a designer, and Wayland is world-class.”
She lightly frowned. “Was he the man you were chasing in the West Indies when Rand and Felicia announced their engagement?”
“Yes—I was in Bermuda when the letter telling me of their impending nuptials reached me. I had to leap on the next ship to make it back in time, but luckily, by then, I’d persuaded Wayland to throw in his lot with mine.” Kit glanced in the direction of the warehouse. “He had to remain for several more weeks, but he followed and arrived last week. He’s been spending the day interviewing men for the business.”
She looked at him curiously. “You’re not involved?”
His lips twitched into a grin. “Wayland and I make a good team—we have complementary skills. He’s a superb designer and knows to a T what sort of craftsmen we need and which particular supplies, tools, and timbers. As a designer, a creator, he’s exacting and precise, but he’s hopeless at organizing beyond that sphere—dealing with suppliers, bankers, invoices and wages, investors, and all that sort of thing. He’s too impatient—he just wants to build yachts.”
She nodded. “All the day-to-day decisions and actions.” She glanced at his face. “That’s not so very different to my role with the school.”
He inclined his head. “Indeed, it’s very much the same. You organize, and Jellicoe and Cross teach. I organize, and Wayland designs and builds.”
“And when it comes to selling what you build?”
“That will be mostly up to me, with Wayland enthusing in the background.” His fond smile fading, he glanced at her. “I can’t tell you how thrilled Wayland was at the prospect of getting into the warehouse a day early. He’s champing at the bit to start transforming the space into our workshop, so that when the bulk of the men he’s hiring turn up on Monday, he’ll have everything ready to start laying our first keel.”
They’d reached the front of the building that housed Kit’s office. He halted and looked at her. “Which way are you headed?”
“Home.” She waved farther along King Street. “I live not far away, and with the school ready but shut, there’s nothing more I need to do today.”
He waved her on. “I’ll see you home.”
Sylvia hesitated for only a second, then inclined her head in acceptance. “Thank you.” Were this London, any gentleman of his class would make the same offer, and any lady with her head on her shoulders would acquiesce. Viewed in that light, him escorting her home didn’t mean anything beyond simple courtesy, something she suspected that, in him, was ingrained.
Side by side, they strolled on along King Street, the soft sunshine of the afternoon laying gently across their shoulders.
He’d slipped his hands into his greatcoat pockets and was looking down at the pavement before them. “I also want to thank you—and the school—for the chance to reach out to the sort of craftsmen Wayland and I most need to contact. That was a bonus.”
Smiling at his earnestness, she looked ahead. “I think all associated with the school would say that you’ve earned any advantage the school community can hand you.”
He shrugged. “It wasn’t that much—it was easy for me to do.” He glanced briefly at her. “It was you who showed me the way—who opened my door and laid the opportunity at my feet. I just picked it up.”
She suppressed a snort, but there was no real way to counter that argument.
She wasn’t even sure she wanted to. It was close enough to the truth, yet...
She was starting to realize he had a habit of self-deprecation, of making light of what he did—often, it seemed, because he was wealthy and matters were easy for him to arrange. Because his assistance cost him nothing beyond money he could readily afford.
But was it correct to discount his contribution purely because it was easy for him to make?
She suspected her father would say not and, instead, maintain that the actions of men possessed the same intrinsic value regardless of wealth.
They reached the corner of King Street and Back Street, and she waved to their left. “It’s this way.”
As they strolled on, she asked, “Have you seen Rand and Felicia recently?”
He nodded. “After the wedding, I stayed at Raventhorne Abbey, and they visited several times—their last visit was just before I left to come here.” He glanced at her face. “They’re both well.” After a moment, he asked, “Does Felicia know you live here—in Bristol?”
She blinked, then, considering the question, frowned. “I honestly don’t know. I’ve mentioned the school—she knows all about that and my association with it—but I’m not sure I’ve actually told her I’ve removed to Bristol myself.” She glanced briefly his way and met his caramel eyes. “I do know she sent news of her wedding to my home in the country—my father sent it on.”
“And where is your home in the country?”
“Saltford. It’s a small town on the Bath Road between Bristol and Bath. My father has the living there.” She glanced at him. “Do you have a house in the country you call home?”
He looked ahead. “Not as such. The Abbey is now Ryder and Mary’s home and purely a place to visit.”
“No house in London?” She imagined a London rakehell of his wealth would definitely have a house in town.
“I used to share lodgings with Rand, but now... If I want to stay in town, I’ll just use my room in Raventhorne House in Mount Street.” His lips twisted wryly. “Truth to tell, I avoid London as much as I can.”
“You do?” That surprised her. “Why?”
He looked at her, meeting her gaze. “The more pertinent question would be: Why wouldn’t I?” When, at a loss, she blinked at him, he elaborated, “There’s nothing that attracts me in London, much less holds my interest. No yacht-building. No sailing of that sort.” He shrugged and looked at the pavement again. “Nothing I fancy.”
Nothing he fancied? Sylvia might have thought he was pulling her leg, but he looked and sounded utterly sincere and combined with what she’d seen of him and learned of him that day...
She was starting to suspect her earlier opinion of Kit Cavanaugh had been not just inaccurate but comprehensively in error.
Which raised the tantalizing prospect of who the man beside her truly was—what manner of man he actually was.
Pondering that, she gestured to the left. “My lodging house is this way, on the far side of the park.”
He turned with her, then asked, “Tell me what you know of the Dock Company.”
That didn’t take long, but his subsequent questions about the city, about the atmosphere now that, with the advent of larger, heavier ships, the dock work was shifting downriver, displayed an inherent grasp of what made communities tick and prosper.
“So,” he said, “the mayor and the city council are stable and entrenched, but are floundering regarding the adjustments
