A large-framed man with a wealth of white hair stood and greeted Andrew. “Mr. Grayson, I’m Mr. Whitecliff. I hope you don’t think us presumptuous for inviting you sight unseen, but I’d heard you were newly arrived and looking at businesses to buy. I like to get to know newcomers.”
This was very good. No mention at all of his daughter, though he knew she’d arranged the dinner. Andrew took the proffered hand and shook it. “Thank you, sir. I appreciated the invitation. Indeed, I have a letter of introduction from my grandfather, Mr. Joshua Belden. I look forward to meeting new people here and”—he met Miss Whitecliff’s gaze and held it for a moment—“furthering my acquaintance with those few I’ve already had the pleasure of meeting.”
Whitecliff nodded sagely. “Excellent. Though Mr. Belden and I have never met, we have corresponded on business matters. We will do our best to make you feel at home here, Mr. Grayson.”
At least with his bona fides in place, Mr. Whitecliff accepted Andrew. He wondered how much the older man knew of his daughter’s doings and decided she hadn’t told him, or he would not be so welcoming.
“My dear”—Whitecliff turned to a handsome woman with silver-blond hair seated on a chaise next to one of the open windows—“allow me to introduce you to Mr. Grayson.”
“Mr. Grayson, a pleasure, and this”—she motioned to the lady he’d met last night who stood against a narrow portion of wall separating the windows—“is our daughter, Miss Whitecliff.”
She colored prettily before stepping forward and curtseying. “Mr. Grayson, I’m so glad you could come.”
He took her small hand in his, brushing his lips against her knuckles. “Miss Whitecliff, the pleasure is entirely mine.”
Her appearance was almost that of a china doll. Pale gold curls framed her heart-shaped face. Her eyes were the deep turquoise of the water. She was so perfectly lovely most men wouldn’t think she had a brain in her head. Yet after last night, when they’d pored over the ledgers together, he knew how sharp a mind she had. Miss Whitecliff’s beauty might fade, but an intelligent woman would never bore him. All that in addition to an even temperament. He’d never met another woman who enticed him as she did. Notwithstanding his and Will’s unexpected appearance last evening, she had held her own. She was everything he’d ever wished for in a wife and more.
Mr. Whitecliff coughed and Andrew realized he was still holding Miss Whitecliff’s hand. He couldn’t resist giving it a slight squeeze before letting her fingers go.
When he straightened, Mr. Whitecliff had an indulgent smile on his face. “Mr. Grayson, have you had the opportunity to sample a rum shrub?”
“No, sir. I have not.”
“Cicely, dear, will you call for Henry?”
Miss Whitecliff, Cicely, went to a braided rope hanging from the ceiling. A moment later the butler appeared.
Andrew was surprised when the ladies were served glasses of rum as well. He was even more shocked to find the glass chilled. “Have you ice here?”
“Yes. We use it sparingly, as you might imagine. It’s brought down from upper New York State. We have a special building to house it in.”
Andrew tasted the concoction of juices and rum. He recognized orange, but the rest of it was a mystery. The rum had a bit of a bite, though not nearly as much as the stuff they got in England. He wondered what the difference was. “It’s very good.”
“We shall have a toast.” Mr. Whitecliff lifted his glass. “To new friends.”
Andrew caught Cicely’s gaze. “To new friends.”
And, he hoped, much more.
“Well, Mr. Grayson,” Mrs. Whitecliff began, “where are your people from?”
“As I mentioned to your husband, my maternal grandfather is Mr. Joshua Belden. That side of the family is from Bristol. My father, Earl of Kelston, has his main estate near Bath . . .”
Bit by bit, Cicely’s mother drew out his family history and divulged some of their own. It turned out Mr. Whitecliff, the third son of a viscount, had a good opinion of Andrew’s grandfather, and Mrs. Whitecliff, a baron’s daughter, had come out at the same time as one of Andrew’s aunts.
Though money was, of course, never mentioned, Andrew dropped the necessary hints concerning his ability to not only provide for a wife but enable her to command the elegancies of life.
Throughout dinner and afterward as their party removed to the drawing room, he and Cicely exchanged glances and smiles. Yet never once was he allowed alone with her. A blessing and a curse. As much as he’d like to have her to himself, he didn’t want to scare her. Unlike Wivenly, Andrew prided himself on his control.
He considered it a success that he’d been invited back for luncheon on the morrow. In true English style, the evening ended with tea, after which, under the watchful eye of the butler, Henry, Cicely was allowed to accompany him to the door.
He took Cicely’s hand, bringing it to his lips and whispered, “I must speak with you.”
Lord, how he wanted to hold her in his arms and kiss her.
“Tomorrow,” she whispered back. “After luncheon, I shall suggest I be allowed to show you the gardens.”
He turned her hand and placed a kiss on her palm, closing her fingers around it. “Think of me, as I shall of you.”
