Blair let the young secretary bring them tea. Rip thought she probably wanted the caffeine boost.

In short order he left and they sat alone in a locked conference room, a teapot and two cups and saucers between them.

Rip finished a cup and pulled out the Thompson he fired recently. He produced a cleaning cloth and some gun oil, and he began wiping down the weapon.

“Put that away.”

He glanced over at Blair and smiled.

“I don’t think you understand how this husband and wife thing is supposed to work,” he said in a teasing tone.

“Oh, I know precisely how it works, Muscles.”

She moved over and sat in his lap, arms around his neck, and kissed him.

“Now, put that away.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Two hours passed before they heard someone outside the door. By that time, they were both back in their seats.

Blair brushed a stray hair behind her ear. Rip cleared his throat and smoothed his suit vest.

They glanced at each other as the door opened and both smiled, with big wide grins.

A voice came from out in the hall.

“Why was this door locked? You, stand here. And you, stand on the other side. Now, this is a very important board meeting, so pay attention. Do not let anyone other than members through this door. Is that understood? This will not be a public meeting.”

“Yes, Mr. Threadgill.”

The door opened wider and Thurmond Threadgill walked in. He stopped at the sight of both Blair and Rip sitting at the table.

“Lady Brooke! I did not expect you . . . ”

Rip tried to give her an “I told you so” glance. He felt pretty good about correctly suspecting foul play before the meeting. But Blair was focused on the company’s secondary executive.

“Mr. Threadgill. Posting guards this early? The meeting is not due to start for another hour.”

The man quickly recovered from the shock of seeing them there.

“Well, this is a very important meeting. Our founder has died. His controlling shares, as you know, must be distributed since they are in limbo at the moment. The board will make an appropriate decision, I’m sure.”

The more he spoke, the more confidence seemed to flow back into him, like the tide coming in.

“In fact, it should be open to members of the board and executives of the company only. I’m not entirely certain you should even be here.”

She gave him a very cool look, bordering on frosty. For his part, Threadgill glanced over his shoulder, as if considering whether or not to call in the guards he had just posted at the door.

Rip popped his knuckles, pulling Threadgill’s attention back to the table. He reached into his wallet and retrieved his RVS badge, placing it on the conference table. Then he pulled out one of the Webley revolvers loaded with enhanced ammunition, along with his gun oil and cloth. Absently, he started cleaning the weapon, studiously ignoring the other two.

Threadgill’s eyes narrowed, and he looked like he was trying to think of a workaround to the situation. But before he could say anything else, the door opened again and an older gentleman walked in.

“I say, Thurmond. Do we really need guards at the door? Are you expecting a riot? Oh! Hello, Lady Brooke. And you must be the otherworlder we’ve heard so much about.”

The older fellow walked around the table to them. Rip slipped the gun and badge back in his wallet, and stood to meet the newcomer, shaking his hand. He dressed in a fine black suit and carried a top hat and can. With his gray walrus mustache, Rip thought he could have stepped out of a board game advertisement.

“I’m Randall Cavendale, Earl of Ethelberry. I knew Sir Winston when he was a stout young chap, looking to finance his first business ventures, and I’ve been on his board ever since.”

“Lord Cavendale has been Father’s banker for ages,” Blair said to Rip while allowing the older man to lightly kiss her hand on the fingers.

“And so I hope to remain for your estate, my dear.”

With the earl’s rather commanding presence, all thoughts of moving the meeting to another location or time seemed to evaporate. Threadgill’s expression grew sullen, but he took a seat at the table and waited.

Slowly, more men made their way inside. Cavendale regaled Rip and Blair with business tales, most revolving around Blair’s father.

Somehow, Rip thought, the man made the stories interesting. He never would have thought that banking and corporate financing could be intriguing, but the old man had a charming way of telling things. Both Rip and Blair listened while keeping an eye on the room.

Cavendale proved to be the highest ranked member of the peerage present. The other eight men comprising the board of directors were knights or wealthy entrepreneurs or industrialists, from what Rip could gather. Everyone made sure to say hello to Blair and introduce themselves to Rip.

At last the top of the hour came and Cavendale moved to the head of the table.

“Let us begin, shall we? Mr. Drebbels, I believe you have the minutes from our previous meeting?”

