“Nearly nine thirty, Your Grace.” Mr. Ogden leans across the arm of his chair to stroke Alice’s hand.
She flinches so minutely Cora’s sure the cretin hasn’t noticed it.
Mr. Vandemeer puts down his glass. “Yes, let’s get this show on the road.”
Alice’s gaze remains tenaciously fixed upon the door.
Cora ignores the muted pangs of guilt and shame coiling inside her.No.She made the right decision about Arabella, she’s certain of it.Someoneneeds to break this vicious cycle.
Cora just hopes she didn’t blow the whole sting in the process.
A minute later, the door slaps open once again.
Cora lets out a low whistle.Abracadabra, there they are.
Robert Ames skitters in first while Arabella trails behind him, looking guileless as ever, her hair prettily curled, her tiny figure flattered by a simple violet tea dress. If Alice is surprised by the girl’s uninvited attendance, she doesn’t let on, greeting her with a kiss to the cheek. Mrs. Ames brings up the rear and appears to have dressed for Arabella’s royal wedding, puffed up in a huge lace hat and overly frilly ensemble complete with train.
The three of them sit down together on one settee, huddled, like three blind mice.
“I do hope you don’t mind that Arabella has decided to attend as well,” Mrs. Ames says, squirming to get comfortable. “It only seemed appropriate to Robert and me, given how this occasion will impact her future among the royal ranks—”
“Of course, the more the merrier.”
Alice once more glances at the clock, her eyes now sparkling with resolve.
The game is on.
“Mr. McAllister,” Alice demurs, turning to Ward in the corner. “Would you mind terribly outlining the financial proceedings,as you suggested them to me? You know I have a distaste of talking about money.”
“It’s one of the things we love most about you, our dearest duchess,” Ogden says in a sultry tone. “The particular delicacy with which you wear your sex.”
Alice becomes freshly attuned to the comforting weight of the pistol she wears in her pocket as she gazes up at the devil through demurely lowered lashes.
“I’d be more than happy to oblige,” Ward drawls, setting down his oversize ledger. He steps to the middle of the room, assuming center stage. “For the purposes of our American partnership, we’ve created an entity we’re callin’ Württembergian Gem Exports Incorporated, which will be the beneficiary of fifty percent of the profits of all Württemberg emeralds sold in North and South American markets.”
“Not Europe?” Vandemeer cuts in.
McAllister looks to Alice. She shakes her head very slightly—enough to be seen, firm enough to preclude any argument.
“Not at this time,” Ward goes on. “As we discussed, this is for American markets only, but if you’d like to walk away at this point, we certainly understand—”
“Zee markets have opened, ladies and gentlemen!” the ambassador shouts from next to the mantel, where their “market ticker” has now clacked abruptly to life, threads beginning to unspool. Béa typing it all from the next room, unheard.
“Anyone?” Ward offers, motioning to the door.
“Enough,” Peyton growls. “Let’s get on with it.”
“Very good.” Ward bows, hands pressed together.Lord, much as he disdains it, the man was made for the lackey role, Alice thinks. “The corporation will now be issuing an initialset of twelve hundred shares. We will look to the markets to see where to start our bidding.”
They turn to the ambassador, who is squinting through a monocle at the tiny type on the ticker tape. “We have not yet reached zee emerald value. Gold is steady at $1,894 per troy ounce. Silver has dropped to $108. Emeralds... $64.78 per one carat average.”
“Shall we begin the bidding at one dollar a share, just for simplicity’s sake?” Vandemeer affects an affable smile.
“You and your goddamned suggestions,” Peyton growls.
Vandemeer’s face goes white, just in time for Ward to chuckle and say, “I was thinking more like five. Do I have five?”
Five sets of hands rise in the air at once.
