'Am I?' Her father reached over and gave her hand a pat. 'I know you well, my daughter.'
'As do I know you, Father. It is my final word.'
'Ah, Stanton,' Edward Harrison said, not bothering to rise from his armchair, where he sat wrapped in shawls and a blanket. 'What is the news of the progress? Are you satisfied?'
'It is as your daughter predicted--your men have returned and are hard at work.' Jack came into Edward Harrison's study. He had spent most of the day at the site. The foreman had nearly fallen over himself in his efforts to be helpful, dropping hints about the state of Harrison's health, but never actually saying anything. His actions only confirmed Jack's suspicions. 'Mudge informs me there is a second survey of the riverbed.'
'You will have to ask my daughter where it is.' Harrison raised a hand, and then allowed it to drop back onto the blanket. 'She does all the organising these days. A remarkably good organiser, Emma. Ask her where anything is, and she knows.'
The last person Jack wanted to think about was Emma. Last night in the corridor he had been struck by her vulnerability. She was not only nursing her father, but also trying to do a man's job.
'I was most impressed with the willingness of your men to work.'
'Once their pay packet ran out.'
Jack laughed, but then sobered. The lines of tiredness were etched on Edward Harrison's face.
He wondered that he had missed them when he'd encountered him at the club. Harrison had not aged well. And, despite Emma's declaration, he knew a woman could not run an engineering firm. Not one as young as Emma.
'Harrison and Lowe has an excellent reputation. If you wish to sell your controlling stake, the company would be delighted to look into the purchase. On favourable terms.'
He closed his mouth and resisted the temptation to say anything more. He who spoke first lost. The clock on the mantelpiece ticked loudly. Jack resisted the impulse to fill the silence, but allowed it to grow until his nerves screamed. He could see from the way Harrison's hand twitched that he felt it, too. Jack willed him to give in, to say yes.
'At the present time I have no desire to sell.' Harrison gave a cough and rearranged his blankets.
'The offer is there, should you require it.' Jack made a show of examining his cuffs. He had done the decent thing. Surely Harrison had to realise the offer was fair, more than fair? Once the news of his illness got out, the vultures would begin to circle.
'I understand, and I will remember it when the time comes, but it has not come yet.' Harrison leant forward, his eyes bright. 'Tell me, what do you think of my youngest daughter?'
'Miss Harrison? We have barely spoken today.' Jack narrowed his eyes. Was this going to be it? A not-so-subtle attempt at matchmaking? He had avoided such lures before. Not even for the prize of Harrison and Lowe would he give up his freedom. There were certain limits.
'May I speak plainly?' Harrison cleared his throat and glanced over his shoulder before continuing. 'I need your assistance in a small matter. It concerns my future and the future of Harrison and Lowe.'
'Please do. I am delighted to be taken into your confidence.' Jack closed the study door with a click and settled himself in the armchair opposite. Harrison had piqued his interest. He was intent on some scheme, and if he humoured him he might be able to get him to seriously entertain the offer.
'My daughter suffers a misguided notion that because she runs my house she can order me about. She has taken it into her head that I am far sicker than I am.' Harrison gave a wan smile. 'In short, she fusses and forbids me small pleasures.'
'This has nothing to do with me. I make it a policy never to get involved in domestic disputes.' Jack started to stand up. He could easily see what had happened. Emma had acquired a taste of power when her father was ill, and now she wished to extend it over his business. She had become a harridan. 'As an unmarried man, I have little expertise in such matters.'
'A pity.' Harrison made a temple with his fingers and peered out over it. 'I regret that until this matter is solved it will fully occupy my mind. I would like to think about your kind offer, but...'
'Tell me about your troubles, and perhaps we can come up with a solution.' Jack settled back in the chair. He would hear Edward Harrison out and then politely decline. Emma was somebody else's problem. Not his.
'She refuses to allow me to go to the Assembly Rooms for the St Nicholas Ball. I may no longer cut quite the figure at the quadrille that I once did, but it does my heart good to see the pretty young things in their dresses.' Edward Harrison gave a discreet wink. 'There is a widow...'
