Lady concealed, p.3
Lady Concealed, page 3
When he had first unloaded the documents he hadn’t any idea where to begin. He would thank Miss Mirabelle for the assistance if he didn’t believe it would encourage her to become more involved where she did not belong.
A knock at the door drew his attention and Jonathan glanced up to find Brachton standing in the doorway. Beyond him, the warehouse bustled with activity and sunlight filtered in from the windows above and the open doors. How long had he been absorbed in shuffling paper?
“Should I come back?” Brachton asked as he sauntered into the room, taking in the several stacks strewn about the office. It may look as bad as it had yesterday, but at least there was some order to them today.
“No, come in.” Jonathan came around the desk and shut the door behind Brachton so as not to be overheard. He hadn’t let on to his employees what he now suspected. He was still uncertain as to whom he could trust. He would not make the same mistake he had with his secretary.
“Has some of the wool gone missing?” Brachton asked.
“No,” Jonathan gestured to a seat, which Brachton sank into.
He rubbed the back of his neck and paced. Brachton deserved the truth. They had known each other since they were boys; surely he was the one person he could trust. Besides, they both knew he didn’t ship wool for Brachton. Just wool hiding the Scotch whisky distilled at Brachton’s home in Scotland. The man certainly wasn’t going to go to the authorities.
Jonathan wheeled around and looked at his friend. “What I tell you goes no further than these walls.”
Brachton nodded.
“I have a number of missing shipments.”
Brachton straightened.
“Most of them are from Italy and other parts of the continent.”
“No’ Scotland?”
“No, I told you your wool is fine.”
“I still doona understand wha’ this has to do with me.”
“I am getting to that.” Jonathan groaned. “A few months ago I intercepted a letter on my secretary’s desk. It was a complaint about a missing shipment. Upon further investigation, I found more letters from a number of customers.”
“Miss Mirabelle?”
“Yes,” Jonathan answered. “She is one of the more persistent ones. I confronted my secretary and he had no answers. The man disappeared the next day.”
“Wha’ exactly do you suspect?” Brachton asked him pointedly.
“They were stealing from shipments for their own gain.”
“Have ye gone to the authorities?”
“Not yet. I want to determine for certain that is the case.” He gestured to the documents on his desk. “My secretary was a poor record keeper I’ve learned of late and I am trying to make heads or tails out of what was stolen or simply misplaced.” He leaned forward and placed his elbows on the desk. “If one of these customers goes to the authorities before I have answers, an investigation may be opened.”
“And if they learn of the wool…” Brachton trailed off.
“Which is why I need to be rid of my own wool and stop shipping it for the time being. The last thing we need are shipments being searched.”
Brachton nodded in agreement, though his face was grim.
Jonathan leaned back. “Now, if I can only put off Miss Mirabelle a bit longer, at least until I have an answer. The others, gentlemen, understand the loss of a secretary who had not been doing the job they were hired for. She is not as understanding.” In truth, he wouldn’t mind seeing Miss Mirabelle again. He just didn’t want the occasion to be because she was going through his desk.
Brachton chuckled.
Jonathan studied him. “Do you know her well?”
The gentleman cleared his throat and looked about the desk. Why such a reaction to a simple question? “Acker is a good friend. Miss Mirabelle is his wife’s sister. I suspec’ the lass ta be most persistent.”
Chapter 4
This carpet would wear thin if she didn’t stop pacing, but Geneviève couldn’t help herself. Who knew how long it would be before Bridges finally located her items? What she really wanted to do was return to his office. She itched to organize the papers on his desk. She hated that she was forced to wait here until she heard from that man.
She wouldn’t mind seeing Bridges again either. Heat infused her cheeks and she shook her head. This was ridiculous. She barely knew him, yet she couldn’t deny the attraction. There was no reason for it. She had encountered plenty of handsome gentlemen before and they were quickly forgotten. But something about Bridges, even disheveled and dirty from work, did queer things to her stomach.
Maybe it was because she had never seen a gentleman not put to rights. And, he was wearing his shirtsleeves. His broad shoulders, muscular arms, and flat stomach could not be masked by the damp linen.
Geneviève blew out a breath. She should not think of him dressed in such a manner. It was not proper. How could she erase the image from her mind? Not only did his shirt fail to hide what most ladies never see, but his breeches were snug about his narrow hips and molded his thighs.
Her blood heated at the memory and she fanned her face.
These thoughts were ridiculous. If she allowed his appearance to affect her, she might forget that he had lost her mother’s items. Furthermore, despite his reputation for owning one of the best shipping lines, his office was evidence to the contrary.
She could be useful to him and she hadn’t felt useful in months. Not since Bentley and his brothers discovered they had sisters. From the moment they first appeared in their set of rooms following the night they witnessed Juliette on stage, she and her sister’s lives had been practically taken over.
