“I didn’t know you were a member.” Max kept his voice measured and hoped it wouldn’t carry. The groups in the room were far enough removed that their conversation shouldn’t be overheard, though several men glanced their way surreptitiously.
“White’s is my club. I came here to see you.”
“I thought so.” Max kept still under the man’s narrowed inspection. He was accustomed to dealing with irate stakeholders and adversaries; this was no different.
“What are your plans for Helena?”
He hadn’t been prepared for the man to come out with it. In his experience, men like him preferred to hem and haw, saying things without actually saying them to maintain plausible deniability. Thankfully, a footman approached with a tray bearing a single tumbler of scotch, giving Max a few precious moments to collect his thoughts.
“Thank you,” he murmured to the man, who gave a short bow and silently walked away. He was impressed that someone had obviously remembered the drink he’d had after dinner and sent over a fresh one. Lightly resting it on his knee after savoring a sip, he said to Farthington, “Right now we’re simply enjoying each other’s company.”
“And then what will you be doing?”
“That will be decided when the time comes.”
The older man’s expression didn’t change, but he let out a light huff of air. “Don’t you think you should deign to speak to me before continuing this courtship?”
“Forgive me, my lord, but Helena is a grown woman. A widow. I was led to believe that she controls her own concerns.”
Her father took a slow puff of his cigar, letting the smoke escape in a slow wisp. “So she does, but a courtship is a different matter. She is still my daughter, still a part of my family, and she always will be. Make no mistake that if this courtship progresses and I disapprove, then it will go no further.”
A fresh wave of anger and frustration came over him. It wouldn’t do to antagonize the man, because they would eventually need his blessing. If the courtship were real, then it might not matter so much, but it wasn’t, and the smoother this went the better for everyone. Still, he couldn’t let the comment pass. Perhaps it was because he was fresh from the fight for both August’s and Violet’s future, but he was angry on Helena’s behalf. “You don’t own your daughter.”
“I do not.” He looked as if he were disgusted by the very suggestion that he might. “I do, however, own her trust, her esteem, and her loyalty. She won’t go against my wishes, not when they’re to the betterment of the family.”
Max took another drink of the scotch, forcing himself to not challenge the man. “Are you saying you disapprove?”
Farthington picked up his own drink, which appeared to be brandy, and took a swallow. “It should come as no surprise that you were not my first choice . . . until last night.”
Awareness of the profundity of that statement moved through his body like a physical sensation. His skin prickled, and he found himself sitting up straighter. “Last night?”
“Helena is a strange woman. I care for her deeply, but she has never been like my other daughters. She has . . . sensitivities, as you are aware.”
“Sensitivities? You mean her charities?”
Farthington nodded. “She wants to save every unfortunate she finds, doesn’t matter that it never helps.”
“Well, it sometimes helps.”
“About a year before she was married, she read an article about an entire family who had nearly frozen to death in the January cold because they slept with their windows open. The theory at the time was that one could be asphyxiated slowly overnight due to lack of oxygen. The idea became exaggerated as it spread to the masses to the point where an entire slum in Manchester slept with window sashes open in the dead of winter. This unfortunate family lost two young children because of it. She wanted to save the poor from themselves, so she printed pamphlets and hired a physician with her allowance to hold lectures about the dangers of the cold. Only it happened again the next year, different family, same result.
“The point is that the poor will always be such, whether it’s due to unfortunate decisions, chance, education, character; there is no changing their ways.”
“You speak as if they are different than you or I.”
“Aren’t they?” He leaned forward to tap the ash off the end of his cigar into a crystal dish before settling back and eyeing Max with meaning. “You’ve only to look at your family to see that, to see how far you have come. Providence may select a few, but most remain as they are.”
Max bristled, his jaw tightening. “It’s hardly providence, and what do you know of my family?”
“I know your grandfather had coal in his blood. I know that his father was a petty criminal who was jailed for larceny and died penniless.”
The man had done his research. “I don’t understand your point.”
“I’m saying that out of the masses that earn their living in the coal mines of Western Pennsylvania, how many change their fate?” It was a rhetorical question, so he quickly went on. “Your family is different, whether you want to believe it. Fate intervened on your behalf.”
“It was hard work and more than a little conniving on my grandfather’s part.”
Farthington shrugged. “Call it what you will, most of the poor won’t change their circumstances when given the chance. However, I did not come here to discuss your opinions on the poor, though now that I think of it, it’s good that you don’t agree with me. If you did, you would soon find Helena tiresome.”
Max opened his mouth to argue, but the man continued. “I was impressed with you last night, young Maxwell. You defended her when most men I know would have left the women to their tongue wagging without interfering. Or at least backed down once they saw me present. You did neither. You stood up for her.”
“I couldn’t have done less, nor could any other man worth her time. Misguided as you think she may be, she has made a difference in the lives of those around her. There is a boy who works in this very club instead of living on the streets, because of her aid. He has a mind, a soul. He could be an Augustus Crenshaw, or he could make a scientific discovery, or simply be there to help another person in need when the time comes.”
The man looked him up and down. “You sound like Helena.”
“The world would be a better place if more of us did, my lord.” The gibe landed neatly. Max saw the pinched look come over Farthington’s face as he realized he’d just been insulted.
“I disagree with you,” the man began, “but as we’ve already established, I haven’t come here to quibble with you. I’ve come to tell you that I will allow this courtship to continue, pending your attendance at Claremont Hall in a fortnight. We have a small gathering of friends there every year for a celebration before Christmas. Your parents are already planning to attend. I sincerely hope that your plans will accommodate a visit.”