A Mouse for the Duke

by Lynn Landes

  “It's not really much of a gamble for me, is it? I mean, thanks to my wife,” he grins and reaches for a drink of tea, “I own the shares, so selling isn’t necessary for me if I want to retain sole ownership of Sheridan Furniture.”

  “I’ve given my advice, Declan, if you are serious about growing your business, I’d sell and soon, before the interest starts to die down and the share prices drop.”

  “I understand.” They stare at each other for a moment, and he says, “Do what you think is best. If you think we should sell the shares, London, sell them.”

  “Are you serious?” she gasps.

  “Perfectly, London. I don’t have a head for numbers, and you do. So make me some money,” he laughs at her incredulous look.

  “I will, but I warn you I don’t work for free,” she sits back and crosses her arms defiantly over her chest.

  “Fine. Let’s see what R.L. Pearce can do,” he tosses the challenge out and waits.

  “Challenge accepted, Lord Sheridan.”

  The waiter arrives to clear the table and a second young woman delivers the main course. “Here is your seafood sampler,” she gestures to the scallops, shrimp, and crab-cakes explaining how each was made, and London doesn't hear a word. “The pan-seared trout is a favorite of yours, isn't it, Lord Sheridan?” The suggestion in her voice causes London to break away from his stare.

  “Is it?” She glares at the waitress in her low-cut dress, and Declan clears his throat.

  “I’m sure it will be delicious as always,” he glances at London with a smile, “my wife is excited to try it.”

  The waitress stares at London with surprise as the waiter cuts in, “Congratulations, Lord Sheridan, and welcome, Lady Sheridan, if you need anything, please let us know.” He loops his arm through the disappointed young girl’s arm, and they walk away.

  “Well done, Declan,” she mutters and grabs a plate to fill it. Taking one of each item, the tantalizing scents cause her mouth to water.

  “If I didn’t know better, Lady Sheridan, I’d say you were jealous,” he teases and fills his own plate.

  “I’ve no right to have such an emotion, Declan.” She avoids looking at him until he grunts.

  “You've got the only right,” he sets his plate down carefully and waits for her to look at him. Her eyes jump to his.

  “Declan, you know nothing about me. You shouldn’t say such things. We have a contract…”

  “I’m well aware of the contract,” he gestures at her, “but I give you my word as long as we are wed, I will remain faithful to the vows I gave you. I expect the same from you,” he growls at her.

  “I don’t recall that written in our vows,” she teases, and the tension evaporates. Spearing a scallop, she pops it into her mouth and closes her eyes. The flavor explodes on her tongue, and when she opens her eyes, the desire in his eyes is unmistakable. “If you keep feeding me like this, I will have to break out the Mouse’s clothes,” she laughs softly and eats.

  “London, even as the Mouse, you were captivating. The day in the entry of the Hubbard's home, there was something about you that drew me. Did you feel it?” he demands.

  “I did, Declan, but I never dared dream of a man like you,” she gives him the words he needs to hear.

  He relaxes and smiles, “What about now? Do you dream, London?”

  “Dreaming is dangerous, Declan,” but if I had a wish, she thinks it would be to make this charade a reality. She puts her fork down, suddenly no longer hungry.

  “It can be, but what is life without dreams, London?” Dark chocolate eyes filled with sorrow stare at him, and he is more determined than ever to show her how to live with joy.

  “I don’t remember how, Declan,” she whispers.

  “We will work on that together,” he promises, and she nods, picking up her fork.

  Chapter 24

  “Welcome to Silvercrest Management, how may I help you?” the secretary asks.

  “I need to talk to the person in charge,” George Hubbard demands.

  “I see, do you have an appointment, Mr.?”

  “No, but he'll want to see me. Tell him, R. L. Pearce is here to see him.” George grins when she leaves to talk to her boss. The office sits nicely on the fifth floor of the Wells Fargo bank. Lush carpet and wallpapered walls, with solid cherry desks. “Smells like money,” he snaps and smooths his long black mustache.

