Robert closed the door. If this conversation with Henry Winslow was about what happened last night, then he wanted no witnesses to his murder.
He sucked in a deep breath. “You wanted to speak with me?”
Gesturing for him to sit, Winslow crossed to the cabinet in the corner and pulled out a bottle of bourbon. “This requires a drink.”
He stiffened. “Oh?”
“And it involves Mariah,” Winslow muttered.
Robert’s heart skipped. He wasn’t ready for this conversation.
After last night, he had every intention of winning both the partnership and Mariah. After he’d taken her home, he’d spent the hours until dawn walking the snow-covered streets of Mayfair and letting the icy air quell the heat of physical desire, until he could think clearly about what happened, what he wanted for his future, and what Mariah deserved for hers. By the time he’d watched the sun rise over Hyde Park, he knew exactly what he wanted. And would settle for nothing less.
But he also knew that he had to tread carefully on both fronts. Because as far as Henry Winslow was concerned, the two were mutually exclusive. The man who claimed his daughter could never assume a position in his business. Yet Robert hoped that Winslow was smart enough to recognize both his business acumen and his affections for Mariah and welcome him into both the family and the company with open arms.
Which was why he wanted to spend the evening with Mariah. More than time together to laugh and talk freely, more than a chance to make love to her again, tonight would be an opportunity to discuss their future.
But being confronted by her father was certainly not part of the plan.
“I only want the best for her,” Robert admitted quietly. If Winslow realized that, perhaps being force-marched to the altar—and out of Winslow Shipping—could be avoided.
“And she’s going to have it! More than her wildest dreams could ever have imagined.”
That was unexpected. He blinked. “Pardon?”
Winslow laughed as he splashed golden liquid into two glasses, the sound one of arrogant victory. “Ledford just gave me good news about the docks project.”
“The docks.” Relief sank through him. He would have to have a conversation about Mariah with her father eventually, but thankfully, not today. “What news?”
With a triumphant smile, he handed a glass to Robert. “The first round of offers to buy up property has gone out to the owners. We’ve heard back from ten of them who are eager to sell and another five who want to negotiate.” He clinked his glass against Robert’s to toast their success. “There’s nothing to stop us now!”
“You sent out offers?” Confusion gripped him. So did a sinking feeling of icy dread. “But nothing has been finalized with Parliament. Those docks might never go in, let alone in St Katharine’s.”
“But they will.” Winslow took a long swallow of bourbon, his eyes shining with certainty. “It’s more than simply a rumor now. Thomas Telford’s been contacted by the crown. They’re creating plans as we speak to dredge up the land. And it will be Winslow properties they’ll have to purchase to do so. Winslow properties that the traders and captains will have no choice but to use for their warehouses. We’ve done it!” Another lift of his glass. “You’ve done it, Carlisle.”
Dear God, he didn’t want responsibility for this! “Nothing is certain,” he cautioned, praying Winslow would listen to reason. “We should have waited—”
“And give someone else the opportunity to sweep in and take our profits from us?” He shook his head and sank into the large leather chair behind his desk. He gestured for Robert to sit, but Robert remained on his feet, too troubled by Winslow’s news to take a seat. “Those docks will happen.”
“And if they don’t?” His chest tightened. It was one thing to speculate about the whims of the king and investigate real estate purchases, but it was something altogether different to commit capital to the scheme. Massive amounts of capital. “We’ll be stuck with slum properties, perhaps for years.”
Winslow dismissively waved a hand. “Then we profit from our renters until Parliament agrees to put in docks.”
“And if they don’t?” he repeated grimly.
Winslow’s exuberant expression faded, his smile hardening as his eyes cooled. “Then you make them.” His voice turned brittle. “That’s why you’re here. Your connections in Parliament.” A pause, so fleeting as to almost be missed, but Robert heard it and understood the silent threat behind it. “Unless you’re not up to the task, after all.”
He returned the man’s stare, his jaw clenching tightly. Winslow wanted him to deny it, to pledge himself even more adamantly to the project to prove his worth. But Robert wouldn’t be played. Not this time.
“My reputation”—and now his entire future—“is resting on this company’s success. I won’t take the blame when your plans fall through, or become a pariah to my friends and family for pushing for these docks just to make a profit.”
Winslow’s eyes flared with icy anger at being challenged. But he’d damned well better get used to it. When Robert became both the man’s partner and his son-in-law, he planned to challenge him at every opportunity.
“Our plans will not fail,” Winslow returned in clipped tones. “You might have the determination of a man on the rise, but I’ve got instincts honed over twice as many years in business as you’ve been alive. My gut is telling me with certainty that we’ll be successful, if we’ve got the courage to see it through. So you are either in this with me, or you can walk away now.” His eyes narrowed. “So which will it be, Carlisle?”
Walk away and destroy his future? Like hell he would. And yet, something ominous ate at him and sent up a cold warning he couldn’t ignore. “You said this involved Mariah,” he pressed. “What does this have to do with her?”
“Ledford’s other good news for us.” Winslow leaned back in his chair. “Baron Whitby has agreed to sell us his property.”
The school. His body flashed numb. He asked slowly, praying he’d somehow misunderstood, “You’re going to close Gatewell?”
“Not close it—move it to another property that Ledford just found. One that Winslow Shipping can purchase and give outright to the school.” A pleased smile stretched across his face, thrilled to be doing such a grand gesture for his daughter. “And twice as big as the current building. New construction, too, without drafts and holes and broken windows to worry about fixing. And in a far more respectable part of town.”
“Where?” he demanded, fearing that a new building wouldn’t be enough to compensate for Mariah’s attachment to the old one. She loved that old house, every drafty, broken inch of it.
“Lambeth, right near the old bishop’s palace.”
And a world away. Leaning over the desk on his palms, Robert shook his head. “There aren’t any wharves in Lambeth.”
Winslow laughed. “That’s the whole point, my boy!”
He tapped a finger against the desktop to make Winslow listen. “Which means there aren’t any children of sailors or longshoremen to help.”
“But still plenty of poor urchins.” He frowned as he finished off the last of his bourbon. “Although I’m hoping that after this season Mariah won’t feel the need to spend so much time among them. That she’ll understand how much better it is to be a fine lady than a reformer.”
“She’s already a fine woman,” Robert bit out. If Winslow couldn’t see that, then he would never understand his daughter.
“One who will appreciate what new docks in St Katharine’s will do for the company’s accounting books,” Winslow added. “What are a slum and an old school building compared to that?”
Robert stared at him, feeling the world tilt beneath him. Not until that moment did the full ramifications of Winslow’s real estate plan sink into him, along with the realization of what it would mean to Mariah. To see the buildings of St Katharine’s torn down, its streets dredged up—