What can I do to convince you?
Delia drummed her fingers on her desk, thinking hard. Convincing a man to see things her way wasn’t usually such a problem, but in this case, it was painfully clear that the easiest tactics—putting on a pretty dress and a dab of perfume and being friendly and nice—were not going to work. No, to convince Simon of the soundness of her idea, she’d have to present it to him in terms he could accept, terms of viability, cost, and profits. That meant some serious research on her part.
After another moment or two of consideration, she stood up. A trip to Westbourne House, she decided, was the first step.
As his secretary had predicted, Simon opened the letter from his sister straightaway, and just the act of slitting the envelope and pulling out the sheets of notepaper banished all his frustrations, filled him with pleasurable anticipation, and made him smile.
A few moments later, however, his smile was gone, and an ominous frown Delia Stratham might have recognized took its place. Slowly, grimly, he reread some of the lines penned in his baby sister’s round, generous handwriting.
I encountered Miss Maberly and Lady Mary Nasby in the village last week, but though I was as friendly as I could be, they were not inclined to be the same. I fear they do not like me very much.
What the devil was there not to like?he wondered with all the baffled fury of a protective older brother. Cassandra was a sweet, pretty, lively girl who’d never in her life had a spot of trouble with making friends. At least, not until now.
I invited them to come for tea one day, and they assured me they would do so if it were possible. But two weeks have passed since then and neither of them has called upon me. I can only think they must be terribly busy.
Busy? Simon’s hand tightened around the sheets of notepaper as a fierce, protective anger rose inside him. It was January in the country. How could two young ladies be too busy to visit a new neighbor and have a cup of tea?
In fact, none of our neighbors have come to call. I rattle around in this big, cold, empty house all day long, with no one for company but my governess and the servants. It makes the days seem endless.
At those words, pain joined his anger, squeezing his chest like a fist around his heart, for even in a letter read from miles away, he could hear the forlorn note in his sister’s voice.
Dearest Simon, I know you are terribly busy just now and it is hard for you to get away, but I miss you so. I know it is not as bad as the days when you were in Africa and I only got to see you once a year, but somehow, it feels worse because I don’t even have Mama. I am so lonely here, I can hardly bear it.
“My lord?”
Simon looked up to find his secretary standing in front of his desk. “Yes, Ross, what is it?”
“Mrs. Carte is happy to have lunch, but only if you can meet her immediately, for she has another engagement scheduled for half past two. She suggested Rules, which is a very short walk from her office and yours. I took the liberty of confirming the engagement, and I reserved a table at Rules.”
“She doesn’t want to dine here in the hotel?”
“She said it might be best if the Savoy staff didn’t see the two of you with your heads together.”
“That’s probably wise. Very well, then,” he added as he stood up, “I’d best be on my way. Helen hates to be kept waiting.”
He tucked the letter from Cassandra into the breast pocket of his jacket and started for the door, but on the threshold, he stopped, struck by another thought. “Ross, do I have any engagements for the weekend?”
“No, my lord. Ritz is scheduled to return from Rome tomorrow, and you had planned to leave him in charge here and go to Dover so that you could see to things at the Bainbridge. I have tickets for us on the ten o’clock train tomorrow morning, returning Friday afternoon.”
He waved aside the trip to his Dover hotel. “Yes, but I’m free for the weekend? Then,” he added as Ross gave a confirming nod, “I think I shall go straight from Dover to Berkshire and spend a few days with my sister.”
“Oh, she’ll love that, I’m sure. It’s been a month, I believe, since you last went down.”
I am so lonely here.
“A month too long, I fear,” he muttered. “I’ll return Monday night,so you’ll need to reschedule any engagements I have for that day. Now, I’d best be on my way.”
With that, he exited his office, left the hotel, and made the two-block journey to Rules. He walked quickly, but by the time he arrived, Helen was already seated at one of the restaurant’s famous red booths, waiting for him.
“Helen,” he greeted the dark-haired, sloe-eyed wife of the Savoy’s founder with the affection and respect of long acquaintance. “How are you?”
“A bit tired, Simon, I confess. Between Richard’s ill-health, running the Savoy Theatre, and this awful business with the hotel, I’m worn to a nub.”
“I can imagine,” he replied as he slid into the seat opposite. “How is Richard?”
“Still ailing.”
“Really? But when I last saw him, he assured me he was doing better.”
