Page 6 of One Dangerous Desire
“Do you really think your father will like these ideas?”
“I do.” Emily grinned as she bit into the edge of a scone.
“Perhaps this is more than he had in mind when you said he wished to give the place a lift.”
“Not at all. If there’s one thing I can say for Papa, it’s that he’s open to new notions. He’s forever investing in this invention or that entrepreneur’s idea.”
Entrepreneur.It’s what they called May’s father. Weren’t children supposed to follow in their father’s footsteps?
“Are they always men?”
Em reached for her teacup, taking a long quaff before meeting May’s gaze. “Most of those who approach him for investment funds are men, but I’m not certain Papa has any rule about giving money only to men. You’re thinking of taking this beyond a few watercolors, aren’t you?”
“Yes, quite a bit further. I’ve considered making a business of it.” May began chewing her lower lip and lifted a hand to her mouth to stop herself. Not only to curb her nervous habit, but to keep from gushing her wildly ambitious ideas for a design business. They’d been brewing for months, and she’d never find a more sympathetic ear than Em’s. Yet it was still frightening. She wasn’t at all certain she could pull it off, even with the support of an investor like the Duke of Ashworth. Asking her father for funds was out of the question. He wished to see her become a duchess, not a designer.
“Is it practical, my dear?” Emily asked. “Will you have time for such endeavors when you marry and become a countess or duchess?”
“Practicalities have never been my forte.” Each year that passed without a proposal seemed to make Emily increasingly eager for matrimony, whereas May had become less interested in the fate for which she’d been groomed. After a failed match the previous year, the prospect of becoming lady of a grand estate had dimmed for May. Following in her father’s footsteps held much more appeal. If noble bloodlines were Emily’s inheritance, perhaps May’s was the drive to succeed in business.
“Your designs are beautiful, and I do admire your spirit.” Though sincere, Em’s tone held a note of finality. She carefully placed May’s designs back in the folio and set them aside. “Now, speaking of practical matters, are you coming to the Devenham soiree this evening?”
“Of course.” May tried for an enthusiastic smile.
Em seemed determined to play matchmaker with her cousin, Lord Henry Devenham. A young earl, he was wealthy and charming and precisely the sort of man Mama would have chosen for her. And he was persistent, despite how often she declined his invitations.
“Were you expecting someone to meet you here, May?” Em’s question swept away thoughts of balls, marriage, and designing interiors.
“No, why?” May noticed her friend’s gaze directed over her left shoulder and turned to spot a face she hadn’t glimpsed in over a year. “Mr. Graves!”
The elderly gentleman dipped his head in acknowledgment but didn’t smile or indicate he shared her pleasure in their encountering each other after such a long separation.
“Is he a suitor? He seems rather . . . dour.” Em leaned toward her as she spoke, never taking her eyes from Mr. Graves. “And old.”
May shook her head as the gentleman approached. “He’s a business associate and friend of my father’s.”
“Mr. Graves, how good it is to see you after all this time.” She stood and reached to embrace him.
“Miss Sedgwick.” He gave a curt nod and merely took her hand, shaking it gently before releasing her. He’d always provided a sober counterpoint to her father’s exuberance.
“May I present my friend, Lady Emily Markham?”
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Graves. Would you care to join us for tea?”
In his familiar low drone, he acknowledged Em’s offer but shook his head. “I’m afraid I cannot, but I wonder if I might speak to Miss Sedgwick. Alone.”
He shot May a meaningful look, and she glimpsed something in his eyes that made her wary. Whatever information he had to impart, she suspected it would not be happy news. Still, she needed to discover the mystery of whatever brought him to England when her father had left him in charge of American business concerns.
“Yes, of course. Em, may I take a rain check on our visit to the gallery?”
“Certainly, my dear. But might I keep these and show them to Papa?”
May considered the question only a moment before agreeing. “Catch him when he’s feeling particularly open-minded.”
HOURS AFTER MEETINGwith Douglas Graves, May stood in the Devenham drawing room, trying to ease the frenetic buzz of nerves that had plagued her since the conversation with her father’s business partner. Pushing her shoulders back, she ignored the chatter of conversation in the room and eyed the furnishings. Far better to focus on artful ways to rearrange the Devenham settees than the knot in her belly.
She still struggled to make sense of what Mr. Graves had told her. The Chicago branch of Sedgwick’s was sinking, and the New York shop might follow. Her father had siphoned funds for years to feed his bad habits, and they were on the cusp of financial ruin. By a series of legal maneuverings, only her dowry remained secure.
Her father’s gambling had never been a well-kept secret. Nor had his mistresses, the last of which he’d left behind in New York when he’d joined her in London. Yet despite his personal failings, she thought he’d remain steadfast in business. He was a marvel who’d innovated one department store in the Midwest shortly after she was born and translated its success into a bigger, grander storefront in New York City. Had he truly squandered all he’d accomplished on women and wagers?
