I curtsied and asked if he wanted me to unpack his bags, trying to act like there was nothing wrong. But he kept apologizing to me.” She shook her head in amazement.
“Well, he is American. Perhaps he’s not used to castles and servants and such.”
“More like he’s not used to girls,” Kate retorted. “He’s got a prim-and-proper look to him, so stiff you think he might break if he tried to bend over. And plain dressed. Not badly dressed, just … so very severe. All the other girls think he’s dead handsome. I thought him only all right, if you like that sort of pasty look of a man who spends his life indoors. Me, I like a man with a little meat and muscle.” She grinned. “Gives you something to hold on to, you know.”
Angela shook her head in mock despair. Kate was an inveterate flirt, and Angela was sure that she had broken more than one poor man’s heart. But she liked to talk as if she were a wilder sort than she was, primarily, Angela thought, to entertain her.
“Did you find out why he’s here?” she asked as Kate finished with her shoes and rose to take a critical look at the overall effect.
“No. Dead mum about it, His Lordship’s man is, which I’m thinking means he doesn’t know. All I know is, Ned said later that he caught a glimpse into one of the bags, and it had a powerful lot of important-looking papers in it.”
“A solicitor, perhaps. Or a man of business. I wonder what he has to do with Jeremy,” Angela murmured. “Even more, what could it have to do with me? Well, I suppose the only way I shall find out is to go down there.”
But Kate would not let her leave until she had fussed with her hair a bit, pinning in the strands that had come loose during Angela’s walk. “There, now you look beautiful.”
Angela barely glanced at her image in the mirror. It had been many years since she fussed over her looks. All she cared about was appearing neat and ordinary. The latter was a difficult task for a woman with hair the color of burnished copper, she had found, but over the years she had made blending in an art form. She wore subdued colors and plain styles, and her hair was always done in a simple bun worn low upon her neck. She never wore any jewelry, except perhaps for a cameo brooch at her throat. Even her hands were without adornment, the nails clipped short and no rings upon her fingers.
She walked down to the library and knocked softly on the door. Jeremy answered, bidding her enter. When she stepped inside, Jeremy rose to his feet, as did the man who was sitting in the wingback chair across from him. Angela cast a quick, curious glance at the other man, noting that he was, as Kate had told her, not bad-looking, but perhaps a trifle rigid.
“Angela.” Jeremy smiled and went over to her to kiss her lightly on the cheek. “You look in health.”
“As do you. This is a pleasant surprise.”
“Not so pleasant for Grandmama, I believe.” He smiled. “I thought she might eat me for arriving unannounced.”
“Is Rosemary with you?” Angela asked as her brother led her toward the chairs.
“No. Couldn’t expect Rosemary to leave London during the Season.” He stopped in front of his guest. “Angela, I’d like you to meet Mr. Pettigrew.”
The man in question bowed stiffly to her, and they exchanged greetings. Almost immediately Pettigrew excused himself, saying that he was sure the Earl would wish to talk to his sister alone. Angela waited politely until the young man had left the room, then turned to her brother, eyebrows going up.
“Jeremy … what in the world is going on? What are you doing here in the middle of the Season? And who is that young man?”
“An American. An assistant to another American—whose name I don’t know,” he added darkly.
“But what has it to do with me? Grandmama said you wished to see me.”
“It has a great deal to do with you. Well, with all of us, but you are the one who—” He stopped and sighed. “I’m sorry. I am telling this all muddled. I have been in such a state recently … it’s a wonder I can make any sense at all. Here, sit down, and I shall start all over.”
They sat down in the leather wingback chairs, facing one another, and Jeremy, taking a deep breath, plunged into his story. “It started, oh, I’m not sure, a year or two ago. Someone bought a portion of my share of the tin mines. We needed to repair the house in the city, and somehow Rosemary and I seemed to have an inordinate amount of expenses as well, and, anyway, I sold a goodly block, I’d say about ten percent of the mine. Then, just this last year, I sold another portion of it, not that much. At the time, Niblett brought it to my attention that someone had bought others’ shares in the mine. You know, Aunt Constance had owned a part, and then it was split among her children when she died, and all of them sold their shares. There had been several sales like that. I thought it odd. Niblett didn’t want me to sell any more, but I couldn’t see any harm. It was not the same person who had bought the first amount I had sold, or so I thought, and the others had been sold to still other companies and people. So I sold another chunk, almost ten percent again. But three or four weeks ago, well, Niblett got this letter. It seems that a company in the United States claimed that it owned a—a majority of the mine. It turns out that Wainbridge—Grandfather’s friend, you remember him, don’t you?—had sold this company his fifteen percent. And Tremont—that’s the name of the American company—owned all the other bits and pieces that had been sold over the years, too, including both the ones I had sold.”
Angela gazed at him for a moment, assimilating the information. Finally she said, “You mean that this American company actually controls our mine now?”
Jeremy nodded, looking miserable. “I’m sorry, Angela. I don’t know how it happened. Even Niblett was surprised. He knew there had been some activity, but he did not know that it was all being bought by the same company.”
“Is it so very bad? I mean, I understand that you are getting less money than before, but that would have happened even if different people had bought from you.”
“Yes, but Tremont now has control over the decisions. I do not. It can do whatever it wants with the mine.”
“I see. So if they make poor decisions, you will suffer.”
“We will all suffer.”
Angela was well aware that this was true. She was completely dependent upon her brother, and her mother and grandmother largely were, also. Whatever wealth the Stanhopes had, had passed to Jeremy.
“Of course. But is it so bleak? We cannot assume they will make bad decisions, can we?”
“According to the letter, they intend to close the mine.”
Angela gaped at him. “What? You can’t be serious!”
He nodded vigorously. “I am. I couldn’t believe it, either, at first. But this week Mr. Pettigrew showed up in London. I’ve been meeting with him and Niblett and my solicitor. It is worse than bad. It’s. Oh, God, Angela, this American practically owns me!”
“Mr. Pettigrew?” Angela’s voice rang with disbelief. “But he seems so mild….”
“No, not him. Though he is not so mild when you are dealing with him in business. But I am talking about the company that bought the mine. It is owned by some American. I don’t know who. I haven’t met
