Written on the Wind (The Blackstone Legacy #2)(103)

He drew a deep breath and rang the bell. Distant chimes tolled deep inside the mansion, sounding like gongs of doom. Everything about going down on bended knee before Charles Morse felt wrong, but it had to be done.

It was still early, which probably accounted for why the door was answered by a parlor maid instead of the butler. She looked about twenty, with freckled skin and a shock of red hair.

“Can I help you, sir?” she asked in a charming Irish lilt.

“Please let Mr. Morse know that Liam Blackstone is here. He’ll understand why.”

The maid led him to an opulent mess of a parlor while she delivered the message. It was no surprise that Morse made him wait. Ten minutes stretched into twenty as Liam paced, too anxious to sit as he scrutinized every object in the fussy, overly decorated room. Why did rich men feel so compelled to show off their fortune?

An ugly lump of rock looked out of place among the fancy knickknacks on the mantel. He tilted the granite lump, which appeared to have veins of fool’s gold embedded inside.

“Copper,” Morse announced from the doorway, his voice chilly.

Liam turned, the lump of rock still in his hand. Morse’s growing dominance in the copper industry was one of the reasons Fletcher wanted to keep him on the board. Now the rock made sense. It gave Morse an opportunity to brag about his vast copper mines out west. Liam set the rock back on the mantel and faced Morse, a good-looking man with a strong build and a full head of black hair that matched his neatly groomed mustache.

“Thank you for seeing me,” Liam said, striving for a polite tone.

Morse gave the slightest tip of his head but remained frosty. “Your ship’s rowboat is dreadful. It doesn’t have any ballast, and there were no cushions on the seats.”

That was because it wasn’t meant for ferry service. If Morse had simply shown remorse over slapping Caleb, Liam wouldn’t have ordered him ashore.

“Charles, we are two men of business who only want the best for the company,” Liam began, but Morse interrupted.

“Do we? It seems you care more about the men in the factories.”

As if those men weren’t part of the company, Liam silently thought, but he continued as though he hadn’t heard. “We don’t need to be the best of friends, but I am prepared to be cordial. You couldn’t have known the challenges my deckhand has when he gets contradictory orders, and I shouldn’t have lost my temper. I’m sorry.”

He waited, hoping the older man might express remorse for striking Caleb. It didn’t happen.

“Perhaps you should consider hiring a better quality of staff when entertaining guests,” Morse said.

Liam resisted the urge to defend Caleb. “Whatever the cause of the incident, I’m sorry I got angry.”

“Can’t you even control your temper when you’re in a business gathering?” Morse asked. “Perhaps that’s how they handle things in the back alleys, but you are among men of quality now.”

Liam itched to point out that slapping a servant wasn’t a sterling example of gentility, but a ruckus in the hall distracted him. It sounded like two women squabbling. The Irish maid’s voice was easily recognizable, but there was another woman in the mix, sounding equally adamant about demanding an audience.

The frazzled maid rushed inside. “I’m sorry, sir, but she insists on seeing you.”

A pretty young woman pushed her way into the room. She was smartly dressed in a trim blue jacket and a straw boater hat, but obviously of the middle class. She was lovely, in a fierce, strong sort of way. Even the scar splitting one brow did not detract from her appeal.

The woman held an envelope aloft. “This bill is four months overdue,” she stated. “I’ve sent invoice after invoice, and you have ignored them all, so I have no choice but to collect in person.”

Morse flushed in outrage. “How dare you. If there has been a mix-up in the payment of a legitimate expense, you should submit the bill to my secretary, not interrupt a business meeting like a fishwife.”

The woman didn’t back down. “I have been hectoring your secretary for months. He has refused to pay, and I won’t tolerate it. You owe me $135 for the ice cream we delivered for your wedding reception at the Belmont Hotel, and it’s now four months overdue.”

Morse’s smile was oily. “Then of course I refuse to pay. Your complaint is with the Belmont Hotel, not me. If you haven’t been paid, I suggest you take it up with the hotel.”

“The Belmont told me you’ve stiffed them too,” the woman said. “Perhaps they’re willing to absorb the loss, but I won’t. You owe me $95 for the ice cream, a twenty-dollar late fee, and three percent for interest.”

“That doesn’t add up to $135,” Morse snapped.

“I added the court fee I just paid to file a lawsuit against you.”

A momentary silence stretched in the room, and then Morse threw back his head and affected an amused laugh. “You’re going to sue me over a $95 bill?”

The woman nodded. “I hate bullies. You have succeeded in bullying the hotel and the hardworking baker who has also been stiffed for the wedding cake he provided, but I’ll sue you to kingdom come until I have been paid.”

To Liam’s surprise, Morse agreed to pay.

“Very well,” he said tightly. “The cost of a nuisance lawsuit is not worth my time, and it’s little enough to pacify an annoying gnat.” He beckoned for the woman to follow him into his private study.