Читать книгу Undone By His Kiss - Anabelle Bryant - Страница 9

Chapter 1

“Let’s go another round.” Jasper St. David motioned to the comely serving girl as she bustled past their corner table, a tray and pitcher in hand. The clock hadn’t struck nine and the less than respectable tavern where he celebrated with his comrades offered hours of inane idleness.

“You’ve spent your coin on the last three. I’ll pay this time.” Benedict Hampden, Viscount Kellaway, drained his ale and spun the tankard on the tabletop with a quick flick of the wrist before trapping the glass under his palm and righting it. “I suppose new money burns a hole in one’s pocket so feel free to settle the dinner tab.”

“We’re celebrating,” Jasper admonished. “And I’ve every right. Having suffered months of penny-pinching under my brother’s perspicacious scrutiny, wealth offers freedom in spades.”

“Tread with care,” Oliver Nicholson, a loyal friend, chimed in. “You’ve just signed an annual lease on upper Bond Street. You’re about quality now. The monthly payments are sure to impact your finances.”

“Minuscule worries, at most.” Jasper finished off what remained in his glass before snapping his eyes across the room in search of more drink. “The office opens to business next week. Everything has proceeded swimmingly, although I haven’t met the tenant abovestairs. The landlord mentioned some type of charitable organization leased the adjoining space. I can only hope it doesn’t equate a coven of mawkish old biddies coming and going while I confer with clients.”

“Now that would prove challenging. How is Dashwood handling your new venture? Isn’t he affronted you’ve chosen to operate a financial advisement business? It’s hardly the expectation of the brother to an earl, most especially a wealthy, somewhat troublesome brother whose elder is a prime twig.” Kellaway’s raised brows expressed undisguised speculation.

Oliver leaned closer as if anxious for Jasper’s response, though the conviviality of a nearby table combined with the clatter of plates and silverware annihilated any hope of carefree conversation within the crowded establishment.

“Convenient of you to omit your involvement with said conundrums.” Jasper’s answer prompted a smile from both men. “Dash has been cured of pride, despite he worries over reputation and considers me a Jack Pudding; but like many things, timing is key, gentlemen. Dear brother is away on his wedding trip, and I’m not concerned. Once he returns, he’s sure to be about heir-making. Beaufort and I were boiled up to a jelly to find an available office in an ideal location. It was too rare an opportunity to pass.” The words prompted him to straighten his posture and square his shoulders. “Astute perception and daring courage; that, my friends, is what led me to success in my investments. I plan to apply the same acuity to all areas of my life.” He donned a grin as generous as his purse and neglected to voice the inner motivation that fueled his actions more than any other interest.

This venture presented the ideal opportunity to prove to all associates, his brother, the sixth Earl of Dashwood, most especially, that he was responsible and indeed knowledgeable although most everyone considered his new wealth a lark, his investment a stroke of luck more than insightful entrepreneurship.

“And is Beaufort as enthusiastic? He’s already swimming in lard, what desire could he have to join this endeavor?”

“Distraction, mostly, I presume. We’ve been friends since university and fairly inseparable given I’ve come to London.” Jasper dismissed the question with a nonchalant shrug. A few minutes passed in silence and then a server appeared, took their order and scurried away. “It’s amazing what a pocket full of coin can do for respectability. I’ve purchased a keen phaeton, two high-steppers, and an extensive wardrobe in less time than it took to deposit my monthly draft in the bank.”

“Until your brother’s ship docks, then the spending will cease.” Kellaway turned a wry smile.

“Rubbish. Once Dashwood returns, he plans to restore Kirby Park and explore the benefits of newly-wedded bliss. I’m the last person he’d want for company and that serves my purpose well.” He waved off Kell’s concern without further thought, confident he’d never become enamored by the trappings of success and new money.

“I suppose acquiring clients presents the most difficult challenge.” Oliver’s expression grew curious. “What exactly will you do at this business anyway?”

Jasper huffed a hasty breath, his tolerance worn thin. He’d explained his objective twice over and yet for some reason, neither friend considered his venture with serious intent. Either that or they were too kind to mention they believed his approach held little potential for success. “Financial advisement.” He stressed the words as if his life depended on their comprehension. When he received blank stares in return, he gestured with impatience. “Suggesting how a bloke should invest his coin.” The last words came out in a harsher tone than intended, but the need to stress his determination hammered the explanation home.

The serving girl arrived with their ale and while Oliver distributed the tankards across the table, Kellaway dropped a few shillings on her tray. She thanked him with a wink and ample view of her bosom.

“She’s a tempting armful, wouldn’t you say?”

“Were you listening?” Jasper aimed a pointed glare in Kellaway’s direction.

