He tensed, half waiting for Eric to ask him about his father’s state of being. Most everyone knew he had tuberculosis and was ailing. In addition, many feared that Reid Armstrong would never be the man his father was—and weren’t shy about saying so. Many did not know he had now also started his own business.
But instead of going that route, Eric simply looked him over like he was an unusual specimen. “Ah, yes. I had heard that you chose to go right to work.” Eric’s voice had turned cool. “Well, it seems to have done you no harm. Your success has been creating quite a stir in some circles. Congratulations on your success.”
“Thank you. I have much to be thankful for. I feel blessed beyond measure.”
The words, so honestly stated, drew an obviously uncomfortable breath from Eric.
He fidgeted a bit, and even went so far as to take a step backward, giving them each some distance from the other. “So, I’m on my way to see Sloane. I imagine you are doing the same. You two always were thick as thieves,” he added languidly. “Are you leaving or about to enter?”
“As a matter of fact, I have just taken my leave.” Reid decided Eric could discover for himself that Douglass wasn’t receiving visitors.
“It’s lucky that our timing coincided. We seem to have missed each other at some of the debutante balls.”
“Yes. It’s been good to catch up.”
Eric glanced at Sloane House. “It is, however, unlucky for me that I arrived just as your tête-à-tête with that fetching girl finished.” His voice lowered, becoming oily. “I would have liked to have made that one’s acquaintance.”
Only living for years in a boarding school, pretending he was one of the crowd, kept Reid’s expression impassive. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what you mean.”
“Oh, I believe you do,” Eric said in a light, joking way. “Was I mistaken, or were you sitting on this bench a few minutes ago?” He held up a hand, laughing off any reply Reid might have attempted. “Don’t answer that. We both know you were. Actually, it looked like you were having quite a fine time flirting with her. Who is she? A maid in one of the houses nearby? I looked away and didn’t see where she went to.”
Reid could have cursed his naïveté. Had he really imagined their conversation wouldn’t be noticed? “I was speaking with a lady—”
“No offense, but she was no lady, Armstrong.” Eric’s gaze hardened. “Don’t even try to deny it. Her gown was only something one of the lower classes would wear. And there is only one reason a woman of her class would be in this part of Chicago. No one with eyes would mistake her to be anything else.”
While Reid stood stoically, Eric chuckled to himself. “She’s a pretty thing, I’ll give her that. How is she under the sheets?”
This was beyond any sort of decency. Straightening to his entire six-foot-two height, Reid looked down his nose at Eric. “I beg your pardon. Sir.”
Eric laughed. “Sorry, chap. I should have remembered that you still possess far too many of those bourgeois, middle-class sensibilities. You don’t date and talk, do you? Of course, it wouldn’t be an actual date, and you very well might not have been talking about anything at all . . .”
Reid knew Eric was baiting him. He also knew enough to realize that any protestations he made would be duly noted. His words would be used as gossip and as fodder for bored conversations in the best drawing rooms. Next thing he knew, his imagined transgressions would be exaggerated and shared and joked about. And eventually, regarded as the truth.
Before long, it would reach the ears of one of the Sloanes. And then Rosalind would be fired.
And that was the best scenario. Eric could also use his protesting as a way to subtly blackmail him at a future time or merely use it as a source of amusement among their circle of friends. The result of that, of course, would tarnish Rosalind’s reputation, and perhaps even cause her to be the recipient of several lurid offers.
And since he was now very aware of how much she needed the job, he merely smiled. “Enjoy your afternoon, Newhouse,” he said with the slightest of bows before turning the opposite way on the street.
Eric paused as a new thread of respect flew into his words. “It seems you’ve become a bit shrewder over the years, Armstrong. I must admit that I’m surprised. And impressed.”
Reid kept walking, but that brief exchange had served him well. He’d just been reminded that cruel gossip could be born and spread at the drop of a hat . . . and that it could spread twice as quickly as gossip some might deem “innocent.”