Cecilia stilled when the knocker fell twice, deliberately and heavily against the white, carved oak front door. She stared at the closed double doors to the parlor until they opened slightly to admit Loudon.
"Excuse me, ma'am, but there's a gentleman below who would like to see you on a business matter."
A pale eyebrow rose. "Oh? Do I know him?"
"I would venture to say no, ma'am. Here is his card."Hiram Peters, Solicitor,it read, with an address off of Fleet Street.
"A business matter, he said?"
"Yes, ma'am."
Cecilia pursed her lips a moment, then nodded. "All right. Show him up."
"Shall I inform Lady Meriton?"
Cecilia laughed. "Loudon, I am not a young girl in need of a chaperone. No, do not bother her. I will see my guest alone."
Cecilia smoothed out the crumbled note after he bowed and left, then refolded it and tucked it into her bodice. She positioned herself on her aunt's rose-colored sofa in a semi-recumbent position, tossing a woolen shawl across her feet to complete the image. She sprinkled lavender water on her handkerchief from a vial resting on a nearby table. She lightly held it to her forehead, thankful this time she would not reek of the scent.
She watched the door, her alert eyes shielded by the hand raised to her brow.
Mr. Hiram Peters brushed Loudon aside and walked confidently into the parlor. He was a thin, scraggly-looking man attired in rusty black. His hair was a mop of lank gray still laced with strands of a darker, indeterminate hue. His eyebrows were grizzled and stood out, prominent above deep-set, black eyes. He walked with a self-confident strut with his shoulders so far back it was a wonder he didn't fall backward.
"Mrs. Waddley, so kind of you to see me on short notice. I do apologize, but you will understand when I explainall,"he said lugubriously, his eyebrows wiggling.
He extended his hand to take one of hers in his, but she pretended not to see it. Truthfully, she saw it only too well, and the black dirt under his nails did not speak well of the gentleman. His hand fell to his side with a small arrow of uncertainty piercing his confident air. Cecilia saw it and was pleased. She allowed her hand clutching the handkerchief to fall limply to the sofa. With the other, she feebly waved him into a straight-backed chair.
"Loudon tells me you are here on a business matter, Mr. Peters," she said faintly.
"Yes, Mrs. Waddley, and my errand is such that it will bring you joy."
"Then please, proceed, Mr. Peters. I'll own I am so fatigued and threatened with incipient illness that I stand in great need of joy. You find me a most attentive audience," she said feebly. An image of Branstoke's amused reaction to her mien tickled her mind, but she brushed it aside.
"I am empowered to offer you a very generous contract for the purchase of all the London operations and holdings of Waddley Spice and Tea."
Cecilia's body went rigid. "I see. Who wants to buy the company?" she asked in a carefully neutral tone, though warning bells clanged and clamored in her mind.
"That I am not at liberty to say. And it is not the entire company my client wishes to purchase, only the London portion."
She dabbed her handkerchief to her head, stalling. "I—I hardly know what to say! No, that's not true. I believe I know what Mr. Waddley's reaction would be to your proposition," she said.
"Yes?" Peters said with faint stirrings of unease. This interview was not proceeding with the dispatch he'd anticipated. She was not supposed to be a woman with the wherewithal to ask questions.
Her soft voice grew firmer, unsheathing the steel it hid. "You come to me, a stranger and agent for another, proposing to buy my late husband's company, yet you will not divulge the purchaser's identity. No, I am sorry, Mr. Peters. My late husband would not do business in that manner, and neither will I."
"Now see here, Mrs. Waddley. At least listen to the terms I am empowered to make. They are very generous. Nay! Too generous! But such are my instructions."
"I'm sorry, Mr. Peters, but there is no reason to prolong this conversation," she said distractedly. She knew she had to get rid of this pompous windbag before she could think clearly. "Mrs. Waddley, you are acting in a highly irrational manner," declared Mr. Peters angrily. His tone was like that reserved for underlings and social inferiors.
Cecilia gasped. "If I am, you are most impertinent to say so. This interview is at an end." She reached toward the bell-pull to summon Loudon.
Mr. Peters caught her hand in a cruel grip before she touched the rope. "Mrs. Waddley, my client is used to getting what he desires, and if he desires Waddley Spice and Tea, then he will get it, one way or another. At least this way, he is offering you a profit. His subsequent methods may not prove as genteel," he threatened.
Cecilia glared at him and methodically pulled her hand free while her eyes, turned dark as lapis, held his in challenge. Her hand claimed the bell-pull and gave it an imperious tug. "Get out!" she whispered. The venom that dripped from her soft tones accented her words as no loud, screaming order could.
A flicker of uncertainty crossed Mr. Peters' face, and he backed away awkwardly. When the door opened to admit Loudon, he seemed to draw himself together.
"You'll regret this, Mrs. Waddley."
