But now, three years into our partnership, I leaned back in my seat, crossing my arms loosely, and examined the easy way the skin around his eyes crinkled as he spoke of Ms. Peale.
“She seems taken with you,” I said, encouraging him. We’d met her at the Pump Room at the beginning of the year while investing in a new theater in Bath. She’d eyed Mr. Laneright away and joined us on many outings every time we visited to oversee progress. “And she is handsome.”
“Beautiful,”Mr. Lane said with feeling. He shook his head, and a light flush colored his cheeks. “But I cannot go.”
“Nonsense. Of course you’ll go.”
“You are young,” he said pointedly, as though I needed reminding. “You do not yet understand the complexities of marriage. Nor do you have a daughter as obstinate as mine.”
I hoped I never would. “Miss Lane will understand.”
He rubbed his temples, clearly at war with himself. “I made her a promise. Years ago. I won’t remarry until she is married and settled.”
I reeled back, then quickly tried to steel my surprise. We rarely spoke of Anna, keeping family and business behind their respective, distinctive lines. But even still, I knew Mr. Lane wouldn’t have made such a promise without the utmost care. He loved Anna. He endeavored to put her first above all else. But he deserved happiness too.
“I know, I know.” He looked away with a laugh. “I’d thought she’d find someone at eighteen. There are certainly plenty of respectable gentleman in London vying for her attention. But here we are. She’s nearly one-and-twenty, and while I love her”—he gave me a look as though he needed me to remember that singular fact—“I do not wish to remain alone for the rest of my life.”
I nodded, feeling compassion and determination to help my friend. “If she won’t marry, find something to keep her distracted,” I said. I thought of the woman whose dog had barked at Tom and me in the street. “Get her a pug or a terrier.”
Mr. Lane smirked. “Speaking of distractions, what do you have for me this time, Everett?” he asked.
My stomach flopped like a fish on dry land as the necessary details pushed to the front of my mind. This opportunity felt like a turning point in my life. A crossroads where one path led me to success, and the other kept me stagnant forever. I hated being out of control, but hopefully, after this, I’d never need anyone’s help ever again.
I cleared my throat and looked Mr. Lane straight on, unflinching. “Land in Brighton. Fourteen acres to develop. The seller means to move north to live a more private life. Because I’m well-acquainted with the family, they’ve offered me the first opportunity to buy.”
I watched him carefully for any reaction, any outward indication of his thoughts. Mr. Lane was a first-rate player. When it came to business, the man gave nothing away. If you wanted his partnership, you had to earn it. And the fact that I had earned his favor so many times still astounded me. Perhaps I would find out today that I’d become too confident. Too bold.
Moments passed, and still he did not blink. He was the same man who spoke about love and family, who’d encouraged me to visit my home for a fortnight instead of seeking out more investment opportunities. But the business side of him was more serious. More firm and intimidating.
“That much land would be a great undertaking,” he finally said. “Brighton’s popularity may not last. Especially with how fickle the Regent can be.”
Confidence.I nodded. “I believe it will last. The Marine Pavilion is unlike anything you’ve seen. Rumor has it, he only means to improve it. Doctors are traveling to the sea withtheir patients, and tourism brings wealth and industry. As with any venture, there is always risk, but I cannot imagine the land will depreciate. The profits, should we divide and hire builders, are substantial.”
Mr. Lane dipped his pen in ink, his hand hovering over a blank page. “Tell me your plans.”
I pulled out a paper from inside my coat upon which I’d neatly sketched the land and my plans, unfolded it, and slid it across the desk to him.Always be prepared, Mr. Lane had said when I’d first come to him years ago.Know every detail.
I pointed to the small rectangles I’d sketched inside the larger drawing. “We could divide the land into forty-three parcels and hire an architect to assist in building the homes,” I said. “And if we sold each plot at, say, fifteen hundred and seventy-five pounds ...”
He took the page, then drew a long rectangle with his pen and wrote out a calculation.
I arranged the same numbers in my mind, as I had a hundred times last night, seeing them as though they were written on the wall behind Mr. Lane. “Sixty-seven thousand, seven hundred and twenty-five,” I said.
Mr. Lane looked up, furrowed his brow, then continued writing on his page.
My gaze caught hold of a little painting on his desk. A young girl with smooth brown curls dangling over her shoulder, soft eyes, and a smile that brightened her features. Anna. She looked happy. Content, even.
Perhaps the artist had been generous.
The truth was, Anna Lane had impossible standards. No man living could possibly meet them and, having seen for myself how often she waved off suitors, what little admirationI’d initially harbored upon meeting her evaporated. Too much time with Anna and her blistering remarks left a man feeling as unwanted as an empty ink jar. Luckily, I did not need her good opinion to befriend her father.
“Sixty-seven thousand,” Mr. Lane announced, then cleared his throat. “Seven hundred and twenty-five pounds. Quite a profit margin.”
I nodded, no less sure of the numbers than I’d been before, and he raised a brow.
“Well, the profit certainly looks good,” he said. “But does the land?”
That was the question. Our investment, like the many other opportunities we’d taken together, depended on the smaller details as well as the larger. “In my opinion, yes. The soil is prime for building and only a short distance to the sea. I own property not far from it. My mother and sisters live there now.”
