How to Woo a Wallflower (Romancing the Rules #3)(9)

Clary tapped her lower lip. Learning more about the family business was on her list of goals. “I would like to spend more time at the office and learn how everything works.” Perhaps a skill learned there could aid her in finding employment elsewhere.

Kit let out a strangled sound, part shock, part chuckle. “You needn’t worry about the day-to-day workings of Ruthven’s.”

“But I wish to. I plan to take my responsibilities to heart.”

“Mr. Adamson has the business well in hand.”

Clary’s teeth snapped together, and her fingers clenched into fists. “I’m sure he manages Ruthven’s well, but we cannot forfeit all responsibility. Father wished the business to remain in the family.” Of course, he’d never expected his daughters to share in its ownership. That had been Kit’s idea.

“As a member of the administrative board, you may bring any suggestion you have for Ruthven’s.” Kit looked her, the seriousness in his gaze replaced with the warmth she was used to. “Sophia and I both have been looking forward to your input.”

“And Mr. Adamson?” Kit and Sophia had allowed the man complete independence to establish iron control over the publishing office, and Clary would never forget the way Adamson bristled at the prospect of her involvement in the business. “Will he welcome my suggestions?”

“He’s a practical man.” Kit lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “There’s a board meeting next week. A good opportunity for you and Mr. Adamson to become reacquainted.”

“Yes.” Though of course they already had, and Clary tried not to think of how badly that encounter had gone. Most of all, she prayed Kit never learned the details. “But I still wish to seek employment.”

Kit pinched the skin at the peak of his nose.

“I wish to find my own lodgings too.” Clary got the words out quickly, fearing how Kit might respond to this detail. To her surprise, he seemed more sad than disapproving.

“You know Phee and I enjoy having you here. You may stay as long as you like. We’d like you to consider this your home too.”

“I know.” Clary took a step toward him, yearning to erase the hurt in his eyes. “I do. But I still long for a space of my own.”

“Are you in some sort of trouble that requires funds?” His golden-brown eyes took on a haunted look, as if he feared hearing her confess the very worst. “Is there something you’re not telling us?”

“Not at all.” Only that she’d fended off a bully with a croquet mallet and irritated their trusted business manager to the point he’d practically leapt from a moving carriage. “Please don’t fret.” She knew her brother meant well, but his protectiveness felt stifling.

Clary gazed out the window where a few shafts of sunlight were bursting through the rain clouds. She needed movement and fresh air. To stretch her legs and begin formulating fresh plans.

“I think I’ll go for a walk.” Clary kissed her sister on the cheek and offered Kit a grin. “Thank you for arranging for Mr. Whitaker to come.”

Sophia stood and followed her toward the door. “Don’t forget that we’ve planned a special dinner for your birthday.”

“I’ll be back in time for dinner; I promise.”

Two steps from the threshold, Kit’s voice rang out. “Tell me you’re not headed to Whitechapel.” He hated her trips to the East End, but, to his credit, he’d never insisted she stop her volunteer efforts at Fisk Academy.

“Trust me a little.” Clary hated that his worry led him to exert so much control. “I haven’t caused any scandals yet.”





CHAPTER FOUR

Gabe shifted on the plush chair underneath him and tried to think of anything but the envelope tucked in the pocket of his waistcoat. The letter’s contents nagged at his thoughts.

Wellbeck Publishers had been competing with Ruthven’s for years. On several occasions, they’d tried to lure him away to manage their enterprise, and now they were after him again. This time with the enticement of higher wages, opportunities for advancement, and an additional sum for quick action.

Why was he even considering turning them down?

For a nearly a decade he’d convinced himself honest work would pay off. Turning his back on stealing and brawling allowed him to look in the mirror without loathing the man staring back. With diligence, he’d eked out a measure of respectability for himself and his sister. Not wealth. They needed nothing lavish. Savoring the slide of quality linen against his skin was his only indulgence. Yet now, a decade on, he and Sara still resided in a run-down flat in Cheapside.

In all his time at Ruthven’s, he’d never arrived late or departed early, often doing the work of others who failed to carry their load. But rather than achieving the success he craved, the elder Ruthven had paid Gabe only enough to keep him coming back year after year. When the son took over, they’d loathed each other on sight, though a truce had been struck in recent months. Still, Gabe had yet to demand higher wages. He knew the strained state of the business’s coffers better than anyone.

“You’ll have to do better.” Sara nudged his elbow, dragging him from his wandering thoughts.

“Better at what?”

“Pretending that you enjoy Miss Morgan’s singing.” His sister chuckled under her breath, and the sound lightened Gabe’s mood.