Read Online What a Lady Needs for Christmas by Grace Burrowes - Free Book Online Page A

few scribbled notes held the key to untold riches. “They’re profitable.”
    In two words, Hector managed to put a strong whiff of disapproval in the air. The mills could be more profitable, of course. Significantly more profitable.
    “If the mills aren’t to become more dangerous than they are at present, improvements are necessary. If I sell them to some greedy Englishman, nobody will make those improvements, an entirely avoidable accident will transpire, and then somebody—maybe a hundred somebodies—will have a gravestone, and my profits will be buried with them.”
    If that accident took the form of fire or broken machinery, there’d be no wages for the hundred women employed at each facility, some of whom had held their positions for more than ten years. This signal fact kept Dante from selling one mill to finance improvements on the other two.
    Which one would he sell?
    How would his suppliers and buyers—many of whom were English—react to the news that he was liquidating a major asset?
    How would the women fare when the new owner realized how much more profitable the mill could be if hours were extended, wages cut, younger children employed?
    “I can’t imagine Margaret brought a box of chocolates along on a journey that involved the children,” Hector said, helping himself to a pair of sweets.
    Dante sprawled lengthwise on the couch, pleased to think he might be napping in the same place Lady Joan had.
    “Can’t you simply ask, Hector? Where did the chocolates come from? Maybe I bought them. Christmas is coming, you know. A few holiday treats might be in order.”
    A silence from across the car was punctuated by a double whistle blast. The sound of laughter and thumping feet came from the adjacent car, and another queer pang assailed Dante.
    Had that been Phillip laughing along with Charlie?
    “You are attending this house party to find investors to capitalize updating your mills,” Hector said, folding the table down and crossing his feet on the opposite bench. “Your efforts to catch a wealthy titled bride having failed, I’d think you’d want to focus on business, and not on cadging treats provided by charity cases wearing ermine cloaks.”
    “Lady Joan wears a velvet cloak.” Also a velvet dress, lots of lace, and a lovely scent.
    “Your efforts to find a bride did fail, then?”
    Finally, a direct question.
    “Spectacularly. English mamas aren’t stupid. They aren’t about to marry off their darling titled daughters to a climbing Scottish cit when so many of the English variety ooze about the ballrooms with better manners and their knees decently covered at all times.”
    “What do knees have to do with it?”
    Another question, nearly drowned out by the third whistle blast.
    “I should have left my kilts in Glasgow. Balfour has a wealthy brother, doesn’t he?”
    “Several, in fact. Connor MacGregor is married to a wealthy Northumbrian widow. Ian MacGregor married an English baroness with significant assets, and Balfour—Asher MacGregor—is doing very well for himself. A third brother, Gilgallon MacGregor, also married money—pretty, English money. The MacGregors are Scotsmen. If you can’t scare up interest among them, then you really ought to consider selling one of the mills.”
    “Tell MacDermott to start stocking that almond sweet in this car.”
    “It’s expensive, if you’re talking about marzipan.”
    “Not as expensive as my trip to Edinburgh. Everybody in town knows I tried to find a well-connected bride and failed. That will make attracting investors for the mills that much harder.”
    “Then you’d better give it your very best effort, hadn’t you?”
    In the next car, Charlie was laughing uproariously, and a lady in a velvet cloak was probably wondering where her box of chocolates had got off to. In this train car, Dante was trying not to become annoyed with Hector, who had a sniffy little answer for everything.
    Dante closed his eyes and crossed his arms