Knocking gently on the door, Emily carefully eased it open at the sound of the beckoning voice from within. As soon as they had returned home, she had gone upstairs to rearrange her hair and freshen up while Francis had withdrawn to his study. They had declined dinner, being quite satisfied from their picnic, and had suggested to Parker that he leave a couple of plates of food for them in the kitchen in case they got hungry later.
Emily now spotted Francis, seated behind his Chippendale desk at the opposite side of the room. He looked up as she slipped through the door, closing it gently behind her. “Am I disturbing?” she asked.
“Not in the least,” he replied as he looked up from the papers he’d been perusing, pen in hand. “I was going over the list of my investments.” He leaned back in his chair, the leather squeaking as he adjusted himself, then propped his chin against his right hand. Waving his left, he gestured for her to sit down. “I’ve been investing in the East India Company for years and it has proved to be quite profitable. Jonathan suggests that I buy stock in The Times, and I do believe that it’s a good idea. Then of course there are a few smaller ventures, some more lucrative than others, but I’d like to find something new . . . something with a dazzling future ahead of it.” He let out a long sigh. “I’m sorry, my dear, I don’t mean to bore you with business.”
Her eyes seemed to grow in size at this last statement, though she remained perfectly collected. Her voice was cool when she spoke. “Do you suppose that I’m not interested in your affairs because I’m a woman?”
He checked himself, felt his skin prickle at his blunder. Emily was different from other women. She was well read and knowledgeable in areas where he was not. She had a desire to learn, and he realized that it would be a catastrophic error to brush her aside with the assumption that she paid no heed to how he made his living. “I’m sorry,” he told her and her gaze softened. “Would you perhaps like to make a recommendation?”
Her lips twisted into a triumphant smirk. “I thought you’d never ask.” Flashing him a brilliant smile, her eyes shining with excitement, she got up and circled the desk to stand next to him. She then took time to kiss him softly on the cheek—a sign of her gratitude. Most husbands would never allow their wives to become involved in their business. Emily felt her heart overflowing for the man who sat before her, so confident in her that he would ask for her opinion in regards to his affairs. One day, she hoped to find the right words to express how she truly felt about him—words of love and endearment simply didn’t suffice.
“There’s a Scotsman named Henry Bell,” she said as she straightened her back and walked across to the side table. “Have you heard of him?”
“He recently built a steamboat, if I’m not mistaken,” Francis said, his brows furrowing into a contemplative frown.
“The Comet,” she said, offering the name that had escaped him.
“Ah yes, the Comet.”
“Well, it seems to have been quite successful. I read in the paper last week that it had just begun transporting passengers between Glasgow, Greenock, and Helensburgh three times a week.” She poured herself a sherry, smacking her lips together as the sweet flavor swirled around her mouth. “Anyway, I thought it might be interesting not only as an investment, but as a business opportunity. Imagine such a boat on the Thames. It could easily transport passengers from London to Slough . . . even as far as Oxford, and without the need for wind.”
Francis stared at his wife for a moment with a look of disbelief. “You certainly are a woman of vision,” he finally stated.
The compliment flattered her more than any comment about her looks ever would. She smiled brazenly. “Do you like the idea, then?” she asked nonchalantly, knowing full well what his reply would be, yet enjoying the admiration that showed upon his face.
“Like it? I love it!” he exclaimed with sudden excitement as he leapt from his chair to hug her fiercely, the air squeezed out of her. “Oh, Emily, you’ve saved the day. Remind me always to consult you on matters of importance.”
He sprang back and reached for the abandoned glass of brandy that sat upon his desk. “Hell, I need as much money as I can get if I’m to stop Charlotte from bleeding me dry.” He winced as he took a large gulp.
“That’s part of the reason why I came to see you,” Emily told him a bit skittishly. She was constantly wary of the threat any mention of Charlotte might have on their happiness.
Francis raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “Oh?”
“If I’m not mistaken, you were looking for a way to permanently rid yourself of her.”
“Well, yes, but if murder is what’s on your mind,” he said, noticing the conspiratorial gleam in her eyes, “then I’m sorry to tell you that I shan’t resort to such extreme measures—not that I haven’t considered it, mind you.”
“Honestly, Francis,” she chastised. “You have far too vivid an imagination for your own good. Do I look like a murderess to you?”
He regarded her momentarily, her black hair knotted at the nape of her neck, her milky complexion, and her bright green eyes. He had no trouble at all visualizing her with a carving knife in one of those delicate hands of hers.
She didn’t miss the slight shiver that raked his spine. “Good grief!” she exclaimed, clearly exasperated that his mind would entertain such a preposterous idea. “Intelligent people don’t resort to such base actions. They come up with a plan instead, and that’s precisely what I’ve done. Are you willing to hear it?”
It was impossible for Francis to hide his surprise. It moved him that Emily had gone to the trouble to find a way in which to save him from Charlotte’s clutches. It was as if a small spark of hope came to life in the bleak recesses of his mind. “More than willing—please continue, Emily. You have my full attention.”
“Right,” she said with a determined look upon her face. “It means that we won’t be able to tell anyone that you and I are married, not even my sisters. My plan will depend entirely upon Charlotte never discovering that we’ve been wed, so I really hope that you’re right in your evaluation of your staff.” She fixed him with a quizzical stare. If he had any doubts about his employees’ ability to keep a secret, now was the time to voice it.
“I believe their loyalty lies with me and that I can trust them not to reveal anything that might jeopardize us.”
“Very well, then,” she said, emptying her glass and setting it down. “Then here’s what we must do.”