Page 97 of The Time for Love
A light tap on the door to the office sent her nerves leaping and transfixed her attention on the wooden panel. This was the moment they’d all worked frantically hard to prepare for. She drew in a breath and surreptitiously held it. “This will be him,” she murmured to Edward and Charlie.
They were as ready as they would ever be. Clasping her hands on the pristine blotter before her, she raised her chin and commandingly called, “Come in.”
Harvey opened the door and ushered in Mr. Cornelius Blackwell.
She stared at the man who had caused so much consternation in her life. Hers and many others’ as well.
That morning, she and Martin had barely made it to the breakfast parlor before a deluge of replies to their letters of the previous evening had started pouring in. It was soon apparent that enough of the right people were ready to back their scheme; judging by the replies, Blackwell’s name alone had been enough to ensure that. With the required support guaranteed, she’d written a polite letter to Blackwell, merely stating that his interest in Carmichael Steelworks had come to her attention and suggesting a meeting with her and the other shareholders in the boardroom at the works.
She’d stipulated three o’clock that afternoon as an appropriate hour and had dispatched the missive by footman to the hotel in Castle Street that Blackwell had told Edward he was patronizing; subsequently, Martin’s men had confirmed that Blackwell was, indeed, in residence. She’d instructed the footman to wait for a reply.
Unsurprisingly, Blackwell had responded with alacrity, returning a simply worded acceptance with the footman.
Thereafter, she hadn’t had a minute to call her own, what with helping to manage the luncheon her grandmother had hosted, during which they’d described to the assembled guests just what had been occurring at Carmichael Steelworks and what they’d subsequently learned of Blackwell’s intentions. Once the exclamations and protestations had died down, Martin had explained their plan to derail Blackwell’s scheme, at least with regard to Sheffield.
While in general concise and succinct, Martin had taken the time to elucidate his reasoning. Sophy had noted how the atmosphere in the room shifted and clarified as more and more of those present understood his tack, agreed with his thinking, and came around to wholeheartedly supporting their plan.
Their plan to convince Cornelius Blackwell to give up his vision of building slum housing over a large area of Sheffield.
She watched as Blackwell approached the table. He was tall, wide-shouldered, and lean, with a slight stoop, and was wearing the black overcoat that had so defined him. His gaze swept the room, taking in Edward, herself, and Charlie. That cool, assessing gaze lingered for a moment on Martin before Blackwell returned his attention to her.
Unhurriedly, she rose, and Edward and Charlie came to their feet, flanking her. With an entirely mild expression on her face, she nodded in greeting. “Mr. Blackwell. I’m Miss Carmichael.”
With surprising grace, Blackwell returned the gesture. “Miss Carmichael.” His voice was rough and deep, almost grating in quality.
Sophy waved at Edward. “I believe you’re acquainted with my cousin, Edward. And this”—she indicated Charlie—“is Edward’s brother, Charles Carmichael.”
She waited while the men exchanged nods and single-word greetings, rather clipped on her cousins’ parts, then she half turned and smiled warmly in Martin’s direction. “And this is Mr. Martin Cynster, my fiancé.”
Returning her gaze to Blackwell, she caught a fleeting flicker pass through his eyes—possibly recognition of the Cynster name or, alternatively, speculation over her engagement and what that might mean for her continuing in her role at the steelworks.
“Mr. Blackwell.”
At the edge of her vision, she saw Martin nod in languidly distant fashion; he was to play the part of disinterested spectator, at least to begin with.
Blackwell inclined his head in response, the movement rather more wary than with her cousins. “Mr. Cynster.”
Adhering to her businesslike manner, she gestured to the single chair on the other side of the table, set directly opposite her own. “Please, Mr. Blackwell, take a seat.”
She sat as Blackwell moved forward.
He drew back the chair and gathered his black coat before sitting. He’d removed his gloves, and his hands were large, the fingers long, their backs scarred. Examining his coat, Sophy could understand why people remembered it; from the way the fabric hung and moved about his body, it was plainly luxurious, soft and thick, densely black, and the garment was superbly cut to suit Blackwell’s tall, broad-shouldered frame.
That the coat had come from one of London’s foremost tailors was beyond doubt. She agreed with Martin’s assessment; Blackwell wore it as a badge, as a visible assertion of who he believed he was.
Or rather, who he wanted others to believe him to be.
She seized the moment to swiftly study him. His face did, indeed, appear hewn from rock, the planes hard and sharp-edged. His eyes were a pale, washed-out sea green, deeply set beneath the overhang of his wide brow, and his lips were thin and pale, showing little contrast against his pale skin.
His was a face that was difficult to read; there was little movement in the hard lines, little evidence of emotion to give a watcher any clue as to his thoughts.
The only sign she detected lay in the pale, cold eyes that rested, with just a hint of expectation, on her.
That was good; expectation she could work with.
She bestowed a polite, business-appropriate smile. “Mr. Blackwell, I’ve asked you here today to”—artfully, she glanced at Edward, then returned her gaze to Blackwell—“allow us an opportunity to discuss our views on the future of Carmichael Steelworks.”
Although nothing changed in Blackwell’s face, she immediately sensed a heightened alertness emanating from him; it seemed he was eager to engage. Smoothly, she went on, “I understand from Edward that you’ve shown some interest in our business and wondered at the direction of your thoughts. I invited you here today hoping you would share those with us.”
