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Chapter Ten
James spent much of that day at the docks, helping his men unload a ship, as was his habit a few times a week. It kept him fit, and not only physically—without regular exertion, his mind was incapable of attending to business affairs.
Today was such a day. Before sitting and reading or conversing at length, he needed to lift and throw around cargo. The work also helped him maintain an awareness of the scale of his enterprise, from top to bottom. One reason he’d succeeded to date was his inordinate interest in every level of his business.
He returned from the docks to eat and bathe before returning to the countinghouse to read Isaac’s detailed notes from the day. After scouring those, he turned to correspondence but found himself disengaged to a frustrating degree.
James tapped his desk with an impatient finger, considering returning home or going out. Tomorrow was Sunday, so he’d have some peace and quiet to work.
A man of purpose, he hated feeling at loose ends, and too often recently, he had found himself not knowing what his next step ought to be. He sat at his desk, trying to build the resolve to read a stack of reports by candlelight, when a knock rattled his door.
Grateful for the distraction, James looked up. “Enter.”
The door opened, revealing a footman—part of his household staff, not an employee of his enterprise.
“A visitor awaits you in the residence, sir.”
“The residence?” His eyebrows rose. He rarely received visitors to his home, least of all unexpectedly.
“Yes, sir. Pulley says it is a lady.”
James was at a loss for words. He nodded to the footman, then signaled a dismissal with his hand.
A lady? Could it be…?
He surged from his seat to make his way home. His body had been fatigued from the unloading, and though a soak in a hot bath had relieved some of the lethargy, the hope that Clara awaited him triggered instant rejuvenation.
Pulley opened the front door before James leapt up the last few steps onto the porch.
“Who is it?”
“She declined to give her name or leave a card, sir. However, she appears to be—”
“A noblewoman? Tall? Dark hair?”Vibrant? Full of curiosity and spark?
“Yes, sir.”
“Where is she?”
Pulley inclined his head toward the closed door. “In the drawing room.”
“In there?” James asked unnecessarily.
He’d misinterpreted so much about her so far. How could he afford now to read anything into her visit?
Despite attempts to moderate his expectations, hope buoyed. That vulnerability was unwelcome but familiar; he’d come to live with it these last weeks. The more he fought his thoughts and dreams about Clara, the more humility he was forced to learn.
He could no more turn off his fascination than he could train his lungs not to draw air.
Pulley was unusually short for a butler, yet typical in his command of the household, and in his dedication to dignified service. He waited for his employer’s signal to open the door.
Instead, James let himself into the drawing room and closed the door behind him.
His heart jumped into his throat.
Clara. Oh, thank God.
She sat with a straight spine on the edge of a chair, her back to him. Although she must have heard him enter, she waited in absolute stillness for him to approach her.
