“The One He Didn’t Want”
A Story from the Corner
In Merchant Prince, Robert Van Enger is an intelligent businessman who has made himself wealthy not by relying on his family’s fortune, but by using his sharp mind and keen understanding of people. He has an almost unnerving instinct for knowing who to trust—man or woman—and who to dismiss.
There is a brief chapter in the novel where Abigail Renfield gossips about Robert’s supposed obsession with Dorian Hathaway. What she fails to mention, however, is that she once had her sights set on Robert herself. And he met her advances with nothing but cold disinterest.
Here’s the story she doesn’t tell:
They say Abigail Renfield could have had anyone.
She was blonde, beautiful, and clever enough to know when to laugh and when to let her lashes fall. Her family was rich, her figure was perfect, and she walked through ballrooms like she already owned the house. So when she set her sights on Robert Van Enger, no one doubted it would happen. Even the gentlemen smirked and whispered, “Poor fellow won’t know what hit him.”
But Robert knew. And he didn’t flinch.
It started at the Harrington ball. She wore violet silk and diamonds in her hair, brushing his sleeve with her fingers as they passed, laughing at a joke she hadn’t heard. He was cool, polite, and unremarkable, as if he never noticed her. She tried again at Lady Everley’s dinner. Sitting across from him, she leaned just far enough to show off the curve of her shoulder. He complimented the roast duck and spoke to the gentleman beside him. It caused her to feel invisible. Time after time, no matter what she did to get his attention, he was only cold and aloof.
By the fifth encounter, she had changed tactics. She talked about trade routes, mentioning that her uncle was investing in coal shipping along the coast.
He looked at her then, just for a moment, and said, “The Renfields don’t deal in coal.” Then turned away.
A week later, she cornered him in the library at a cousin’s wedding. The room was quiet, lined with dark books and flickering candlelight. He was alone, standing near the fireplace, a glass of brandy in hand.
She closed the door behind her. “I thought I might find you hiding in here,” she said lightly, stepping closer. “Always the mysterious one.”
He didn’t answer.
“I was hoping we might talk,” she tried again, her voice smooth. “It seems we never get the chance.” She moved to stand beside him, tilting her head to meet his gaze.
He looked at her—once, briefly—then set his glass down on the mantel.
When she reached for his hand, he stepped back. The gesture was simple, controlled, unmistakable. “Excuse me,” he said, his tone flat and unreadable. Then he walked past her and left the room.
After that, she stopped trying, and to justify her failure in luring him into her charms, she began telling everyone he was cold and that she’d heard rumors that there was something off about him. A man like that, she claimed, was no fit match for a woman like her. She told the story often. Loud enough for others to hear. “There’s something wrong with Robert Van Enger,” she’d say with a shrug and a smile. “I could’ve had him, but honestly, it’s not worth the trouble.”
She never mentioned that night in the library again.
***
He and Miles were walking along the docks at dusk—Miles Cooper with a cigar in hand, Robert with his usual unreadable expression. The Renfields had been at dinner the night before, and Miles couldn’t resist. “You do realize Abigail’s still smoldering over you, don’t you?” Miles grinned. “You turned down the belle of every bloody ballroom from here to New York. There ought to be a trophy for that.”
Robert didn’t look at him. “She wants a crown. ”
“Oh, come on,” Miles said, nudging him. “She’s not that bad. Ambitious, yes, but pretty, and charming when she wants to be.”
“She’s not for me,” Robert said.
Miles raised a brow. “So what is for you, then? A quiet widow with a secret past? A runaway duchess? One of those ghostly poet girls who never eats and lives off tea and bad decisions?”
Robert stopped walking and glanced over.
“I have no desire for any woman who wears people like ornaments and speaks only to be heard.”
Miles gave a low whistle. “Well. I’ll be sure not to tell her that. She might faint from the insult.”
“She’d call it proof there’s something wrong with me,” Robert replied, dry. “As if that were new.”
Note from the Storyteller:
Robert Van Enger gave Abigail Renfield nothing—no warmth, no flirtation, not even the courtesy of a polite decline. He treated her with the same distant calculation he gave most of society. And yet, in The Merchant Prince, we see that same man begin to quietly unravel over Dorian Hathaway, a designer from a poor family in Kensington. With the same degree of coldness he used to thwart Abigail Renfield, his art, humor, charm, determination, and sincerity won Dorian Hathaway.
The contrast is striking and deliberate. Robert’s desire was never about beauty, charm, or ambition. It was always about something deeper, something and someone real.
And Abigail? She isn’t finished yet. In Book 3, The Textile Prince, Miles Cooper will find himself pushed toward a match with her, one he quietly despises. But unlike Robert, Miles won’t walk away. He’ll smile, scheme, and manipulate his way out of it.
Some men fight with silence. Others fight with charm and strategy.
Get your copy of The Merchant Prince here: Purchase Link