Page 43 of Anything But a Duke
Apparently, he wasn’t entirely disappointed.
When Dominick strode toward Sophie and inquired about what she’d been sketching, Iverson approached Diana.
“I almost forgot to give you this.” He lifted his hand toward hers and offered her a folded piece of paper. “My investment.”
Diana clutched the check against her palm. This was real. She could build a dozen pneumatic devices and afford to purchase the best materials.
Rather than rejoin the others, Iverson lingered, watching her. For a man who’d just received an invitation to the home of a noblewoman eager to be wooed, he looked strangely ill at ease. A frown etched lines in his brow.
“We should prepare a strategy for tomorrow evening,” he whispered to Diana.
“Now you wish for my help?”
“You’re familiar with Lady Sophie’s family. I’d like to know more.”
Diana considered where they might speak. If he visited Cadogan Square again, her mother would ask too many questions. As a woman, she wasn’t welcome at Lyon’s Gentlemen’s Club.
“I have a meeting in Knightsbridge tomorrow.” He withdrew a calling card from his waistcoat pocket along with a stub of pencil. After scribbling a moment, he handed her the card. “Meet me at this address at two?”
She nodded her agreement and he turned back to Sophie, joining Dominick to assess her drawings.
Diana let out the breath she realized she’d been holding.
This matchmaking business was going well. Better than she could have imagined. Iverson already had an invitation.
So why did she feel as ill at ease as Mr. Iverson looked?
Chapter Thirteen
Aidan finished his meeting at Darlington’s early, and restlessness made it impossible to await Diana’s arrival in the upstairs administrative offices. He took to pacing the display floors and what he saw pleased him—colorful shelves, busy employees, and a plethora of shoppers.
The business he’d purchased the previous year was thriving.
Old man Darlington had been ambitious, attempting to combine a draper, haberdashery, and stationer into a single shop. Aidan had expanded the space physically, buying up a nearby building, and increased the variety of its offerings. The shopping emporium had soon become one of the most successful in Knightsbridge.
As he strode through the section of ladies’ clothing, Diana and her corset unlacer came to mind. The tickle of a smile drew the edge of his mouth up. Then he frowned.
“That display doesn’t look quite right,” he told the shop’s manager, who’d been an uninvited shadow while he wandered the aisles.
Mr. Wickett, tall, elderly, and efficient, dipped his head and stared over his pince-nez at Aidan. “Not quite right, Mr. Iverson?”
Aidan suspected the man’s haughty tone worked well on the shop’s other employees. “It’s too crowded. Space the gloves out a bit. Let people see them clearly.”
“Shall we ensure that every finger is visible, sir?” He held up his wrinkled hand, all fingers splayed, and arched one graying brow.
Aidan narrowed an eye at the old man, but for some reason the manager’s dry sarcasm didn’t bother him today. “Don’t forget the thumb, Wickett.”
Now that he looked, the lace was displayed haphazardly too. He pointed toward where a dozen styles were stacked in upright bolts. “Shouldn’t they be arranged by color?”
Wickett stared at him a moment, let out a sigh, and then made a notation in the small notebook he always carried. “I will see it done, Mr. Iverson. Is there more we should fix?”
“I’ll let you know if I see anything.” The moment the words were out, what Aidan saw caused his breath to tangle in his throat.
He was expecting her, of course. But somehow the sight of Diana Ashby always managed to take him by surprise.
She stepped through the shop’s front doors and stopped, eyes widening as she took in the display floors. Her lips parted, as if she was awestruck.
Aidan felt a surge of pride unlike he’d experienced for any of his investment endeavors in a long while. He almost felt guilty for disturbing her perusal when he strode forward to greet her.
