He sighs. "These days, I'm not sure of anything."
The closer we traveled to this house, the edgier he'd gotten. I felt his body stiffening up—and not in the way I like. Now that we're here, and our carriage is rolling to a stop, his shoulders bunch up, and I swear he's clenching his teeth too.
"Are you okay?" I ask while he helps me out of the carriage.
"Fine, yes."
"So you grit your teeth for fun?"
He stares at me for a second, then blows out a big breath. "Sorry. I don't want to ruin the evening for you. I've been courting Dexter for months, but this is the first time I'll meet with him in person. We've spoken on the phone several times. But mostly, I talk to his assistant, Ilsa."
"You're nervous. That's understandable. You've got a lot riding on convincing Dexter to work with you."
"The fate of my company, and all the people we employ, rides on this. Signing him could erase the mistakes I've made."
I slip my hand into his, threading our fingers. "Wish I could help you."
"We met yesterday, so you're under no obligation to do anything for me. But I appreciate your support."
"Maybe I can't convince Dexter to sign a contract with your company, but there is something I can do later." I lean closer and whisper, "I give great massages."
"Since we're not going to have sex, I'd better decline your offer. A massage from you will make me want to do wicked things to your body."
Richard leads me up the porch steps and to the front door. It's huge, taller than both of us combined, I think. He grasps the big gold knocker and raps on the wood.
Maybe two seconds go by before the door swings open.
A pretty woman wearing a scarlet dress—Victorian, of course—offers us a tight smile. "Good evening, Mr. Hunter. And who is your guest this evening?"
She speaks with an accent, German or something. I've never been good at figuring out where someone's from based on their accent. She has golden blonde hair that's pulled up into an intricate style, and her blue eyes focus on Richard and only Richard.
He lays a hand on my back. "This is Dr. Madeleine Solberg."
The woman finally looks at me, one brow arching. "Doctor? Sir Dexter will be impressed you've brought such a high-caliber guest, Mr. Hunter. I am Ilsa Weingartner, personal assistant to Sir Dexter Armstrong-Hill."
She offers me her hand.
I shake it, feeling a little intimidated. This woman is lovely, tall, and elegant, and she carries herself with poise and grace. She looks like she belongs in a Victorian dress, while I suddenly feel like an impostor. "Nice to meet you, Ms. Weingartner."
She nods crisply, then steps aside and waves for us to enter.
We follow Ilsa down a hallway and into a dining room.
A long wooden table fills most of the space, with matching chairs lined up along either side and one at each end. Candelabras sit on the tabletop, arranged in a long row with a few feet between them. Overhead, a crystal chandelier features…light bulbs. They look like LEDs. Okay, our host isn't a Luddite after all.
The table has been set for three.
Ilsa invites us to sit down, making sure we take the chairs on either side of the one at the head of the table. Then she excuses herself and leaves.
"This place is like a museum," I tell Richard, who's skimming his fingers over the myriad silverware. I've never seen so many utensils, and I have no idea what to do with most of them.
Ilsa reappears in the doorway, holding a small silver bell. She rings it.
A man shuffles past her into the room.
"Sir Dexter Armstrong-Hill," Ilsa says like she's announcing the arrival of a guest at a Victorian ball. "Dinner will be served in ten minutes."
The man shuffles down the length of the table to take the seat at the head, where Richard and I are sitting at either side. Sir Dexter Armstrong-Hill has shoulder-length gray hair that's curly and wild, as well as bushy sideburns. He wears an old-timey suit, but it's a bit rumpled. Our host aims his brown eyes at Richard.