“The buildings are perfect, my lord.”
“They are not.” They were. Even if they were too distant from one another.
“I know you like everything to be just so. I understand there are some elements here out of your control and that… upsets you.”
“I’m not upset.”
Silence. Then: “Of course not, my lord. But?—”
“We’ll help Atlas with his interviews when we return. And then we’ll tackle my list.”
“As you say. But, Lord Andrew, what will you do about the London location? If Mr. Tidsdale outbids you?—”
“I’ll choose another location.” He wouldn’t. Mrs. Dart wanted the house. She’d have it. And no damn Mr. Tidsdale would keep that from happening. Drew owed her too much to let her down. She’d come into his life when he’d most needed her. Potential clients had turned up their noses at him when they’d learned he tutored himself, that he handled the accounts and held interviews to place the governesses and other educators. He’d lost business steadily.
Then this imp of a woman had stumbled into his study, laughing, telling the lord and lady turning their noses up at him that they had assumed wrong regarding Lord Andrew. He did not conduct any of the business, she did.
Who was she? Mrs. Dart, she’d said, all prim and proper. A widow of many years whom Lord Andrew had hired to run the agency for him. All lies said with the confidence of a professional stage actress. He was merely here for a visit, she’d assured his potential clients, to check up on her, to inspect everything and make sure it was up to his rigorously high standards. The lord and lady had changed their tune after that.
MissDart had been there for help finding work as a governess and had jumped to his rescue. And after thatMrs. Dart remained as his secretary, the face of his company, a means of hiding his own true devotion to every aspect of the work.
He cleared his throat. “Mrs. Dart?”
“Hm?”
“Thank you.”
Her steps faltered and he gave her his arm until they smoothed out once more. “Gratitude, my lord? For what?”
“All the years you’ve worked for me. And for today. You often keep me levelheaded.”
“Hm. So I do. You’re welcome.”
“That’s why I need your help with the list. I can trust you to ensure I do not make an emotional decision.”
“I thought emotion had nothing to do with this decision.”
“Precisely.”
She sighed, and just when he thought she would answer him, she did not.
He gave up waiting for one, and they arrived in silence at the art school. Why wouldn’t she aid him in this when she aided him in everything else? It was for the good of the agency, after all. She was being stubborn, but he’d convince her to help him in the end. Perhaps when he placed the deed to the Aster Square residences before her, she’d melt into submission.
Four
Amelia wanted to throttle Lord Andrew. His constant calm requests for her to review his list of matrimonial candidates cut deeper each time. The fact he never noticed how much it bothered her made the pain even worse. Her head throbbing and her soul pitch dark, she still smiled. Because she’d been asked to take notes as Lord Andrew interviewed the prospects for woodworkers to send home with his brother. And she did not wish to scare the applicants with her mournful scowls and sighs.
They’d begun interviews yesterday after a good night’s sleep, and there were still two more candidates after this one.
Lord Atlas sat at the side of a large room in the spacious townhouse where the Waneborough Charitable School of Art resided, and Amelia sat behind Lord Andrew at a small, portable writing desk, hastily scribbling her own thoughts as well as those she thought he might be having. It should not be part of her job to anticipate his opinions, but so it was and always had been.
The woman they interviewed sat before them, the large windows behind her illuminated her deep-red hair with all the light of the afternoon sun. She seemed a Madonna, complete with halo. But she spoke with all the expertise of a woman whoseexperiences ranged further than the saintly and spiritual. “My father apprenticed under Sheraton,” she said, only her faintly pink lips moving.
“We’re interviewingyou, madam, not your father.” Lord Andrew stretched out a leg. The first sign restless itched through him. He’d need a break after this interview.
“My father taught me everything he learned. I can accomplish any task you require of me and complete it with elegance as well as skill.” Mrs. Bronwen held her chin high.
“You were not on our list of artisans to interview, Mrs. Bronwen.” Lord Andrew brushed his hair behind his ear, a clear sign he would soon stand and be done with the conversation.
