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“A detailed report from a Parliamentary Select Committee, examining returns from four hundred British savings banks.” Reina became animated in her enthusiasm. “Women may earn less than men, but we save a far greater percentage of our earnings. We also pay our debt faster. Tens of thousands of women across England have managed to start small businesses such as button-making or keeping a sandwich stall at market. Women are an economic force that’s gone unrecognized so far, but it’s only a matter of time. We need banks that will partner with us, not stand in our way.”

William didn’t reply. His expression reminded Reina of the way June examined onions or melons at the market, turning them over, testing their appearance and smell, their weight in her hand.

After a while, he said reflectively, “You’re a shrewd businesswoman, Reina. I used to wonder whether your successes were simply a matter of luck. I’ve come to understand, however, that you have a rather remarkable ability to see things sooner than other people can. I wouldn’t call it genius, despite how often the word is applied to you, but the fact is—”

“I don’t claim to be a genius.”

“—you occupy some kind of intersection that allows you to see everything that’s coming and going. You perceive connections between apparently unrelated information and interpret them correctly. It’s a skill that can’t be taught or acquired. Which, I might add, is quite infuriating.”

“Are we still talking about my bank?” Reina asked on a plaintive note.

“We are, actually. This is where I’m leading: I have plans in development for a new branch of Farlow’s to be built on a plot I own in Knightsbridge. If you’re willing to draw up a prospectus for the women’s bank you just described, I would be open to discussing a business partnership with you.”

Reina could hardly believe her ears. Excitement sent a rush of color over her face. “You’d consider building my bank in Knightsbridge?”

His eyes glinted with amusement. “Our bank. Which would be a branch of Farlow’s.”

“An all-women’s branch,” she said, just to be clear.

“Ladies’ branch.”

“No, not ladies,” she protested. “Everyone knows it’s not ladylike to discuss money at all—which makes being ladylike at a bank quite impossible.” She felt a little pop of the miniature hinge beneath her thumb and glanced down to see the lid dangling.

“Pistols,” she muttered, and reached over to switch the mangled spoon with William’s untouched one. Delicately she arranged the new spoon above her own place setting.

William’s brows lifted.

“I can’t be the one who broke the spoon,” Reina told him primly. “They’ll use it as an excuse never to allow a woman in here again.”

His head bent over his plate, and his shoulders shook. In a moment, she heard his muffled voice emerge. “A lady wouldn’t have broken it.”

And Reina watched in pleased surprise as William Farlow, stripped of all composure, laughed like a boy, in a public restaurant.

It was a handsome sight indeed.

Chapter Four

Irregular Servants

A week after her lunch with William, Reina walked with June to the Second Chance Employment Agency. The weight of her gold propelling pencil hung on a long gold chain around her neck, bouncing gently beneath her winter cloak.

Fortunately, Duke Street was only a half-mile’s walk from Westbrook House.

Unfortunately, it was raining sideways.

London rain, borne on westerly winds through a city of smokestacks and chimney pots, was unrivaled for its sheer puckishness. In a single hour, it could race along the streets, slow to a drizzle, halt in a blinding mist, and then whip into a new rollick of showers. Sometimes in defiance of every natural law, it even rained upward.

Gripping the handle of her umbrella with both hands, Reina angled it to block a gust of wind as she and June crossed the granite-block road paving. Together they jumped over a stream that foamed along the gutters on its way to the sewer grating.

“You really didn’t need to come with me,” Reina said as they joined the throng of pedestrians milling along the footpath.

“If I let you go out alone,” June replied, “some masher might harass you and say he mistook you for a streetwalker.”

“At nine o’clock in the morning?”

“Men are men, any time of day.” June paused and spluttered as a shock of rain assaulted them from the side and left her face dripping. “But I’ll lay this weather could hold back even the most determined masher.”

“Well, I appreciate your company. Even though I don’t need looking after.”