Contents
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Newsletter and Social Media Links
About the Author
Other books by Carole Mortimer
Copyright
Copyright © 2020 Carole Mortimer
Cover Design © Glass Slipper WebDesign
Editor: Linda Ingmanson
Formatter: Glass Slipper WebDesign
ISBN: 978-1-910597-82-8
* * *
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
* * *
All Rights Reserved.
Dedication
My husband, Peter
Chapter One
January 1819
London
“Awright, Ya Grace?”
The scowl eased from Gabriel’s brow at the sound of the greeting from that chirpy and familiar voice. The usual sternness of his lips quirked into a smile the moment he looked down at the young urchin who, for the past six months, had graced the steps of one of the buildings in this busy and well-lit theater area of London. A familiar ragged-looking basket sat beside the boy. As usual, the child was not wearing gloves, revealing hands that were red and chafed from the cold. “Good evening, young Victor, and what are you selling today?”
Dark brows lowered in a face covered with more dirt than visible skin, a battered flat cap pulled low over the boy’s brow. “Lavenda. And I’ve tol’ ya a ’undred times, me name ain’t Victor, it’s Victory, named after the ship on which me da perished. Not that I wants ya to use it, ya unnerstand,” he added hastily. “I ’as to put up wiv enough tormentin’ from some of the bigger lads, wivout givin’ ’em that tasty morsel to chew on too.”
The last of Gabriel’s sour mood evaporated. How could it not in the face of this young man’s acceptance of his mostly miserable lot in life? Vic had not only himself to feed but also provided for his widowed mother, a lady who appeared to be more often sick than healthy. Gabriel’s own worries seemed minor in comparison to the life this young boy was forced to live every day.
Like most of the ragamuffins on the streets of London, Vic was probably small for his age. Even though his height appeared to be that of a twelve-year-old, the boy had to be older than that to have even been a baby when his father died on HMS Victory, during the Battle of Trafalgar. The boy’s many layers of warm, grubby clothing made it difficult to assess his build, but the thinness of his face and the prominence of his cheekbones indicated the boy was very slender indeed underneath those bulky clothes.
Gabriel had strolled past this young man most evenings for the past six months on his way from Blackborne House to Club Venus. Gabriel owned and ran the club, which catered to the carnal desires a gentleman did not have satisfied in the arms of his wife or mistress.
Gabriel had bought the club five years ago with the sole intention of infuriating his father, the sixteenth Duke of Blackborne. A man Gabriel had despised utterly since he had cast out Gabriel’s pregnant and unmarried older sister, Elizabeth, twenty years ago.
Gabriel had been aged only twelve at the time and attending boarding school, and so completely under his father’s control. But once Gabriel left school at eighteen, he had severed all ties with his father, and the two had not spoken again. For the past fourteen years, Gabriel had searched in vain for information concerning the fate of his sister and her baby.
He and his father had remained estranged and had not so much as exchanged a word in twelve years when the older man died two years ago. Despite inheriting the dukedom, Gabriel had decided to continue to own and run Club Venus.
He kept the establishment out of habit now, mainly. As somewhere for him to spend his evenings both during the Season and out of it. But as he would never give up the search for his sister, or for word of her, at least, the club also provided a certain amount of outside gossip that might one day lead to Gabriel discovering the whereabouts of Elizabeth and her child. A child who would now be aged nineteen.
“Ya’ve gone all intro—intro—”
“Introspective.” Gabriel dryly provided the word he believed young Vic was searching for. He had happened to use the word once in conversation with the young man a few months ago and then spent several long minutes explaining its meaning. Vic had attempted to introduce the word several times in their conversations since.
“That.” Vic nodded enthusiastically. “Wha’s boverin’ ya on this boo’iful cold an’ starlit night, Ya Grace?”
What indeed?
Earlier today, Gabriel had attended and witnessed the nuptials of his good friend, Lord Sebastian Forbes, the Earl of Shaftesbury, to the beautiful Abigail.
Gabriel had once suspected—hoped?—that Shaftesbury’s new wife, Abigail, might have been his sister’s child. She was the right age, at least. But her age was the only a coincidence, Gabriel had discovered, after seeing painted likenesses of Abigail’s father and mother.
Gabriel strongly suspected that, after twenty years of not hearing anything from his sister or about her, Elizabeth and her baby were in all likelihood buried in a pauper’s grave together somewhere.
The thought of the finality of having that death confirmed was not the reason for his “introspection” this evening. He had lived with that possibility for too many years for that to be the case.
No, he admitted, to himself at least, that Shaftesbury and his new wife were mainly responsible for his air of melancholy. The couple were so much in love with each other, it was apt to make a man feel a certain amount of discontent at the knowledge he did not have similar love and companionship waiting in his cavernous and empty home at the end of the night. That perhaps he never would.
