Page 13 of The Time for Love
“Not immediately. I spent several years consolidating the wealth I’d accumulated in America. Over those years, I spent much of my time investigating the prospects of various industries.”
“And you settled on the steel industry?”
“Iron and steel, although these days, my interest lies primarily in steel-based manufacturing.”
“Do you own other businesses outside iron and steel?”
He nodded and patted his lips with his napkin. “I have stakes in cotton mills and also in the railways.” His lips twisted in wry self-deprecation. “My brother-in-law is the Earl of Alverton, so the latter was almost a family requirement. Certainly, it was necessary to induce him to turn his mind to the other businesses in which I wished to take an interest. His ability to value existing businesses meshes well with mine in looking ahead and foreseeing the areas in which significant expansion is likely.”
“Is that a skill you’ve specifically cultivated?”
“I would say it was one that was inculcated in me during my years in America. Industry-wise, they have a more rapidly evolving landscape over there, so gauging what will be successful and profitable becomes a necessary survival skill for businessmen and investors.”
Unwilling or not, she was fascinated. “What do you think of—”
“Mr. Cynster.” Julia interrupted rather forcefully, then softened her intervention with a smile. “Martin. I believe you mentioned you were up from London?”
“Indeed, ma’am.”
Sophy watched as, literally in a blink, he switched from discussing the fraught business of evaluating industries for future growth to describing the latest styles in ladies’ hats.
Indeed, she was rather envious of his facile tongue and the brain that drove it. She wasn’t half as glib as he was.
She’d now heard enough to have some notion of the social standing of his family, namely, that they were of the haut ton, yet from all she’d seen and learned of him, he was a far cry from the archetypal scion of a noble house.
He might dress in suits from Savile Row and bear accoutrements of understated wealth, yet the impression she was receiving, building fact by fact, was of a man who might once have been a typically reckless, hedonistic youth, but whom experience had seasoned, matured, and honed into the man presently seated at her table.
She suspected he was older than the thirty-five she’d initially thought him; he had a certain weight of years about him. He was very much the sort of man who was, quietly and calmly, in complete control of himself and all he owned and commanded and was unswervingly determined to achieve his goals.
That he’d effortlessly held her attention for the past hour and more spoke volumes.
Martin kept his gaze and his relaxed and amiable focus on Mrs. Canterbury, yet his senses remained transfixed by the lady on his other side. Sophy Carmichael remained something of an enigma. She definitely did not follow the accepted social rules for young ladies of her class.
Even the way she spoke with him—be it about business or the latest design of carriage to grace London’s streets—was distinctly unusual; she was direct and forthright, with no flummery or airy qualifications. She was entirely without any false social façade.
Many ladies of comparable ability or facility with business would have cultivated a fake social persona to screen their intelligence—commonly held to be off-putting to eligible partis—but Sophy Carmichael employed no such veil. She reminded him of Felicia Cavanaugh, wife of his investing mentor, Lord Randolph Cavanaugh. Felicia was a talented mechanical inventor. Once, when Martin had called at the Cavanaughs’ house, Felicia had handed him a cog and a pair of goggles and asked him to hold a screwdriver while she tightened a bolt.
Yes, she’s like Felicia, only more in control and more in command of her own destiny.
The realization that she didn’t actually need his help in shaping that destiny was food for thought. Looking beyond dealing with the recent accidents and whatever was behind them, he would have to persuade her of the benefits of changing her current path to the one he now wished to steer them both down.
Thanks to this unexpected luncheon, he had a much better notion of how to proceed.
The meal progressed through three courses, and the conversation rolled on, weaving through aspects of the social scene, both in Sheffield and in London. He made no effort to guide the discussion to business matters. That could come later and, in truth, wasn’t his immediate focus. At that moment, he was infinitely more interested in learning all he could about Sophy Carmichael. She was unquestionably the single most crucial person he had to win to his side; the more he learned of her, the better.
He was careful not to overstay his welcome, and as soon as the meal was over and they rose from the table, he signaled his intention of taking his leave. After bowing over Mrs. Canterbury’s hand and thanking her for her hospitality, he turned to find Sophy waiting to accompany him to the front door.
He fell in beside her and tendered his thanks to her as well. She acknowledged the standard phrases with a regal tip of her head, but no unnecessary expressions of delight.
The lingering watchfulness he glimpsed in her eyes made him inwardly smile. She wasn’t going to be any easy conquest.
After he’d donned his overcoat and collected his hat and cane from the butler, he followed Sophy to the door. When she opened it, he stepped onto the porch, then paused and, looking back, met her eyes and smiled with rather more amused understanding than he’d allowed to show to that point. “Just so you know, I’m rethinking my offer.”
“Good. I can assure you that you won’t get anywhere on that front.” Her gaze remained steady, and her chin firmed. “Regardless of any inducements, I have no intention of selling my inheritance, much less giving up my independence.” Her nose tipped up, and she very deliberately added, “Not even for a face as handsome as yours.”
He almost laughed—she was so refreshingly direct—and seized the moment of putting on his hat to subdue his mirth. Nevertheless, he was smiling more deeply when, again, he met her gaze. “Saying I’m ‘rethinking my offer’ doesn’t mean I’ve given up the idea of adding Carmichael Steelworks to my portfolio of businesses.”
She blinked.
