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“That’s what you’ve always said but look what happened yesterday.” Fletcher swept his hand through the air in a grand gesture that nearly had Simon rolling his eyes. “A lady visited.A lady.” The man’s voice rose with the repetition of the term, echoing in the entrance hall much like it might in a theater. “How was I supposed to know what to do with her?”
Simon knew very well what he’d like to do with Miss Norah Wright. If she hadn’t made that remark about needing him, he wouldn’t have these crazy, inappropriate thoughts.
In fact, he’d considered walking home just to try to work off the unsettling feelings, but Jarvis had been waiting to drive him and had looked so crestfallen when Simon mentioned walking.
Simon had carefully selected his servants, having pensioned off his uncle’s staff soon after inheriting the title. He’d wanted a new start in a new house after Uncle Theodore’s death. He hadn’t liked the idea of the servants comparing him to his uncle. Besides, many of them had been elderly.
This house was smaller than the previous residence that had been turned into a museum and not as cold and formal. It reminded Simon a bit of his childhood home. There was also the added benefit of not needing as many servants.
Fletcher served as butler. His wife, also a former actress, was the housekeeper. Simon’s valet, Miles, acted as footman, when necessary, as did Jarvis, who also drove the carriage. They had a cook, a daily maid, and Alice, another maid who lived there. Alice was a mother with no husband, something frowned upon by most employers. Her young lad was only two and lived there as well.
Simon knew they were a rather odd collection—misfits of a sort, including himself. He’d come upon the Fletchers first, through a family friend. They’d needed positions, as aging actors weren’t in high demand. Fletcher suggested the role of butler might suit him rather well and thus far it had. Although in hindsight, that was most likely because they never had callers. Mrs. Fletcher insisted she had played the part of housekeeper and mother often enough that she was certain she could bumble her way through it.
Thanks to the Fletchers and their acquaintances, the rest of the staff had soon followed.
“I don’t believe the lady will be calling again any time soon,” Simon told him. Future meetings would be at the museum. The realization was rather disappointing.
“But what if she does?” Fletcher shook his head. “I need to know my lines if that happens. Please provide some direction as to how to refuse entrance to a lady.”
“No other ladies will be calling, so there’s no need to worry.” Simon started toward his study, eager to sketch out his idea for the exhibit, only to pause. “However, if Miss Wright happens to visit again, be sure to show her in.”
Simon ignored the butler’s shock and continued to his study, his thoughts firmly on Norah Wright. The story of the lady’s parents intrigued him almost as much as the lady herself.
Her heartfelt determination had proven irresistible, and her argument had been valid. He would like to draw more visitors to the museum, even if he didn’t plan on attending the unveiling. The lower attendance number Stockton had noted in last month’s report of the museum’s affairs was concerning.
That reminded him of a clay pot he’d noted missing from the Inca display. He needed to ask Stockton where it was the next time he ventured to the museum.
Thank goodness he could rely on the director to take care of running the place. As much as Simon enjoyed examining artifacts and designing exhibits, he had little interest in the business side. Stockton had been with him for several years and was reliable, even if he lacked the knowledge of history that Simon had.
As he entered his study, he easily pictured Miss Wright standing before his desk. She was a distraction he didn’t need. Women had no place in his quiet world. Thinking of her would only lead to embarrassing himself, much like he’d managed to do so often in the past. The sooner he worked out the details of her exhibit, the better. But first, he intended to do a little more research on Oak Island.
The urge to surprise her with a worthy design brought a smile to his lips. It would be a challenge to create something interesting with so few items. But given the public’s curiosity about treasure hunting, why not allow them to have a taste of it? He was eager to show Miss Wright what he had in mind.
Then he caught himself and shook his head. Hadn’t he decided he shouldn’t—couldn’t—waste time thinking of her? Somehow, he needed to find the fortitude to remember this was business. Nothing more.
*
“I’m so pleasedyou can come,” Norah said as she spoke to Lady Havenby, a former friend of Norah’s late mother’s, at the Hayfield Ball five days later.
Norah had been doing her best to spread the word about the unveiling party for her father’s exhibit in addition to the invitations she’d sent. It was only a week away, and she could hardly wait. “The proceeds will benefit The City of London’s Orphanage.”
“I wouldn’t miss it.”
Upon Norah and her sisters’ arrival in London, the duke had asked Lady Havenby to introduce them into Society. She’d assisted them with ordering new gowns, along with all the accessories, made certain they received invitations to the proper functions, and advised them on how to navigate the curious stares as well as the gossip.
The latter had been rather entertaining, as Lady Havenby enjoyed gossiping herself. She seemed to know everyone and everything.
“If you think of anyone else who might enjoy the party, please invite them,” Norah said. “The museum is wonderful, and the cost of the tickets will go toward a deserving cause. Have you visited?”
“I can’t say that I have.” Lady Havenby smoothed the skirt of her crimson silk gown with its black braiding and fringe along the edge of the draped overskirt. Her attire was always the height of fashion, which was why it had been so helpful to have her assist them. “Isn’t that the one the Marquess of Vanbridge oversees?”
“Yes, that’s right.” Norah hid a scowl at the mention of his name. She’d sent him two messages to suggest they meet to review the progress on the exhibit, but he had yet to respond. She worried he’d forgotten his agreement, though Mr. Stockton assured her in a message that the marquess was working diligently.
“Have you met him?” the lady asked.
“Of course. We discussed the artifacts and the exhibit.”
“Truly?” Lady Havenby’s eyes widened with surprise. “He tends to avoid people and rarely comes to social engagements.”