An arranged marriage was not something Gabriel looked favorably upon, and his aversion to spending too much time in Society limited the possibility of his meeting a woman and falling in love with her. Besides which, despite his wealth and title, many women in Society could not and would not overlook the fact that he owned and ran what they considered to be a brothel. Which, although it wasn’t talked about, many of their menfolk frequented.
“Cheer up, Ya Grace, it might never ’appen,” Vic announced cheerfully. “An even if’n it does, it might be a good thin’ an’ not a bad one.”
The thought of Vic, who had nothing to look forward to tomorrow but more of this pitiful existence, now being the one to try to cheer Gabriel’s mood, was enough for him to guiltily dismiss his gloomy thoughts. Gabriel had nothing to feel concerned about, apart from a few unfortunate incidents in and around Club Venus, and he believed he knew who was responsible for some of those.
“You are become quite poetic, Vic,” he complimented.
The young man snorted. “I ’as to come out wiv all that guff so as to get the genellmen to buy me lavenda for their lady frien’s.” He eyed Gabriel with calculation. “Gonna buy one for yer lady, Ya Grace? Or ya could take boff of ’em an’ I could be on me way ’ome for the rest o’ the night.”
Gabriel looked down into the basket in which only two bunches of the long-stemmed pale-purple sweet-smelling flower remained. No doubt collected from where loose b
looms had been dropped on the floor of the market early this morning, and at the risk of receiving a smack on the ear from the vendor. Vic had tied the long stems together with string, no doubt also purloined from some unsuspecting retailer.
“I do not have a lady,” Gabriel drawled.
The urchin snorted with laughter. “No, you ’as a dozen of ’em livin’ in that fancy club o’ yorn!”
His mouth quirked. “The ladies at the club are not mine, Vic. They are merely under my protection.” Gabriel never took advantage of the ladies who chose to live and work at Club Venus. He considered them all to be as vulnerable and worthy of respect as his sister had once been and, God willing, still was.
The youngster looked unconvinced. “If’n ya says so.”
“I do.” Gabriel reached for the coins in the pocket of his evening trousers. “How much?” He knew from months of observing this boy that Vic would not go home until he had sold the last of whatever he had in his basket that evening. Sometimes it was bruised oranges or apples, and other times some sort of flower.
Vic looked up at him with hopeful eyes as clear a green as Gabriel had ever seen. “An ’alfpenny?”
Gabriel pulled the coins from his pocket to glance down at them in the palm of his gloved hand. “The smallest coin I have is a penny. Will that do, young Vic?”
The smile reached almost from one of Vic’s ears to the other, his teeth surprisingly white considering those other signs of his malnutrition. “Amp-ly, Ya Grace.”
Gabriel chuckled at the boy’s use of another of his words. “Take this shilling, and tomorrow, buy yourself some gloves to wear. This evening, purchase some hot supper for your mother and yourself.” He handed over the shiny silver coin.
Some of the joy faded from Vic’s expressive eyes. “Me ma ain’t doin’ so well in this cold wevver.”
Gabriel knew from past conversations that Vic and his mother had been alone in the world since his father had died and his grandfather, with whom they had resided, had died not long after.
Gabriel had several times in the six months of knowing Vic, offered to assist the boy and his mother, either monetarily or in some other practical way. But Vic was adamantly independent and had always refused those offers of help.
Gabriel had no confirmation of it, because Vic could be very closemouthed when he chose to be, but Gabriel suspected the boy lived in one the many London slum areas. Possibly the notorious St Giles, as that was the closest one of them to here.
He nodded. “Buy your mother some hot broth. If she is not feeling better by tomorrow, then you must tell me, and I will ask a doctor friend of mine to call upon her.”
Lord Benedict Winter could be a starchy bastard, but he had never been able to deny anyone his medical assistance if it was needed. He was the doctor Gabriel employed to attend the ladies who lived at Club Venus, something that would not be considered in the least respectable by most physicians. Winter could be as contrary as he was starchy.
“I’ll do that, Ya Grace.” Vic picked up his empty basket before jumping nimbly to his feet. “’Ave a good evenin’, Ya Grace.” He touched the brim of his grubby hat in parting before hurrying away, no doubt anxious to buy that hot food to take home to his sick mother.
The pleasure of that encounter and the smile Vic always brought to his lips faded from Gabriel’s thoughts once he was ensconced in his study at the club and he allowed the memories of the last month to plague him once again. The soothing smell of the lavender he had dropped into the receptacle on his desk did nothing to allay those worries.
There had been several incidents of vandalism at Club Venus over the past month.
Washing hanging on the line in the courtyard at the back of the club, put outside by the ladies who resided there, had ended up on the floor, resulting in it all having to be washed again, much to the annoyance of the owners of those frilly undergarments. When it happened the second time a week later, Gabriel had checked the line himself and found it had not snapped but been neatly cut.
