She relived the last kiss he had given her before the carriage took him to the coast. She had crept back to the house and waited in the street’s shadows to watch him go. He’d seen her, and walked straight to her, ignoring the glares of his parents and the command of his new tutor. He’d taken her in his arms and kissed her fully, and promised they would be together some day.
She was not a dreamer by nature. She knew better than to depend on that day arriving. After all, he was the son of a gentleman and she was the daughter of a tenant farmer in Oxfordshire. Such matches were not made. With her situation she had little time to think of it even if she wanted to. Yet she continued loving him and secretly hoping against all reason. And dreaming.
Now, with this legacy, there was a chance to make the dream real.
Her thoughts ran. The first items on a list came fast, then she cast a more serious mind on some others. Would this work? Should she risk it? Like those bulbs out the window, her dream sent up shoots that wanted to grow tall and flower.
A scratch on the door interrupted her. She bid the person enter, and Minerva opened the door with the maid next to her.
“I see you are awake. Mary here has brought up water and will help you to dress.”
“It be late, I suppose. Past time to start me day. I have some places I want to go this afternoon.”
Minerva entered and closed the door behind her, shutting out the maid. “I need to tell you something. Your business partner is below, waiting to meet you.”
Business partner? Oh, yes. “The other Mr. Radnor, you mean. Kenneth.”
“Kevin. As I told you, he is my husband’s cousin.”
“Then I must see him, so your husband is not insulted.”
“You should see him because you are tied together in that enterprise, not because of my husband.”
She hadn’t understood anything about that business when nice Mr. Sanders explained it. Not that she’d listened much. She was still so stunned regarding the money she’d inherited. Nor did she want to meet this other Mr. Radnor yet. Not today. She wanted to go walk the streets around this house, looking for shops and homes to let. She wanted to imagine herself riding along in a carriage with Charles . . .
“I will dress and be down soon.”
* * *
Kevin paced the library for half an hour, then chose a book from a shelf and threw himself onto the divan. He read a while, then realized he did not remember one word his eyes had scanned. He threw the book aside, rested his head against the cushion, and closed his eyes.
This was hell. He had learned how to talk business with men. He had even adopted the bonhomie that industrialists used with one another, even though it did not come naturally to him. But a woman? Not for the first time since his uncle the duke had died, he wondered if the man had gone a little mad at the end.
The old sense of betrayal began to well up inside him, but he swallowed it. It was Uncle Frederick’s personal fortune to do with as he chose. If, in a gesture of bizarre largess and insurmountable eccentricity, he decided to give half a promising enterprise to a little milliner of dubious background and no knowledge of machinery and engineering, that was his right.
He had also considered this often enough, and long enough, to accept that the decision perhaps spoke of a lack of faith in Kevin himself. Much as he preferred to disregard that notion, it was difficult to reject completely. It entered his mind now. Only this time he could reject it. If Uncle Frederick had not trusted Kevin with the enterprise on his own, he could have left the other half to a successful man of industry. Not Rosamund Jameson. Just finding her had cost him a year of progress at a time when matters of industry moved faster each day.
The library door opened. He immediately rose, as Minerva advanced on him with a determined look in her eyes. She got that look a lot. It was a wonder that Chase didn’t find her a bit shrewish. Kevin certainly did.
“She will be down soon. Mere minutes. Before she comes, I want to make something very clear to you.” She strode until she was so close she had to tilt back her head to look him in the eye. “She is my guest, and I expect she will become my friend. I like her. You are to treat her with the same respect you would give a lady. You are not to browbeat her, or lose your patience, or let her know you find her a trial even if you do. If you in any way insult her, either by word or action or brooding sigh or dismissive tone, I will make your life miserable.”
“I never insult women.”
“Oh, for the love of grace, your mere presence insults women at times. But I’ve had my say. Behave.”
With that she turned and marched out of the library.
Kevin shook his head in exasperation. Insult women? What a ridiculous thing to say. He never insulted women. He barely spoke to them.
A faint rustle penetrated his awareness. He turned to the sound. A woman stood just inside the library door. He stared at her, and she stared back.
Rosamund Jameson was no little milliner. She wasn’t a little anything. She stood taller than most women, and the simple, gray pelisse dress she wore revealed a body that held the promise of being extremely well formed and voluptuous. Lithe was not a word anyone would use to describe her.
The rest of her appearance struck him like so many smacks to his shocked consciousness. Blue eyes. Blond curls. Porcelain skin. Full lips.
The woman was beautiful. Deliciously so.
* * *
He was looking at her as if he examined her for flaws. No doubt he would find plenty if he wanted to see them.
She conducted her own examination while he delayed greeting her. Like his cousin, Kevin Radnor was tall. His full, dark hair hung to his jaw and cravat. She didn’t know if this was a new fashion or if he had neglected to have it dressed recently.
Unlike his cousin, he had dark eyes. Very dark and deep set. They and the hair made him appear somewhat dramatic. She could not deny that he was handsome and had a fine nose and mouth. A somewhat hard jaw kept him from looking too fine. His features had none of his cousin’s ruggedness, so that jaw saved him from being . . . beautiful. Minerva had warned her that he was given to brooding, and Rosamund could imagine him doing that, and then appearing very poetic indeed.
He did not begin to measure up to Charles, of course. There was none of Charles’s bright smiles and sparkling eyes. Kevin Radnor had more in common with the strict, distracted tutors that passed through the Copley house, men who were still young but had forgotten how to have fun. Rosamund had not been able to imagine a woman of spirit wanting any of them, and she now had the same opinion of the man facing her.
Finally, growing uncomfortable at how he just looked at her, she walked farther into the chamber. “I am Rosamund Jameson. You be wanting to speak with me.”
He came to life. “Yes. I thought we should meet, considering you now own half of my enterprise.”
“If I own half, isn’t it our enterprise?”
Whatever had occupied him, it now disappeared. He smiled the smile of a proud, confident man showing forbearance. “Why don’t we sit and talk about that?”
She perched on the edge of the divan. He took an upholstered chair nearby and angled it so they could speak directly.
“I expect that inheriting half a business surprised you,” he said.
“Inheriting anything at all surprised me. But, yes, that part was especially astonishing.”
“Did the solicitor explain the enterprise?”