A Wife Worth Investing In. Marguerite Kaye
ask so much of one so young and so utterly beautiful? She was unhappy now, her pride and her confidence had both taken a severe blow, but she would recover in time. What had seemed so clear in the early hours of the morning, was now clouding in his mind. The enthusiasm which had kept his pain at bay all morning waned, and he became aware once more of the dull, dragging ache in his hip. One step at a time, he reminded himself, as he had so often in the last two years, though this time the steps were metaphorical and not physical.
‘If you had the chance to open your own restaurant here in London, would you take it?’ he asked.
Miss Brannagh’s eyes lit up. ‘My very own establishment, with my own menus, my own dishes. A place where men and women can dine together, as they can in Paris. Just imagine!’
‘That would certainly be unique in London.’
‘Exactly. Aside from private dining rooms, which are the province of the rich and titled, there is nothing like it at present.’
It was a strange thing, but while his accident had left Owen almost completely numb emotionally, he had discovered that something akin to excitement took hold of him when he sensed a good business deal, a sort of tingling in his belly like an attack of nerves. He felt it now. ‘Combine that idea with a female head chef, and you have, if you’ll forgive the pun, a mouthwatering opportunity,’ he said.
Miss Brannagh’s face fell. ‘If only, but that will never happen. It’s probably just as well too, for I’m not at all sure I am good enough to preside over such an establishment.’
‘Not good enough? What happened to being bowed but unbroken?’
‘Nothing happened, I’m simply being realistic. It makes much more sense to aim for what I know I can achieve than to even dream of the impossible. I’ve failed once, I don’t want to fail again.’
‘Solignac seems to have done an excellent job of cutting you down to size, that’s for sure. What if he’s wrong?’
‘He didn’t cut me down to size. I was too big for my boots. And it wasn’t only Pascal who thought so, it was...’
‘Your sister, the musician.’
‘Yes.’
Clearly the twin was a very painful subject, Owen, thought to himself. ‘She too could be wrong,’ he offered gently.
‘I’ve already wasted all my money and two years of my life trying to prove that, and look where it’s got me.’
The same two years he had wasted, trying and failing to recover what he had lost. Owen was now utterly determined to help her, if only to prove her superior twin wrong, never mind Solignac, regardless of whether or not in doing so she could help him. ‘Am I right in assuming you would not consider applying to your elder sister for the necessary capital? The Earl of Fearnoch, her husband, is a very rich man...’
‘No! Absolutely not. I would not dream of it. I would rather peel potatoes for the rest of my life than do that. I thought you understood, Mr Harrington.’
‘Owen. Please, call me Owen.’
‘Owen.’ She leaned forward earnestly. ‘Although my sister is wildly in love with her husband, in fact her marriage was arranged. Eloise never wished to marry, she did so in large part to provide Estelle and I with the means to make anything we wanted of our own lives. The fact that she is so happy is wonderful, but it could easily have been otherwise. Though she swore she would not have married Alexander if she had disliked him, to be perfectly frank, I believe it would have taken a great deal to dissuade her. Eloise has done more than enough for me already. I would never ask her under any circumstances, even if our relationship was not at present strained.’
Owen shifted uncomfortably on his chair. The footstool eased the pain in his hip, but if he sat still too long, his damned foot went to sleep. ‘So what you really need is an investor.’
She laughed bitterly. ‘The chances of my finding one are about as high as Pascal begging me to come back to Paris. I may not be a maverick genius, but I still think I can cook. But Pascal, who is undoubtedly a maverick genius, says otherwise, and which one of us would the world believe, do you think? I am about as risky a business proposition as you are likely to encounter. I have no references, I’ve been sacked from my one and only position, and I’m a woman. Would you invest in me, Mr Harr—Owen? I don’t think so.’
‘I believe I told you, the first time we met in Paris, that I would and happily.’
‘In jest, when you knew that there was no possibility of my accepting.’
‘I’m not jesting now, I’m perfectly serious.’
Her eyes widened. Her cheeks flushed and then paled. ‘Thank you, you are very kind, very generous, but no, absolutely not.’
‘I’m offering to be your backer, Miss Brannagh, not your protector. Believe me, the last thing I’m in the market for is a mistress. I am not Solignac, beguiled by your pretty face and well-turned ankle.’
‘Forgive me, but no one in their right mind would take such a risk with me, and you know nothing about food—in fact I recall you told me that you are a culinary philistine. If you are not offering me a carte blanche, then I can only assume that you must feel sorry for me. The answer in either case is the same. I can’t take your money.’
Her refusal didn’t surprise him, but his conscience insisted that he press his point. He had to be sure that she believed his final proposition was her best and not her only option. ‘Miss Brannagh...’
‘Phoebe. Please, call me Phoebe.’
‘Phoebe. Just over two years ago, I realised that I was bored with my feckless existence. As fate would have it, my travels were cut short, but my desire for some sort of occupation is one of the few things I didn’t lose. Circumstances left me with a lot of time on my hands. I don’t sleep well, I rarely go out and I fill a great many of the empty hours with reading. I subscribe to countless periodicals, I read every newspaper, and all the Parliamentary reports. The net effect is that I know what’s going on the world I no longer inhabit, and I have discovered that I have an instinct for investment opportunities. It’s like a sixth sense. I have a nose for making money. My father left me very wealthy. By investing that money wisely I’ve made myself rich beyond most people’s wildest imaginings. Which is a long-winded way of saying that I have a hunch that you are worth investing in.’
‘But you have no evidence to support that,’ Phoebe said, becoming agitated. ‘I could have a completely inflated opinion of my own abilities. And even if I don’t, you are underestimating how radical my venture would be. Eating in a restaurant is a much more established tradition in Paris than it is in London—in restaurants such as Le Grand Véfour for example, the clientele is mixed. But as far as I know, the only similar place here is Crockford’s and that is for gentlemen only. Imagine the scandal, Owen, if a restaurant were to open in London which served food to both sexes, and had a woman running the kitchen.’
‘What you call scandal, I would call priceless free publicity.’
‘No, no, no. I want my food to speak for itself, I don’t want people to come to gawk at me.’
‘Phoebe, your idea is as you said, revolutionary. I hope that your customers would return for the food, but initially, you are going to have to accept that many of them will want, as you put it, to gawk at you.’
‘Then it’s as well that it’s all just a pipe dream,’ she said, once again becoming dejected. ‘I need to earn my living, not accept charity, no matter how well intentioned.’
Here was a gilt-edged opening. Owen braced himself, taken aback to discover that his heart was hammering, though perhaps it wasn’t so surprising, with no less than three lives at stake. ‘There is another way,’ he said carefully. ‘An arrangement which would allow me to invest in you, and for you to legitimately earn my backing.’
‘What arrangement could that possibly