Page 7 of Part of Your World

Rubbing Machi’s sable-soft fur against her cheek, Octavia lowered herself into the chair and exhaled a long breath. Clearing her mind of all the details surrounding her afternoon appointment, she focused instead on the silky texture of Machi’s fur. Arranging him in her lap, she offered him another scrap of dried meat to munch on while she stroked his pelt, keeping one hand tucked beneath his belly to keep him from bounding away without permission.

She slowed her breathing and turned her attention inward. Calm. Soft. Easy. Smooth. Worries slid away with each rub of Machi’s fur. She stroked her pet just as she planned to stroke her guest’s ego. Soothing him. Letting him think he was in control, while she secretly orchestrated things behind the scenes. He’d be putty in her hands, just like Machi. Wooed into doing her bidding by a few tasty treats and a bit of petting. Everything would be—

Velli pounced from the arm of Octavia’s chair into her lap, her slender masked face aglow with mischievous delight. Machi squirmed out of Octavia’s hold, unable to resist the lure of playtime. The two ferrets scampered down her smock then dashed about the conservatory like a pair of overzealous circus performers.

Ah, well. Ferrets would be ferrets, she supposed. She’d return after tea with Velli’s favorite peacock plume. Perhaps the rambunctious lady would settle enough for a cuddle session of her own after a game of snatch-the-feather. The furry imps tended to enjoy a late afternoon nap before perking up around dinnertime.

Octavia rose from her chair, pulled her arms from the smock’s sleeves, then returned the protective garment to its hook by the door.

“You two behave yourselves in here. Mommy has a meeting to attend.”

Octavia left the conservatory and climbed the grand staircase to the second floor then glided down the hall to her bedchamber. Once there, she tugged upward on the gold chain around her neck—a chain she never removed. Not because of something so maudlin as sentiment. Heaven knew, she felt no lingering attachment to Clive. Her parents, either, for that matter. After all, they were the ones who bartered her to a man more than twice her age in exchange for access to his steamboat line. No, she wore no locket or jewel at the end of this chain. She wore something of far greater worth. A key.

As the chain pulled free of the modest neckline of her bodice, she clasped the small brass key, enjoying the rush of power that swept through her at its touch. She crossed to the rolltop desk in the corner of the room, bent over its cover, and fit the key into the lock. A quiet click met her ears, bringing a smile of satisfaction to her face. Straightening, she opened the desk and retrieved her most prized possession. A journal. Ordinary on the surface. Plain, brown leather. Unadorned. Innocuous. Yet inside, it brimmed with secrets. Secrets people paid her very well to keep. Whispers of scandal. Corruption. Even criminal activity. The currency of her enterprise.

And the reason Mr. Horace Erickson was coming to tea.

“Let’s get down to business, shall we, Mrs. Underhill?” Mr. Erickson moved his crumb-filled plate to the side, braced his elbows on his chair arms, then laced his fingers in front of him. His eyes gleamed in a predatory fashion that would have intimidated a less-experienced woman.

Octavia, however, had cultivated an immunity to such posturing. “Gladly.” She offered him a pleasant smile as she met his gaze with confidence. A flash of annoyance lit his eyes, and it was all Octavia could do not to preen. “I assume you wish to discuss the terms of the matchmaking agreement your wife and I arranged yesterday.”

“I do.” He leaned forward, his gaze narrowing. “I wish to nullify the agreement and cancel your services.”

Octavia clicked her tongue as she gave her head a gentle shake. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible. Your wife signed the contract. It cannot be undone. Not without significant penalty.” She widened her gaze and blinked in a parody of guilelessness. “Did she not show you the document? I would expect an experienced businessman like yourself to understand the nature of contracts. They are rather binding, you see.”

“Do not condescend to me, madam. I am quite aware of the nature of contracts.” His posture stiffened to such an extreme that even the hair in his sideburns seemed to stand at attention. “I’m also aware of the nature of blackmail. No court will uphold a contract such as yours. Extortion is illegal.”

