Mr. Lane scratched his head and sniffed. “With what you’ve presented, I’d be a fool not to invest alongside you. But what exactly are you offering, Everett?”
Finally, the point. Typically, we split profits twenty-five percent to seventy-five in his favor because, while I could find the best investments, he had the money and connections. He’d been so generous with me over the last few years, largely, I assumed, because of his friendship with my late grandfather.
Never had I been so bold with Mr. Lane. Would he think me overstepping to ask so much of him? I’d finally reached a place financially where I could afford to take big risks; I just needed someone with a large enough purse to make that risk bearable. If I landed this deal—if I made as much money as I intended to make—I could afford to present my sister witha dowry full enough to tempt a decent husband. I could offer my mother a comfortable living for the rest of her days.
And I could expand my holdings and provide for a family of my own eventually. Modest, of course, all modest in comparison to Mr. Lane’s lifestyle. But compared to how bleak things had seemed for me when I’d left Cambridge, I would be living like a king.
I braced myself, infusing my voice with the confidence of a man twice my age and experience. “You and I will go in as even investors.” I met his eye firmly and was surprised to see not a flinch of disregard in his. “I will stay with my family in Brighton for the foreseeable future to oversee the work, and you would lend trusted builders and architects.”
A soft knock sounded on the door.
Mr. Lane watched me appraisingly, then said, “Come in.”
Lyons entered. “Forgive me, Mr. Lane. But Miss Lane once again insists you join her for dinner before the food grows cold. She said to tell you”—the poor man cleared his throat, wincing with mild embarrassment as he continued, determined—“that she will march down here herself to retrieve you if you do not come at once.”
Spoiled woman. What did she think we were doing, playing a game of spillikins? These were important matters—money and business and securing futures. Honestly, I’d rather be home spending time with my family, but this investment could not wait. I would not be here otherwise.
Mr. Lane looked at me, any embarrassment of his own masked by a polite smile, and I remembered my place. Though I’d come to appreciate the inner workings of the Lane household, and admittedly felt close with Mr. Lane, I was not a member of his family. Another line, distinct and firm.
“One moment more, Lyons, thank you. We have just finished.”
Finished? A weight dropped to the bottom of my stomach. I’d considered the possibility that Mr. Lane would not wish to invest. This one in particular was a long game. We likely would not see profits for at least a year, and that was after extensive work on my part. But investing alone meant tying up too much of my carefully acquired savings. My family had waited long enough to live their lives without fear of poverty, without having to tread as though the ground beneath us could break at any moment.
More pressing, the time I’d been granted to present enough funds to purchase the land was expiring. I needed an investment partner, and now.
The door closed behind the butler, and I waited with bated breath. I would let him speak first.
“You mentioned a short timeline,” he said, standing and shuffling papers around on his desk.
I stood to match his height and moved around my chair. “I have one week before the seller moves on to other interested parties.”
He blew out a breath and raised his brow. “I should like to see the property myself first, but I don’t know how I’ll find the time. With Ms. Peale’s invitation to Bath, and Anna, here ...”
What could I say? My adamant assurances would do the man no good. It was either he trusted me, or he didn’t.
He rubbed his jaw and turned thoughtful. Serious. “You know I respect you, Everett. You’re every bit as honorable as your grandfather was.”
I clasped my hands behind my back. “Thank you, sir.”
“But to invest such a sum without having seen the land myself ... I worry that to trust any man so fully would be a fool’s errand, and I do not wish to set such an example for you.”
My stomach sank. But I nodded. “Of course, sir.” Where would I find another partner on such little notice? Let alone convince him of my plan?
“Still, I cannot imagine passing up what seems to be such an obviously good investment. Land of that size is so rare an opportunity. Not to mention the profits, and you offering to oversee the work.”
My gaze settled back on his, firmly and resolutely, as the gates parted for one last chance to convince him.
“Mr. Lane, if your hesitation is solely set upon the land, I assure you—”
The door burst open, and our attention pivoted.
Anna, in the doorway, dressed in an apple-red gown like some forbidden fruit. Dark brown hair cascaded over her shoulder from a coiffure at her neck, dangling above her exposed collarbone and smooth, porcelain skin, enough to drive a man mad with every breath she took. I gave myself a full second to appreciate the vision that was Anna Lane before reminding myself of her poison.
Her honey eyes met mine accusingly, like she knew I’d let my gaze wander, creating the strangest ripple effect in my chest, then she scoffed and looked heavenward. The vivacity with which she had opened the door seemed to drain out of her.
“Good evening, Miss Lane,” I said, but my voice had lost its confidence.
She parted those full lips and enunciated each syllable in my name with painful precision. “Mr. Everett.”
