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are used to the rough conditions and bemoan the lack of fair company.”
    She allowed a small smile. “You flatter me, sir. I am only trying to give my brother a full view of the project before he commits so much money to it.”
    They were both lying to each other, she knew, but at least Mr. Scott was willing to engage in the pretense. Many men treated her as if she hadn’t a thought in her brain. She had learned long ago to arm herself with strongly worded letters from her brother, emphatically stating that he would give great weight to her recommendation. It tended to adjust men’s view of her, she had found, if they knew she could turn aside their requests with one word. In this case, William was contemplating a rather large investment, six thousand pounds, and he was very anxious over it. Investors in the Somerset Coal Canal had reaped healthy returns on their investments, which argued in favor of it. But it was a great deal of money—nearly a year’s income—and William’s overriding fear in life was of losing his income. Like his father before him, he had been born without an ounce of business sense. Fortunately for him, Tessa, like her mother before her, had been born with enough of that for three people. Fortunately for everyone, her brother did have enough sense to realize this and to make her a part of everything he did.
    Mr. Scott further endeared himself to her when he ordered a tea tray, then sat back and let her read in peace when the refreshments arrived. Tessa skimmed through the surveyor’s reports and studied the maps and plots of the countryside, speckled with coal mines marked in red. She flipped through the documents outlining the construction, including the estimated costs. She looked at the list of subscribers, because there was no point investing William’s money if the whole enterprise was doomed to fail. She asked a few questions for clarity, and Mr. Scott gave reasonable answers. Finally she closed the portfolio and slid it back across the table to him.
    “It looks to be in order, sir. Since I must be my brother’s eyes and ears in this, I still would like to see the works myself.”
    He accepted it with good grace, assuring her he would be prepared to give her a thorough viewing of the site. “I beg pardon I cannot escort you there myself,” he added, “but I must return on the morrow. I’ve been away over a month now.”
    Tessa waved aside his apology. “I quite understand. My companion and I shall follow by the end of the week.”
    “Might I take the liberty of arranging lodging for you? Frome isn’t nearly as elegant as Bath, but I shall find something suitable, if you wish. I will send word as soon as I secure rooms in your name.”
    “That would be very good of you, sir.”
    He shook her hand, another point in his favor, and departed. Tessa went upstairs to find Eugenie, who was reading a novel from the lending library. It must have been a Gothic one, from the way she had a handkerchief pressed to her lips as she read and the start she gave when Tessa came into the room. “Goodness!”
    “It must be a good book.” She smiled as she took the chair across from Eugenie. “You’re flushed.”
    “Heavens, yes!” Eugenie fanned her pink face with her handkerchief as she set the book aside. “It’s ever so dramatic—a young girl thrust upon a family of strangers in the dark of night, a perilous journal through a mysterious forest . . . I expect brigands and murderers are waiting around every corner.”
    “No doubt. But I expect Mrs. Radcliff will bring it all out well in the end.”
    “Of course she will.” Eugenie gave a stout nod. “She’s one of my favorites. I would never read her again if she didn’t make it all come right in the end.”
    Tessa laughed. It never failed to amuse her that Eugenie, who fretted over the slightest breeze or cough, loved Gothic novels where the heroine endured a hundred dire dangers.
    “How did you find Mr. Scott, dear?”
    “Very