Drebbels stood, giving Blair a glance, and read off the notes from the previous meeting. A motion was made to accept the minutes, then voted on. It passed unanimously.

“Now, I believe the moment is at hand. Our primary executive, as you all know, has passed. With him, the controlling shares of Brooke & Company are in flux. Our fiduciary responsibility involves deciding what to do with those shares tonight.”

“Might I be allowed to share some pertinent information with the board?” Blair said, raising her hand.

“Point of order,” Threadgill said brusquely. “Outsiders may not speak during these proceedings, Lord Cavendale.”

Cavendale’s brows furrowed.

“I think under the circumstances, we can surely make an exception. This is the founder’s daughter, after all, and she’s experienced a terrible tragedy. Lady Brooke, as an honored guest, you have the table.”

“Thank you, Lord Cavendale. I wish to announce to the board that I have recently wed Sir Ripley Coulter.”

She held up her left hand, hidden under the table until now, and flashed the ring procured earlier by Nancy.

“Sir Ripley has our license, which the chair may examine for authenticity. We are also registered in the church as legally wed, should additional verification be needed.”

Rip reached inside his vest and retrieved the scroll, tied with a red ribbon. He handed it across the table to Cavendale, who untied the ribbon and glanced at the embossed stamp on the expensive parchment paper before handing it over to Drebbels.

The secretary smiled and scribbled away, recording details in the meeting notes. Cavendale smiled, too.

Threadgill’s face turned red with anger.

“Lord Cavendale, might I say a word or two?”

“Certainly, Mr. Threadgill.”

“This man, Sir Coulter, has certainly performed admirably in the crown’s service. He was knighted, and he has prevailed against Darhaven. We all are aware of his martial prowess. However, I caution the board in making the transfer of controlling shares in this fine company to an outsider such as himself. This man is from another world. He has no idea how to run a company in ours.”

And there it is, Rip thought as everyone turned toward him.

It was the last shot Threadgill had, and a strong one at that.

Rip had ideas. He had innovations that would benefit this world. But, he had never run a business. His degree was in history, and his experience was in military leadership. Maybe there was some overlap, some things that he knew from serving as a sergeant that could be useful in running a corporation. But he had no direct business experience in this world or his own.

“That shan’t be a problem.”

All eyes shifted to Blair.

“As you know, I grew up with this company. I am thoroughly familiar with all its inner workings. The shares may not go to a woman by law, but you all know who is behind every successful man. Sir Ripley will have all my many years of knowledge and experience guiding him in the coordination of this enterprise going forward.”

Threadgill snorted.

“Have we ever seen much of Lady Blair in these halls, gentlemen? Bearing you no ill will, milady, but this is a business. And you have little in the way of knowledge concerning it, I am sure.”

Like a tennis match, Rip thought, heads around the table swiveled back to Blair.

“Au contraire, Mr. Threadgill. I know all about this business, and I am more familiar with its books than even you, I’ll wager. Last quarter saw an uptick in profits despite falling sales, primarily due to a decrease in base material costs of imports from the Caribbean and the Dutch Indies. This led to enhanced margins for some of our more lucrative consumable products . . .”

She proceeded to give the board a rundown on all aspects of Brooke & Company’s multiple endeavors, complete with areas showing strength recently, and those needing improvement. She did it all without consulting notes, rattling off facts and figures from memory. The men around the table nodded as she spoke, as those familiar with the different areas touched upon realized her numbers and analyses were accurate.

When she finished several minutes later, Cavendale’s eyebrows remained high up on his forehead, seemingly frozen. He looked very impressed.

Drebbels grinned, looking pleased as punch. Various others around the table had favorable expressions on their faces, too, save for Threadgill. He glared at Blair with undisguised hatred.

Cavendale said, “Right. Well, I think it is fairly obvious that the inheritance of these shares should remain within Sir Winston’s family. Since Lady Blair has married, her husband should retain control of the company. I have no doubts the company will be in good hands. He will no doubt have plenty of assistance within the family as needed. I think we can safely say this is what the old man would have wanted. All in favor?”

The board voted unanimously to give Rip the controlling shares.

They remained to the end. Rip shook hands with everybody again, this time receiving congratulations.

Threadgill slipped out without saying a word.