“You would have done perfectly well, just as you do in all things.” The carriage rolled to a halt. “Thank you for seeing me home. Would you care to join me for a drink before you depart?”
“I would like that.” Though his life was not turning out the way he’d hoped, that didn’t mean he would turn his back on the small moments of happiness presented to him, including a celebratory drink with his grandmother.
After greeting Wilson and sharing a few highlights of the evening with the butler, they moved into the drawing room where Silas poured himself and his grandmother a brandy.
“Cheers,” he said as he handed her the glass and lifted his own. “To the best grandmother a man could have. I wish you the happiest of birthdays and many more to come. I love you very much.”
She grinned and lifted her glass in return. “I love you as well and appreciate you more than I can say.”
They both drank and then stared into the coals of the fire, enjoying the silence and one another’s company.
He’d told her two days ago that Arthur Harrison had decided against pursuing his design and that he was pleased he’d tried one last time to make it work. Though she’d been unhappy with Silas’s decision to set aside his idea in order to pursue an heiress, she hadn’t argued, much to his relief.
Several quiet minutes passed before his grandmother straightened in her chair. “I have made a decision.”
“Oh?” He couldn’t imagine what it might be and didn’t attempt to guess. She never failed to surprise him.
“We shall sell the Monet.”
“What?” Silas set aside his drink in alarm and sat forward, worry climbing through him. “Why? What’s happened? If your finances need assistance, we will find a way—”
She waved a hand in dismissal. “I am fine. But yours do.”
“I have a plan for that, as you know.” He ignored the knot of dread in his stomach as he reached for his drink. “I shall ask for Miss Smithby’s hand in the coming days. I have every reason to believe she will accept.”
He should’ve already done so. He’d told himself he needed to make it through the party, and then he would get on with it but that was simply an excuse to delay the proposal. However, he wasn’t prepared to commit himself to another when his heart was otherwise involved. That wouldn’t be fair to the lady.
“And be miserable for the rest of your life?” His grandmother shook her head. “Not while I am here to say otherwise. Your future is a gift and not to be squandered.”
“We are not selling your painting.” He glanced at the pretty garden scene with its gold frame. “That would be like selling your memories, and I refuse to do any such thing. It’s not necessary.”
“I will still have my memories. No one can take those from me.” A smile curled her lips, hinting at the attractive young lady who had caught his grandfather’s eye. “Tomorrow, you shall find someone to manufacture the prototype and then approach another investor group with your plans.”
He tossed back the rest of his drink, appreciating the burn of the amber liquid. “I no longer have them. Not many of them anyway.”
“What? How could that be?”
“I burned them.” He was fiercely glad he’d done so, as now his grandmother wouldn’t be tempted to sell the Monet. That would’ve been a betrayal of his grandfather’s memory. He’d put away the few remaining plans and sketches he had, though apparently he’d burned more than he’d realized as a significant number were missing.
It didn’t matter. No purpose would be served in pursuing the idea.
“The time has come to be realistic,” he added, attempting a smile with the hope of convincing his grandmother all was well.
“Do not use that smile with me,” she ordered. “The time has come to reach for the future you want.” She thumped her cane. “You might be a Hayworth, but you are also a Sutton. We are nothing if not intelligent and persistent.” She leaned forward to hold his gaze. “To the point of stubbornness.”
He knew that to be true. Yet he couldn’t agree to her idea. “Do not sell the painting.” He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, the thought of doing so enough to make him ill. “Not unless it’s absolutely necessary.”
Was there another way? He had to admit the idea of pursuing the wager as Prue had suggested tempted him. Winning wouldn’t solve his problems, but it would help to pay a few debts and start the process of creating the prototype of a blade if not the entire windmill. That could be enough to convince an investor.
More importantly, it would provide Silas with the proof he needed as to whether he should pursue the design. Drawings and plans were one thing but seeing it in action was quite another.
“Does that mean you have an idea as to how to proceed?”
“Perhaps.” If he could leverage the value of the painting without selling it and win the wager, it just might be possible.
Pursuing the wager meant speaking with Prue. As far as he knew, Maynard was still in the lead, and Silas had no chance of winning. He didn’t want to give her false hope by telling her what was in his heart. Not until he had at least the promise of future funds would he share his feelings and ask for her hand.
However, in order to win, he needed her help as well as that of the wallflowers. Was any of that possible?