A consignment of four barrels of his best brandy, delivered to the back door of the club and taken down to the basement to be stored with the other liquor kept there, had somehow ended up tainted by having salt added to them. A costly “accident” when all four barrels of brandy had to be disposed of.
Gabriel had posted guards at the front and back doors into the club after that last, very costly, incident.
Then, two nights ago, Lord Evesham, a member of Club Venus for several years, had been set upon by thugs when he left the club during the early hours of the morning. Luckily, he had managed to stumble his way back to the club. Fair-haired, charming, and handsome as sin, Evesham was a favorite with the young ladies living at Club Venus. Injured and in need of attention, he had been eagerly taken inside to be cleaned up and had since been cossetted day and night by those adoring ladies.
He was still there, in fact, Gabriel recalled with a smile. Evesham was obviously as reluctant to be parted from the ladies’ attentions as they were to release him.
The cutting of the washing line Gabriel believed he could attribute to the actions of an ex-employee named Carlotta, being, as it had been, directly aimed at the other ladies who worked at the club. Those ladies had done nothing to protect the spiteful Carlotta after Gabriel had been forced to dismiss the Spanish beauty before Christmas for her misconduct with one of the club’s patrons. Privately, several of the ladies had expressed relief Carlotta was gone. Her mouth was often as vicious as her liking for ropes and knives. Several patrons had expressed concern in that regard too, explaining that Carlotta took her liking for those things to an unacceptable level.
The tainted brandy could be a direct and malevolent retribution toward Gabriel from the same lady.
But the beating of Lord Evesham could not be explained away so easily. Gabriel knew where Carlotta was not, rather than where she was, and he knew she was not currently working at any of the other gentleman’s clubs in London. Which meant she probably did not have gainful employment at the moment, and so would have been unable to pay the thugs who had attacked Evesham.
So far, Gabriel had persuaded the younger man not to seek out his attackers or to report the matter to the watchmen or constables roaming the London streets at night, but to leave Gabriel to deal with the matter. Something Evesham had reluctantly agreed to after he was distracted by the intimate attentions of the dark-haired and beautiful Marie, closely followed by the teasing and willful Charlotte, and lastly, the sweet and lovely Rose.
If Gabriel was not careful, Evesham would never wish to leave this establishment!
Chapter Two
“Why so glum, Your Grace?” Evesham prompted the moment Gabriel stepped into the club three evenings later, the politeness of his words a stark contrast to Vic’s similar, if less eloquent question those same evenings ago. “No more trouble from the earl, I hope?” The young lord had at least taken to returning to his London home during the day, if only to bathe and change his clothes, but he still managed to find his way back to Club Venus, and more often than not Gabriel’s study, every evening.
Gabriel eyed him with a puzzled frowned. “The earl?”
The other man nodded. “It is something I have remembered from the night I was set upon. No names were mentioned, but I distinctly heard one of the ruffians refer to someone he called the earl.”
Gabriel scowled. “Why have you never mentioned this before now?”
Evesham shrugged. “By the time I had remembered it, it did not seem important.”
And perhaps it wasn’t. But Gabriel had heard the reference to the earl once before, in connection to a man who had been murdered. The man who was killed had been named Rafferty, and he had been the stepfather of Abigail Barton, now his friend Bastian’s wife and the Countess of Shaftesbury. She too had overheard the thugs who had killed her stepfather refer to a man called the earl.
But surely it could not be the same earl?
Nor was it the reason for Gabriel’s current
scowling demeanor. No, that was all down to young Vic.
The last time Gabriel had seen the boy had been three evenings ago, when he sat on the marble steps selling lavender. Those steps had been noticeably empty of the cheeky urchin the following two evenings. Then tonight, there had been another boy sitting in Vic’s place, a basket of bruised fruit beside him.
Feeling rather foolish for his concern, Gabriel had nevertheless felt compelled to question the new boy as to Vic’s whereabouts. He found the reply of “Never ’eard of ’im” far from satisfactory.
Gabriel shook off those memories as he answered the politely enquiring Evesham. “No, my preoccupation is not because of this earl you referred to. It is that I seem to have mislaid something I am become rather fond of.” He smiled ruefully at the realization it was true. In the absence of any family of his own, he had grown to care what happened to the courageous young Vic and his sick mother. And, according to Vic, his mother had been very sick the last time the two of them spoke.
The younger man nodded. “Would you like me to help you look for it?”
His smile deepened. “That is very kind of you, Evesham, but it is not that sort of something.”
“Oh?” The other man frowned his puzzlement. “Oh.” His brow cleared. “I see,” he murmured knowingly.
Gabriel chuckled. “Somehow, I doubt it.” Not too many members of Society would understand his concern for the disappearance of one ragamuffin boy who carried far too much responsibility on his thin shoulders. “Actually, there is a way you could assist me.”
Gabriel's Torment (Regency Club Venus 2) Page 1
