Her fingers itched to pull her pistol from the top drawer of her desk, an itch she staunchly ignored. “Mr. Holbrooke would have never taken it upon himself to school me on matters of business.”
“Ah, he was a progressive sort, was he?”
Truthfully, Eunice had no idea if Mr. Richard Holbrooke was progressive because she didn’t actuallyknowa Richard Holbrooke. She’d only chosen that name for her fictitious late husband after reading a lovely account of a Richard Holbrooke’s life she’d seen in theNew York World, one that had listed his last address as London, far removed from the States. She’d needed a surname that began with anHbecause all of her luggage, which she was loath to part with because it had been a gift from her mother, was stampedEH. That was also why she’d chosen the name Eunice for her new first name, believing Eunice to be one of those un-assuming names, and unassuming was exactly what she’d needed.
“May I presume that after your husband died,” Arthur continued, pulling her from thoughts that were definitely distracting her, “you found yourself in dire straits, which was a mitigating factor in opening up a business that usually isn’t run by the feminine set?”
Eunice’s lips thinned. “While the state of my finances at the time of my, ah, husband’s death is none of your concern, I’ve never been left in dire straits, and this agency came about years after he, erm, died.”
“If Mr. Holbrooke died years ago, may I be so bold as to inquire why you’re still garbed in deep mourning attire? I was under the belief that’s worn by widows for a year and a day, at which time they can adopt a lavender shade and abandon their veils. You must realize that potential clients find your appearance disconcerting because sitting across from a woman whose face is not revealed is quite a novel and, frankly, unnerving experience.”
Given that there was no possibility she could remove her veils in front of Arthur, which would complicate an already complicated situation, Eunice struggled for an appropriate response, smiling when it sprang to mind. “I apologize if my veils unnerve you, Mr. Livingston, but you see, I’m still, even after all these years, grievingthe loss of my dear Mr. Holbrooke. I’ve been known to descend into spontaneous bouts of weeping because of my grief, and, believe me, you as well as other clients would find that weeping far more unnerving than the sight of my veils.”
“The sight of a lady weeping has never unnerved me.”
“I’m sure that’s only because you’re accustomed to a certain type of weeping. I assure you, I’m not a dainty weeper. Besides, I’ve chosen to remain in deep mourning for a reason—that being my deep and abiding love for Mr. Holbrooke. Surely you don’t want to encourage me to abandon something that lends me comfort, do you?”
“Of course not. But I’ve heard that weeping veils have been responsible for widows suffering ill health, occasionally even death.” He frowned. “I hope that you’re not also continuing to wear deep mourning because you long to join your Mr. Holbrooke in the hereafter.”
“I don’t have a death wish, for pity’s sake, and to ease your concerns, know that I’ve modified the veils to include a layer of netting, which allows me to breathe easier.”
Curiosity flickered through his eyes. “But if you never abandon your mourning attire, you’ll never have an opportunity to meet another gentleman and marry again, something I understand most widows are keen to do.”
Her pencil began beating a rapid tattoo against the notepad. “Forgive me, Mr. Livingston, but I find myself wondering if you often make it a point to offer unsolicited business advice as well as unsolicited personal opinions to women you’ve just met.”
“In all honesty, no, that’s not a frequent habit of mine.”
“Then why are you making that a habit with me? Do I strike you as a woman who longs to accept such advice and opinions from unknown gentlemen? Or, better yet, do I strike you as a woman who would tolerate what I can only describe as a condescending attitude toward me on your part?”
“I wasn’t being condescending.”
“You didn’t just try to school me regarding insulting my clients?”
“I don’t know why you’d consider my response to that condescending, considering you did insult me.”
She winced. “I may have been somewhat short with you, but I assure you, Mr. Livingston, I don’t make it a point to insult any of our clients.”
“I seem to be the exception to that point.”
“I can’t argue with that,” Eunice admitted. “Nevertheless, allow me to apologize. I certainly didn’t mean to offend you. Perhaps if you could refrain from offering any business or personal suggestions from this point forward, I could then refrain from insulting you further.”
Arthur’s gaze suddenly sharpened on her. “What I’m about to say next isn’t a personal suggestion, more along the lines of an observation, but I find myself curious why your voice is changing the longer I converse with you. When I first arrived, you were speaking in dulcet tones, but now you’re speaking in a more direct manner with what is clearly a hint of exasperation in your voice.”
Calling herself every sort of ridiculous for allowing Arthur to get under her skin to such an extent that she’d completely forgotten to disguise her voice, even though the veils did a somewhat sufficient job of that, Eunice tried to gather her thoughts into some semblance of order, something she rarely had to do since she wasn’t a lady predisposed to scattered and errant thoughts to begin with.
It was maddening the way Arthur was currently rattling her, especially when she’d once been adept at holding her own with him. Her thoughts had not gone whizzing every which way during their past encounters, not even when Arthur had taken to pointing out what he felt were flaws in her character, all of which revolved around behavior he believed was less than acceptable for a young lady.
He’d frowned upon her riding astride, took umbrage over the fact she’d preferred wearing trousers over skirts, and certainly hadn’t approved of her being armed at all times.
His intolerable attitude had been baffling to say the least because there wasn’t a logical reason for him to take issue with herless-than-ladylike behavior, given the casual relationship between them. Arthur had merely come to her home state of Montana at the request of her grandfather, concerning matters of business. However, not long after arriving at Mason Manor, the grand estate she shared with her grandfather, he began taking it upon himself to encourage her to abandon what he’d called unconventional ways.
She was not a lady fond of being taken to task regarding her behavior, which was exactly why she’d abandoned every etiquette lesson her numerous governesses had imparted to her, instead throwing herself wholeheartedly into heated debates with the man.
His reaction to her blunt responses to his suggestions had been downright amusing at first since Arthur evidently hadn’t been accustomed to women speaking their minds. He’d rallied quickly, though, voicing his irritating opinions about her behavior with increasing frequency.
She’d never gotten rattled with him during their heated exchanges, but that had evidently changed, probably because the sight of him in her office had left her yearning to flee from the agency as fast as her black leather boots could carry her.
Leaning across her desk, she lowered her voice to almost a whisper. “Being in charge of an inquiry agency does occasionally require me to speak firmly with clients, especially when some of them become overwrought due to their circumstances. I’ve found that maintaining a dulcet tone is not always advisable.”
