“May I help you?”
“Lord Mercer to see your employer. He was to meet me here at two o’clock.” Pointedly, Philip pulled out his pocket watch by its gold chain from the small, hidden fob pocket in the waistband of his trousers. It was exactly fifty-nine minutes before two.
“Yes, my lord. He is here.” The clerk adjusted his cap and went to the door on the far side of the room, tapping twice.
“Come,” came the response.
The clerk opened the door.
“Lord Mercer, Mr. Waltham.”
Mister?Philip heard a chair push out, and then the figure of Lord Perrin’s brother appeared in the doorway.
“I’m surprised to see you here,” were the man’s opening remarks.
At such a greeting, both the clerks’ heads swiveled from their employer to Philip.
Although taken aback by the brusque reception, he merely raised an eyebrow. He was innocent, Philip reminded himself, yet he was so used to having taken outlandish liberties with females, it was difficult not to feel guilty.
“Your meaning?” Philip demanded.He might as well get the worst over with.
The clerks looked at Mr. Waltham.
He scowled. “For one thing, the last time we met was at my brother’s club. Gentlemen don’t often come here for meetings.”
The man was correct. Philip didn’t make a habit of going somewhere like the Custom House to do business. One of his friends had introduced Philip to Perrin and his brother, Waltham, after having imported some wine on a much smaller scale using one of their ships. They had all met over drinks at Boodle’s.
“You would rather I had met you at the club?” Philip asked, using his best bored voice as if the success or failure of his brandy endeavor was of little importance. If anyone knew it meant everything to his future, he would lose all his power.
The clerks’ attention shifted again, but Waltham didn’t answer.
“In any case,” Philip continued, “I expected to meet with the viscount himself.”
Mr. Waltham drew himself up taller. Then he sniffed.
“I understand you’re in some trouble with my niece.”
Two heads whipped round to face him.
Philip sighed as if the tedium might make him slide to the floor that very instant and fall into a deep slumber.
“You understand incorrectly.”Should he say more?He might explain himself further, but not with the clerks taking it all in as if at a cricket match.
Mr. Waltham blew out his cheeks, then pursed his lips, all the while making a great show of taking Philip’s measure.
Two could play at that game.Philip crossed his arms and waited. Either he would be invited into the blighter’s blasted little hole of an office in the next ten seconds, or he would be off in a noble huff.
In eight seconds, the man stepped back and invited him in.
With a nod, Philip strode past the clerks, took a seat in the most comfortable chair, and he and Waltham got down to it.
“My brother decided not to meet with you,” Waltham began. “At least not here, not about business. Better you should make an appointment, go to his home, and ask for permission to marry his daughter.”
Better for whom?Philip wondered.
“I have no intention of asking for your niece’s hand,” he said firmly. “There is not any reason for it, nor do I believe it is truly what she wants.”
Philip thought about what Miss Bright had said. Perhaps Miss Waltham was actually in love with Rowantry, the Marquess of Delham’s son.
