Page 4 of The Devil’s Bargain (The Lovers’ Arch: Later in Life #2)

4

The Widow’s Empire

C aroline sat behind her late husband’s imposing mahogany desk, her back straight and her face a mask of polite attention. Across from her, Mr Finch shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his fingers drumming against a thick envelope. The clock on the mantel ticked away the seconds, its sound unnaturally loud in the tension-filled room.

“I’ve been approached by Mr Elmstone’s solicitor,” Finch began carefully. “He’s prepared to offer three thousand pounds for the company outright.”

Caroline’s fingers tightened imperceptibly on her skirts. Three thousand pounds? The filtration system alone was worth ten times that amount. She forced herself to remain calm.

“So much money?” she said with sarcasm while fluttering her handkerchief. “How generous of Mr Elmstone to consider two helpless women in such dire straits.”

Finch withdrew Devlin’s letter from the envelope. “He suggests the sum would allow both you and Miss Hampton to establish more... appropriate living arrangements. Separate ones.”

“May I?” She accepted the letter, noting the precise, commanding handwriting:

My dear Mrs Thurlow,

In light of your difficult circumstances, I feel compelled to offer assistance. The burden of managing such technical enterprises must weigh heavily on your gentle sensibilities. I propose to relieve you and Miss Hampton of these concerns for the sum of three thousand pounds, allowing you both to pursue more suitable activities and living arrangements.

The complex mechanical and mathematical aspects need not trouble you further. I assure you this is a most generous offer, considering the company’s uncertain future under feminine guidance.

I await your timely response, confident you will see the wisdom in accepting this providential solution to your predicament.

Yours sincerely,

Devlin Elmstone

“Such kindness,” Caroline murmured bitterly. “That’ll be all, Mr Finch.”

After Finch departed, Caroline sat motionless until his footsteps faded. Then she stood, moving to the window that overlooked the factory yard. Workers scurried about like ants, the machines humming with life that she had helped create. Her fingers crushed Devlin’s letter, fury finally breaking through her careful mask.

“Three thousand pounds,” she whispered, calculating rapidly. “Not even a quarter of last year’s profit. And he thinks me fool enough to accept?”

She smoothed the crumpled paper, noting the subtle arrogance in every line. How easy it would be to respond with the true figures, to demonstrate exactly how much he had undervalued both her and her company. But no. She had an advantage over him by maintaining this facade.

She moved to her desk, drawing out fresh paper and pen. Her hand was steady as she composed her response:

Dear Mr Elmstone,

Your most generous offer quite overwhelms my feminine understanding. Pray allow me time to consult with those better versed in business matters. My delicate nature requires careful consideration of such weighty decisions.

Your humble servant,

Caroline Thurlow

Let him interpret her hesitation as weakness, she thought with grim satisfaction.

Devlin read Caroline’s response for the third time, a smile playing at his lips. Her delicate handwriting and simple phrasing confirmed his assessment. Just another pretty widow out of her depth. What a shame, he mused, remembering how the black silk of her gown had hugged her elegant figure at the Exchange. Such refined beauty coupled with such a vacant mind.

“Sir?” His secretary cleared his throat. “Mrs Gaskell’s party sends word they’re still awaiting confirmation of your attendance.”

“Decline.” Devlin moved to the window, Caroline’s letter still in hand. “I have more pressing matters to attend.”

Like acquiring London Water Works for a fraction of its worth. Though, if he were honest, his eagerness to conclude the deal had as much to do with its current owner as its potential value. He’d found himself thinking of her at odd moments. The graceful curve of her neck as she examined that painting, the way her copper hair caught the light, the soft sweep of her lashes against her cheek when she lowered her eyes in practiced modesty.

“Pity she’s such a featherhead,” he muttered, recalling their conversation. Her bland comments about pretty colours and how numbers confused her poor feminine mind had almost made him wince. Yet there was something oddly fascinating about her very helplessness. Like a delicate bird that needed protection from life’s harsher realities.

“The solicitor suggests increasing the offer,” Jenkins ventured. “The filtration system patents alone brought in nearly that much in licensing fees last quarter,” Jenkins noted carefully. “Not to mention the municipal contracts and—”

“Which means nothing to a woman who can barely manage her household accounts,” Devlin cut in. “She’ll see three thousand pounds as a fortune, never questioning the company’s true worth. Besides, women in her position are easily pressured. A few more weeks of social isolation, a few pointed comments about her living arrangements with the mistress...” He smiled, remembering how she’d flushed prettily at his proximity. “She’ll be grateful for any escape we offer.”

Though he had to admit, the thought of acquiring such an exquisite creature along with her company held its own appeal. She moved with unconscious grace, her figure a perfect blend of elegance and subtle curves that his hands itched to explore. Perhaps once the business was concluded...

“Draft another letter,” he instructed Jenkins. “Express concern for her situation. Hint at mounting pressures from investors. But maintain the original offer. She’ll never notice the disparity.”

Once the company was his, perhaps he could find other ways to appreciate Caroline Thurlow’s more obvious charms. After all, a woman that beautiful didn’t need to be clever.