Chapter 10

Rebecca had finally been given a mission, sort of. In frustration, Rebecca had gone to Chatsworth's offices after nearly two months of inactivity to demand some sort of useful thing to keep her busy. The director had admonished her, saying she should be grateful times were quiet, but gave her an assignment to spell the agents presently handling it.

She had been sitting from ten at night to four in the morning on watch for smugglers. It had been dreadfully boring, miserable work. Sitting on the ground huddling under a cloak in the cold, pretending to be a street woman in the damp air, made her horribly sorry for insisting Chatsworth give her something to do. Yet, for two weeks, Rebecca did her warehouse watch. Then the smugglers were caught on another watch, ending the mission.

Thinking better of her folly, Rebecca did not repeat the mistake by asking for another such waste of time. Instead, she took up the mission of going to all the museums in London she hadn't seen since she was a girl. After that, she took a seat in the gallery of Parliament to watch several sessions. After that, she attended every new play of interest, plus a few concerts.

In between such cultural expeditions, she took two weeks to reorganize not only her own library but also Phileas's at his house on Sevile Row. It was a dusty business. Some books hadn't been touched in years, but it fell into her duties as mistress of the house to do so.

Phileas certainly couldn't mind if she provided her efforts to his benefit. His library was far less dusty because of Passepartout's efforts, but she found no catalog, and the books were a jumble with fiction next to poetry, next to travel guides with only his Far East books set together by language. When she found those, she had turned a few pages, smirked at what she found and then put them back on their upper shelf.

When finished, she considered tackling the library at Shillingsworth Magna, but a message came to her from Mr. Jordan asking for her company at a luncheon in town before she could decide. That took her by surprise. Rebecca didn't feel like dealing with some errant gentleman looking for her attention. But the thought of the vast library and all those dusty books waiting for her in the country was fast losing its appeal.

Maybe in a week or two–or a month or three.

She sent a message accepting the invitation for the next day. The place he offered was highly lauded, and she had never been there.

Isaac Jordan met Rebecca at the door to the restaurant, greeting her with a bow over her offered hand. He escorted her in and saw them seated. The gentleman had already pre-ordered meals for them both. Rebecca squelched her irritation at that. The man could have at least asked her what she would have liked. Even Phileas, who was intimate with her tastes, always asked.

He later half made up for it by buying her a rose from a flower girl who came near their table. Only half… the rose he chose was wilting and was yellow rather than the red one Rebecca would have preferred.

The man obviously doesn't know his flower language. Rebecca accepted the blossom, putting it down on the table to protect its softening stem. Red roses were not only her favorite; they signified love. A pink rose for sweethearts or friendship would have been the more appropriate choice for a first meeting. The yellow rose, however, signified parting. If he makes one more misstep, that is exactly what will happen, Rebecca. Maybe I'm too frustrated with the world and being too picky. He's not that bad, but a man his age should have known that much. Those dusty library shelves beckoned her, looking like a better use of her time.

She stopped, shook herself. Why am I judging the man so? Can't I just enjoy a quiet lunch with a man without picking him apart?

You've been avoiding matrimony for so long you automatically looked for flaws. He's handsome enough, but not my cup of tea, and yes, I suppose I'm very picky. Boredom brought me here; not a genuine interest in this man. I had best stop dissecting him and try to enjoy his company.

"Our friend Monsieur Verne has been sending some very promising results back from Paris," Mr. Jordan said after the wine was poured by the steward. "It is startling how thorough the young man is in his records. His experiments are making quite a stir with my auditors. At this rate, Mr. Verne may not have his engine finished by the end of the year, but he will have improved the lead battery by perhaps thrice."

"Truly?" Rebecca said. "That is quite remarkable!"

"Indeed, it is," Mr. Jordan said. "Does Monsieur Verne send you reports on his work, may I ask?"

"No, he doesn't," Rebecca said, wondering why he had asked. "Jules doesn't write to me very much. I am sure he is very busy right now. I expect to hear all about it when my cousin returns from his trip to Paris."

"Is that where Mr. Fogg disappeared to?" Mr. Jordan said. "I had wondered when he went absent at the Reform Club."

"You are a member of Phileas's club?" Rebecca said.

"Yes," he said. "We talk from time to time. Our last conversation, as I recall, was about the charity you and he offered Mr. Verne for his writing. Such a kind thing, sponsoring a young up and coming talent; uncommonly generous, and sweet."

"I see so much promise," Rebecca said, dropping her eyes shyly.

"Precisely why I feel so optimistic about our business venture with him. You should feel very confident in it as well. You and your cousin will enrich yourselves along with the young man, when this engine becomes reality."

Rebecca looked up, "Your pardon?" "I… did not know Phileas was backing the venture. He has said nothing of it to me."

"Oh, but it was in the contracts he and you signed," Mr. Jordan said. "Your cousin has changed your sponsorship to involve this. It was all spelled out in the forms you signed when I came to your house. I was having trouble finding backers, you see. So, your cousin proposed that you and he back the project together. It's all just a matter of accounting really, nothing for you to be concerned about. Mr. Verne is showing great promise quickly."

"I am sure Phileas just missed mentioning it to me," Rebecca supposed aloud. "He handles my funds and investments for me. I am quite glad Phileas is taking such an interest in this. And I am sure Verne is very pleased."

"Oh, we aren't mentioning this to him," Mr. Jordan whispered, putting his hand to his lips for exaggerated secrecy. "Your cousin has asked this to be a silent partnership. He says Mr. Verne is a bit proud. He wouldn't want you to go to that sort of risk for him. No, you must not say a word to Mr. Verne about it."