  “Right this way Mr. Pearce,” the secretary directs him to the office. “Mr. Shaffer will be right with you.” George glances at the plaque on the desk, Richard Shaffer, and sits down unbuttoning his jacket.

  “Mr. Pearce, thank you for waiting, what can I do for you?” He shakes hands with George before sitting down behind his desk.

  “Mr. Shaffer, it’s come to my attention that you have an investor by the name of R. L. Pearce who you handle business for. I need this person’s name.”

  “Sir, Silvercrest Management is renowned for keeping our investor's identities private.” Richard glances at the door, wondering how quickly he can get security here if he needs it.

  “I understand,” George stands up. “I was hoping we could do this civilly. I’m willing to pay for this information, but I can see from the look in your eyes that won’t be possible.” He pulls a pistol from his jacket and points it at Richard. “I’ll have his name one way or another. Whether it’s now or when your wife gets home from visiting with her mother.”

  Richard goes pale, “What did you say?”

  “You heard me. Her mother's been sick, and she goes every day to help take care of her on fifth street. It'd be a shame to let something happen to one or both of them.”

  “What do you want?” Richard glares at him.

  “I need the identity of R.L. Pearce and an address.”

  Richard nods and pulls out a file flipping through it, he writes down the address and name on a slip of paper and slides it across the desk.

  George glances down and frowns, “Is this some kind of sick joke?”

  “No, she learned from her father. If that’s all, Mr. Hubbard, I have work to do.”

  “The Mouse!” he shouts, and he’s tempted to shoot the man where he sits.

  “Do I need to call security?” Richard demands.

  “No!” George slams from the room stomping to his carriage and sits heavily in the rich leather seat. Balling up his fists he shouts in rage to no one, “She marries off our daughter to a tobacco farmer, steals the Duke, and buys all the shares in his business! How is this possible?”

  Back in his office, he sits with a decanter of whiskey and drinks heavily, as he processes this new information.

  Tessa knocks, and he barely glances at her. “Georgie, can you tell me what this is? I found it in the Mouse's room.” She holds up the paperwork and black ledger in front of him.

  “Bring it to me,” he demands.

  She quickly hands over the documents and watches as he finishes a third glass of whiskey. Flipping through the paperwork, the glass shatters in his hand.

  “What is it, George!” she squeaks.

  “That witch has been spying on me for years!” He tosses the decanter at the wall, shattering it and spraying the woodwork with whiskey. “She’s going to pay for this!”

  “George, your scaring me,” Tessa whines and rushes into his arms.

  “She used the tips she overheard to invest, it’s all here in the book!” He explains and watches as all the color fades from her face. “That’s not possible, she’s a mouse!”

  “More like a rat! She’s going to pay!”

  “Yes, we will make sure of it! It’s been two weeks now, and she thinks she’s gotten away with this. She’ll never see us coming!” she kisses her husband and rubs his neck while he grabs her roughly.

  Chapter 25

  “Johnny Garcia! You were recommended by Ryan. Come in.” George offers him a whiskey and sits across from him.

  “What can I do for you, Mr. Hubbard?” he asks, sipping his drink and glancing at Te
ssa sitting beside him. Her eyes trace over him, from his dark black hair, black eyes down over his chest, admiring his muscular form.

  “I require someone with your talents to do a job for me.”

  Jonathan grins and his eyes narrow. “What kind of job?”

  “I have a witness I need taken care of.”

  “Ryan mentioned a girl who was at a fire, I might be able to help with that. For the right price,” his eyes trail over Tessa's form, and he sips his drink, rattling the ice.

  “Tessa, refill the man’s glass,” George snaps.

  “Of course,” she grabs the decanter and walks over to him with a smile. “How quick can you be, Johnny?” she asks as she pours the whiskey.

  His eyes never leave hers, “I can be quick, or I can savor the job, depends on what you want?”

  “I want her to suffer,” she leans down, revealing her true nature, catching him by surprise. “I want to know how many times she screams for mercy, and I want her to know that I sent you!”

