Page 43 of Hearts of Briarwall

Chapter 9

Spencer paced the length of his room. He’d opened the window to let in a cool night breeze. His tie and starched collar had been flung on the bed.

How had things become so verywarmwith Lydia just now?

His mother would say he’d gone yampy, and he would’ve nodded his head and agreed. Right out of his mind, he was. The outcome of the proposal had him hopeful and stomach-sick at the same time. His stay at Briarwall had been extended, but for all the “no hard feelings” expressed between himself and Andrew, an awkward distance prevailed. And he’d just flirted with Andrew’s own sister with little reserve.

He’d drunk no more wine than usual with dinner and had barely touched the port. A cack-handed job he was doing of keeping his distance from that kind of temptation.

He didn’t mean the wine.

He meant the pretty woman.

He paused in his pacing and ran his hand through his hair.

And how had he handled it? Legging it up the stairs to his room. Like a real gentleman. He moaned and dropped himself onto the wide ledge of the open window, leaning against the casing.

The soft breeze reminded him of the September day he’d boarded the return ship from Boston—the day he’d set eyes on Miss Catherine Bradshaw of New York. He’d already become acquainted with Mr. Bradshaw; the man’s interest in the automobile industry was as passionate as his own, and already far more lucrative. They’d discussed Spencer’s ideas at length. And here the man was, traveling with his daughter to England for what was—Spencer had been led to believe during the ensuing three weeks—a European holiday. A holiday in which he’d imagined himself part of in a more intimate capacity with Catherine. He’d been so taken with her, and she’d given every indication she’d felt the same about him.

But a holiday it was not. Catherine, upon setting foot once again on dry land with Spencer at her side, had promptly taken her umbrella from his hand, thanked him for his companionship with a kiss on the cheek, expressed that it was indeed good practice in acquainting herself with an Englishman, and turned to meet her intended—Lord Amesbury of Cambridgeshire. An earl who needed an American heiress to save his vast estates in exchange for the status of a British title for her.

The flicker of remorse he’d seen in her eyes had done little to halt the humiliation soaking through him as readily as the rain. Mr. Bradshaw hadn’t even nodded in his direction or shaken his hand. He simply left, taking not only Spencer’s dignity but his ideas as well.

Though Spencer had assured himself that Mr. Bradshaw meant to continue his business endeavors in America alone, the man had been intrigued by Spencer’s audacious hint that branches in both England and America would be a worthwhile pursuit.

If only Spencer hadn’t been so eager. So trusting. So deuced romantic.

He’d regrouped, walled up his broken heart, shored up his pride, and gone to work knowing he could still take his idea to the one man he could trust most in this world.

The one man who had the best reason not to want anything to do with motorcars: Mr. Andrew Wooding of Surrey, who had an unexpectedly lovely sister whose eyes lit up at the word “motorcar.”

A soft knock on his door pulled him from his thoughts. He stood, part of him imagining it was Andrew, changing his mind about investing after a long think. He quieted that hope and crossed to the room.

He did not find Andrew at his door, but Lydia.

“What are you—?”

She immediately stepped back and pressed a finger to her own lips.

Spencer exhaled, exasperated, and averted his gaze from her lips. He leaned heavily against the doorframe. “Are we whispering again?” he asked, ignoring the way his heart pounded. Blast if she didn’t smell delicious. Like fruit and woods, but also something uniquelyher.

She nodded. “I’d like to hear your proposal,” she whispered, glancing down the corridor toward her brother’s room.

“What, rightnow?”

“Well, yes, but no. First thing tomorrow morning. At the temple. Can you manage it?”

“Why do you want to hear my proposal?”

She rolled her eyes. Nowshewas exasperated? “Because I want to hear it. Perhaps I can help.”

“You?”

“No, Nibs.Yes, me. Can you manage it?”

He hesitated. Meeting secretly with Andrew’s little sister, no matter how innocent, was no way to move forward from all the thoughts he’d just put himself through.

She stepped toward him, and he instinctively stepped back, a little too sharply. The action made her pause. She shook her head. “I feel like part of this is my fault. If I’d only listened more carefully to your concern this morning, I could’ve helped you better prepare.”

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