The Choice of a Cavalier (The Heirs of the Aristocracy Book 3) Page 2

  Victoria bristled at the thought that she might end up in the office of a clerk who knew nothing of her funds, or worse, knew nothing about why she wished to speak with Mr. Burroughs.

  Anxious for the protection of a roof and the promise of warmth, she hurried up to the bank doors. A footman was quick to open one as she closed her umbrella, and she and Cummings entered the venerable establishment.

  Seated behind a counter, the receptionist immediately stood when she approached. “How do, miss? How may I be of assistance?”

  “Miss Statton to see Mr. Burroughs,” she said in a hoarse whisper. Having heard the echoes of her boot heels on the marble floor, she didn’t wish to announce her presence to everyone who stood about in the lobby, nor did she want the receptionist to know her true identity.

  The receptionist consulted a book and nodded. “He’s expecting you. Would you like to leave your umbrella with me?”

  “Thank you, but no.” She handed it to Cummings.

  “Right this way.”

  The young man led her down a wide corridor with wood doors on either side, some open to reveal carpeted offices while most were closed.

  The door to Mr. Burroughs’ office was open only a few inches. After knocking, the receptionist listened and then opened the door and held it as Victoria and her lady’s maid entered.

  “Oh, there must be some mistake,” Victoria said when her gaze fell on the blond-haired, blue-eyed man who sat behind a massive oak desk. “I am scheduled to see Mr. Burroughs. Mr. Andrew Burroughs.”

  The receptionist’s eyes widened. He dared a glance at the tall man who had quickly stood upon seeing his caller.

  “Miss Statton, this is—”

  “Lady Victoria, I am James Burroughs,” the banker stated. “My father, Lord Andrew, is retiring from the bank this week,” he added as he stepped around the desk and moved to take her hand. “I do hope you’re not... offended I am taking this meeting instead of him.”

  Victoria watched as he lifted her gloved hand to his lips. “I suppose that depends on whether or not you can help me, Mr. Burroughs.”

  His reference to ‘Lord Andrew’ had her stiffening. The name implied his father was a duke’s son, but not the eldest. She quickly wracked her brain in an effort to remember to which ducal family Lord Andrew belonged. Burroughs was the family name of the Ariley dukedom, which meant James was the grandson of the late Duke of Ariley. The nephew of the current Duke of Ariley.

  “May I take your coat, my lady?” Before Victoria could even answer, James stepped behind her and helped remove the redingote, revealing an emerald wool carriage dress. Other than the black frog closures at the neckline and down the front, the gown was void of decoration. Lady Victoria’s green eyes appeared especially striking given the color of her gown and the small emerald hat mounted to the side of her elaborate coiffure of raven hair. If James hadn’t already developed a tendre for another young woman, he might have been tempted by the lady.

  Lady Victoria didn’t strike him as a woman in want of a husband, however.

  Cummings was about to accept the coat, but the receptionist stepped in and had it hung on a coat rack before he bowed and took his leave of the office.

  “Have you come far this afternoon?” James asked as he held the chair in front of his desk for her.

  “Not far. I live just north of the city,” she replied. “I have recently taken Fairmont Park as my own.”

  James furrowed a brow. “I fear I’m not acquainted with it. I’ve only been back in London a few days,” he explained. “And am more familiar with estates on the southwestern side. However, I’m quite sure I can be of assistance with whatever it is you require.”

  Victoria sighed, sure Andrew Burroughs would be more familiar with her situation. He had been the one to arrange her first withdrawal in order to cover the costs associated with the work she had already had done at the estate. Now she would have to explain her situation to his son. “Fairmont Park is an unentailed property of the Somerset dukedom,” she said. “Now that I’ve reached my majority, I have agreed to see to its renovation.”

  Nodding his understanding, James moved a pile of papers from the side of his desk to the middle. “You’ve a good deal of money deposited with this bank,” he murmured. “And it looks as if you’ve already completed some of the renovations?”

  “Indeed,” she replied, curious as to what was written on the paper he was perusing at that moment.

  “Do you expect to spend all of it on the house and grounds?”

  “I do not. In fact, I am looking for an investment opportunity.”

  James immediately thought of his friend, Tom Grandby. Following in his father’s footsteps as an investor involved in a number of industries, Tom had been making money for his clients for over a decade. “Have you something in mind?”

  She shook her head, then said, “I was hoping you might have some suggestions.”

  He settled back in his leather chair and regarded Lady Victoria a long moment. “As a banker, I’m not really allowed to advise you on investments other than what we offer here at the bank. Fiver-percenters, for example. But I can at least recommend an investment advisor. Someone who can set up a subscription for you, or find a long-term investment for your funds.” He noted her look of disappointment and quickly added, “As a member of the ton, however, I might be able to suggest a few options.”

  “Whom might you suggest as an advisor?” she queried.

  “The Grandbys. Tom, specifically, since his father, like mine, is on the verge of retirement. He’s a master at making money for his clients in a number of industries, most recently railroads and steam-powered engines. He has his office in Oxford Street,” he said as he wrote something on a card.

  Victoria’s face brightened at hearing the mention of steam-powered engines. “And the options you would suggest?”

