That would have to end immediately, unless he wanted to be an idiot while trying to lead her in the direction the enterprise needed to go. It had entered his mind that saddling him with Miss Jameson had been the duke’s idea of a fine joke. Uncle Frederick’s sense of humor had taken peculiar turns sometimes.
She turned to the carriage. “I think this will do.”
“It is very large.” The last thing he wanted was for her to let a house that cost so much she went looking for more money. That would only encourage her to sell her half of the enterprise.
“So you said. Three servants at least, you said. I like that it be the kind of house that a lady might live in, though.”
“Is it your intention to live like one?”
She allowed him to hand her into the carriage. “I think me intention might be to live like the heiress I be now. I will decide after I do me sums.”
* * *
That evening after dinner, Rosamund settled into the library with Minerva.
“The house sounds like just the thing,” Minerva said, continuing a conversation started at the table. “That street is quite fashionable.”
More fashionable than this one, her tone implied. Being gentry born, and married to the grandson of a duke, Minerva did not have much to prove. Her blood, and that of her husband, made her acceptable.
Rosamund had loved the house and was well on her way to reconciling the cost. She had pictured Charles coming to call, and being impressed by it. Instead of Kevin Radnor, she had imagined the man walking along with her was Charles, taking it all in and being glad that she was no longer the farmer’s daughter in service to his family, and whom his family denied him.
“Mr. Radnor thought it too big for me. I believe he was surprised I even considered that neighborhood. I suppose folk such as me don’t normally live there.”
Minerva leveled a gaze at her. “If such things matter to you, there are other places to live where you will be comfortable.”
Rosamund liked how frank Minerva always was. She heard her new friend’s warning. It is not for such as you, and some neighbors will pretend you are not there. If that will hurt you, then live elsewhere.
She wished she could be as frank in turn, and confide why she wanted that house, and why she would be asking Minerva for help in other things that were not for such as her. But she didn’t dare give voice to her secret dream, a dream she feared has no real possibility of coming true.
“If I be ignored, I won’t mind. Hopefully, when my sister comes of age to join me, she will be better accepted if I have been there a while.”
“When are you going to see her? I look forward to meeting her.”
“I intend to go north in a few days and bring her to the school you recommended. Perhaps during the next school holiday we can call on you here.”
Minerva had been so helpful already. She had learned about that school and even written Rosamund’s letter to the mistress who owned it so the spelling and manner of writing would be correct. Rosamund hesitated to request more aid, but she had nowhere else to turn.
“I would like to have some dresses sewn for Lily. I have her measurements and the garments do not need to be fancy. Might you recommend a dressmaker who can do good, practical clothing quickly?”
Minerva smiled mischievously. “I have been waiting impatiently for this question. Only I expected the wardrobe to be made for you, not your sister.”
Rosamund laughed. “I suppose I might order a few things for meself too.”
“Then we must visit a good modiste so whatever you order is not only practical, but also fashionable. For your sister as well as you. The other girls at that school may wear simple gray while in the schoolroom but will arrive and leave in far better.” She tapped her jaw while thinking. “I believe I know just the place. We will go tomorrow.”
“Mr. Radnor spoke of calling again tomorrow, to escort me to the warehouses. Perhaps if we leave before he arrives—”
“No, no. Let him come along. I will send a note to him to be here early, so we have enough time. We will take our coach, so we all can ride together.” She leaned in and grinned. “We will bore him senseless. He will not be so quick to try to keep a close watch on your movements after sitting for hours in a modiste’s reception chamber.”
Was that what he was doing? Keeping her in his sights? How silly of her not to have realized it. Of course Minerva was right. Kevin Radnor was not simply being friendly. He wanted to make sure she was not meeting with investors who wanted to purchase her share of his company. Of their company.
Perhaps she had been wrong about that male interest she thought she saw in him too. No doubt he had only been calculating how to manage her. To him, she was merely a problem complicating his plans. In that case, what a relief—she had enough trouble just being in business with him, let alone having to fend off unwelcome advances.
She looked over at Minerva, who sat so comfortably with her now. Minerva had never, not once, done or said anything that implied they were not equals, even if they weren’t.
“We met because you and your husband do inquiries,” Rosamund ventured. “Do you find that interesting?”
“Each one is a puzzle to be solved. It can be very engaging, and sometimes exciting.”
“Do people tell you secrets in order to receive your services?”
“At times it is necessary. Hence our profession being one of discreet inquiries. Other times the search is very simple, and all I ask is that I be warned if it might be dangerous.” Minerva eyed Rosamund with curiosity. “Do you have an inquiry that you want me to conduct for you? It sounds as if you do.”
“Perhaps . . . Could be I do.”
“Rest assured that any confidences regarding it, and even the request itself, will never be spoken of to anyone else.”
Rosamund decided to trust Minerva. “I do want your help. You will know how to go about it, while I will spin meself in circles.” She took her biggest step yet toward the dream. “I want you to find someone, or at least learn what became of him.”
Chapter Four
Kevin found it entirely exasperating that Minerva had inserted herself into his scheme to befriend Miss Jameson. Yet here he was, handing them both down from the coach on New Bond Street after enduring all that chatter about fashion and fabric.
He gazed up at the first story, where this modiste plied her trade.
“Come along, Kevin,” Minerva said. “We may want a man’s opinion. If so, you will have to do.”
His face impassive, he followed them up the stairs and entered the modiste’s salon. Madame Tissot knew Minerva and, upon learning two wardrobes were required, swept the ladies away, leaving him to pass the time in a room with uncomfortable furniture.
It occurred to him while he surveyed the feminine chamber, with its frail tables and chairs, that this was what Minerva meant by making his life unpleasant. Well, she would have to do better than this. She did not know with whom she dealt.
He tried the one upholstered chair. It had not been built for a man with his height, but after sprawling this way and that he managed to find some accommodation. He then closed his eyes and retreated into his mind. His last thought before giving all of it over to his probability calculations was curiosity on whom the second wardrobe was for.