“Of course.” Kell took a swig of ale, although his eyes followed the serving girl’s skirts as she sashayed through the tavern. “You wish to tell people how to spend their money. Good luck with that.”

“It’s advisement.” Frustration caused the words to slice through the raucous chatter surrounding their table. “Investment opportunity so the client will increase personal wealth.”

“What if your advice is wrong? What if the bloke loses all his money and returns to Bond Street to plant you a facer?” This came from Oliver who’d remained noncommittal until his present facetious comment.

“That’s not how it works.” Jasper clenched his teeth to invoke patience, the words forced on a raw scrape of voice.

“Are you sure?” Oliver tossed a pouch of coins onto the wooden tabletop. It settled with a dull thud. “Were I to give you my purse and you bought shares in some hare-brained invention that never reached fruition, I’d be damned angry about it.” He scooped up the pouch and returned it to his pocket. “No disrespect, Jasper.”

The corky comradeship of only minutes before had evaporated and Jasper no longer wished to remain. A sudden need for fresh air and quietude forced him to stand despite he hadn’t touched his fresh drink.

“Where are you going?” his friends objected in tandem.

“I expect Dash to poke holes in my dreams. He’s been doing it for so long, no matter I recovered our family solvency. But the two of you doubt my ability as much as he. Does everyone consider me a beetle-head?”

“No one called names, Jasper. Sit down, you’re making a spectacle of yourself.”

The scowl on Kell’s face caused Jasper to pause, but only for a heartbeat. Then he turned and grabbed his hat from the hook on the wall, nearly upturning a chair in his hurry to the door.

Emily Shaw approached the fine brick building on upper Bond Street with pride and confidence. Chin held high, her eyes admired the sleek glass-paned window of the lower office and fashionable mahogany door flanked by white plaster columns. The brass knocker glistened in the slanting sunlight.

Her heart beat harder.

This was her dream realized.

Proof of her hard work.

No longer would her charitable league sit in the parlor of the Nelson Square town house she shared with her mother and voice hope-filled whispers over tea and biscuits. A legitimate meeting place cemented her dedication to the cause and with membership growing, a true assembly was needed where determined women could plan their future and prepare for happily settled spinsterhood without the burden of a man’s interference.

Emily smiled from the heart, satisfaction heating her face and likely flushing her cheeks pink. Her eyes skittered higher to the double windows of the upper office, the space she’d leased for a year’s term.

The landlord, a compact, bald man with an outlandish mustache, had been gracious and considerate, hardly asking a question or prying into her business as to why a woman of twenty-three years would need to reserve a two-room office on one of London’s busiest thoroughfares. Nor did he question her funding or insinuate she’d need a gentleman’s advisement. Instead, the landlord had smiled and pressed the key into her hand with a twinkle in his eye and wish of good fortune.

If only all males could show such restraint of curiosity and overbearing advice. Not so, unfortunately. Having little use for men and their intrusive opinions served as a freeing proposition. She’d mastered the impulse to follow in the traditional path of gentle ladies. Her nose wrinkled with the thought. Gentlemen who wielded authority and wealth proved the worst of all, bullying through society by virtue of title and purse. That very sentiment brought her to form her league nearly two years prior. That, and the determination to live as an independent, beholden to no one.

If only her mother could adopt the same vein of enlightened thinking.

With a small shrug, she dismissed the lugubrious threat to her joy, and paused at the entrance of the office building. The door stood locked with the bottom tenant nowhere to be seen. It would appear they’d share the same hall and entry. She hoped the gentleman was a bearable sort, although she had no intention of interacting with him or his clients. The lettering across the large wood-framed window read Inventive Investment. A silhouette of a dove flew below the inscription. She gave it no further consideration and inserted her new key in the lock, a thrill of anticipation and accomplishment straightening her spine with a ripple of pride.

She nearly floated up the narrow stairwell to find the office space and meeting room exactly as she’d remembered when she signed the lease two days past. The landlord must have been in, as a packet of documents was left on a side table along with a vase full of fiddleheads. How very pleasant and thoughtful.

Making haste to the sink in the kitchen area, she refilled the vase and strode to one of the windows overlooking the busy street below. Carriages rushed past on their way to a plethora of appointments, couples strolled on the sidewalks, some carrying packages and other’s meant for a leisurely day out. A few older gentlemen congregated on the corner, deep in conversation.

This is what independence felt like. She breathed in deep and held the emotion tight inside. This represented the freedom for which her soul yearned and heart ached. Later, when she returned home, she would be reminded of every reason she needed the league to survive, but for now when she could stand in her office, every decision in her command, she couldn’t imagine a better feeling in the world.

Tears filled her eyes with sentimental relief. She’d done it…accomplished independence and a true purpose to her days. And no one, no man, would ever take it away from her.