23
By noon the following day, they were aboard a first-class compartment on a train carrying them to Queens. Gwen watched Liam’s expression as he took in the polished cherrywood paneling and the burgundy velvet covering the seats. Patrick and Liam sat on one side of the table while she faced them from the opposite bench.
Retreating to the empty dormitory on the Queens campus would give her the time she needed to teach Liam gentlemanly comportment and provide insight into their family history. She wanted to get along with him, but he made it tough. As soon as the train started moving, he bombarded her with rude questions.
“How come you dress like that?” he asked, gesturing to her loose-fitting silk duster that matched the saffron gown underneath.
“This is a very fashionable ensemble,” she defended.
“It looks too big. Same with the getup you wore yesterday. Why don’t you buy clothes that fit?”
Patience. Liam wasn’t very worldly or he would know that loose, artistic gowns were the height of fashion among liberated women. “This is how many women in my circle dress,” she said. “All the pre-Raphaelite models in Europe wear gowns like this.”
Liam snorted. “You’d think fancy models could afford to buy clothes that fit. It looks like you’ve got a bun in the oven.”
She quirked an annoyed brow. “I gather you are implying I appear to be in an expectant state?”
“That’s one way of putting it,” Liam said. “My uncle Mick would say you look ‘a wee bit knocked up.’”
Patrick struggled not to laugh, which bothered her even more. Whose side was he on? Liam needed to learn he couldn’t go about insulting a woman’s appearance.
“The free-flowing gowns I wear are comfortable and the height of fashion among the artistic set. And I’d like to suggest that your uncle Mick isn’t the best role model for you.”
Everything from Liam’s clothes to his deportment and blunt manner of speaking were a disaster. The stewards and porters on the train all dressed and behaved with more refinement than Liam. They blended seamlessly into this sophisticated world, but Liam didn’t. His hair was too long, he didn’t remove his cap inside buildings, and didn’t know the rules of polite dining.
That became evident when a porter wheeled a slim cart to their compartment to deliver a light breakfast. Liam reached over to help the porter unload the cart, grabbing a pair of teacups.
“I can do that, sir,” the porter said, looking uncomfortable as Liam reached for a basket of bread and handed it to Patrick.
“Let the man do his job,” Patrick said quietly.
Liam froze for a moment, then nodded, his face flushed with embarrassment as the porter efficiently set silverware, folded cloth napkins, and a tea service on the table. The porter gave a slight bow of his head, which seemed to make Liam intensely uncomfortable, before sliding the panel shut with a whisper-smooth glide of the door.
Gwen draped the cloth napkin on her lap, but Liam tucked it into the collar of his shirt. Patrick also placed his napkin on his lap. Would Liam notice? He didn’t appear to as he reached for a slice of bread and began buttering it.
“Patrick, will you lead us in a blessing?” she asked.
“Certainly.” Patrick bowed his head and said a few words.
Liam paused but didn’t put his buttered knife down during the blessing.
Gwen led an unconventional life, but at least she knew where the boundaries were. Liam didn’t. He cursed like a sailor, ate with the gusto of a starved dog, and had no qualms about insulting people. She needed to use this time in Queens to transform him into a gentleman who could hold his own among her family.
She waited until everyone had tea before beginning her first lesson. “You need to understand the structure of the bank and the Blackstone finances.”
Liam set his cup down with a clank. “Shoot,” he said.
“Our grandfather founded the Blackstone Bank, and both his sons helped manage the investments. Uncle Oscar took to it like a duck to water, but my father never did. He wanted to do something good with the family fortune. Eventually, my father created—”
“Our father,” Liam corrected.
She nodded. “Our father created Blackstone College. His initial investment wasn’t enough to sustain the college, and our grandfather agreed to support the college until it could turn a profit. My father chose to invest most of our revenue into additional scientific research, which means we aren’t yet self-sufficient and still depend on those annual gifts.”
Liam appeared disinterested as he kept wolfing down tea biscuits. “Why don’t you pay for it? You’re rich.”
She was, but even if she donated her entire fortune, the college would burn through it within three years. Their overseas research initiatives and laboratories were shockingly expensive, and they wouldn’t be able to balance their budget until they patented their serums and vaccines, which might take decades.
In the meantime, the bank continued supporting them, and she did her best to help the college trim its expenses. She taught botany classes and managed the greenhouse for free. She hosted charity auctions and sold rare plants from the greenhouse. It helped, but it was only a drop in the huge, voracious hole in the college’s balance sheet.
