Page 6 of Undercover with the Heiress
When he’d first moved in, Phineas had barely taken a headcount of the Hempel brood. They had blurred into one, only distinguishable by their varying heights and hairstyles, always dressed with a touch of red. Gradually, the older children had emerged into adulthood through debutante balls or graduations, and only then had he bothered to learn their names. After a little over a year of sitting across the table from Rosanna, he’d learnt more than her name—he’d learnt her measure.
From a family established as reliable new money, and with an impeccable polish from governesses and finishing school, Rosanna would never be described as a society diamond but as a catch. For nobles scratching at the bottom of the family coffers, she had the potential to become a wife who would repair estates and not embarrass them, and for those with money and aspirations to move in better circles, she offered inroads to a new world with connections and proper etiquette.
He’d expected her to be plucked by some baron or even an earl in her first season. Yet, Rosanna had remained firmly unmarried for four years while continuing to hold her position on the society stage without a whisper of criticism. In clubs and coffee houses where he sat concealed behind papers and blank expressions, men spoke of her not as a has-been, ageing against ballroom walls, but as a challenge to be conquered.
Phineas met her penetrating glare. Fierce green eyes, almost black hair and sun-kissed skin. Without a doubt, Rosanna was not yet married because it didn’t suit her to be.
‘You have a new charm from Lord Richard?’ Odette asked in her light accent that sounded French to most people but wasn’t.
Rosanna suppressed a smile. ‘A daisy,’ she said, and extended her hand across the table, the trinkets at her wrist tinkling.
An uncomfortable prickle ran down Phineas’s spine. ‘Lord Richard? The Marquess of Hanley’s spare?’ he asked with less finesse than he’d like.
‘Third son.’ Rosanna twisted her wrist while Odette gasped and tapped at each charm. ‘Not that it’s any concern of yours.’
Phineas forced his face into a mask of composure as his mind searched and stumbled through the threads to make some semblance of sense of them. The new board member for Argonauts, the company with the perfect ledgers—that had been Lord Richard, hadn’t it?
‘How did you meet Lord Richard?’ he asked, hoping he sounded nonchalant.
‘He stays at the hotel,’ she quipped. ‘Because it’s the best in the city.’
‘No, no, no, no, no. This can’t be happening.’ Puffed and frazzled, Iris, the Viscountess Dalton, their company head and the brains behind everything, marched into the room and thumped a box onto the table. A thick wad of brochures spilled across the polished wood.
‘Iris, it’s not so bad.’ Her husband, Viscount Hamish Dalton, heir to the Earl of Caplin, followed her into the room.
‘Not so bad, Hamish?’ She swung to face him. ‘Not so bad? Austria. The tour is to Austria. Austria–Hungary, to be precise, but with a focus on Vienna.Art, Architecture and Arias, it’s called. Travel by sea and train, visit some old churches, listen to music, look at paintings, and return within a week.’ Iris snatcheda brochure from one of the stacks and shook it out with such force that the paper snapped the air. She held it out without looking, as if she’d read it a million times before. ‘Australia. It says Australia.’
‘There are only a few letters different…’ Hamish offered. ‘Just the two, really. An A and an L.’
‘And thousands of leagues and a lack of marsupials in where the trip will take them! People will notice.’ She threw the brochure into the air, then fell into the vacant seat at the head of the table. Her assistant, young Elise Hartright from Number 7, snatched the paper as it floated down. She folded it and placed it on top of the pile.
Hamish knelt beside his wife. He pushed a stray curl from her forehead. ‘Iris, you need to sleep.’
Iris shook her head. ‘There’s so much to do, and no time to have them reprinted.’ Her voice petered out into an exhausted whimper. She hung her head, her body hunching with the effort.
As if none of them were there, Hamish knelt on the ground and pressed his cheek against Iris’s. Her face contorted with grief before she leant into him. She bit her knuckle as she scanned the room.
‘Sleep,’ he repeated, this time more gently. ‘These aren’t due to go out until tomorrow. We’ll work something out.’ Hamish rose, yet kept hold of Iris’s hand. He turned to the group. ‘Albert’s been having bad nights. He mostly remembers Iris, but not always the rest of us. Iris is doing her best, but it takes its toll, and… and together, we’ll come up with some solution.’ A slight panic contorted Hamish’s expression as his gaze flitted across the empty seats to the few investors who’d bothered to turn up. ‘That’s what we said a few months ago. We stand by one another, no matter what. Didn’t we?’
‘I can fix it by hand. I have excellent penmanship,’ Phineas said, just as Rosanna said, ‘I can correct them.’
Their sincere tones petered out awkwardly as they turned to one another in horrified realisation. They’d spoken at the same instant. He took a breath, ready to withdraw his offer, but the light in Iris’s eyes stilled him.
‘Maybe I could rest for a few hours. Elise might help, too. If you all work together, it will be so much faster. You could be something of a… a…teameven.’ She looked from Phineas to Elise and Rosanna, a tired smile curving her lips. ‘Gena will chaperone, if required,’ she added, almost as an afterthought.
‘I’d like to see him try anything that requires chaperoning,’ Rosanna mumbled.
And that, apparently, was the end of the meeting. Odette left amid a flurry of excuses about princes and testing acoustics. Hamish helped Iris from her chair and led her from the room. At the door, he glanced over his shoulder and mouthed a silentthank you.
Phineas flopped back into his seat. With one sentence, he’d fixed himself more firmly to this place. He should be packing. Scratch that. Should be burning his papers.
‘How lovely to be doing something together,’ Elise said. She pulled a high stack of pamphlets from the box and placed it before Phineas.
‘Delightful.’
‘Fabulous.’
Rosanna glared at Phineas, her gaze hard and unflinching as she unscrewed a pen lid. ‘When the viscountess awakes, she should find the task complete.’ She drew a brochure towards her, struck at the offending letters, then pushed it to the centre of the table. ‘We should focus on working fast. We’ll set up a line. Elise, you unfold the brochures and pass them to me. I shall fix the letters. Mr Babbage can fold.’
