He became acutely aware of the expectant silence looming around him. Uncharacteristically, he’d stopped listening intently, but he had the gist of what Lancaster was proposing. “Interesting. Your invention would put knocker-uppers out of business.” Those paid to tap on windows to awaken workers at certain hours. Lancaster appeared stricken by the notion, as though he’d not considered all the ramifications of his invention. “That said, all progress results in someone losing. Look at the railroads. Coach services are used less frequently, and inns along well-worn paths have fewer customers. But opportunities open elsewhere. People can more easily travel to seaside resorts, which are thriving as a result. So you’ll need a factory. That’s what you’re seeking from me as an investor, I take it.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“I shall consider it, Mr. Lancaster, but will need to do some research of my own first. Within a fortnight, we’ll meet again, in my London office.” He preferred its austere businesslike setting when the possibility of negotiations loomed. “I shall have an answer for you then.” As he came to his feet, he extended a card to the man as he also rose. “Leave your own card with Miss Pettypeace. She’ll be in touch regarding the exact date and time for our next appointment.”
“Thank you, Your Grace.”
He rushed over to King’s secretary and gave her his card. She smiled. “Well done, sir.”
Her response gave King no hint as to what she was truly thinking, because she said the same words, in that cheerful tone, to anyone who pitched him an idea, no matter how atrocious or ridiculous it might be. It was as though she knew what it was to never be encouraged, as though she wanted to provide hope in a world without any.
Once Lancaster was gone, King dropped back into his chair, met his secretary’s gaze, and settled in to enjoy his favorite part of any investment opportunity. “What are your thoughts on the matter, Pettypeace?”
As always when she shared her initial impressions, she removed her spectacles to gently massage the bridge of her nose. A few blond strands had attached themselves to the wire frames and managed to escape the prison of her severely secured bun, so they now dangled loosely along her temple and the edge of her jawline. They caught his attention because it was seldom any aspect of her was unruly. It made her an excellent employee, but suddenly he found himself wondering if she was done up with such precision after she retired for the evening or on her day off. Was what he saw every day merely a facade, or was it her true self? No nonsense whatsoever. He approved, and yet it bothered him to realize he didn’t know the sound of her laughter.
“You will need to find a way to make them cheaply. Those who would benefit from this contraption will have few coins to spare for what most will no doubt view as a luxury item.” She settled her spectacles into place.
“I quite agree, was thinking along those same lines.” He placed his elbow on the arm of his chair and his chin in his palm. Slowly, he rubbed his finger along his bottom lip. “I’ve seen something similar in France, but it can be set only to blare noisily at a particular hour, on the dot.”
“Whereas Mr. Lancaster’s invention allows the alarm to go off at a precise moment of a particular hour, so someone who didn’t need to awaken until half six could sleep for half an hour more.”
“When have you ever not arisen at the top of the hour, Pettypeace? When have you ever slept late?”
Her mouth curled up slightly. “I always have a lie-in on Christmas morning, a gift to myself.”
His stomach knotted up so tightly as to be almost painful. He hadn’t known that. Christ, was he so desperate for any hidden nugget of information concerning her that his body would react as though she’d stood up and stripped bare before him? Or was it because he’d immediately been hit with the image of her in bed, snuggled beneath the covers . . . waking, stretching, remembering it was a holiday, rolling onto her side, and drifting back off, a contented smile on her face? Or was it that her gift to herself was something so simple, something she could experience any day of the year, but denied herself because, like him, she was driven to accomplish great things, no matter the personal sacrifice? That thought led him to wondering what the devil drove her.
“You’re too stingy with yourself, Pettypeace. You should purchase something extravagant for Christmas.”
“The best gifts usually cost nothing at all.” Her smile was winsome, as though she was lost in memories, and he was tempted to ask her what the best gift she’d ever received was. Devil take him, but he wanted to know who had given it to her.
Through his mind paraded all the gifts with which he’d graced her, items one gave a secretary so she could better see to her duties or at least enjoy them more: a gold-nibbed pen, a crystal inkwell, the small leather notebook she’d used earlier, and so much more. But nothing of a personal nature. He had no idea what she liked for herself, what would make her smile in the same warm manner she’d smiled at Lancaster. Suddenly, it seemed imperative to give her something that would be met with more than a “Thank you, Your Grace. I shall put it to good use.”
He wanted to present her with something that wasn’t useful in the least.
Her mouth abruptly returned to business as she stood. The manners drilled into him since he was placed in a cradle forced him to rise, even though he wouldn’t have were she a man employed to assist him with his business.
“I’ll write up the notes and present them to you this afternoon. Shall I send word to your usual sleuths and get them on the scent of Mr. Lancaster?” She held up the man’s card. Numerous reasons existed for his having Lancaster hand over his card. Some of the men he employed would be able to tell him exactly where the inventor had it printed.
“Most certainly.”
“Did you want to move ahead and obtain quotes from factories to compare against the cost of building your own?”
“You know me so well, Pettypeace.”
She almost smiled at that. He saw her lips twitch.
“Is there anything else, Your Grace?”
“Yes. We’ll be dining tonight at the club with the Chessmen.”
“We, sir?”
“I’ll need you there. Bishop has some scheme or other to present, and I’ll want you to take notes.”
“But it is a club for men only.”
“I’ve secured a private dining room with a private entrance. Have the coach brought round at half seven.”
She gave a curt nod. “Yes, sir.”
She turned to go.
“Pettypeace?”
Before she’d stopped to face him, he’d already begun moving toward her. It took him only six strides to reach her. She didn’t have the length in her legs that he did. She wasn’t so much as a quarter of an inch over five feet. Gingerly, he gathered up the few silken blond strands that had been caressing her cheek and tucked them behind her ear. “We will all be dressed rather formally. If you have something less . . . staid, feel free to wear it.”
She blinked, swallowed, nodded. “But it is business.”
“Of course, without question.”
She patted her hair, then smiled. Warm and bright. “I’m quite looking forward to seeing the inside of a gentlemen’s club.”