“And what about that spyglass?” she asked, pointing at one of the shelves. “Let me see that.”
Mr. Trout smiled. “That just arrived yesterday. A real captain, he was.” He walked over to collect the item.
“Another unbelievable story,” Ruth whispered, making Louisa choke back a giggle.
The proprietor placed the spyglass on the counter. It was retractable and cased in bronze.
“It comes with a wooden box, too,” Mr. Trout said. “Why don’t you take a look at it?”
Ruth picked up the telescope and slowly turned in it in her hand. With her fascination with the sea, Louisa understood her desire to purchase it.
“Where did you get this?” Ruth asked in a voice far harsher than Louisa would have expected.
The proprietor, who was resentful at Ruth’s tone, raised himself to his full height, which was not all that tall. “It’s like I told you. A captain brought it to me yesterday. Didn’t even want to pawn it. Said he had no use for it anymore and wanted to sell it outright.”
“Ruth?” Louisa asked. “What is wrong?”
Ruth’s face had gone a bright red. Whether from anger or sadness was unclear.
Not looking up from the spyglass, Ruth asked, “Did he say what he was doing in Chatsworth?”
Mr. Trout blew out his breath. “All he said was that he was here to sign some sort of agreement, then he’d be going away for a few weeks before returning. I think he’s planning to settle here.” He motioned to the telescope. “Eight pounds.”
“Fine,” Ruth replied without bartering. “Get the box.”
Louisa tried to say something, but Ruth waved her away. Once the transaction was completed, she followed her friend outside. Ruth’s strides were long, and her eyes were filled with rage.
“What is it?” Louisa asked as they turned onto High Street. “What’s gotten you so upset? Does this spyglass remind you of him?” She spoke of the captain who had broken Ruth’s heart.
Ruth came to a sudden stop and withdrew the ornate wooden box. “It reminds me of him because it is his. Look at the name inscribed on the case.”
Louisa’s eyes widened. “Captain Bannermann,” she whispered as she read the inscription, “may your ship never dock.” Ruth slid the cover back onto the box, and Louisa jumped. “But what is he doing here? And why did he not call on you?”
“Because he’s a selfish man,” Ruth spat. “One who makes promises only to break hearts. I don’t care why he’s returned, and I hope he never calls on me. I never want to see him again!”
As they resumed their walk, this time at a more reasonable pace, Louisa glanced at her friend. Clearly, Ruthdidcare about the captain’s return. Louisa just prayed that whatever had happened, the man did not hurt Ruth again.
ChapterTwenty-Nine
The manor house belonging to Mr. Marcus Connelly, a wealthy shipping merchant, was a resplendent three-story home of gray stone offset by red-trimmed window frames and surrounded by rose bushes. Tiny spring leaves peeked from the nibs of the stems, promising a new season of lovely blossoms.
Inside was as splendid as the exterior, with drapes made of the finest fabrics, carefully crafted furniture, and lovely tapestries. Every piece of furniture had been crafted by the best furniture makers in England.
Aaron sat in the drawing room in a George I wing chair covered in crimson fabric. Other pieces in the room came from Chippendale, Hepplewhite, or Sheraton. No expense had been spared in the home’s decor, which said much about Mr. Connelly’s coffers.
Two days earlier, Aaron had received an invitation to call on Mr. Connelly. Having Miss Louisa accompany him could prove disastrous, for he had used Mr. Connelly’s daughter to garner this appointment. Therefore, he had accepted and gone alone but not without a twinge of guilt. All he could hope was that she did not learn of it. Not only would he have to explain how the invitation came about—after all, he had flirted with Miss Miriam to convince her to intercede for him—but also that he had broken their agreement to work together. Neither explanation appealed to him.
But he had a mission—to hold the deed to the theater. And in the art of war, and more so in business, exceptions had to be made.
After all, some rules were meant to be broken.
Across from him sat his host, a man of fifty with curly red hair common among the Scottish. And a stark contrast to his daughter’s black tresses. Aaron was relieved he had not seen that young lady since his arrival. And he prayed he would not. Had this meeting come up two weeks ago, he would have thought differently, but now, the idea of toying with her made him strangely uncomfortable.
“Even the day I returned from York,” Mr. Connelly was saying, “I was beset upon by a barrage of questions from Mary.”
He spoke of his wife, but how the woman ever got a word in edgewise was a mystery to Aaron. The husband had spoken without ceasing since Aaron’s arrival, and he wondered if the man ever took a breath.
“Don’t women understand that we men already suffer enough in this world without their input?”