Octavia patted the table between them in a conciliatory fashion. “We both know you’ll not be taking me to court, Mr. Erickson. Not if you want your secret to stay between us. Sure, you might ruin me by taking such action, but you’ll ruin yourself in the process. Do you really think you’ll be able to keep your seat at the Cotton Exchange when word gets out that you’ve been manipulating the market to line your own pockets? I’m not the only criminal sitting at this table, am I?”

The flat of his hand came down with enough force to rattle the silver tea service. “You go too far.”

“My reputation as a matchmaker is impeccable, Mr. Erickson. I’ve access to girls from some of the wealthiest families in the south. Even as far north as Chicago. I can match your son to a young woman with a pedigree that will elevate the Erickson name to equal standing with George Sealy or W.L. Moody.”

There it was. The glint of ambition. The aspiration for greatness.

Octavia smoothed a wrinkle from the tablecloth. “I’m a broker, not so different from you. Instead of connecting cotton suppliers with European textile mills, I connect young men of good standing with daughters of the socially elite. And like you, I take a commission. Each client is given the opportunity to pay my full fee upfront, though most choose to pay in installments. Understandable since there is no guarantee that a marriage will take place. As much as I would like to, I cannot force two young people to marry. That is the parents’ responsibility. What I can do is provide opportunities for them to spend time together and form an attachment. All of which requires considerable effort on my part. Hence my need for insurance. What’s to stop a mother from reneging on our bargain and refusing to pay the remainder of my fee once the introductions have been made? That is why the secrets are necessary. They guarantee that all payments will be made in a timely fashion. And once the full amount is satisfied, I never ask for more. I’m a reputable businesswoman. Do you really think that people would continue to recommend my services to their friends if that was not the case?”

“What about the Gladstones? They left the island in disgrace after an article appeared in the paper detailing Robert’s involvement with a smuggling operation. You ruined him.”

Octavia shrugged. “He ruined himself. He was the smuggler, not I. He also chose not to adhere to our agreement. I gave him several opportunities to pay what he owed. He opted to ignore my reminders. Decided to gamble and call my bluff.” She locked eyes with Mr. Erickson. “I don’t bluff.”

She expected him to squirm at least a little, but he surprised her by hardening his expression. “Neither do I.”

What did he mean by that?

“I don’t know where you ferreted out your information about my business dealings, but I assure you, it is a pack of lies based on nothing more than rumor and slanderous speculation from those who wish to unseat me. My wife has no intimate knowledge of my work at the Exchange and, frankly, wouldn’t understand it even if she did.”

Octavia stroked a flawlessly manicured fingernail around the edge of her saucer. “I find that men often underestimate the intelligence of the women around them. Perhaps you should give your wife more credit. She might not be privy to the business conducted within the walls of the Exchange, but she hosts your business dinners, cultivates relationships with the wives of your partners, and notices when you come home with new, diamond cufflinks.” She aimed a pointed glare at her guest’s wrist where something rather glittery peeked out from beneath his coat sleeve. “She obviously thought you capable of such practices or she never would have signed the contract.”

Mr. Erickson’s mouth tightened. “She would have signed anything to find our son a bride. She’s obsessed with the idea.” He shook his head. “Thankfully, she’s also loyal and told me everything. Including that you had her write this so-called secret into a journal and sign her name to it.”

“That is correct. Having the secret in the owner’s handwriting allows for confirmation. I wouldn’t want anyone to accuse me of slander.”

One of his eyebrows twitched. From nerves? Guilt? Or the impulse to reach across the table and strangle her where she sat? Hard to tell. But one thing was for certain, she was under his skin. Exactly where she wanted to be.

“My wife also informed me that once the final payment is made, you will tear the page from the journal and burn it.”

Octavia dipped her chin. “Yes. Once the contract is fulfilled, the evidence is destroyed. The owner is invited to bear witness to the burning.”