The Lady Always Wins(16)

“Well,” her maid said. “That did not go quite according to plan, did it?”

“I was improvising.” Ginny scrubbed at her eyes. “Circumstances rather demanded it.”

Alice frowned. “Are you still going, then? After he made you cry?”

Ginny looked up at the ceiling. All that pain was fading to a dull throb, settling into numbing disbelief. He’d hurt her. He’d made her cry. If he had actually trapped her into marriage under those circumstances, she wasn’t sure if she could ever have forgiven him. But he hadn’t done it.

He’d just wanted to.

But no matter how her mind circled, no matter how her heart ached, she would find no answers sitting in this house waiting placidly for his return.

Ginny let out a resigned breath. “I’m going. How long do I have?”

“If you still mean to board at Anniston, rather than Chester? You’ll have to be out of the house in thirty minutes. Charles is coming with the cart.”

Ginny got out of bed, and Alice came to help her dress. “My valise?” she said, as Alice tightened her corset.

“Is packed downstairs.”

“And the tickets?”

“In the front pocket of the valise, along with your tulip money.”

Twenty pounds. Barely enough to cover the cost of the trip and the deed-stamps.

“Good,” Ginny said. “I’ve got one impossible thing to do. The rest, I suppose, will be up to him.”

Chapter Six

SIMON’S HEAD WAS STILL POUNDING by the time he entered the corporation’s office on Thursday morning. His train had arrived in London late on the previous night, and he’d not been able to sleep until just before dawn. He’d managed a few hours. He could have stayed in bed for days.

But there was nothing to be done for it. He had an appointment with Ridgeway, and if he had to beg the man, he’d beg. Which was why he found himself half tripping over his feet, scarcely awake, and wishing he could be anywhere else. Ridgeway had already arrived. He sat on a bench opposite Simon in the receiving room, arms folded, legs crossed, a glower on his face.

“You always thought you were the clever one,” Ridgeway said. “So. What is it you have to say—”

He squinted up at Simon’s face, and a look of revulsion passed over him.

Simon had no idea how he appeared. He hadn’t cared to look at himself in the mirror. He was sure his eyes were red from lack of sleep.

“Out late last night?” the other man asked caustically.

“Obvious, is it?”

“It must have been quite the celebration.” There was always something angry about the man’s tone—understandably so, as Simon had threatened his profitability. But today, that cranky note seemed all the more heightened. And when he talked of celebration, he hadn’t seemed to mean it sarcastically.

Simon was just beginning to wonder what Ridgeway meant by that when a door opened down the hall, and the company secretary stepped out, followed by Andrew Fortas. Simon stood, but Mr. Teller didn’t look for him. Instead, he turned back into the room, speaking to someone Simon couldn’t quite see. It didn’t make sense; he’d supposed that Ridgeway would already have transferred his shares. If he had, who was that in Teller’s office?

“I’ll get the gentlemen, then?” he heard Teller ask. Fortas went back into the room.

An indistinct response came in reply, and then Teller turned and motioned to the two men. Simon stood and walked toward him, all the more confused. He was scarcely aware of Ridgeway following behind him.

When he turned into the room, his whirling confusion came to a standstill. All emotion seemed to wash from him, leaving him a vessel empty of everything except stunned surprise.

“This,” Mr. Teller was saying, “is Mr. Bagswin, and his client, Mrs. Croswell. Mrs. Croswell, Mr. Bagswin—these are the other main shareholders of Long Northern, Mr. Davenant and Mr. Ridgeway.”

Simon swallowed. “Ginny,” he said. “I mean—Mrs. Croswell. What the devil are you doing here?”

The secretary frowned at his language.

But a small, sad smile played across Ginny’s lips. She looked down and examined her gloves. She seemed quite proper at the moment: respectable, and altogether demure. That, more than anything, convinced him that something was afoot.

“Well.” She brushed some unseen piece of dirt from her gloves and raised her eyes to his. “As you know, Mr. Davenant, I am newly widowed. Having liquidated most of the assets left to me by my husband, and then some—”

He made a choking sound.

“I did tell you of that,” she said innocently. “In fact, you remarked on it yourself. Well, never mind. Having liquidated the assets left by my husband, it seemed prudent to invest. I have always had an interest in railways. And so my solicitor, Mr. Bagswin—”

“Your solicitor,” Simon repeated stupidly.

“My solicitor,” she repeated, “purchased one hundred and thirteen shares of the Long Northern Railway on my behalf.”

“Oh, you little minx,” he said, startled. “You bought my company?”

“Come, Mr. Davenant. You cannot be angry with me. I did tell you when you arrived at my house that you were already checkmated. It is not my fault that you didn’t believe me.”