At first, it was more of a blessing. Maman was so ill and she and her sisters were able to spend the last months of her life at her side without other cares or concerns such as their dwindling funds. But, Maman was gone, and somewhere during their care for her and subsequent mourning, Bentley and her brothers had attempted to wrap her and her sisters in woolen and shield them from the harsh realities of life. Further, they began insisting on how the sisters were expected to go about in order to be prepared for when they became members of Society.
None of them had wanted to be a part of Society but now both Hélène and Juliette were married to gentlemen and may be required to move in Society. However, Geneviève remained unwed and she was going to live her life as she wished without any gentleman telling her how to go about. Thank goodness Bentley wasn’t prepared to announce the addition to his family or she would be forced to attend balls and other activities while they were in Town. Geneviève planned to already be in residence in the house on Henrietta Street before the first invitations for any gatherings this Season were issued. Thankfully, March was still weeks away and she had plenty of time to remove herself from Bentley’s home, even if she did have to sneak out in the middle of the night.
Geneviève sank down on a chair and glanced out the window. It was early afternoon and she chafed at the inactivity. She would visit Juliette but she and Acker were out for the afternoon. The two of them had activities planned for every afternoon and evening so Acker could introduce his wife to those in Society. Well, at least those who remained during the winter months. Who knew when Hélène and Stanwick would finally return to London?
Had Bentley not thought it important that Juliette first be introduced to society as Acker’s wife, she would have remained home as well. But her oldest brother wanted Juliette to become known, and accepted as a ballerina before he let the other shoe drop in the coming spring of who she and her sisters really were. Geneviève would prefer nobody to learn.
Would she ever find her place in London or should she return to Milan?
If she did return, what would she do there? Hélène didn’t require her assistance and she no longer had her mother’s household to run. Her talent was in organizing, budgeting, and instructing servants. She had a good head for business and assisted Juliette with her school, but it did not take up near the time she wished. Her skills were necessary when running a household or operating a business, but she didn’t want to be married to a gentleman in order to do what she was good at.
She itched to set Bridge’s business to rights, as much as she wished to see him again. It was clear the man needed a secretary and she would be perfect. Unfortunately, it was not a role a female was allowed to fill. Such stricture irked her. Women were never considered for opportunities that might actually make life easier for a man.
“Blast!” Why was she sitting here? Bentley may try and tell her what to do, but that didn’t mean she needed to obey. She was three and twenty! She was old enough to make her own decisions.
They had made progress in the warehouse today and the pile of papers waiting on his desk wasn’t as daunting, now that there was an organizational way to sort them. There were still so many papers to go through, however, that it would take over a week to match up inventory, shipments, receipts, and deliveries. Simply sorting by a warehouse was not enough, but hopefully, everything could be matched and he would be able to locate the items that were missing.
His workers were taking a break for a mid-day meal and Jonathan declined the offer to join them for a pint across the street. Instead, Jonathan walked back toward his office, determined to continue sorting until the men returned.
He paused at the top of the stairs as voices drifted out the open door.
“Geneviève,” another woman hissed. “It is not right to go through someone else’s papers.”
Bloody hell, Geneviève Mirabelle was back. She was the last person he needed to see today. He blamed her for his being more tired than usual. She had kept him awake last night, even if she wasn’t present. Each time he tried to sleep, visions of her lovely face, spectacles perched on the delicate nose, staring at him, invaded his dreams. He had wanted to erase her concern, remove the glasses and pull her into his arms.
She was a bloody nuisance. Jonathan hadn’t dreamed of a woman since he was a green lad and he wasn’t about to revert to that painful time of his youth.
He was to give her an answer tonight, which was hours away. Of course, Jonathan knew he wouldn’t be able to tell her where her belongings were but the woman could have at least waited for him.
“Elizabeth, can’t you see how much he needs me.”
Needs her! He didn’t need a woman rummaging around where she didn’t belong. He might need her in other ways, not that he would ever admit it to anyone, and certainly not in his shipping office.
“If I could organize these for Bridges then perhaps I can find my mother’s items.”
“It is still wrong,” this Elizabeth insisted.
“I don’t care. I see a job that needs to be done and am going to do it.”
“These are Mr. Bridges’ papers; shouldn’t he be the one organizing them, not you?” The other woman said.
“I am confident he would if he had time,” Geneviève mumbled. “He works in the warehouse during the day and I have no idea how he managed this long.”
Jonathan stepped into the room. “Until my secretary abandoned me I was doing quite well.”
Geneviève glanced up when he came into the room and snorted. The gold spectacles were perched on her nose. Why did he find them so endearing? “I beg to differ. Some of these documents date back six months.”
Six months? It was worse than he thought. The oldest document he had come across was only three months old, which was bad enough.
“I apologize for our intrusion, Mr. Bridges.”
