Page 12 of The Time for Love
He inclined his head gracefully. “Thank you, ma’am. I must admit that as I’ve been at the Kings Head for several days, a change in fare would be welcome.”
“Well, then. That’s settled!” Beaming, Mrs. Canterbury glanced around as if checking for others approaching. Finding no one, she turned back to Martin. “I believe we can head home.” She waved down the path that led to Portobello Street. “It’s just this way.”
Martin promptly offered his arm, and pleased with the courtesy, Mrs. Canterbury claimed it.
After directing a suspicious—not to say dark—look his way, Sophy Carmichael fell in on her aunt’s other side.
Somewhat to Martin’s surprise, his men hadn’t turned up any whispers about others with an active interest in Carmichael Steelworks. Feeling restless over not knowing more and guessing that his quarry would attend church that morning, given there was a parish church directly opposite her home, he’d deemed attending service there a potentially useful excursion.
And so it had proved.
Because of his family’s social prominence, he’d been forced from an early age to cultivate the facility for social patter, and he deployed that talent now, much to Mrs. Canterbury’s delight.
Even as he did, he remained acutely aware of the slender female presence who glided on his hostess’s other side.
By the time they reached the pavement outside the Carmichael town house, he and Mrs. Canterbury were on excellent terms.
He couldn’t say the same for her niece. Sophy Carmichael continued to regard him with considerable suspicion, although she cloaked it well.
When Mrs. Canterbury released his arm and stepped forward to ring the bell, Martin met Sophy’s gaze and arched a questioning brow, inviting her comment.
She studied him for several silent seconds, then the front door opened, and she turned and, with distant hauteur, walked inside in her aunt’s wake, leaving him to follow.
Hiding a smile, he did, and was soon handing over his hat, cane, and overcoat to a very correct butler.
Mrs. Canterbury gestured at Martin. “This is Mr. Cynster, Richards. The gentleman who so dashingly came to Sophy’s aid at the works yesterday. I’ve persuaded him to take luncheon with us.”
“Indeed, ma’am.” Richards bowed to Martin, and Martin caught a glimpse of gratitude and respect in the butler’s eyes. “I will set an extra place at once.”
“Thank you. We’ll be in the drawing room.” Mrs. Canterbury led the way, and Martin waved Sophy ahead of him and followed.
Sophy trailed Julia to the sofa and sat on the other end. Her aunt waved Cynster to the armchair opposite, and he subsided with an ineffable grace that, along with his earlier patter, screamed of significant social experience.
That, she had to admit, surprised her. She’d assumed he would be all about business to the exclusion of society. Apparently not. She listened as he entertained Julia by continuing a story he’d commenced during the short walk from the church.
He had a glib tongue; she had to give him that. She made a mental note to be wary of that, then realized the thought assumed she would see more of him in the future.
After a second’s resistance, she acknowledged that, given his demonstrated doggedness, she most likely would, and it would be just as well to be prepared. Consequently, she watched and observed and drank in all he let fall.
The more she listened, the more she was forced to accept that his appearance today wasn’t by way of pressing his case regarding the steelworks. Or at least not directly.
He seemed genuinely devoted to entertaining Julia and, by extension, Sophy, and wholly focused on spending a pleasant Sunday luncheon with two ladies he’d only recently met.
She felt exceedingly wary over accepting that as the truth, but when Richards arrived and announced that luncheon awaited, and they rose and strolled to the dining room, she couldn’t fault Cynster’s—Martin’s—performance.
He’d navigated the change to first names, so he was now Martin, and she was Sophy. Julia, of course, remained Mrs. Canterbury to him, a distinction that suggested he was accustomed to dealing with older ladies.
He saw Julia to her seat at the foot of the table. Sophy quickly slipped into her chair at the table’s head before he could return to assist her. He claimed the seat between them and sat, and Richards commenced serving.
Sophy seized the moment to redirect the conversation, which, to her mind, had strayed too close to her. “You mentioned traveling in America. Were you there for long?”
He met her gaze. “Several years.”
“Oh? How many?”
“Eight.” He hesitated, then with a glance at Julia, added, “I went direct from Eton and learned much about business through my associations there.” He looked at Sophy. “I returned in ’51.”
“You mentioned various businesses you own. Did you acquire them on your return?”
