Page 5 of Undercover with the Heiress
‘Why wouldn’t I want to marry a lord?’ She placed his coffee on the table before him, then settled into her seat.
‘I can think of a thousand reasons. But my reasons are not yours.’
How to explain to her father who’d had nothing, less than nothing, when he fell in love with Mama? Johannes was the only one of her siblings with the faintest of memories of those early days when life had been filled with less financial certainty but so much joy. When the Aster had rarely been full and never in demand. But as the years passed and the quiet hotel empire grew and life became more comfortable, her parents’ love had never waned. It had only grown stronger.
It seemed a cruel twist at times that she’d been raised to see what love, true love, should be, and yet have to negotiate a world where money twisted a man’s affections in the time it took for her to be introduced. Even her friendship with Elise—her friend whose reputation had been thoroughly ruined by hersister’s scandal—raised little more than an eyebrow in deference to Rosanna’s family name. Her first year in society had been a sharper education than any she’d endured at finishing school. She’d learnt how to keep interested gents at a distance while she waited for them to show a greedy hand. How to read a man who saw her dowry as his for the sponging off, and not as her own income for her own self. A man who might turn cruel once they saidI do. And they always revealed themselves—with a word, a slip, a comment. She saw through them all.
But Lord Richard had been different. He sought out her conversation. He listened to her opinions. He enquired about her work with Father and asked about her siblings. She’d met him in the dining room of the hotel when she’d been discussing the menu with Grandpa Robert. The young lord had interrupted and suggested addingduck a l’orangein the winter, when citrus was at its best, and then apologised. It had all been so casual and enchanting. Small conversations had extended into long ones, and with her father’s begrudging permission, into chaperoned walks. A few days later, the gifts had started arriving. First, the bracelet had been delivered, glimmering against a soft white cushion with its thick gold links in beautifully crafted ovals. A week later, a four-leaf clover charm had been delivered, and when Lord Richard next accompanied her for a walk, he told her he’d picked it because it reminded him of how lucky he felt to have met her by chance.
Lord Richard, third son of a marquess, had a solid education, his own prospects, and he didn’t need her money.
Surely, of all the places to begin a marriage, that was as good as any?
Chapter Three
Phineas clicked his pocket watch open, compared the hands to those on the large grandfather clock on the opposite side of the room, then snapped it closed.
They were late. As usual, everyone was late.
His chair creaked as he leant against the carved back. The noise split the quiet of the former dining room, now transformed into a cluttered meeting space for Spencer & Co. Travel, located on the ground floor of Number 4, Honeysuckle Street, across the way from his own tower of peace. Footsteps tapped on the floor above while voices and laughter occasionally bubbled down the hall and into the room. The investors’ board for the boutique travel company met here every Tuesday morning to discuss business. Supposedly, anyway.
Phineas turned in his seat to check the door. One of the staff bustled past, singing, then paused.
‘Are you early, Mr Babbage?’ Gena, failed actress and housemistress of Number 4, leant into the room.
‘I am precisely on time,’ he replied with a huff.
‘Oh, I think you’re early. If you were on time, everyone else would be here! Would you like some tea? I’ve got the kettle boiling.’ Her apron tails flicked out of view as she hummed away.
Phineas drummed his fingers along the edge of the table and checked the clock again. They were all most definitely late.
Of all the streets in London, all the places he could have established himself while he carried out his search, what had possessed him to imaginethisas the ideal location?
At the time, he’d thought he’d struck gold. The combination of self-made men with working class sympathies living right alongside nobility with links to parliament and power, not to mention the independent women with connections and influence on both, had made him think that here, he’d be able to discover everything he needed to know. He would feel London’s pulse. In a city where a connection and a name counted more than a man’s own mettle, this place should have been the perfect base. He couldn’t pay the deposit to secure a townhouse fast enough.
The reality of Honeysuckle Street? A mishmash of neighbours who found themselves embroiled in scandal, nobles who suffered their privilege as a discomfort, and diplomats without tact. So many petty squabbles and embarrassments… and somehow, he found himself at the centre of every little thing. Aiding a scoundrel. Assisting in what might be interpreted as treason. A baritone in Petunia Hartright’s choir. In a neighbourly feud over windows. In friendships and squabbles. And now, on the board of a travel company, even though he hated going anywhere.
The sooner he finalised things and moved on, the simpler life would be. Today, he’d tell them he needed to sell his stake in the company. Not that he needed the money, but so that they wouldn’t be suspicious and weren’t left with a difficult loose end to tie off. Arley had caused enough upheaval. Then he could walkaway, and the only weight on his conscience would be the one he’d brought to London—Imogen.
A nudge against his leg broke his thoughts. Phineas peered under the table. Spencer sniffed at his boot. The grey cat with the white-tipped tail usually prowled the detritus of what had once been Number 6, but since the building had been levelled years ago after that messy incident with the Hartrights—another debacle Phineas had somehow found himself part of—he spent more time lounging in parlours and stalking kitchens to find the best scraps. Phineas checked the door that led into the hallway. Quiet. He leant down and scratched between Spencer’s ears. The feline rewarded him with an easy purr.
Independent. Taking what he needed. Giving in return only when it suited.
Wherever he found himself next, he’d be more like Spencer. He could even take Spencer as his new name, as a reminder to remain aloof. First or last?
There was plenty of time to decide.
A scrabble of voices bounced down the hallway. Phineas straightened in his chair and brushed the cat away.Finally.
Odette Delaney wafted into the room, as light as the melodies she was so renowned for singing. She lived in the large palatial villa directly opposite his own house, where her ostentatiousness made up for his reserve. Rumour and speculation always buzzed around Odette. This season, it was a Bulgarian prince who attended all her performances. As usual, nothing stuck, although her neck glinted with a new emerald choker.
Odette settled beside him at the table and Elise followed, sitting in the chair on his other side. Rosanna Hempel took the place opposite. ‘Father is an apology,’ she announced.
Phineas took a breath as a taunting greeting half formed in his mind.
Rosanna levelled him with a look. ‘Don’t start, Babbage. Not today.’
A flash of concern flicked through him. He almost inquired further, but stopped himself before he gave his worry voice. He needed to leave, not become involved. The entire point of provoking the friendliest man on the street was to avoid getting too close to him and his family. To stay aloof and not be bombarded with pitying dinner invitations.
