Matthew turned to greet his benefactor. Over a decade older than Matthew, Tavish Stewart was slightly shorter and a bit broader. His dark hair had started to gray at the temples, a silvery contrast against his sun-browned skin. His even features always remained placid and unreadable, his lips curved upward in an ever-present half smile. He exuded a pleasant but distant coolness—a living male Mona Lisa.
But given the secrets Tavish kept, it was no wonder that he chose to remain enigmatic.
“Lady Charlotte, this is my employer, Mr. Tavish Stewart. Mr. Stewart, this is Lady Charlotte, Lord Heathford’s sister and Miss Hannah Wick’s cousin.”
Despite his humble beginnings, Mr. Stewart had become more of an ingrained gentleman than Matthew. He greeted Lady Charlotte with the aplomb of a royal courtier. “Your wonderful reputation precedes you, my lady. I am very impressed by the changes you have made to the Black Sheep.”
“Thank you, Mr. Stewart.” Lady Charlotte dipped a little as ifmeeting a man of her own class. Her respect toward Tavish triggered a warm glow within Matthew. “I have also heard much of you and your enterprises. I am told you possess a very keen mind.”
Tavish’s half smile did not change, but his blue eyes twinkled warmly. “As do you. From what I have gleaned, you have all the makings of a wise proprietress with an instinct for profitable decisions.”
Lady Charlotte’s elegant mien faltered, and she turned toward Matthew. Panic danced over her features, along with hurt. Matthew’s gut clenched as he realized she blamed him for spilling a secret that he hadn’t even known. Matthew had been aware that Lady Charlotte had helped her cousin and Sophia design the new room, but not that she’d actually invested in the coffeehouse.
“I do apologize, Lady Charlotte. By your face, I see it is not common knowledge. The Misses Wick told me, and I was not aware that it was in confidence.”
“I was not privy to your ownership interest until now, Lady Charlotte,” Matthew added hastily, “but I think it is both exceedingly bold and clever. You never cease to amaze me.”
A pleased smile replaced Lady Charlotte’s wounded look. Once again, Matthew’s stomach dipped, but this time for an entirely different reason. The fluttering excitement she evoked still stunned him despite weeks of experiencing this buoyant rush.
He’d meant the words he’d uttered. Society would condemn her for scandalously owning a portion of a coffeehouse, but it could give her an independence otherwise unobtainable for most women. But the price she could pay might be total ostracization, much worse than what he’d endured after becoming a physician.
“Thank you,” she said. The words were simple, but an underlying emotion rumbled through them. It sounded so much like affection, and Matthew wanted to bask in it. But before the warmth in her voice could fully envelop his heart, she turned sharply.Her expression smoothed into the regalness she wore like finely wrought chain mail.
“Are you close to my cousin Hannah Wick then?” Lady Charlotte asked. Her voice was light and pleasant, and nothing about her stance seemed amiss. Yet Matthew sensed a change, an increased alertness, perhaps. She reminded him of her brother right before a race.
“I have been a patron at the Black Sheep since its inception.” Tavish answered the question as smoothly as Lady Charlotte asked it, but a sense of unease slithered through Matthew. Lady Charlotte had always been perceptive, and he wondered if even Tavish’s talents for subterfuge would withstand her inspection. Tavish had made a rare misstep and, for some reason, had triggered Lady Charlotte’s interest.
“Are you a friend of Hannah’s parents? I must admit that I do not know my cousin’s side of the family well or their acquaintances.”
Nervous energy coursed through Matthew. Why was Lady Charlotte so intrigued by the connection between Tavish and Hannah? Alexander had never questioned it, but then again, Matthew, Tavish, and the Wick cousins had been careful not to reveal too much. If only Tavish had realized how much a highborn lady would wish to keep her part ownership in a coffeehouse a secret.
“I am always eager to find a place that offers stimulating conversation and an invigorating beverage.” Tavish spoke with a calm, magnanimous assertiveness that normally distracted his audience from the fact he had failed to address a direct inquiry.
Lady Charlotte, however, was not bamboozled.
“But why this establishment in particular? You cannot throw a stone without hitting a coffeehouse in Covent Garden.” Lady Charlotte’s conversational tone belied the prying nature of her inquiries. “Surely something must have drawn you to my cousin’s?”
“It was the name,” Tavish answered with equal smoothness.
“Truly?” Lady Charlotte asked, her melodic voice tinged ever so slightly with polite interest, nothing more. “Do you feel a particular kinship with the appellation?”
“Are we not all black sheep in one way or another?” Tavish lightly tossed the question back toward Charlotte.
Matthew found his eyes flickering between Tavish and Lady Charlotte as if he were watching a tennis match at the French court between two unparalleled players. The more the underlying tension grew, the more pleasant and offhanded their voices became. Normally, Matthew would predict that Tavish would emerge the winner, but Lady Charlotte was slowly forcing the Scot into a corner with each new volley. If Tavish wasn’t careful, he might teeter out of bounds… a dangerous misstep for all involved, including Lady Charlotte.
“Speaking of black sheep…” Matthew interjected with perhaps a touch more cheer than necessary. He was not a master at oblique discourse, but his statement caused both Tavish and Lady Charlotte to swivel in his direction. As they stared at him expectantly, he forced a game smile and lifted the cage in his hand.
“This is Cyrene.”
“The water nymph huntress?” Lady Charlotte asked in confusion as she stared at the blanket hiding the raccoon.
“What better name for a creature that is called a ‘washer’ or ‘washer dog’ or ‘washer bear’ in many languages?” Matthew asked as he removed the covering. Cyrene pressed against the back of her cage and began to chitter nervously. Matthew carefully reached a finger between the wooden slats to give a few comforting scratches. Although Cyrene displayed a degree of affection for him, the little kit was still liable to bite, especially in this state.
“My goodness!” Lady Charlotte exclaimed as she bent slightly at her knees to get a better view of Cyrene. To Matthew’s delight, he noticed that she did not move closer to the cage, which he assumedwas in an attempt to keep from further startling Cyrene. “It looks like she is wearing a little mask!”
Cyrene peeked at Lady Charlotte from behind her thick striped tail. When her curious, sparkling black gaze met Lady Charlotte’s, Lady Charlotte clasped her hands together. “She is adorable. What do we call her kind in English?”
“A raccoon,” Matthew said. “It is derived from the word used by the Algonquian tribe.”