  “What is your timeline?”

  “A decade or two,” Victoria replied.

  James blinked. “That long?”

  “It’s necessary, yes,” she said in a quiet voice. “I need to ensure the money is not easily accessible. By anyone.”

  “Does someone have a claim against you?” he asked, suspicion evident in his voice.

  Victoria sighed. “I’ve a brother who has managed to squander most of his inheritance, and I don’t wish for him to lay claim to mine.”

  James understood her concern. With her funds tied up in a long-term investment, her brother wouldn’t be able to access it. “And the rest?”

  “I’ll need it to continue work on the house and grounds,” she replied. “For living expenses and the servants’ pay, as well. So I would prefer if those funds could be... hidden somewhat. Deposited under a pseudonym. One that he would not know.”

  Furrowing his brows, James considered her plight. “I take it you are not yet married?”

  “I am not.”

  “But you’ve already received your inheritance, so you have reached your majority.”

  “I have.”

  “You have no other male relative who could—?”

  “Not here in London.” She didn’t mention her brother, Michael, only because she didn’t know how long he would be in town.

  James cleared his throat and regarded her another moment. Although he was usually attracted to a typical blonde-haired, blue-eyed English miss, he could imagine there were a number of young men in London who would find the raven-haired, green-eyed beauty who sat before him more to their liking.

  Men like Tom Grandby.

  At the age of four-and-thirty, the second-oldest Grandby son was still unmarried. Given the fortune he was accumulating with every investment, he would require an heir. Which meant he needed a wife to produce said heir. His friend hadn’t yet made his choice, nor had he even courted anyone. Meanwhile, James had already decided to take one of Tom’s sisters to wife.

  Marriage to Emily Grandby promised a quiet life free of chaos, just the way James wanted to continue living his life. He ha
dn’t yet told Tom of his intentions to marry Emily, but there would be plenty of time for that later.

  He straightened in his chair as he devised a strategy for Lady Victoria and her funds.

  “If you employ Mr. Grandby as your advisor, I would suggest you meet with him in person. Either at his office or at your home.”

  “Of course.”

  “He’ll ask what your interests are in terms of an investment.”

  “What do you suggest I tell him?”

  “Well, what are your interests?”

  “I train horses, Mr. Burroughs. Race horses.”

  James blinked. He blinked again. “Your... your own?”

  “My family’s as well as a few from other stables. The Marquess of Reading has placed a couple of his colts in my care. But please understand, I have no interest in investing in horse racing.”

  About to ask why, James had to remind himself that horse racing was one of the most uncertain of all the possible money making ventures. Anything could and did go wrong in the world of racing. Even a sure bet sometimes lost a race.

  And horses were expensive.

  No wonder her eyes had widened at the mention of steam engines.

  “Have you ever seen a steam-powered bus?” he asked.

  Victoria said, “Of course. I’ve even ridden on one or two.”

  “Are you familiar with their operation?”

  She shook her head. “Are you?”

  James allowed a slight grin to lift his lips. “I recently moved here from Bath. We had a steam bus service from Bath to London, one in which I have an investment. Let me tell you why.”

  For the next half-hour, James explained all the benefits of steam buses as well as some of their drawbacks while Victoria took notes in a small notebook she pulled from her reticule.

  “Where might I find more information?” she asked when he had finished his list of pros and cons.

  James considered the query. “A library, perhaps. Or you might gain an audience with someone at the steam bus company that services London.”

  “Very well,” she said as she stood. “I appreciate your time, Mr. Burroughs. If you could see to changing the name on my account to V. Statton, I won’t take up any more of your time.”

  Quick to stand when she did, James stepped from behind the desk and moved to take her coat from the rack.

  “I will see to it. I won’t allow anyone but you to access your funds,” he promised. He held the coat open for her, a grin forming as he considered what Tom Grandby would think of the young woman.

  “Good day, sir.”

  He handed her his card. On the back, he had written Tom’s information. “Good day to you. I look forward to learning what you decide.”

  He walked her to the door, gave her a bow as he settled a kiss on the back of her gloved hand, and wished he could be a fly on the wall when she and Tom would meet for the very first time.

  Chapter 2

  Of Bums and Horses

  Saturday, January 5, 1839, Fairmont Park, just north of London

  “An Arabian, is he not?” Tom Grandby guessed, hoping he wasn’t far off the mark. His only knowledge of horses extended to the Cleveland Bays he had purchased for his town coach and a high-perch phaeton. He rarely had a chance to ride, and he didn’t even attend horse races unless he happened to be in the same town as a race when it was taking place.

  “He is a Thoroughbred, if that is your real question,” Lady Victoria Statton replied. Her green-eyed gaze turned onto the interloper who had been watching her ride at the edge of a racing track. “And who might you be?” Despite the falling snow, she didn’t wear a riding habit nor even a wrap of any kind.

  Nonplussed by the annoyance the young woman showed him, Tom gave a bow. “Thomas Grandby, at your service, my lady.”

