He, too, had arrived early, perhaps for another meeting, for he was in earnest conversation with another gentleman. A fashionable gentleman, at that. The cut, style, and quality of the man’s clothing suggested wealth and social position, an impression that brought forcibly home to Bane how right Drake had been to insist on visiting the tailor.
The broker didn’t notice them in their shadowy corner, and the innkeeper found the pair a table in a sunny window, obviously a premium spot reserved for men of the quality of the broker’s companion.
Bane continued to watch while the two of them sat and talked, the broker scribbling notes in the same notebook he’d used when taking instructions from Drake and Bane. A businessmeeting, then. One of the inn’s servants brought the two men a meal, and they continued their discussion as they ate.
Bane and Drake had finished their own meal and their table had been cleared by the time the pair they were watching were done. The gentleman stood and the broker hastened to do likewise, holding out his hand to grasp the one extended toward him.
“Come on,” said Drake, pushing out of his chair. He strode across the room toward the other two, Bane following behind, wondering what his brother was up to.
The broker’s eyes widened and he smiled, then said to the other man, “My lord, these are the brothers I told you about. Mr. Sanderson and Mr. Sanderson, well met, sirs. Lord Andrew Winderfield, may I present Mr. Wolfbane Sanderson and Mr. Mandrake Sanderson?”
Lord Andrew—which meant he was the younger son of a duke or a marquess, if Bane remembered rightly. He presented his hand to each of them in turn. His grip was firm and his smile friendly. “Mr. Atkins tells me you might be prepared to act as a reference, gentlemen. The investment club to which I belong is thinking of commissioning his services as a broker.”
“We have been pleased with his performance, Lord Andrew,” Bane confirmed. “We have only recently moved to London, but he has been acting on our behalf for three years, and to excellent effect.”
The aristocrat nodded. “A good recommendation, indeed. Perhaps you would be kind enough to speak to the other members of my little group? We meet here tomorrow at around this time. Please, join us for another of Mrs. Waters’ delectable pies. She bakes them fresh every day.”
“Thank you. We shall,” said Drake, before Bane could make a polite excuse. And perhaps his brother was correct. It couldn’t hurt to give their broker a helping hand, and—if they were aboutto venture into society—it was not a bad idea to do a favor for a group of nobles.
*
Cilla
Dressed in thepalest of pinks, Cilla checked her reflection in the mirror then moved out of the way so that Livy could have a turn. Today was Cilla’s first experience of London-style afternoon calls. In a way, she supposed, it was Livy’s, too, for her sister had never looked lovelier.
Livy was staring into the mirror as if she could not believe her eyes. For today, she had chosen a day dress in mazarine blue silk. The fabric had been woven with self-color stripes, shiny and dull, shiny and dull. Apart from a minute ruffle at the hem, cuffs, high waist and neckline, it was unadorned. The shade made her hair look darker and her eyes more silver than Cilla had ever seen them, and the superb cut flattered her figure.
“You look lovely, Livy,” Cilla said, sincerely.
Livy’s smile suggested that she almost believed it. “So do you, Cilla darling. Shall we go down?”
They had come over to Aunt Ginny’s house after breakfast, for a dance lesson and then another shopping trip, this time for dancing slippers and other footwear. Rather than go home to change, they had arranged for Barker to bring an afternoon change of clothing over to the Marples’.
So, to attend Aunt Ginny’s afternoon calls, all they needed to do was walk downstairs.
They met their cousins on the stairs, Pearl looking lovely in white, Beryl in pale green, and Ruby in the softest of blues.
“Oooh,” said Beryl. “I do wish I was old enough to wear real colors. I would kill to be able to wear that gown, Livy. You look wonderful in it.”
Aunt Ginny came out of her bedchamber, dressed in a gown of a rich red in which she did not look nearly old enough to be a widow with four adult children. Cilla found herself calculating her aunt’s age. Jasper, her eldest, was twenty-two, and Aunt Ginny had been eighteen when he was born, which meant Aunt Ginny was more than twice as old as Cilla.
Cilla hoped she looked as good when she was forty.
“You all look charming, young ladies,” said Aunt Ginny. “Now, where is Jasper? We must be sitting in the parlor before the guests start to arrive.”
“His lordship has already gone down, my lady,” said the footman who was stationed at the top of the stairs.
Aunt Ginny waved her daughters ahead of them, took Livy’s arm, and gestured to Cilla to walk with them. “Now, girls, I sent a note to the Sanderson brothers, telling them today was our day for visitors. I wanted to warn you that they are not eligible, my dears. But they are attractive young men with beautiful manners, and it never hurts the eligible men to think other men find you attractive.”
“Not eligible?” Livy demanded. “In what way? Because they are not gentry, you mean?Weare not gentry.”
“Yes, Olivia,” Aunt Ginny agreed, “but you could be. Women can marry up. Look at me. With my husband’s title and my father’s—now my brother’s—wealth, I am accepted in the highest levels of Society. Men, however, are born into their status. Unfair. But that is how Society is. We can find you both far better husbands than the younger sons of a merchant.”
Cilla wasn’t at all certain she wanted to marry up. In her admittedly limited experience, young men who earned their own way were far more interesting—and less arrogant—than thoseidle young gentlemen whose status depended entirely on their birth-lines. She didn’t feel she could argue with Aunt Ginny, however. The lady was, after all, putting herself out to give Livy and Cilla a season.
Livy had no such qualms. “I am not certain I ever want to marry,” she said, “but if I do, I will choose a man for his qualities, not for his family.”
“We have no time to talk about that now,” Aunt Ginny told her. “There is the doorbell. Quickly, girls, take your places. Look busy. Jasper, do you have your book? Read to us, but stop immediately when guests arrive. We do not expect large numbers today, but I fancy we shall have a few gentlemen stopping by, and my friend Mrs. Sandrow and her daughters.”
