I told him that John had passed on, Lord Stillwell wanted to speak to Mr. Tempest, who he assumed would be designing the hall.”
“Because of the name of the firm?”
“Exactly.” Miranda nodded. “I couldn’t very well tell him there is no Mr. Tempest. Or at least not one anyone here has ever seen.”
“What did you tell him?”
“I told him Mr. Tempest never meets with clients as he is a bit eccentric, considers himself an artist and lives in fear of alienating his muse or some such nonsense. In fact, I said I’ve never even met the man, which is entirely true.”
“And he believed you?” Doubt sounded in Clara’s voice.
“Every word.” Miranda couldn’t resist a smug smile. “So I propose we continue to allow him to believe his architect is the elusive Mr. Tempest and . . .”
“And?”
“And this is the brilliant part.” Miranda leaned forward in her chair and met her friend’s gaze firmly.
“Go on then.”
“And we allow clients in the future to believe that as well.” Miranda finished with a flourish.
“We do?” Clara said slowly.
“Of course we do.” Miranda’s words came faster with the rush of her thoughts. “When I wasn’t occupied with the plans themselves, this idea that Lord Stillwell set in motion has been fermenting, as it were, in the back of my mind. It makes perfect, and dare I say, brilliant sense.”
“Then be so good as to explain it to me.”
“We have never had anyone specifically ask the name of our architect. Indeed, Mr. Clarke has dissembled on that point, on more than one occasion attributing our work—”
“Your work.”
“The work of the firm to, oh, a joint effort, as it were. But if we allow people to believe Mr. Tempest is the chief architect, a man who never appears in public—”
“My God, that is brilliant.” Clara’s eyes widened. “We should have thought of it years ago.”
“I can’t believe we didn’t.” Miranda grinned with triumph. “If we lead people to believe Mr. Tempest is the architect no one will ever suspect the truth.”
“And the danger of—wait.” Clara stared. “But what of the real Mr. Tempest?”
Miranda shrugged. “What of him?”
“I daresay he would not approve of this.”
“I daresay he will never know.” Miranda ticked the points off on her fingers. “The man has never stepped foot in this office. John never met him. I have never met him. Whoever he is, he’s not known in society. Why, we have no idea who the man really is. His name might not even be Tempest for all we know. He is, and always has been, a silent investor.”
“There is that,” Clara murmured.
“As long as we continue to meet our monthly financial obligation to him, I see no reason why he would object or interfere. Besides, and I do think this is the most important point, the only caveat to his investment—aside from repayment—was that Tempest be included in the firm’s name. Which leads me to believe he would not be at all averse to allowing the world to think he is the architectural talent at the heart of Garret and Tempest. Well?” Miranda held her breath. “Do you agree?”
“It does solve a lot of problems. It would certainly make life less difficult if we could defer to Mr. Tempest rather than avoid specifics as much as we have had to,” Clara said thoughtfully.
“Exactly.”
“All in all, I have to agree.” Clara grinned. “It is brilliant.”
“I thought so.” Miranda stood, stepped up to the drawings, dipped a pen in ink and signed the drawings Tempest with a flourish and a satisfied smile. “And we have Lord Stillwell to thank.”
“From what you have said, I can’t imagine he would want our thanks.”
“Oh, I suspect Lord Stillwell wants any number of things he doesn’t know he wants yet.”
Clara glanced at the drawings. “Are you talking about the hall?”
“For the most part.”
“Need I remind you that no matter what you are in private, in public you remain the very respectable widowed Lady Garret?”
“Of course not.” Miranda scoffed. “I could never forget that.”
“Then what—”
“A man like Lord Stillwell is used to being in charge or thinking he is. He is also obviously used to being on the winning end of a proposition.”
“And?” Caution sounded in Clara’s voice.
“And I was not amenable at all to his attempts to be charming. I daresay it was most disconcerting for him.”
Clara’s eyes narrowed. “Go on.”
“Therefore, when next we meet, I am going to be more, oh, shall we say willing in my dealings with him from now on.”
Clara gasped. “You’re going to allow him to seduce you?”
“Don’t be absurd.” Miranda brushed away Clara’s comment. “I am simply going to allow him to think he is making progress in that direction. Allow him to think his flirtation might well bear fruit. It has been my observation that there is nothing easier to manage than a man who thinks he is moments away from getting you into his bed. A man who is confident of his own success thinks he is in control.”
“You can’t possibly—”
“Oh, but I can. Or at least I think I can. I never have, but I fully intend to.” Miranda nodded firmly. “You must admit this is almost as brilliant an idea as that of giving substance to Mr. Tempest.”
“I suspect its brilliance is yet to be determined.” She thought for a moment. “It doesn’t seem quite fair to use his arrogance as a weapon against him.”
“Perhaps not, but one could say if he was not overly arrogant to begin with, there would be no weapon to use.”
“Regardless, do take care with him. Overly charming men with wicked smiles are not to be trusted.” Clara’s fiancé had been charming with a wicked, irresistible smile. Unfortunately, Clara was not the only one he had cast his dubious charms upon. As it happened, the man had two other fiancées as well as a marriage of questionable legality.
“Oh, I would never trust him.” Miranda’s gaze strayed back to her rendering of Fairborough Hall. “But I do hope to gain a modicum of his trust. And convince him to accept—no, embrace—progress, the way of the future.”
“As long as progress is all he embraces.”
“Believe me, Clara, I have no interest in Lord Stillwell as anything other than as a client.” Although Miranda did concede, if only to herself, the man was indeed quite dashing with all that dark hair and those blue eyes that flashed with annoyance or amusement. And what woman didn’t appreciate a man who was tall and broad-shouldered and spoke of his family home with affection and pride. Then, of course, there was that wicked smile of his, which Miranda could see, under the right circumstances, might well be lethal. Even to a woman of business. “But I am determined to prepare Fairborough Hall for the future and bring Lord Stillwell along with it.”
“Kicking and screaming, no doubt.”
“If necessary.” Miranda paused. “If I do it correctly, he’ll think it was his idea.”
“Perhaps.” Clara studied the drawing. “I daresay he’ll go along with the improvements in plumbing and heating, but this . . .” She tapped