  She quickly dismounted, not bothering to ask for assistance as she swung a leg over the saddle and hopped down. Neither did she curtsy but instead returned her attention to the horse, examining the animal’s left side with a look of worry. “Are you here about a horse?” Dressed in what appeared to be a jockey’s riding habit—a tight-fitting jacket and breeches—and with her jet black hair pinned up and stuffed under a velvet jockey’s cap, she looked as if she were a tall boy from a distance.

  The young woman had been riding the animal astride when Tom first approached the track. Given she was the only person at the track and having been told he could find her there, Tom knew he had the right person.

  At least, he hoped the stableboy had understood his query.

  When he had asked as to the whereabouts of Lady Victoria, the stableboy had to give it some thought before he said, “Oh. You want Vicky.” Then he had directed Tom to the track.

  Victoria bent over to examine the horse’s foreleg. When her caller didn’t immediately answer her question, she arched a brow. “Are you staring at my bum?”

  Embarrassed, Tom blinked and quickly glanced away. Then he noted the tone of her query and wondered if she were daring him to admit that he had, indeed, noticed and was impressed by the shape of the bottom encased in the tight riding breeches she wore. “Admiring it, if you must know,” he replied. “I have never before seen a woman wearing men’s riding breeches. Now I’m left wondering why more of you do not.”

  She straightened, her eyes wide with what might have been anger. About to admonish him, she couldn’t when he added, “If you did not wish for me to notice your perfect bum, then perhaps you could have refrained from bending down in my presence.”

  The young woman rolled her eyes and returned her attention to the horse’s foreleg. “Or you could have been a gentleman and simply turned your gaze onto the landscape... or the horse.”

  “I prefer scenes of beauty when I am given the option,” Tom responded, nearly shocked upon realizing he had spoken the words out loud. “And I cannot believe I just said that,” he murmured. “I meant no offense. Truly.”

  What the hell was wrong with him? He wasn’t a rake, or a scoundrel. He never behaved this way with a woman, and he had a mother and five sisters who could attest to it.

  Something about Lady Victoria had him behaving in the oddest manner.

  Victoria Statton, second and youngest daughter of the Duke of Somerset, couldn’t decide if she should feel offense or humor by her caller’s odd comment. Learning the man thought she had a “perfect bum” had her deciding against expressing anger toward him. Annoyance was enough. “I cannot train a horse dressed in a women’s riding habit. Especially for racing,” she said on a sigh.

  “I’m sure I wouldn’t know,” Tom replied.

  She dared another glance at him. “Because you’ve never owned a racehorse?” Her eyes narrowed. “Or because you’ve never ridden a horse?”

  Inhaling slowly, Tom decided the truth was best. He had already annoyed her, and he didn’t wish to further anger a potential client. “I have never owned a racehorse, it’s true. I can ride, but...”

  Victoria straightened, her gloved hands gently smoothing both sides of the horse’s leg and up to its withers as she did so. “You do not?”

  The oddest sensation passed through Tom as he watched her rise and then direct her green-eyed gaze entirely on him. At that moment, a thought of riding her was quickly replaced with one of her riding him—astride, atop his prone body—and him helpless but to allow her to do so.

  Where had that thought come from?

  It hadn’t been that long since he had ended his liaison with his mistress. Although Liza had been perfectly fine when they were in bed together, she lacked an education. As such, she couldn’t keep up her end of a conversation involving any of his interests. She couldn’t understand his concerns for events that occurred hundreds of miles away when she knew only of what happened in the neighborhood in which she lived.

  After two years of twice-weekly trysts, he had given her a bracelet, paid off her debt with a Bond Street modiste, and said his farewells. That had been six months ago, and although he had missed the intimacy
of their relationship, he had not missed the boredom that came with it.

  Tom swallowed and felt grateful that his greatcoat was hiding the evidence of his sudden erection. The fashion-forward tight trousers with a front fly instead of the breeches featuring fall-fronts of the past few decades made hardened manhoods that much more apparent.

  “I can ride a horse. I just... I do not find I have the time for it these days,” he explained.

  “If you are not here about having a horse trained, then why are you here?”

  With all the talk of bums and horses, Tom had completely forgotten he had come to the manor house for a reason that did not include bums and horses. “Lord Michael asked that I pay a call. This is Fairmont Park, is it not?” he asked as he gazed at the back of the estate home. It was by no means as huge as some country estates tended to be, but the grounds were extensive. As were the stables. He thought the building might be large enough to hold twenty or more of the beasts. Then there was a manse for the grooms, a separate carriage house and, at the other end of the house stood a long orangery built of brick.

  It was Victoria’s turn to blink. “What was your name again?”

  “Grandby. Thomas Grandby. Your brother asked that I call on you regarding—”

  “An investment, yes,” she murmured. “Forgive me. I thought you would be older.”

  His eyes darting to one side, Tom wondered if she was expecting a visit from his father instead of from him. “My father, Gregory Grandby, started our firm some forty years ago, but he is for the most part retired these days.”

  The familiar refrain—Victoria remembered James Burrough’s comment about his father’s retirement—had her nodding her understanding. She took up the reins of the Thoroughbred and indicated they should walk toward the stables. “Have you your father’s same knack for making money?”