Page 16 of A Duchess to Unravel
“No forgiveness needed,” Alistair replied, staring after her as she walked away.
“Well, now that the exhaustive introductions are over with, shall we gather in the dining room? I hear you have yet to be treated to a true aristocratic London meal.”
“I have not,” Alistair agreed, his gaze slowly moving away from Theo and toward Tristan. “I brought my cook from Scotland with me, so even though I have been here a few days I am still being fed my homeland’s dishes. I hear it varies quite a deal to your English fare.”
“Well, let us remedy that then,” Tristan replied, then stepped away to make the announcement.
Once everyone was seated at the dining table and the food was served, the men’s conversation quickly turned to business. Talk of liquor quality, shipping costs, bottle appearance, soon filled the room, and Alistair found himself speaking in a language thatjoined all capitalistic ventures across the world together: the language of money.
“As you have probably been able to ascertain by now the London society revels in finery,” Tristan stated, gesturing towards the fine china and stemware that graced the fine white cloth upon the table. “I believe that if we spent a little more on the packaging of our whiskey to make the bottles look more unique and refined, we could nearly double the price of the whiskey.”
“The question is what defines ‘a little more’?” Alistair returned, “A regular bottle costs pennies, but if we were to hire a glassmaker on an exclusive contract to make a more unique shape, added shiny baubles to set it apart, we’re trading pennies for pounds. Realistically we would have to more than double the cost of the whiskey just to offset it.”
“Perhaps,” Dominic cut in, “But you are not yet versed in this society. Every member of thetonwants something unique. Something that the masses cannot afford.”
Alistair chewed and swallowed his bite of pheasant--a little too fruit flavored for his taste, and was about to ask a question when a feminine voice broke out through the masculine.
“Yes, but what is the population of the nobles compared to that of the masses?”
Alistair, and every other man for that matter, turned in the direction of such a voice, and he found Theo staring at them all, leaning toward them as if waiting for an answer.
“Theo,” Tristan whispered through gritted teeth.
Alistair had just been ready to ask the same question, and chuckled.
“How would you know how to ask a question such as that?” He asked.
Her lapis lazuli eyes narrowed and her pressed-lipped smile seemed downright sarcastic.
“She is a bluestocking,” Tristan answered for her, his eyes still shooting her warning glares. “She believes in equality. Even in matters of business she knows not of, apparently.”
“Fascinating,” Alistair murmured. Though he meant it, Theo looked at him as if he were mocking her and then gave a questioning look toward the other men.
“Well? Can no one answer my question?” She asked.
“That depends,” Tristan replied, his tone wary.
“I only ask because to my knowledge the ‘masses’ are called such because therearemore of them than there are of us,” Theo answered. “Therefore, if you kept to the simple bottles, perhaps even lowered the price of the whiskey, more people could purchase it, which would result in a higher sell of inventory. Would that not overall increase your profit?”
All of the men, even Alistair, chuckled. He found her question sharp, notable, and intelligent, but he could see by the way she glared at them all that she found it condescending. He forced his laughter to stop and took another bite of the overly sweet pheasant.
“Your questions are quite entertaining,” some noble Alistair could not remember the name of stated, “However they are better kept for your brother during a more private time.”
“Indeed,” Alistair agreed, wanting to get the moment over with. “Though the lady’s untimely question does raise a point. Do we stand to make more of a profit through exclusivity or popularity?”
“I do not need you to defend me,” Theo all but hissed at him.
Alistair turned back to her, a brow raised at her open hostility. He drew in a breath, measured his temper, and called on patience--something a woman like this clearly needed a lot of.
“Aye, ye have made that abundantly clear,” he replied, his tone warning her to watch herself. “Either way, I am not defending ye. I am asking a question that can effect my business. Perhaps if ye werenae so rude, ye’d notice.”
For the last few days, he’d worked to get his Scottish brogue to fade, but as his temper grew, Alistair could hear the faint notes of accent start to return. Theo seemed suddenly unnerved as she, too, heard it, and leaned away from him.
“Tell me, Miss Theo, do ye enjoy the company of cats?”
She gave him an incredulous look.
“What?”The word came quick, again, almost hissed.
