As the hackney rattled on, Kit found himself facing the disturbing prospect that the reason behind Sylvia being watched might have more to do with him than her.
* * *
After eating a solitary dinner in a dining room that, courtesy of Gordon’s efforts, was starting to look like a dining room and no longer part of an empty house, Kit adjourned to his study.
Along with his bedroom, the study had been one of the first rooms to be completely furnished. Kit crossed to the tantalus, poured himself a good inch of French brandy, then sank into one of the comfortable wing chairs angled before the hearth.
Every now and then—usually every month or so—past experience prodded him to stop and take stock. To retreat to an appropriate mental distance and review what he’d accomplished and what he planned to do next, the better to keep his feet firmly on the most direct path to his ultimate goal.
The activity had become habit in the years during which circumstances had forced him to live under his mother’s thumb, subject to her manipulative whims. Of Lavinia’s four children, he’d been the least susceptible to her ploys; he’d quickly learned to plot and plan so she had as little chance as possible to dictate his actions. The other three—Rand, Stacie, and Godfrey—had been aware of Lavinia’s machinations and her interference in their lives, but although Rand, too, had resisted, the other two had had a harder time of it, Stacie especially.
Kit sipped and felt the fiery amber liquid slide smoothly down his throat. He hadn’t sat down intending to become mired in the past, yet...
Since Lavinia’s death six years ago, he’d been drifting, both physically and emotionally. Flitting here, then there, not settling anywhere.
Until now.
He considered that reality—the past from which he’d come—then took another larger sip of brandy and firmly turned his mind to his present.
To Cavanaugh Yachts and the progress made over the past two weeks.
When he’d driven into Bristol, Cavanaugh Yachts had been nothing more than a name and a concept—and a lot of hopes. Eleven days on, and Cavanaugh Yachts was a going concern, with suitable premises, a workforce more able than he and Wayland could have hoped to assemble so quickly, and despite the attempted sabotage, they had a first hull taking shape.
There was nothing in that with which to quibble. Satisfaction welled. They’d done well, laid a solid foundation, and could go forward from there.
Their next step? Orders. With luck, their sign would be up within the week. Once it was, he would start spreading word of their existence, yet realistically, until they had their first yacht completed and on the water, wise buyers would hang back.
He and Wayland had agreed that their first hull should remain the property of the company, a showpiece on which to take prospective buyers out on the waves. He would buy the second yacht they built, Wayland would take the third, and Ryder and Rand were going to go in together to purchase the fourth. That would give the company enough work to see them well into the new year. After that was when having a steady stream of orders would become essential.
There was little he could do in terms of securing further orders at present. Better he spent his time working with Wayland and the men to ensure their first yacht was as perfect as they could make it.
With that settled, he shifted his focus to the other side of his life—to home and hearth. His house was his, and his small household was taking shape nicely. The staff worked efficiently and had knitted into a comfortable core of mutual support; he deemed no adjustments to be necessary. However, Gordon and Smiggs had started dropping hints that they needed to hire a housekeeper, yet that was one selection neither felt capable of making—and Kit boggled at doing so himself.
Hiring housekeepers, maids, and the like was the province of the lady of the house—a position that, in this house, was currently vacant.
He shifted in the chair and sipped again. He hadn’t consciously considered marrying for a very long time. Not since his mother and her machinations had turned him off the entire concept, tarnishing the ideal to such an extent that he and all in him had revolted and rebelled.
But Lavinia was six years dead, and her effect on him had faded along with his memories of her interference.
Ryder had married, yet he’d never truly been under Lavinia’s influence so hadn’t had the same hurdles to overcome. But now Rand had found love, too. From all Kit had seen of them and their wives, Ryder and Rand were both now living the ideal he’d thought would be forever denied all Lavinia’s children.
Clearly, his assumption had proved false.
So what about him?
He eyed the amber liquid in his glass, then swirled it and sipped—and admitted to himself that he was definitely considering marrying now. Not only did it seem to be time, but he’d discovered a lady who attracted him as no other ever had—on multiple planes and in multiple ways.
Inviting Sylvia to attend the concert with him hadn’t been any rashly impulsive act. He’d hunted for the right place to take her—one that would advance his cause by making it clear that he was courting her.
That he was intent on wooing and winning her.
He had no recollection of when he’d made that decision, if he’d made it at all.
He’d been attracted to her from the first moment he’d seen her at Rand and Felicia’s wedding, but her off-putting behavior had all but immediately soured his mood. At the end of the day, he’d turned his back and driven away and hadn’t expected to meet her again.
In truth, he hadn’t. The Sylvia who had stormed into his office just over a week ago was a completely different lady.
A completely different prospect.