Before Mr. Gillette could reply, Chauncey suddenly burst into loud laughter. “Oh dear,” she gasped, hugging her sides, “surely I have stepped into the pages of some fairy tale, and you, sir, are my fairy godfather!”
“Well,” Mr. Gillette said dryly, “this fairy godfather owns ten percent of your wealth.” He downed the remainder of his tea and rose. “I suggest that you think about it, Miss FitzHugh. Rest assured that your inheritance is quite safe. Here is my card. When you have decided what you wish to do, please contact me.”
After showing Mr. Gillette out, Mary returned to where Chauncey stood staring blankly into the small fireplace.
“Is there anything else you wish, madam?”
Chauncey, startled, looked at Mary, who stood stiffly in front of her. “You’re acting awfully starchy, Mary,” she said. “With all that money, I am suddenly become a madam instead of a miss?”
“Well, I only want to do what is proper—”
“Oh, Mary, cut line! Sit down and have some tea. You and I need to discuss what the devil I’m going to do with all my ill-gotten gains!”
The next afternoon, Chauncey, with Mary in tow, entered Mr. Gillette’s office, not far from her Uncle Paul’s, on Fleet Street.
The single black-frocked clerk was evidently expecting her, for he was on his feet in an instant. He bowed low to her, as if she were royalty. “Miss FitzHugh? Mr. Gillette is expecting you, ma’am. If you will follow me, please.”
What servility, Chauncey thought, now that I am rich. She winked at Mary, and entered Mr. Gillette’s office. It was large and dark, with heavy mahogany furnishings and two walls lined with bookshelves. Thick brocade draperies were drawn across narrow windows.
“Ah, my dear Miss FitzHugh. Welcome. Sit down.”
“I have come to a decision, Mr. Gillette,” Chauncey said without preamble, once she was seated across from his imposing desk.
“Yes, my dear?” he asked in a carefully neutral voice.
“I wish to control my own money. I have done a bit of studying in the past twenty-four hours, and have learned that a woman has absolutely no control over anything once she is married.”
“That is quite true.”
Chauncey lowered her eyes to her clasped hands in her lap. She toyed with the idea of telling Mr. Gillette of her plans, but decided not to. It really didn’t concern him, after all. “I realize that in order to be able to handle my money with some astuteness, Mr. Gillette, someone must teach me about finance and business.”
A thin dark brow arched upward.
Chauncey drew a deep breath. “I will apply myself, sir. I have allotted myself two months to learn what it is I need to learn.” At his continued silence she added with some asperity, “I am not stupid, sir, nor am I a fluffle-headed female!”
“No. No, you are not,” he said.
“I would imagine that most men would treat me in an odiously condescending manner were I to tell them what I wished to do. I ask you, sir, can you recommend someone who would help me, truly help me?”
“Yes, Miss FitzHugh, I know of someone who would help you.” He grew silent again, and toyed with a pen on his desk. “You say you have chosen a time period of two months. May I ask what you intend to do when the two months have elapsed?”
Chauncey gave him a wide smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes, which grew cold and hard. “Yes, Mr. Gillette. I am leaving England. I am going to . . . America.”
Mr. Gillette sucked in his breath in surprise. “This is quite a surprise, Miss FitzHugh—”
“Please, sir, call me Chauncey. My aunt thinks it is a dreadfully common nickname, but I am comfortable with it.”
“Very well, Chauncey. Perhaps you will tell me why you have chosen America?”
“Perhaps,” Chauncey said coolly, “I might just decide to live there awhile, and of course I understand it is a vast place. I shall doubtless travel.” She shrugged. “We shall see.” She leaned forward, her eyes intent on his face. “I trust you, Mr. Gillette. I wish you to remain my solicitor in England. But you will have to explain to me how I am to transfer a portion of my funds to America.” A vast portion, she amended silently.
“I will be delighted to explain all that to you, Miss Fitz . . . Chauncey. I would also be delighted to teach you myself, had I all the knowledge you need. But alas, I do not. Are you free this evening?” At her nod, he smiled. “Good. Expect me around seven o’clock tonight with a gentleman. His name is Gregory Thomas. He is one of the most astute and knowledgeable gentlemen of finance in all of England. I am certain that he will not disdain you because of your sex, my dear, I can promise you that!”
“I believe, sir,” Chauncey said, grinning impishly, “that I should prefer you.”
“Yes, I myself always prefer the known to the unknown. But you will like Mr. Thomas. He has much free time on his hands now, and will likely treat you like a beloved granddaughter.”
After Frank Gillette had shown Chauncey from his office, he returned to his chair and sat down. He steepled his fingers and thumped them thoughtfully together. He was not blind. He had seen the implacable determination in her expressive eyes. What, he wondered, is the girl up to? Why does she wish to go to America? Perhaps, his thinking continued, if Gregory agreed to take the girl under his knowledgeable wing, he could discover what she was after. He disliked mysteries.