Page 88 of Miss Dashing
“They would have.” Hecate took a sip of her drink. “They rifle the mail, listen at keyholes, lurk behind hedges… If only their enthusiasm for gathering information focused on something useful, like making investment decisions. Isaac loathes you.”
“A man I would have pitied, except that he took out his bile on you, who were innocent of any wrongdoing. One wishes he’d gone to Canada.”
Phillip sampled his brandy, a good vintage. “One wishes Emeril had stayed there.”
Hecate smiled a wicked little grin. “Portia might well be the making of him.”
Edward resumed his seat. They’d taken the chairs by the hearth, though no fire burned, and they were likely missing the promenade.
About which, Phillip did not give one hearty, Berkshire bedamned.
“Do you mind that I left Nunn in charge of the money?” Hecate had put the question to her father, suggesting she’d deduced a few pertinent details.
“The money was always yours to do with as you wished. Your mother invested the initial sum in the cent-per-cents, as conservative a place to put funds as any, but as you grew a bit older, she asked for your suggestions. You were reading the paper long before you should have been allowed to, and when you mentioned the tulip craze, she realized you’d been nosing about Nunn’s library as well. She began to heed your suggestions, modestly at first. By the time your mother left us, we already knew you had inherited at least some proclivities from me.”
“You and Mama corresponded?”
“Nunn’s countess facilitated our correspondence and then bequeathed the responsibility to Nunn when she grew ill. Your mother and I saw each other once a year in the spa towns—I lived for those three weeks, my dear, and I suspect she did too. After your mother’s death, I permitted myself an annual sojourn to London. I, too, lurked behind an occasional hedge, Hecate. Thank the merciful powers you enjoy a gallop of a morning. I hope you won’t judge me for spying.”
On the whole, interminable journey from Bristol, Edward’s sole concern had been that his intrusion into Hecate’s life would make her situation worse. Phillip had assured him it would not, but only she could say if knowing her father would make her situation better.
“Shall I leave you two some privacy?” Phillip asked. “I’m told I need to make the close acquaintance of a large washbasin, the sooner the better.”
“Stay,” Hecate said. “Please.”
Edward considered his brandy. “I have no secrets from you, my lord. I’ve carried too many secrets for too long and would rather have done with such measures.”
He was making a request and trying to maintain his dignity while doing it. Phillip sympathized, but the plea was Hecate’s to answer.
“I cannot acknowledge you as my father,” she said, “not openly, but you are a dear friend of Uncle Nunn’s, and you share with me an enthusiasm for investing. My favorite charity is a sailors’ home, in which you are sure to take an interest.”
Edward nodded once. “I’ve seen it. Lovely establishment. Your residents cannot stop singing your praises.”
Another hedge Edward had apparently lurked behind.
“Mama mentioned that you take good care of your pensioners,” Hecate went on, “and that a life at sea can leave a man distant from his family and with few friends ashore. She said you owned merchantmen.”
Ross nodded. “A few.”
He likely owned a fleet, and Isaac Brompton doubtless resented him for that more than for poaching on marital preserves Isaac had abandoned.
“If we were to take on a joint project,” Hecate said slowly, “a sailors’ home in Bristol, nobody would remark our continued acquaintance.”
Phillip wanted to kiss her, for her kindness toward a father who’d kept his distance for too long, for her genius, for her courage.
But then, he always wanted to kiss her.
Edward stared at her. “A sailors’ home?”
“Britain loves her seamen,” Hecate said. “We respect our soldiers, but our sailors… Wellington will always be venerated, but we love Nelson. We still pray for his soul. We name our children after him. I would be honored to advise you on the establishment of sailors’ homes in Bristol, Portsmouth, Liverpool…”
“And Berkshire,” Phillip added. “You will always be welcome at Lark’s Nest, sir. I know nothing of sailors’ homes or international trade, but I well know who is family and who is not.”
Hecate squeezed his hand. Edward produced a handkerchief and found it necessary to admire the view from the balcony.
“Put him up in the summer cottage with me and DeWitt,” Phillip said. “You were already sorting through possibilities, weren’t you?”
“He is so… not what I expected. I expected a merchant prince, charming, willing to show me some sentimental fondness provided I did not ask for anything more than a passing smile from him, but he’s…”
