He accepted the invitation readily. “There is a hitch in the iron-works agreement.”
Her heart gave a sudden, ugly turn. “A hitch?”
“An inconvenient one, though perhaps not insurmountable. For some reason, the owner prefers to deal directly with you.”
“With me? How very odd.”
He spread his hands. “You made the proposal, did you not? Some gentlemen are sentimental about such distinctions. He seems to have taken the notion that the arrangement reflects your particular interest and wishes to receive assurance from your own lips.”
Francesca tried to consider this calmly. It was not impossible. Manufacturers could be vain, suspicious or obsequious, or all three in turn. Some might indeed like thenovelty of negotiating with a woman if money were involved and the woman in question held the reins. Yet there was something in the neatness of the excuse which disquieted her.
“When is the meeting?”
“In half an hour.”
“Half an hour?” She allowed genuine irritation into her voice, for she felt it sufficiently. “You bring me astonishingly little notice.”
“I was given little myself.”
His tone made light of it, but she thought his eyes narrowed, as if measuring whether she would resist. Perhaps he expected her to plead inconvenience—perhaps he was counting upon it. The thought only stiffened her resolve.
To refuse might warn him that his footing with her had altered; to go might be folly.
Manners, she thought suddenly.
Who of his associates would be the most accessible, or at least the one nearest enough to be summoned quickly within Town? She must send word at once without alarming Kendall.
“Very well,” she said after a pause deliberately long enough to seem reluctant. “If the matter cannot wait, I suppose I must accommodate it. You will allow me ten minutes, I am sure.”
“Certainly.”
She rose and crossed to the bell. When Nelly entered, as calm and neat as ever, Francesca turned to her with what she hoped was the air of a woman occupied solely with ordinary arrangements.
“Nelly, I shall be going out directly with Mr. Kendall on business connected with the iron-works. You may bring my pelisse and bonnet, and send a note to Major Manners.”
She watched Nelly’s face carefully.
Nothing in it changed. “Yes, miss.”
“Tell him I have been suddenly called to a meeting concerning the iron-works and will have to postpone our meeting until later in the day.”
Nelly inclined her head the smallest degree. “At once, miss.”
Kendall smiled faintly. “Is there an agreement between you and Major Manners?”
Francesca turned back to him without haste. “Whatever do you mean?”
“He is frequently in the neighbourhood. Notes are sent. Outings occur. One begins to suspect.”
She ought, perhaps, to have laughed more freely. Instead she heard herself say, “Is it so implausible that the son of a lord could have a genuine interest in me?”
The words were out before she had fully considered them. They had not been intended, certainly, and yet she did not altogether regret them. It was pleasant to remind Kendall that he did not possess the sole power of observation.
He tilted his head. “Perhaps not, but knowing his occupation, I cannot help but question his intentions.”
There it was, she thought. The line, softly spoken, carried more significance than any smile. He knew something—not all, perhaps, but enough to connect Manners with matters outside the ordinary range of Polite Society.
Francesca let her brows rise. “I daresay soldiering today is nothing more than looking well in a uniform.”