"I see," Rebecca said.

Jules could indeed be fussy about accepting monetary help from them. But she was quite surprised at Phileas backing the project. He had been quite adamant about not getting involved in flying machines. The only investing Phileas did directly that she knew of was at the card tables. Rebecca made a mental note to talk to Phileas about all this when he returned to London.

As the meal progressed, she realized she had evidently signed something she hadn't known the full implications of. What else was written in those papers I don't know about?

Sir Boniface's ghost started yelling in her ear. I didn't read any of it but my endorsement. I don't have copies either. I didn't even think to ask.

"Mr. Jordan?" she said.

"Please, call me Isaac."

"Oh, thank you, Isaac," Rebecca said. "I am such a novice at this sort of thing. I did not remember to ask you for copies of those papers to give our man of business. He will be livid at me. Could you provide me with them so I can give them to him?"

"Oh, have no fear, Miss Fogg," Mr. Jordan said. "Copies were sent to him on both yours and your cousin's behalf. It has all been approved and archived.

Now what?

Rebecca had only rarely been to the business office of the family solicitor and never without Sir Boniface or Phileas. It would not look quite right for her to show up unexpectedly, asking for copies of papers. It would look like she did not trust Phileas. She had never questioned anything they did on her behalf.

This is just too embarrassing.

For the rest of the meal, Rebecca gave the conversation only half an ear while she berated herself for not looking over those papers more carefully. Student of the Law that I am, and then I sign things I do not fully read? Rebecca, you know better. Of course, I studied international relations, not finance and contracting.

Even so, since when do I blindly believe what someone tells me?

She developed a headache thinking about it before dessert.

I always leave such matters to Phileas and his man, the same as I did when Sir Boniface was alive. If they thought investing in Jules's research a good thing, then I must think it was.

The meal ended. Her companion asked if they could meet again another time. Rebecca hedged. This meeting had left her uncomfortable and the man himself was of no interest to her. Isaac Jordan was all business in his conversation and too patronizing in his manner. He had done nothing but talk business throughout the meal.

"I am heading for the country tomorrow morning," Rebecca said. "I have seasonal duties there to attend and do not expect to be back for several weeks. I could not say when another opportunity would be."

Isaac's face fell a bit, but he took it with good grace. "I see. Enjoy your trip, Miss Fogg. Perhaps when you return?"

He paid the check and escorted her out, hiring a carriage to take her home.

On his own way back to the office after their meal, Isaac Jordan congratulated himself on a fine catch. Besides being a prize beauty, this one was much more intelligent compared to his other ladies, thus more interesting… a challenge. She had at least tried to get copies, hadn't she? That alone was unusual. After his quick response, he doubted Miss Fogg would go after them. Jordan already knew she was hands off about her properties and investments. Most single women were.

Only a few savvy widows paid any attention to how things were done, in his experience. Those women came by the knowledge slowly over an extended widowhood. Such women Jordan never bothered with. No, the ignorant and the freshly bereaved were more susceptible to his games.

It was a game, a very exciting game. He played his moves like a chess master and the ladies made theirs as best they could. Some had been like the ignorant young niece he procured such excellent intelligence about the future of trade with France. She had been so easy to manipulate. It was almost not worth the trouble. The widow of the stock trader, on the other hand, had been much more difficult to snare. But she had also been more compliant with his personal desires. She would never have come to him willingly, but with the right pressure brought to bear, she had submitted with good grace.

The doctor's widow had been another matter. Jordan was forced to bleed her forever and then invent a trap to get her into his hands. Then, when she had finally been caught, Katrina bolted on him. Granted, he had consigned her to one of his less savory clients when she refused him out of spite. He had figured after a few days in his arms, she would have begged to be his mistress, but he had never expected her to run.

I still can't find her. Her landlady told me she had never returned. There aren't any relations she could have gone to, not penniless and helpless. Katrina McTavish was a proud woman, and pride could be as good a trap as any.

Pride will get me a long way with this one, too. Yes, Rebecca Fogg is a typical lady of the upper classes. She is just as sheltered and uneducated about financial matters as any other. If she were not, she would have known better than to give out detailed information to his clerk. She will be too proud to get another look at the contracts, too proud to ask her cousin about the investments or to go to him for help once I have her trapped. And Rebecca Fogg will be far too proud to want anything to do with me; a mere man of business, which suits me fine because half the fun is breaking a proud woman's spirit.

All the preliminaries are done. The next step is getting hold of her assets, which I have already started. That's easy, just arrange a transfer of stewardship with the family accountant in the most insulting manner possible. No solicitor likes to have his duties handed to another. I've learned that articular play often causes the accountant professional indignation, which breaks the relationship between the retainer from the employer.

The second step is to get rid of Phileas Fogg. Driving a wedge between Rebecca and her protector will have to be done in small steps. I suspect they are close, as they were raised together. He is her guardian, so there could be difficulties separating them. She is independent; independent enough for Fogg to brush off my request for permission. That speaks of more freedom to pursue her than I've ever had.

Yes, pursuing Rebecca Fogg will be much more interesting. I've never dealt with an independent miss before. I wonder how that will change the game; how increased access could make for an easier capture. But I'm getting ahead of myself. First, I have to get rid of Phileas Fogg. There are ways to push people apart. Distrust, hurt, half-truths, twisted words…

So, what could the goddaughter of the queen herself have access to that I might find useful?