  George chuckles as he watches Johnny lean back in his chair, surprised by the vehemence in her eyes. “The Hubbard's don't like to be double-crossed, Johnny. Something you may want to keep in mind for our future endeavors.”

  “Yes, Sir,” he drains the glass and accepts the information handed to him.

  “Start at the workhouse, that's where her father is. Find out what you can from him.”

  “What about this, Duke?” Johnny asks.

  “Take care of Lord Sheridan and make sure she watches him die. I want to handle her father, personally.” Tessa giggles and hurries back to her husband, who holds out a hand and presses a slobbery kiss to the back of her knuckles.

  “Exactly, but first make Sheridan sign over the shares of his company. The paper-work is in the packet.”

  “Yes, Sir. This will cost you.”

  “Of course, your worth the cost. How’s this?” He writes down a number and slides it across the desk.

  “Five thousand dollars?” Johnny is stunned.

  “That’s right, payable after the work is complete. My wife must be satisfied, or you won’t get paid.”

  “I see,” he whistles and accepts the paper. “I’ll require half upfront.”

  “Of course, meet me tomorrow at the Baxter Hotel. I’ll bring your cash,” George announces and sits back with a smile.

  “Excellent, I'll see you tomorrow.” Johnny leaves, and George pulls Tessa into his lap. She squeals as her husband kisses her neck.

  “I love you, wife,” he rumbles.

  “Of course you do.”

  Chapter 26

  Blackwell Workhouse

  New York

  “I’m not here to discuss this. I’d like to see my father,” Tessa lies to the administrator.

  “Your father is a sick man, Miss Mitchell. It’s not in his best interest to be released at this time.” The older gentlemen insists.

  “I didn’t ask your opinion. I’m aware of my rights, my lawyer explained them to me. I am allowed to pay for his release, and I will make sure he has the best medical care,” Tessa sniffs and covers her nose with the handkerchief.

  “The last time your father was released, he ended up back in jail for drunken and disorderly,” the man snaps at her disrespect.

  “I'm quite aware of his history, but I'm in a place to provide care for him. I'd like to see my father now!” she hisses.

  “Fine, but he’s not coming back this time. If you take him, you are fully responsible for his care and safety.”

  “Of course, hurry up before I get sick!” Tessa sniffs and struggles not to gag. She glances at the clock. George should be meeting with Johnny to pay him. The plan is to meet him at home for dinner.

  Twenty minutes later, a tall, frail-looking man is brought to a private room. He sits down, avoiding eye contact with the girl in front of him.

  “Give us a few minutes, please,” Tessa asks softly.

  When the door clicks shut, he leans forward, and she recognizes the same chocolate eyes as London's. “You aren’t my daughter,” he snaps.

  “No, I'm not. Does it matter?” Tessa draws out a silver flask of gin and uncaps it, placing it on the table in front of him. His eyes watch every movement of her hand, and he leans forward to sniff the air in front of him.

  “What do you want?” he demands.

  “You have her eyes,” Tessa says, staring at him. “I find it odd that you didn't ask about her first,” she grins and lifts the flask to sip from it. He snakes out a hand, deceptively strong for such a frail-looking man.

  Tessa feels fear for a fraction of a second until she releases the flask. He draws it to his mouth and takes a long hard pull, forgetting about everything but the burn of the liquid as it fires its way to his belly.

  “I want to buy your freedom, Gray Mitchell.”

  “Freedom? I don’t want freedom,” he hisses, holding the bottle close to his chest, just below his chin.

  “Alright then, I will take you to the nearest bar and pay for an unending tab and room for you to sleep it off. How does that sound? Surely its better than being here?”

  “Here?” Gray looks at the room with cloudy eyes, “Here is unending pain,” he whispers and clutches at his head.

  “I can make it go away, Gray, come with me,” she promises.

  “I prefer whiskey, not gin. My daughter would know that,” he snaps.

  “London knows and doesn't care, Gray. She married a few weeks ago, did you know that?”

  “Married?” his eyes reflect happiness for her, but it’s gone as quickly as it appears.

