“He’s not simply tried, Aunt Lavinia, he’s succeeded.”
“Naturally. The admiral does not fail. And neither do I.” She wagged her finger at him. “You think on that, Rowan. Neither. Do. I. And I am currently engaged in quite the serious campaign to see you happily wed.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Apparently, I should also take on the campaign to see your quarters properly furnished. A desk. Chair. And curtains, Rowan?”
“I need nothing else.”
“You need a wife. And a rug.”
“I have plenty downstairs. Rugs. Not wives.” He quirked half his mouth into a smile.
She poked the outside of his thigh. “No teasing. I’m quite serious.”
Hell. He knew that well enough. But therein lay the problem. She did not understand how impossible it was for him. Every time he tried to explain, she waved his worries aside. Yet, he found himself explaining once more. “Who do you expect me to wed, Aunt Lavinia? Some titled lass with a large dowry? Someladywhen my mother was a seamstress and my father a plain sailor?”
“But the admiral and I—”
“Love me. I know. And”—he swallowed the lump in his throat—“I love the both of you. I owe my life, my hotel, everything to the both of you.”
She cupped his cheek, and the lines in her face deepened with her teary-eyed smile. “You are the best of boys.” She sniffed and snapped to her feet, patting his cheek. “The best of men! And any lady would be overjoyed to have you.”
“Would she? Would her family?” He wandered back to the window and pulled the curtain open. The sky more yellow than gray now.Below, two travelers—a man and a woman—stepped through Hestia’s grand double doors. The couple would find a home here for as long as they chose to stay. “I am like a traveler—out of place, unmoored. But there is no eventual dock for me, no pier to welcome me home.”
“You willnotmake me cry, young man.”
He faced her. “I don’t mean to. I only mean to make you understand. I do not fit into your world. I do not fit into the world I was born to. But a hotel accepts all travelers, no matter their home. No matter their destination.”
She sniffed. “And as long as they have enough coin. Do not pretend to be altruistic, my boy. But I see your dilemma. You do not have to pursue a titled lady. A cit’s daughter, perhaps? What if your father-in-law were a self-made man? There’s one in Town at the moment, a master of a cotton mill, and he is causing quite a commotion. But… I would not wish that association on you.”
“I do not intend to marry.” Having a pretend wife was difficult enough. A real one would likely prove a thousand-fold more challenging.
But then, perhaps no one was as challenging as Isabella.
Aunt Lavinia marched right up to him and poked him in the chest. “I cannot control whether you marry, but at least promise me one thing.”
“How can I deny you?” He held his palms out flat.
“Attend an upcoming ball. No—no. I see that refusal in your eye. I have secured you an invitation. My good friend the viscountess, Lady Noble, throws a ball every year for her brother, in honor of their mother. Any number of individuals—titled and untitled—are invited. You will attend. And you will dance with a generous handful of women. You might even find one of the viscountess’s sisters appealing. She has three of marriageable age. They are all quite pretty. It is true that at one point I rather disregarded them as good matches for my boy, but years of life can change a woman’s mind, you know.” She poked his arm. “Say you’ll attend.”
What was one night? He sighed. “If my work permits it, I will do as you say.”
She popped up on her toes and kissed his cheek. “Excellent. I’llsend more information later.” After checking her hair in the mirror one more time, she opened the door.
“Aunt Lavinia?” When she paused in the doorway, tilting him a curious look, he scratched the back of his neck. “Do you have a footman with you?”
“Of course, dear boy. Waiting right outside.”
“Good.”
“Do find a pretty young thing to worry over, Rowan. My bones are too old to necessitate such fuss.”
He chuckled as she swept out of his study, the door clicking closed behind her. He tried to sit at his desk, look over some documents, but his brain would not settle on the page. The ink danced, and his mind did, too, so he shrugged into the waistcoat hanging over the edge of his chair and buttoned it up. He brushed a hand through his hair to tame it and went to do what he always did when he couldn’t sleep or think—walk the halls of his home. The only home that fit him—a waiting space where everyone but him stopped before going on to where they truly belonged.
A narrow set of stairs at the back of the hotel led from his apartments to the rest of Hestia, and he took them carefully in the dark. He paced the length of the next floor down, the servants’ quarters. They were already up and about and passed him without even a nod, used to his silent presence. He compiled a mental list of repairs and improvements to both the building and its operations. The list was always short these days. Hestia had reached near perfection some time ago. It made him restless. He needed a challenge. The expansion would offer one.
The guest rooms began on the next floor down, where he could roam more anonymously. Few were up in these early morning hours, and as he wound his way down the hallways and stairways, each pristine, his imagination brought to life, he had time to revisit those near mistakes from two days ago.
