“Have you caught a fish yet?” she asked.
“No.”
“I see.”
“What is a fishing rod’s favorite dance?” he found himself asking.
Miss Pennypacker’s brow furrowed. “I beg your pardon?”
“A reel,” he answered for her, then suppressed a groan.
What the devil was he doing? He had believed himself long beyond these old agitations.
More silence reigned, punctuated by snippets of the nearby conversations reaching him and the singing of birds. Someone said something about Amenhotep’s scepter and Aberdeen Jones, and then everyone laughed.
“I understand you have conditions,” he said, and then could have kicked himself in the arse when he realized he was not meant to have overheard her conversation with Lady Charity. “I was wondering if I might meet them. Your requirements, that is.”
No, that was not any better, was it? Neville felt as if he had swallowed a bug. Had Lady Charity told Miss Pennypacker about his unintentional eavesdropping? And if so, would Miss Pennypacker believe it had been unintentional?
Miss Pennypacker’s smile grew. “I had no notion you were interested in business, Lord Wilton!”
Business? That seemed a rather cold, impersonal manner of describing a marriage, even for him.
“Recently, it has come to mind as a duty I ought to pay additional consideration.” He would have winced at the dour manner in which he described the matrimonial state himself, but the damned glue Anderson had used on the mustache and beard had irritated his skin, rendering facial expressions of any sort deuced uncomfortable at the moment.
“Of course it is!” Miss Pennypacker said, her countenance becoming suddenly animated. “However, I must disagree that diligence in business matters is a duty. With the proper mindset, business can be a joy. Department stores are the way of the future, and there has never been a better time than now to invest in building one’s own.”
Business matters?
Department stores?
Neville blinked. “Of course.”
What the devil was Miss Pennypacker nattering on about? Had she mistaken him, or had he mistaken her?
“How refreshing it is to speak with a gentleman who is not afraid of a woman desirous of owning her own business,” Miss Pennypacker was saying. “It is that precise lack of respect which has me seeking a male partner to aid me in my quest of opening a department store in London.”
And then realization hit him, rather in the fashion of not just a branch falling upon his head, but an entire tree.
Hehad misunderstoodher. From the moment their paths had first crossed at this house party, he had been considering her as a potential candidate for his wife. Meanwhile, she had been considering him as a potential candidate for business.
“Your conditions are in relation to the man whom you would take on as a business partner, Miss Pennypacker?”
“Why yes, of course. I apologize if it seems harsh, but I do possess expectations.”
How interested she seemed in the conversation now. How vibrant and alive. Pity he did not produce a similar reaction in her. But then, after meeting the elusive Flora in the gardens, it was painfully clear to him that he wanted at least a glimmer of passion in his marriage. Perhaps not the wild conflagration which had overwhelmed him last night, but something more than polite interest.
Best to disabuse Miss Pennypacker of the idea that he was as devoted to the idea of opening a department store as she was. The truth was anything but.
“While I find your goal and enthusiasm both admirable,” he told her, “unfortunately, I do not believe myself to be the man you seek.”
“You are not?” Miss Pennypacker appeared crestfallen.
Yes, her interest had been in his potential as an investor, not as a suitor. That was rather damaging for the pride. Not that he had much of it.
“No,” he said gently, alarmed by the rising tide of relief within him.
Miss Pennypacker was not the woman for him, and that much was clear. However, the wanton Flora he had cavorted with in the gardens was decidedly not the woman for him either. What manner of lady went about kissing in the moonlight? Allowing a gentleman to kiss her breasts?
