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Amusement flickered in his eyes. “You became a cynic?”

“Not at all,” she said. “A pragmatist. After seeing how the law goes in favor of the ones with the most financial resources, I wanted to find out why they were always men. After thorough research of English law, I discovered the answer: Approximately ninety percent of all the laws that mention women have been designed to keep wealth out of female hands.”

Pembroke paused with the wineglass halfway to his lips.

“Money calls the shots,” Reina said simply. “Giving a woman rights on paper won’t do a thing for her if she’s forced to remain as helpless and dependent as a child when it comes to money. Freedom starts with economic fairness.” She smiled at his expression. “Have I shocked you by speaking so bluntly?”

“I’m not accustomed to it,” he admitted.

“No one ever teaches women about finance,” Reina said. “Apparently it’s an exclusively masculine subject. Which makes life rather difficult for all the unmarried or widowed women who have no man to provide for them. That’s why I wrote a financial guide for women—it explains the basics in a simple and friendly way. Would you like to see it?”

“I would.”

She went to rummage through the contents of a nearby shelf until she found a copy and handed it to him.

Pembroke examined the cover: light greenish-gray cloth stamped with bronze lettering. Queen of Your Own Castle, by R.M. . . . and a little castle motif with a cheerful banner.

“A handsome design,” he commented.

“Thank you. I chose that image because it’s a stronghold but also a fairy-tale place. A dream. It could be a small business a woman would like to start or enough money to provide security in her later years. Or perhaps education for herself or her children.”

He ran his fingertips lightly over the gilded pattern on the spine. “The book has sold well?”

“Beyond my wildest imaginings, despite resistance from some quarters.” Reina grinned. “Women have told me that if their husbands or fathers object to the book, they say they’re only reading it to improve their management of housekeeping accounts and pin money.”

“And writing this is how you made your fortune?”

“It gave me the funds to start investing. Now I’m preparing for the next step—opening an all-women’s bank.” She told him about her plans for the bank and her partnership with William Farlow. Pembroke listened intently.

“I’m sure you’ll meet Mr. Farlow soon,” Reina said. “He often visits for afternoon tea. Or sometimes dinner.”

“These visits . . .” Pembroke began, seeming to choose his words with care, “. . . they’re entirely confined to business?”

Reina hesitated before replying uncomfortably, “I suppose not entirely.”

“Is it a courtship?”

“I’m . . . not sure.”

Not long ago, William had mentioned with seeming casualness that he would like to marry again someday. It had been five years since his wife, Mildred, had died of cancer, and now his son and daughter were grown and had families of their own. Evenings at home, he’d said, were far too quiet.

Reina had recognized the comment for what it was. An opening. A prelude to a more significant conversation in the future. She didn’t know how she felt about that.

There were reasons to consider William’s overture seriously. As friends had pointed out, the match offered advantages for both sides. William would gain a young wife who shared his interests and could look after him in his later years.

For Reina’s part, marrying William would give her instant status and respectability. As the nephew of a viscount, he was a born gentleman. It would be no small consideration to have the protection of such a man. She would always be safe and cared for. She would belong to a large, established family.

“Do you want it to be a courtship?” Pembroke asked.

“I’ve never been courted before, but I wouldn’t mind trying it. Mr. Farlow and I are well suited. And it’s no exaggeration to say he could marry almost anyone he wished. More than one friend has said I should leap at the chance.”

“Why haven’t you?”

“The risk is too great,” Reina said. “If I marry, everything I owned would become the property of my husband. The house, the savings and investments, every book on the shelf, even the shoes on my feet. If he decided to empty the accounts or gamble every penny away, I could do nothing to stop him. A married woman can’t own a business, hold stock, or sign contracts because according to English law, she herself is the property of her husband. And if I had children, they’d be his as well. Only his. He could forbid me from seeing them. How could I ever give someone such absolute power over me?”

Pembroke listened closely, twin notches appearing between his dark brows. “Has Farlow ever given you reason to doubt his character?”

“Never,” Reina said without hesitation. “Of all the men I’ve ever known, he’s the best and most honorable by far.”