Besides, then she would have to tell him she had bought Richardson Rail, and he might think running both companies would be too much for her. It wasn’t. Nate and Mr. Richardson had both done an excellent job growing them. It was up to her to simply keep them running. She could do that.

Nate had never had to deal with women chasing him simply because he owned a railroad company.

“It may be time to ask Mr. Barton to return.” Mrs. Oliver matched her pace, even though she was triple Diana’s age. What would Diana do without Mrs. Oliver? She wanted the rail line to succeed almost as much as Diana did. She pushed down the niggle of worry that Mrs. Oliver was right. London wasn’t set up for women to run businesses, at least not without a man to protect them. “We could use him to intimidate all those fools who keep coming into the office.”

“Not yet. I’m not going to send for him to come back just yet.”

“Then you might just need to pick one of the men coming into the office and allow him to court you. It would turn off most of the others. You would finally have the time you need to get everything done.”

Pick one of those pretentious men? Even if she started a courtship with one of them, the rest wouldn’t be easily persuaded to leave her alone. Not unless he was a fearsome man, and what would she do with a fearsome man once she was done with him?

Diana quickened her pace. The payment for the ballast was heavy in her reticule, and it bounced against her leg with each step. She prayed the purse would be empty on their way home.

Rain slashed down, filling the streets of London with muddy rivulets and puddles. Diana pulled her bonnet low over her face and sprang from her hired carriage. The last of her jewelry—the emerald necklace she had managed to save even when Nate was selling off everything he could get his hands on to start his railroad business—was gone. It had been her grandmother’s, but if it meant the ballast would be delivered on time, the sacrifice was worth it. People were more important than jewels, and Charlotte was counting on her.

“Rather late for a young lady to be out on the street alone.” Diana jerked her head up and landed awkwardly on the side of her foot from the puddle she had been hopping over. She would know that mustache anywhere. No amount of rain could alter or disguise it.

Mr. Broadcreek.

Diana had spent the past three days fixing the problem he had so happily witnessed. It was late, the sun was already set, she was wet, and she simply wanted to drop into bed.

“Mr. Broadcreek, what are you doing here?”

“I was hoping to escort you home.”

The door to Mrs. Richardson’s house—Diana’s home for the past three months—was exactly ten feet away. “I believe I can manage that myself.”