As the Devil Dares (Capturing the Carlisles #3)(56)

As if sensing her presence, her father glanced up from the papers he was reading and smiled at her. “So you’re home,” he announced.

“And you’re working,” she commented in a gentle chastisement. “As always.”

“Because there is always work to be done,” he answered with a tired but happy sigh, his smile growing.

Her heart panged and reminded her that they weren’t always at each other’s throats, that they often shared quiet moments like this. Unfortunately, those moments seemed preciously few these days and never managed to last long.

She shook her head. “Then don’t let me interrupt. I just wanted to let you know that I’d returned.”

“Nonsense.” He set the papers down and leaned back in his chair. “Seeing my daughter is never an interruption.”

At that, she disbelievingly arched a brow, yet she pushed away from the doorframe and came forward into the room.

“Well, a very welcome interruption at any rate,” he conceded as he rose from the desk and crossed to the liquor cabinet. “You were at Gatewell?”

“Yes. And thank you for sending the bags of flour and the sugar.”

He paused in the middle of pouring bourbon into two crystal tumblers and threw her a pointed glance. “And?”

A knowing smile spread across her face. “And Mrs. Smith sent along a quince pie to you in gratitude.”

“Ah!” he replied happily, holding out the second glass to her. “Mrs. Smith has a kind soul.”

She accepted the drink with a twitch of her lips. “And knows exactly how to target the soft spot in yours.”

He laughed, a warm and carefree sound that reminded her of the man he was before her mother’s death, when he laughed more and worried less. “Never underestimate the value of finding a man’s soft spot, my dear.” He tapped his glass against hers, more to emphasize his point than to toast. “It makes for more favorable business deals and a much happier marriage.”

She gave a small laugh and took a sip of the golden liquid, savoring its sweet warmth, then gestured toward the desk. “How’s business?”

“The usual. Too many goods coming in, too few going out.” He slumped down heavily in his chair, leaning back and folding his hands across his stomach, with his glass perched on his waistcoat buttons. “The bane of a trader’s life.”

“Will we be able to purchase a new ship this spring?” Her question was disguised as casual interest, but she was checking up on the company as she always did whenever she had the chance. She couldn’t help herself. She loved Winslow Shipping and always would. Despite the torture he was putting her through this season, she still loved her father, too. Every misguided bit of him.

He glanced down at the stack of papers and grimaced. “Not this spring, I’m afraid. I need to free up monies for another project I’m considering.”

Curiosity pricked at her. “Would that be the real estate project in St Katharine’s?”

He glanced up, frowning. “What do you know about that?”

“Not much.” She shrugged her shoulders and took another sip of bourbon. “Carlisle said you had him investigating properties, and he asked if I had any insights I might be able to share.”

He studied her closely. “Did you?”

“Nothing that was helpful, I’m afraid.” She sent him a rueful smile. “I’d be better at stocking stores than buying them.”

“You would be wonderful at it.”

Despite the affection in his voice, the compliment landed hollowly. Because he was still unwilling to let her attempt it—or any company project, for that matter. She swallowed down her bitterness with a sip of bourbon and asked, “So we’re expanding our warehouse holdings, then?”

“Just exploring possibilities. Ones that might prove extremely lucrative for the company.”

“That’s wonderful.” And it was. She only wished that she could play a larger role in it.

“As your grandfather always said,” he reminded her, “what’s good for Winslow Shipping—”

“Is good for the Winslows,” they finished together, then shared a nostalgic smile. Mariah was certain that the look of love in her eyes shined just as brightly as the one in Papa’s.

“I’ve not settled on anything yet.” He leaned forward in his chair, set down his glass, and reached for the papers to pick up where he’d left off. “But when I do, I’ll be certain to tell you.”

She knew he would. Keeping her informed about the company was the one area in which he always considered Mariah’s concerns. “How are the warehouse stores?”

“Favorable. We’ll start moving out the coffee next week and taking in cotton from Alexandria and silk from China. We have a buyer in Boston for the lot of it.”

“Good,” she said, pleased to hear it. The merchandise had always been her favorite part of the business, all those exotic goods from far-flung corners of the globe. Every ship was a treasure trove. At the thought of how many thousands of miles those goods had traveled, she murmured, “Chinese silks to Boston…amazing.”

“I’ll hold back one of the bolts for you, if you’d like.”

“If it’s no trouble.” Mariah planned to give it to Elizabeth Carlisle as a token of appreciation for all the duchess had done for her. She’d come to like the woman a great deal. Her son, on the other hand…well, she was certain she would like him, too, if he ever stopped infuriating the daylights out of her.