Page 39 of Never a Duke
“Of course, but I draw the line at the milliner’s.”
“My companion subjected me to that trial recently. I would like to see your bank, Mr. Wentworth.”
He led her down the steps, back to the parlor from which raised voices were now emanating. “It’s not my bank, my lady. I merely work there.”
He believed that. “If it’s not your bank, why do you begrudge yourself every hour spent away from it? You might not own that bank, but the bank certainly has a claim on you. What was it His Grace said? Look as if I’ve been enjoying your company on a secluded path?”
Rosalind kissed Ned on the mouth, though fleetingly in light of the circumstances. Some disobliging Wentworth could exit the parlor at any moment.
“On a particularly lovely night,” Ned replied, hand on the door latch. “I would like to show you the bank sometime. I mean that.”
“And I would like to see it.” Also to burn the place to the ground.
Ned kissed her, more lingeringly, and stepped back one instant before Lord Stephen yanked open the door.
***
I would like to show you the bank sometime.
For two hours, while the ladies had admired or criticized art, Ned had stood by and mentally kicked himself.Show her the bank.In the long and varied annals of swain-dom, that had to be the least romantic overture a man had ever made to a woman he wanted to impress.
But what else did he have to show her? His little town house, tucked away on a quiet street, would impress no one. His embroidery was a hobby for the idle hours of the evening. His fiddling was of the low sort—jigs, reels, ballads, and laments. He read music reluctantly, and Rosalind—veteran of endless musicales—would expect him to play perishing Beethoven for her.
Ned pondered his many shortcomings as he used the bank’s front door rather than take the side entrance reserved for employees. The building was kept scrupulously clean at His Grace of Walden’s insistence, which meant the main floor was full of light from overhead and clerestory windows. The whole of the lobby was ringed with a second story of offices and meeting rooms, while the bank’s cellars were full of records, quarters for the badgers, and the clerks’ hall.
Ferns added a bright touch, as did airy landscapes on the walls. Comfortable seating allowed the beldames and grandpapas to sit while waiting for a clerk or teller to attend them, and a bouquet of pink lilies graced both ends of the row of tellers’ windows.
Ned had often thought that if a church could be cheerful rather than solemn, then it would more closely resemble the bank. The air of quiet industry was like a tonic, though the sight of Quinn Wentworth, His Grace of Walden, at the second-floor balustrade rather dimmed Ned’s spirits. With each year, Walden became more the aristocrat, more involved with legislation and policy in the Lords. The sovereign conferred with him regularly, and Walden had recently expanded the bank’s business to include a branch in New York.
His Grace would choose today of all days to monitor Ned’s arrival.
Ned doffed his hat and took the steps at a decorous pace. No running in the bank, ever.
“Your Grace.” Ned nodded and sauntered past. He’d nearly reached the door of his own office before the duke spoke.
“Enjoying the afternoon air, Ned?”
The question was pleasant—too pleasant. The little wordagainremained loudly unspoken.
“No, actually,” Ned said, continuing into his office. “I was idling about the Royal Academy, listening to Constance and Lady Rosalind gushing about light and perspective and deuce knows what. Stephen avoids any outing that involves standing for long periods, and I gather Lord Nathaniel was otherwise occupied.”
Rothhaven, it went without saying, was not to be subjected to the crowds, much less to the hurly-burly of London’s streets.
“Constance no longer needs a chaperone,” Walden said, following Ned into his office and closing the door. “She can hire a companion if she’s of a mind to impress somebody with her knowledge of art. She can ask Jane to accompany her.”
She could not ask her ducal brother, apparently. “Was there something else you wanted to say, Your Grace? If not, I have hours of work yet to do if I’m to be ready for tomorrow’s meetings.” Tomorrow was the day set aside for the small investors’ progress reports, and Ned would be damned if he’d appear unprepared before the directors.
He was well informed regarding most of the accounts, but another review was still in order.
“You subjected yourself to Constance’s artistic effusions,” Walden said, “because you saw a chance to spend time with Lady Rosalind.”
Ned wanted to sit at his desk and bury his mind in ledgers for a time. To push aside all thoughts of missing maids, Wentworths, and meetings, and occupy himself with work he was competent to do.
“Spending a pleasant hour or two with a young lady is now an infraction of some bank rule?” Ned asked, in tones as polite as those Walden had adopted. “Headmaster excuses me to attend Her Grace of Walden’s at-homes without number, but I cannot escort a young woman whom I esteem on a pleasant errand?”
Ned had told Rosalind to ask him for what she wanted. That Walden would turn up cheeseparing now was unfair and unlike him.
Walden went to the window, inspecting for dirt, no doubt. “You esteem Lady Rosalind, understandably, and she has asked for your assistance with the matter of her missing maids, but Ned, I know you.”