He turned to the woman and was brought up short. What was John Trent’s wife doing here? The woman was the granddaughter of the Duke of Danby and certainly knew better than to be on the docks, or rummaging in a shipping office. “Mrs. Trent,” he finally acknowledged and focused back on Miss Mirabelle. “Mrs. Trent is correct, in that you should not involve yourself where you don’t belong.”
Geneviève sighed and looked up at him, her grey eyes blinking above the spectacles. “I understand that it is an intrusion, Mr. Bridges. I would like to apologize but I simply cannot.”
“Why not?” The audacity of this woman continued to astound him.
“Because you need someone to do this,” She indicated to the stacks of papers strewn about his office. “You do not have a secretary and the one before was incompetent.” She rose from her seat. “You do not have time to interview for another from what I have observed.”
It wasn’t that he didn’t have time. He simply couldn’t take the risk of someone else discovering the inconsistencies at the moment.
“I can take care of all this for you.” She implored. “In fact, I could have all of this organized and in a semblance of order within a week.”
“It is not the job for a woman and you should not even be here,” Bridges argued. Besides, if she were here, he would get nothing done. He certainly wouldn’t be able to concentrate.
Miss Mirabelle had the nerve to roll her eyes which further inflamed his irritation.
“I noticed that you continued with what I began.” She gestured to the stack at the top of the desk.
“It was logical to do so.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “I suspect you weren’t exactly sure where to begin before I visited.”
“That is not true.” He took a step forward. “I simply had not had time to address the issue.”
“Nor do you now,” she pointed out and crossed her arms across her breasts.
It was the truth and they both knew she was correct. Yet, how could he allow a woman to do the job of a secretary? There were men, far better skilled. Yet, the one he had employed robbed him.
He studied her. Miss Mirabelle cleaning up this mess would be a great service to him, but did he dare trust her? What if she uncovered more thefts? What if she learned of the truth behind the wool shipments? What if she went to the authorities? It was too much of a risk. Besides, she was a female. Shouldn’t she be at home or shopping? Why wasn’t she married? “I appreciate your offer, Miss Mirabelle, but this is no place for you.”
She pursed her lips and glared at him. “Either you see the sense in me doing this for you, or I will return every day until I’ve discovered what has become of my things.”
Jonathan shook his head and looked over at Mrs. Trent. “Is she always this stubborn?”
A smile pulled at her lips. “I am afraid it is a trait that runs strongly in the family.”
He sighed. “Can you not make her understand that this is not a position a woman should fill, nor should she even be here?”
Mrs. Trent lifted an eyebrow. “I did come with her, as you recall.” She tilted her head and studied him. “Why would I discourage Geneviève from doing something I know she is very good at, especially when you will both benefit in the end?”
Jonathan raked his fingers through his hair. What was he to do with these two? He reached over and picked up the stack currently sitting in front of Miss Mirabelle. “I will have word of your family belongings within the week. On that, you have my word.”
Chapter 5
Geneviève tapped her foot in irritation. If Bridges would stop being so pigheaded, she could have those documents organized by now. He had asked for one week and that is what she agreed to and not a moment more, which left her with three more days until she could march back into his office and demand answers. When he couldn’t produce her shipment, then she would insist on doing it her way.
Why didn’t the man admit he needed her?
Was he working in the warehouse again? Stripped down to shirtsleeves and trousers?
Her face heated and she turned to look out the window.
She should not be thinking of him in such a way. He was a business owner. He had not been expecting her or he certainly would have appeared more appropriately attired.
Yet, she couldn’t forget the memory which continued to heat her blood. Goodness, no gentleman had ever made her feel this way. It was such an oddity.
Regardless, it didn’t eliminate the fact that he needed her, and Bridges refused her help.
It would be nice to be needed again, especially by him. She had decorated the house on Henrietta Street for Juliette but she couldn’t go any further until she had their furnishings from Milan. It wasn’t as if there were any expensive or unique items stored, but they were special in that they held memories of an earlier time.
“What is bothering you this afternoon?” Eleanor, Lady Bentley that is, her oldest half-brother’s wife, asked.
“I don’t do well with inactivity,” Geneviève grumbled.
“I find embroidery to be calming.” Eleanor returned to the material on her lap and began making more stitches. It was difficult to determine the pattern at the moment as the project had only begun a short time ago.
“I’ve never had the patience.” Her sister, Hélène is the one who sewed in the family, though she was usually fashioning costumes for the stage.
How long before Hélène and Stanwick returned? It did not take a fortnight to travel from Yorkshire to London.
She missed her twin. Hélène could sit for hours sewing or reading scripts and Geneviève wished she could be the same, but she could rarely sit still for more than an hour unless she had something to keep her occupied. In Milan, it had been the household accounts or planning the small menus determined by whether Juliette or Hélène would have a performance, or her mother was going out. Management of their small household had kept her busy most of the time and she had enjoyed the travel once they left Italy, but this sitting around, taking tea each afternoon and conversing about inconsequential matters, would surely drive her to Bedlam one day.
