Page 98 of The Time for Love
He regarded her steadily for several seconds, then replied, “I do have some ideas regarding the business, by way of making the most of what’s here. However, Miss Carmichael, any involvement of mine would be contingent on acquiring, at the very least, a controlling position in the company.”
That was her cue to dart a look Martin’s way, hopefully fostering the notion that, once they were wed, she would be stepping back from her current role regardless. That was what Blackwell would expect of any lady marrying into a family of the social standing of the Cynsters. “Well,” she said, her tone uncertain. She returned her gaze to Blackwell. “One can make no promises, of course, but that we are here, myself and my cousins, ready to listen to your proposal, should, I believe, speak to our willingness to entertain your ideas.” She gestured. “Obviously, what you choose to reveal will be crucial in determining our best way forward.”
Blackwell regarded her steadily. His unnervingly immobile features gave nothing away, yet she strongly suspected he was debating how much she knew of him and his affairs and weighing up how candid he should be, how much of the reality of his plans for the steelworks he should lay bare.
Behind Sophy, Martin shifted, drawing Blackwell’s gaze. In the tone of one with limited patience yet also trying to be helpful, he drawled, “Perhaps, Blackwell, you might start by explaining your interest in steelmaking.”
When Blackwell blinked and didn’t respond, Martin rephrased, “For instance, what are your intentions regarding any alterations to the steelworks’ operation?”
“Yes, indeed.” When Blackwell looked her way, Sophy clasped her hands on the blotter again and, leaning slightly forward, looked encouraging, as if willing Blackwell to expound on his thoughts.
As they’d rehearsed, Edward huffed and, frowning slightly, waved dismissively. “I’m really not sure we need to interrogate Mr. Blackwell on that issue, do we, cousin?”
Sophy frowned and turned to look at Edward, but before she could speak, Charlie cut in.
“What Edward means,” Charlie explained, “is that neither he nor I will have any interest in what happens at the steelworks after we’ve sold our share and”—he met Sophy’s eyes as she turned to him—“regardless of whether you choose to retain an interest or not, the reality is that you won’t have time to be as active in the business as you’ve been to date.” Charlie flicked his eyes Martin’s way. “You’ll have other demands on your time.”
Martin watched Cornelius Blackwell drink in the subtle and not-so-subtle messages Sophy, Edward, and Charlie were feeding him.
Sophy’s expression turned mulish as she stared at Charlie.
He raised his hands defensively. “I’m just pointing out that, once Mr. Blackwell takes control of the company, your interest in what happens at the steelworks will, naturally, fall away.”
“It won’t really be any concern of yours, Sophy,” Edward stated in a blatantly superior tone. “Not when you no longer have the controlling stake.”
Judging from the gleam in Blackwell’s eyes, the three had said enough to convince him that they were, indeed, inclined to sell. Rather than risk them overstepping, Martin decided it was time to move on to the next act in their pantomime. Holding to his lounging pose, he evenly said, “I understand, Blackwell, that you own the block across the street. Indeed, that you own all of the land from the steelworks’ western boundary to the park around St. George’s Church, and you also hold the title to the row of houses to the east, along the eastern side of Bailey Lane.”
Blackwell’s expression set like stone, and he grew preternaturally still.
As if unaware of those subtle changes, Martin rolled on, “Consequently, your purchase of the steelworks will consolidate those holdings into one sizeable area.” Utterly innocently, he tipped his head and asked, “What do you plan to do with all that land?”
Silence ensued, but Sophy broke it, leaning forward eagerly and asking, “Do you intend to expand? Or…?”
Blackwell’s sharp and penetrating gaze shifted to rest on Sophy’s face.
Everyone listening—the four at the table and the small army in the anteroom at their backs—held their breaths.
Whatever Blackwell saw in Sophy’s expression, it wasn’t his doom. His features eased. His gaze still on her face, he rather grudgingly admitted, “I’m hoping to—intending to—build housing for steelworkers on the site.”
Sophy’s face lit. “Oh, what an excellent idea! I take it you have experience in such projects?”
When Blackwell inclined his head, she rolled on. “Wonderful! Well, that will make it easier to attract and hold workers.” She rattled on for a full minute, enumerating the benefits to steelworkers in living close to the works themselves, then all but glowing with approval, she smiled at Blackwell and inquired, “Who will you be bringing in to manage the steelworks? Do you have someone in mind? Or will you look to our current foreman to step into the role?”
Blackwell’s lashes flickered for a second, then he once again met Sophy’s gaze. “I have to admit that, as yet, I haven’t planned quite that far ahead.”
“Oh.” Sophy looked faintly puzzled. “I see.” She blinked, then ventured, “I just thought…”
She glanced at Martin as if seeking his opinion.
He obliged by asking Blackwell, “What are your projections for profits from the steelworks? How do you intend to grow the business…” He narrowed his eyes on Blackwell. “But I forget. You haven’t yet examined the books, have you?”
One of Blackwell’s hands twitched as if he’d started to close it into a fist, realized, and halted the telltale action.
Martin sensed the man was starting to feel unsure, uncertain of his footing.
Sophy looked delightfully confused. “That’s true. So how—”
Edward leapt in to say, “Oh, I don’t think we need to bother Mr. Blackwell about such details, do we?”
