“We can’t proceed until I pry the password out of him in order to vote by proxy,” she warned. “The count supplies the bank’s auditor with a unique password for each shareholder vote, and I can’t register his vote without that password.”

It took four more exchanges in which the count wanted Natalia’s opinion on French cooking and to complain about the food served at his outpost. Only then did the count send his password for the September vote, which was Stradivarius.

“That’s all we need,” Natalia said. “Please forgive him for his quirks. I knew we would get there in the end, but these exchanges must be managed delicately. His feelings can be hurt so easily.”

They thanked Mr. Smitty for his patience, and Gwen provided a generous tip on top of the staggering fees Count Sokolov’s verbose messages cost to transmit and receive. Just before they left, the telegraph sprang to life one more time. It was a short message.

Tell your cousin that when I have perfected my juniper perfume, I shall name it Gwendolyn in her honor.

32

Patrick tried to sleep late the morning after the epic telegraph session, but it was impossible. Thirty-eight people were crammed into the house, and even before dawn there were footsteps thudding on the staircase, doors slamming, and the shrieks of children romping outdoors.

On the neighboring bed, Liam groaned and pulled the blanket over his eyes. “Could someone please go shoot those kids?”

“Let’s hold off on that while I make nice with Gwen’s family,” Patrick said while clipping his suspenders into place. He liked Natalia and Aunt Martha. He hadn’t seen much to admire in the rest of them, but perhaps there was still hope. It wasn’t fair to hold Gwen’s family against her, and it might be possible to establish a modicum of mutual respect with some of them.

Because he wanted Gwen. Quite badly. She was perfect for him, as if God had designed the ideal woman to light up his life. Where she was weak, he was strong. She brought a softness to his world he didn’t even know was missing until she came into it with her warm, gentle humor.

The only stumbling block was centuries of class differences between them. Would he be able to crack the door into her world? Would her family permit it?

He headed outside to make an attempt.

Dozens of people were already gathered on the upper terrace overlooking the shore, but Gwen was not among them. He scanned the adults, looking for someone with whom he might strike up a cordial conversation. Most of the men sat on lawn chairs facing the sea. A couple of them nodded a greeting when Patrick approached, but most ignored him. Only the stout man with the walrus mustache stood to welcome him.