'I wish you good hunting, but I fail to see what this matter has to do with me. Inform your daughter that you are going and have done with it.' Jack held up his hands. Harrison should take a stronger line. If he truly wanted to go to this dance he should go, and suffer the consequences. He allowed Emma far too much freedom.
'It is not that easy. Emma...well, I have no wish to quarrel with her. She has taken to avoiding such things.'
'Your daughter has sound reasons. I find such things a bit of a bore myself.' Jack permitted a tiny smile to cross his face.
'Yes, but before my wife became ill Emma loved such pursuits. All gone now. I am not sure she even remembers how to dance.' Harrison shook his head and gave a heartfelt sigh.
'Sometimes she takes her duty far too seriously. And I fear she does not entirely approve of the widow.'
Jack tightened his hold on his cane. No doubt the widow in question did not come from the appropriate background and therefore was deemed unworthy. Emma had been well indoctrinated by her mother.
She needed to learn a lesson. Fast. She could not simply go on organising people's lives to suit her whims. Mudge had complained about her meddling this morning. Now it was her father's turn. The woman had to be stopped.
'You want my help so that you may attend this ball and speak to your widow without your daughter knowing? Aiding your suit,' Jack said, carefully watching Edward's features.
'You understand my meaning, Jack.' Harrison took on the expression of a sly fox.
Jack nodded. He understood the code. If he did as Harrison asked and persuaded Emma to attend the dance so that Harrison could pursue his widow, Harrison would seriously consider his offer for the company. The situation might be turned to his advantage. He would enjoy administering a lesson that Emma Harrison badly needed to learn.
'I will do what I can, but it must be Miss Harrison who decides.'
'And, Jack, I never forget a favour.'
'I am counting on that.'
Emma chewed on the end of her fountain pen and counted for the third time the number of geese they would need for the Goose Club's raffle at the end of the feast. It was always a difficult moment, and she had no wish to get it wrong. The memory of Mrs Mudge's outrage last Christmas, when they'd been one goose short, still rankled.
The problem was that her mind seemed to be wandering today. The lines of figures swam in front of her, twisting and merging into Jack Stanton's saturnine features. Was it her imagination, or did his dark hair curl slightly at his collar? And what would it be like to be held in those long-fingered hands as they waltzed? If they waltzed. She cursed the gossip from Lucy's at home for unsettling her. She had no interest in him, refused to, and there was not the slightest possibility of her going to the dance.
'Miss Harrison, when you have a moment?'
Jack strode purposefully into the morning room without a courtesy knock. His dark eyes flashed as he surveyed the room with all the arrogance of a lion surveying his domain.
The morning room became much too small. He was far too close, and far too masculine for such a feminine room, with its bows and fussy coverings left over from her mother's reign.
'Is there something I can help you with, Mr Stanton?' Emma kept her voice chilled.
'I do hope so. It is a small matter, and will only take a moment of your time.'
She calmly put down her pen and rose. She straightened the folds of her dress. She could do this--act in a perfectly natural manner. Her breathlessness had nothing to do with him, and everything to do with lack of sleep. She banished the giggling gossips from her mind.
'Did you find everything to your satisfaction with the bridge?'
'The bridge is progressing admirably.'
'Then is there something wrong with your accommodation? I am sure Fackler will be pleased to sort it out.' Emma raised her hand to summon the butler.
'The room is comfortable, and your staff have been welcoming to my valet.'
'But there is something wrong.' Emma kept her head held high.
'A dance is to be held at the Assembly Rooms to raise funds for the St Nicholas Church.'
Jack's voice flowed over her, enveloped her senses in its warmth.
'This is the fifth year that such a dance has been held.' Emma tilted her head, trying to assess where the conversation was leading. She would have to work the conversation back round to the bridge. She put her hand on her well-thumbed copy of the latest survey. 'It is quite the thing. Assembly Rooms balls are held in high esteem. Their reputation has only grown since Strauss appeared with his orchestra eight years ago.'
