“I never met my cousin Francine, but Papa says I look a lot like her.”
Did she? Tehya stared at the younger woman for a quick second before looking out at the crowd on the ballroom floor as they reentered it.
“She must have been very beautiful then,” Tehya told her sincerely.
Journey’s smile was hopeful, though it lacked the confidence someone of her looks should have.
Journey did resemble Francine Taite, quite a lot actually. Tehya had seen pictures of her mother when she was young. A fragile, delicate young woman whose smile had been filled with infectious humor and charm. Journey could have passed for Francine’s daughter, perhaps more than Tehya could.
Finding one of the small seating areas, they sat down in a sheltered corner where they could watch the crowd and still talk. Tehya noticed Micah Sloane in his role as an independent bodyguard staying a careful distance from her, but close enough to ensure her protection.
“I don’t care much for the new managers of your company,” Journey said, thankfully switching topics.
Tehya had to control the urge to chuckle at the other girl’s pouting expression.
“Why’s that?” she asked.
“The McIntyres are nice enough.” Journey shrugged. “But they don’t have your vision, Teylor. I don’t think they’re going to make a profit like you would have.”
“And the difference is?” Tehya asked her, genuinely curious now.
Journey played with the ends of a heavy swath of hair that had fallen over her shoulder as a thoughtful look came over her face.
“You naturally pull in clients. They become as excited as you do at the prospect of your designs, while the McIntyres don’t truly seem to be taking it seriously. They actually seem more like drill sergeants.”
Her poor landscaping company. Tehya had to force back the grief at the thought of losing it completely. She loved the design aspects and the clients that always seemed to love the efforts she made to bring color and life to the property they hired her to fix.
“They’ll work out fine,” she finally promised, with absolutely no confidence that they could hold on to her clients.
Because Journey was right; she seemed to have an affinity for the clients she met as well as the designs that would best suit them.
“Why are you considering giving up the company, Teylor?” Journey asked, sounding concerned. “Is the reason financial? I’m certain I could help you find backers…”
“Journey. No.” Tehya laid her hand on Journey’s arm. “It has nothing to do with money and I haven’t made a final decision yet anyway. Lets wait and see what happens.”
The words nearly stuck in her throat from the painful realization that as much as she wanted to she may never be able to return to the life she had begun building for herself.
Journey’s head lowered before she lifted it and looked around. There was something on the other girl’s mind, and for a moment Tehya saw the sadness that filled her.
She would have asked about it if Journey’s face hadn’t gone through a quick, conflicting change of expressions.
At first, there was frustration, anger, then a glimmer of involuntary interest mixed with the English reserve Tehya always found so fascinating.
Following her gaze, Tehya watched the powerful form of Beauregard Grant as he made his way from the bar over to them.
At twenty-nine, Beau Grant was a tall, formidable vision. He wasn’t handsome in the conventional sense, rather he was dark and brooding. A closely cropped beard and mustache covered the lower part of his face, as well as a fine webbing of scars from a fiery car crash he’d been involved in years earlier.
His familial connections to England’s queen made him a much sought-after guest wherever he was staying, though his ties to several criminal elements made him a force to be wary of.
The fact that he was involved with Journey was something Tehya knew she would be losing sleep over.
“Journey.” He moved to the seating area, bent and kissed the younger girl’s cheek warmly. “I was wondering where you disappeared to.”
“I met Miss Johnson in the ladies’ room,” Journey lied smoothly. “We were discussing dresses.”
His expression was bland, neither believing nor disbelieving as he flicked a careless look toward Tehya.
“Your father’s looking for you as well,” he stated. “And I’m ready to claim that dance you owe me.” His tone didn’t encourage a refusal.