this is about?” she asked, feigning ignorance.
Jonathan rolled his eyes. “Perhaps the investigation we both asked Robinson to look into.”
His mother winced. “So, you know about that?”
“For over a week now.” He didn’t have time to decipher the note whilst a carriage full of travelers waited for them. “What does it say?”
His mother unfolded, then skimmed the missive. “Edward says that the doctor and his wife have no relationship with anyone named Gen, although they believe a young woman named Genevieve once lived in their house with her family. They recently bought their townhouse from the Bailey family.”
“Hmm.” Jonathan murmured. “Do you know the Bailey family?”
His mother stared past Jonathan. “Now I remember,” she said once her gaze focused.
“The Earl of Shipley is a Bailey, and he has a sibling. One brother was said to be kind and gentle, the other was a despicable scoundrel. The earl hasn’t been seen in London society in at least a decade.
I once heard a rumor that the brothers are estranged.
I ignored the tittle-tattle, so I’m unsure what caused them to fall out. ”
“But that would mean that Gen is—”
“The earl’s niece,” his mother finished for him. “I assumed she had aristocratic blood in her.”
“For how long have you suspected she wasn’t a misused servant or a mendicant?” And why hadn’t she shared her suspicions with him?
“Since the first time I met her. The way she carries herself. The way she eats—”
“How does she eat?” he asked.
“Like a lady. Unlike Josie used to.”
Memories of the effort it had taken to turn Josie into a lady came to him. The peerage lessons. The etiquette lessons. The backboard. They’d never had to do any of this for Gen. And once she started talking, she had a clear and cultured voice.
Well, slap his cheek with an oversized pickle. The truth had been there all along, and he’d been a clueless dolt. “Why didn’t you say something?”
His mother shrugged. “I assumed you would figure it out on your own. Besides, I did not want to influence you.”
“Meaning?”
“I could tell you favored her, and I did not think you’d want your mother meddling in your romance.”
“Since when do you aspire to be a non-meddler?”
She pursed her lips and waggled her finger. “I dare say, you can be a bit obstreperous.”
“Like mother, like son,” he said.
She smiled. “Of course, I only hired Edward because I was worried about her safety.”
“If you have known all along that I favor her, why the ultimatum of having a Lady Love competition?”
She chuckled. “Idle threats. Men can be such featherheads.”
He glared at her. “You were manipulating me.”
“For your own good,” she declared as she patted his cheek.
“Why follow us around this past week, trying to keep us from spending time together after allowing us time alone?”
Her cheeks flushed. “Do you really want me to answer that?”
No, he did not. “The Duke’s Lady Love Choosing Party?” he asked. “Is it really a thing?”
His mother chuckled. “Indeed. According to Helena, she is hosting it, and Tristan is none too pleased.”
Damn unfortunate duke.
Jonathan inclined his chin to the missive. “Is there anything else I should know about?”
“Yes.” She folded the stationery and slid it into his pocket. “Edward wrote that a young woman, dressed as a man, showed up at the Arnolds’ home asking about someone named Christopher.”
A twinge of jealousy squeezed Jonathan’s heart. At least now he knew what Gen had been doing at their house—asking about another man.
She loves you, you sod, he assured himself as he kicked his green-eyed monster to the cobbles. But then why had she been so distant this past week?
“Edward said he will be in touch as soon as he returns,” his mother added.
Now that he was to marry Gen—unless she was having second thoughts—prying into her past without her knowledge felt very unethical.
“Mother, perhaps we should ask Robinson to halt his investigation.”
“Oh? And why is that?”
“Because spying on one’s fiancée is in poor taste.” Even as he said it, the fear that Gen had changed her mind niggled at him.
“Fiancée! Oh, Jonathan, I’m so pleased.” She cradled his jaw. “My baby boy is getting married. I could not be happier.”
“I am hardly a baby.” He chuckled, then grew serious. “We plan to keep it a secret and announce it after her mill.”
His mother pinched her grinning lips between her thumb and forefinger.
“Even before I knew she might be an aristocrat, I asked her to marry me.”
“And obviously she said yes,” his mother said. “I see the way she looks at you. Of course, who wouldn’t adore you?”
He tried to recall Genevieve’s exact words, but she had never acquiesced. However, she’d been crying tears of joy. At least, at the time he’d assumed they were happy tears.
Damnations, what if they weren’t engaged? He and Genevieve needed a moment alone to talk.
He pecked his mother’s cheek, climbed into the carriage, and squeezed his arse between Floppy and the door.