She hated the way her voice caught on the last words. There should be no reason why Jack would remember the first waltz they had shared. The first time he had gone to such an occasion.
She had buried it deep within, half-forgotten until an inconvenient time like today, when the memory sprang full-blown upon her. It was even more poignant than the memory of the last waltz they had shared--the one directly before he'd proposed to her. She regarded the scattered papers.
'Yes, you danced every waltz that night. Always a different partner, always in demand.'
There was more than a touch of irony to his look. 'The veritable belle of the ball.'
'I used to live for dancing. Mama despaired about how many slippers I wore out.'
'Indeed.' His eyes narrowed.
'Oh, yes.' Emma gave a little fluttering laugh. 'She used to make a joke of it. How I would need a wealthy husband who could keep me in slippers. Utter nonsense, but Mama was like that.'
'Have you worn out many slippers lately?'
'The state of one's shoes is not something a lady discusses with a gentleman.' Emma tilted her chin in the air.
'We both know my origins, Miss Harrison.' Jack's voice dropped several degrees in temperature. 'Charity boys, even those who have made their fortunes, are rarely considered gentlemen in the best circles.'
Emma pressed her lips together and silently cursed her wayward tongue. His origins were no mystery--father dead at nine, grammar school, and then articled to her father. Everything Jack Stanton had he had worked for. He had acquired the polish of a gentleman, rather than being born to it.
'I attend dances regularly,' Emma said brightly, and knew her words were no more than a polite lie. She did go to the dances. However these days she spent far more time watching her father play cards or chatting to Lucy and the other young matrons than dancing.
Jack drew his upper lip between his teeth. 'And yet I did not discover your name on the list for the St Nicholas Ball.'
Emma released her breath. He seemed content to allow the subject to be changed. 'Is that important?'
'It is a popular dance--the best attended of the year, according to my sources.' A faint smile touched his lips. 'I understand the punch is superb.'
'I don't normally drink punch. Strong spirits are the bane of many an existence.'
'That is too bad. But it is no reason for you to forbid those who enjoy such things.'
The fog in her brain cleared as if it had never been. This had nothing to do with Jack wanting to waltz with her and everything to do with her father's desire to go.
Her father.
Her father had enlisted Jack's aid. Emma crossed her arms. He was not going to get around her that easily. She had made her mind up. It was for her father's own good. The state of his health had to be kept a secret. Dr Milburn had warned her shocks must be avoided at all costs.
'Have you been speaking to my father?' she asked, watching for any sign.
'He mentioned it, and how much he looks forward to it each year.' Jack took a step forward, so close that if she reached out her hand slightly it would brush his. The thought shocked her to the core. She forced her hand to remain in her lap.
'Then you will know that I have forbidden his attendance.' Emma kept her eyes trained on the overly emotional biblical scene that hung on the wall just behind Jack's right shoulder.
She should have known her father would try something like this. She had to keep calm. She had no wish to relive the humiliation from Lucy's at home. She willed him to leave the room before her words tumbled out and she revealed her true reason for forbidding her father. Even the thought of doing so made her cringe. Pointedly she rustled her papers and bent her head.
'Why, Miss Harrison?' A quizzical frown appeared between Jack's eyebrows. 'Your father has suffered from a chill. Why are you trying to deny him his pleasure? I saw how much he was looking forward to it at the club the other day.'
'I have no wish for the chill to turn into something worse!' Emma fumbled with her fountain pen, dropped it and watched it roll, coming to rest on the toe of Jack's highly polished shoe.
Jack reached down, held it in mid-air as if undecided. The anticipation of his fingers brushing hers filled her. Emma knew her cheeks had become flushed, her throat dry. It was some sort of ailment, this inexplicable attraction towards him.
She forced her shoulders to relax, but a small stab of disappointment filled her when he placed the pen on the table and stepped back, his eyes watching her much as a cat might watch a mouse.
'Then you believe he is in danger of becoming seriously ill?'
'Nothing of the sort. I refuse to allow him to jeopardise his recovery. Papa is no longer as young as he used to be. I have lost one parent and have no desire to lose another.'