  “Yes, she asked me to look after you. She doesn't want to do it anymore,” Tess says and watches as he reaches for the flask once more. He swallows it down, emptying the container, and she nods in approval.

  “Can’t blame her. No girl should have me as a father, cept maybe you,” he laughs and stands. “Get me out of here, daughter!”

  “Wonderful,” she knocks on the door and starts snapping out orders while Gray watches.

  They hand her a bag of his things, and she tosses it inside the carriage before they climb inside. “Where would you like to go Gray?” Tessa asks as she offers him a glass bottle of whiskey.

  “Any bar will do,” he laughs as he drinks down the whiskey, coughing as it hits his system. “It’s been three months since my last drink. I almost forgot how good it feels,” he laughs as she tells the driver to go to the Harbor House bar.

  “I promise a night to remember,” Tessa grins as he drinks.

  Gray grows quiet as he drinks, “London, must look like her mother now,” he murmurs.

  Tessa picks up her bag and draws out the front-page picture she cut out and hands it to him. “She married a Duke,” she snarls. “My Duke,” she hisses.

  He takes the paper and stares down at his daughter, smiling at the man in front of her, and his eyes grow misty. “Look at you,” he sniffs, “good girl.”

  Tessa tries to snatch the paper back, but he's too quick. “No, this is mine!” he folds it up reverently and puts it inside the faded pocket of his black pants.

  “Fine, I don’t want it anyway.” She glares out the window, wondering what Declan is doing with her right now.

  “It won't fix it, you know?” Gray says, and his words are slurring together now.

  “What?”

  “Hurting me to hurt her, won’t fix the hole in your heart,” he laughs at her look of rage.

  “Well, I’m willing to give it a shot,” she snaps and sighs in relief when the carriage stops.

  “Do your best,” Gray says as he climbs from the carriage and takes the money that she offers him.

  Tessa watches him stumble into the bar and grins, “I will, Mr. Mitchell.”

  Chapter 27

  “Lady Sheridan, I am supposed to give you this,” Mary places a sealed envelope on the dressing table with a smile.

  London glances at Mary in the mirror as she finishes brushing her hair for dinner with Declan and picks
up the envelope. “Who is it from?” she asks, tracing her name. She knows the answer, but she's enjoying the excitement that Mary is presenting.

  “I can’t say, Lady Sheridan, perhaps you should open it,” she teases. Mary laughs, “Your hair is done, and I’ve laid out your dress. You will need to dress in layers, my Lady,” she explains.

  “Okay, now I'm curious,” London rips the envelop open with a flourish and tosses it on the desktop. “It's an invitation to a sunset picnic on the beach!” A rush of excitement has London leaping to her feet. “I've never been to the beach!”

  “You’re in for a treat,” Mary says with a laugh. “It’s unusually warm this year. The carriage is waiting.”

  London nods, “I'll be right down.” She strips as soon as Mary leaves, wondering at the change in him this past week. Declan has been attentive. He’s taken her on evening strolls, dinner dates to different restaurants, and to a theater show. Now a picnic on the beach at sunset! She buttons her dress and pauses. “He’s courting me!” she shivers as the truth strikes her heart.

  Fear strikes hard. Not of Declan, he’d never hurt her, he’s proven that. Fear of losing him. She’s seen what happens when love enters the picture. Her father never recovered from the loss of her mother. Does she dare dream of a future with Declan?

  Her Bible is on her nightstand, and she takes a minute to remember the sermon at church on Sunday. The pastor was teaching about peace and not walking in fear. She bows her head and whispers, “It' so hard to do, Lord, to let go of the hurt and pain and hold on to your promises, but I'm trying. Please strengthen me so that I may honor you.” A weight lifts, and she smiles as she leaves to meet Declan.

  The sun is painting the sky in pale pink and purple streaks as it begins to set. London steps down from the carriage, and the wind whips at her braided hair lifting stray tendrils. She inhales deeply, drawing in the salty, sea air, memorizing the scents and texture of sea spray on the air.