“Another thing learned from the unending trials of the second Mrs. Saintsbury?”
“No,” he says with a smile. “This little trick I invented only for you.”
Blessedly, we arrive at the counting house, and I am able to slip inside without further aggravation of my symptoms. Inside the counting house the smell of ink and parchment reigns, and I forget my ailment almost completely.
We walk up the long stairs to the first floor where the bulk of my employees usually work. I feel some anticipation as we approach. My marriage must have caused all sorts of talk.
When I open the door to the rows of gleaming desks, I take a deep breath. The space is a balm. I did not realize how much I truly missed it.
“Miss de Lacey!” exclaims one of my employees, a recent addition, a young lady from a genteel family in Lancashire that threw her out without a penny after she was ruined. The girl, Katherine, has dark redhair and usually wears a pensive expression. Now, however, she flushes a deep crimson. “Or Mrs. de Lacey, I should say!”
“Yes, I suppose you should,” I say with a laugh.
Now everyone rushes towards me, tendering congratulations and remarking openly on how handsome Alfred is. Usually my employees are more reserved with me, but clearly my long absence and surprising marriage, and now my reappearance with Alfred, has dissolved the usual barriers between us.
And it is a welcome reminder that while I am reviled across Britain, here I am something else.
Veronica makes her appearance through the crowd of young women.
“Ah, so the happily married woman has finally decided to visit our humble counting house.”
“Last time I checked it is stillmycounting house,” I retort, unable to keep from smiling. One of the reasons that I love Veronica is that she refuses to be intimidated by me.
“Is it?” Veronica says, looking over at Alfred. Her implication is clear. A married woman’s property is, at present, a contested thing in England. The small crowd of women fall silent around me.
“Of course,” I say. “Mr. de Lacey has no interest in the business—and even if he did, well, you cannot imagine thatIof all people would have neglected to make marriage articles to my advantage?”
Veronica should know better. No one has ever accused me of being soft in matters of business, that is certain. But to be fair, my marriage must have come as a shock.
“I have no ambitions in business,” Alfred says beside me in his rich, even-toned voice. It is, undoubtedly, the voice that many women desire in a lover or a husband. The female faces around us soften as he speaks. “Alas, I have nohead for numbers. But I plan to support and admire my wife in all facets of her life—so I have come here to see her empire.”
I take it as a testament to the hardnosed nature of my clerks that no sighs are audible at this declaration. But I am sure that at least a few of the women are suppressing such exhalations.
“Good,” Veronica says, not likely to be vulnerable, I know, to Alfred’s charms. “Because I would tolerate no interference here.”
I open my mouth to remind Veronica that the counting house ismine—but find myself beat to the declaration.
“As I said, I would never dream of interference, Miss Endicott,” Alfred says. “I know very little about your business here and would be of no use to it. If I were a fortune hunter—which I can assure you I am not—interference wouldn’t even be in my interest. Just about the only thing I understand about this counting house is that the women who run it do so very well. Especially you, to hear my wife tell it.”
Veronica narrows her eyes at this speech, but a faint blush rises on her cheeks. She might be immune to Alfred’s erotic charms but not his flattery of her business acumen.
“Very well,” Veronica says quickly. “Then you will not object to me speaking with your wife about the status of our business? All is running smoothly, but there are a few things, Annabelle, that I would like your opinion on.”
“Of course.” Alfred bows. “I can wait in the carriage. I do not want to disturb your work.”
Alfred is exceedingly gracious, but I will not have him scared off by Veronica. Besides, if there is any concern that my husband will disrupt the business, especially for my employees who count on their jobs more thanmost and would be made vulnerable by such changes, I want to dispel such worries.
As if anticipating my concerns, Marianne Kemble, a plump, brown-haired girl with a pale face, steps forward and says, “Mrs. de Lacey, I could give Mr. de Lacey a tour of the counting house and warehouses. So that he may understand more of the business. If that would be desirable.”
I assess the young woman. She is only two-and-twenty and is from the Seven Dials—Evie recommended her to me a few years ago. She has an amazing ability with sums and statistical probabilities—and if she had been born a man, she would already have her own fortune.
She is also quite pretty.
I shake my head. I do not need to be jealous of Marianne. And I certainly trust Alfred.
“That would be wonderful,” I say.
An hour later, I find myself back in the carriage with Alfred—and I am in an exceedingly good humor. While Veronica asked my opinion on a number of small matters, there was nothing of note to address. The counting house is thriving as usual. An investment in a company attempting to bring modernized plumbing into the many London homes without it—and that many other investors regarded as too risky—is already bringing in returns.
