Harlequin Historical May 2020--Box Set 1 of 2

by Sophia James

  ‘I am here because your husband has instructed me to compile a list of things which need attention on your estate, Mrs Morgan. I presume from my brief look at the property on my way in here that the list of problems with the substructure will be a substantial one, so shall we begin with the things pertaining to the everyday running of the estate? I would like to hear about the expenditure that you feel to be the most important.’

  Adelia swallowed. Goodness, what should she say? How much did expenditure actually mean? Did this man have any idea of the true nature of her marriage and what was expected?

  ‘My sister’s health is not good. I would like to have enough ready money to be able to summon a doctor when I need to and to pay for any medicines required.’

  Mr Shelman sat back without writing.

  ‘Such expenses would best be taken from the weekly budget which you will be provided with.’ He then mentioned a figure that was so generous she lost all her words. A weekly budget? A sum that would be repeatedly doled out week after week? Without end?

  ‘Food. Heating. Servants’ wages. Clothing. Furniture. Schooling. Transport. Medical bills. Miscellaneous. These costs are to be deducted from the weekly stipend, though if you have any need for more you would just have to ask and it shall be provided.’

  ‘And my husband is aware of this sum?’

  ‘He is. You would, of course, need to itemise all expenditure just to keep things above board, so to speak.’

  ‘Above board?’

  ‘Generosity can be taken advantage of if things are too laxly administered.’

  ‘A state of affairs you would not allow?’

  ‘Indeed not. I have worked for your husband for nigh on five years now and he is not a man who is easy to make a fool of.’

  Adelia coloured. So Mr Shelman had heard the rumours of their marriage and he had come here with a warning. Was that at the bequest of his master or was this purely his own interpretation of how he found her personally?

  She sat taller and placed her hands in her lap, stopping herself from wringing her fingers together. She could not refuse this offer because, if she did, then her mother and sister would suffer as would every other person working at the Hall. But God, she wanted to. She wanted to stand up and ask him to leave, to take his papers and his pen and simply go. But her pride, it seemed, was for sale as she made herself listen when he continued to speak.

  ‘You will need to purchase a blank-paged book to make a ledger and write all expenses within it, without fail. I shall come to Athelridge Hall on the last Friday of each month to check the sums. Then on receipt of all being in order you shall be given your next advance. Personally, I think it is a very generous stipend allowed by Mr Morgan.’

  ‘It is.’

  ‘Your husband has asked me to prioritise any necessary remedial work about the hall as well, which is the reason my colleague has accompanied me today. This expenditure is additional and on top of the weekly budget. I imagine he is thinking of things like leakages or subsidence or breakages that are impeding the normal functions of the estate. Security is another issue that might bear some looking into. I am certain Mr Morgan wants you and your family to be safe.’

  She smiled as he did and imagined the exact opposite.

  Mrs Cranston had arrived now with a pot of tea and two cups and saucers and a few slices of fruit cake that had been baked that very morning. Adelia hoped Mr Shelman might stop with his business for a moment while they ate and drank, but this did not seem to be the case at all.

  Rather, he took a sip of the tea and a bite of the cake and carried on regardless.

  ‘Your husband is a man of wealth and talent, Mrs Morgan, but he is also a man who takes careful account of his money. I know your father, the Viscount, did not do this, so…’

  At that insult he tailed off and sipped again at the hot drink.

  ‘I shall be most careful to make the effort and account for everything.’

  ‘Then I am glad of it. Mr Morgan also mentioned the fact that your very elderly servants might be of the age where retirement is upon them. He allowed provision for the hiring of younger servants.’

  Adelia had suddenly had enough. ‘Is that a suggestion or an order, Mr Shelman? I should certainly like to know where I stand in the use of my own common sense as stepping on people’s pride may bring about a new set of problems, which I am keen to avoid.’

  Unexpectedly he smiled and then quickly covered his appreciation with a frown.

  ‘I am sure you know your husband far better than I do, Mrs Morgan.’ A statement that held an undercurrent of doubt. ‘I am also certain that you would know not to look a gift horse in the mouth.’

  ‘I am twenty years old, Mr Shelman, and have the care of my ageing mother and very young sister. If there is one thing I do know it is this: wise care keeps what is gained and I shall be attempting to do just that.’

  ‘Both in marriage and in money?’ he asked next, and she understood in that moment why her husband used the man as his bookkeeper. The tenuous grasp she held on both was obvious to him, but he was warning her in a way that might be construed as advice. Keep your head up and your costs down and you have a chance of making this work.

  She sipped at her own tea and felt the thump of her heart inside her chest.

  Everyone in London must know now of this most unusual marriage. People talked and lawyers were people. Servants talked, too, and those in the town house on her first meeting with Simeon Morgan would have had a lot to say. Their marriage had hardly been a happy occasion and even ministers of God must have their opinions and voice them. The ripple effect of her deceitfulness would grow and such gossip would be keenly repeated.

  Mr Shelman here was only doing his job by placing the terms of business on the table in much the same way as Simeon Morgan had laid down the conditions of their marriage. Conjecture was one thing, though, for no one truly knew the whole story and as long as they could keep up the pretence that there was nothing particularly unusual about their marriage there was a strong protection in that.

  As the bookkeeper and surveyor left she saw Alexander Thompson on top of his white horse coming down the drive.

  ‘Would you walk with me, Adelia? It is a lovely day and I have something of interest to tell you.’

  Adelia had seen Alexander a number of times since his ill-thought-out kiss and each time he had seemed more and more morose. Still, it was difficult to simply refuse his offer of friendship and so, finding her hat and a light cape, she joined him, peering into the sky to see if there was any promise of rain.

  After a few moments of walking, when he remained unusually silent she stopped to look at him.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘I am worried about you, Adelia. Worried about Mr Morgan and his habits.’

  Her heart sank.

  ‘Habits?’

  ‘I have been finding out about him,’ he continued, ignoring her frown. ‘And all that I hear is concerning.’

  ‘To whom, exactly?’

  ‘To me. To you. He has continued relations with his mistress despite his marriage. He pays for her lodging and expenses.’

  ‘How would you know this?’

  ‘I went up to London and talked with a Mrs Theodora Wainwright. Your mother gave me her name and she was easy to find.’

  ‘Well, Mama has no business to gossip and neither do you, Alexander. What on earth were you thinking?’

  ‘I went because of you, Adelia. Did you realise that he has a child living with him that is his?’

  The image of the girl she had seen that first night flashed up in her mind’s eye.

  ‘How do you know this?’

  ‘I have spoken with the governess, for I saw the child and the woman, a Mrs Wade, in the park. She confirmed it. She was most verbal about Simeon Morgan’s shortcomings.’

  The world
tilted a little around Adelia. Could the child have been from his first marriage, the one that he had told her of? Was the girl the daughter of the wife who had died?

  ‘Why would you do that? Why would you creep around behind my back and ask all these questions?’

  ‘Because I love you, Adelia. Because you should not have married Simeon Morgan. Because I know now what should have happened, what could still happen if you were brave enough.’

  ‘And what is that?’ His declarations of love were unwanted and out of place and she sniffed discreetly to see if he had been drinking, but could not determine any scent of it on his breath.

  ‘We could run away to America. Easy fortunes are to be made there, I swear it, and we could live together happily.’

  ‘No. I could not do that.’

  Real anger flashed in his blue eyes. ‘There is only so much regret I can bear, Adelia, and I am coming to the end of it. True love is rare and wonderful and we have that, you and I, we have always had that. You know that we do.’

  She had never seen him cry, but he started to sob now, tears running down his cheeks. ‘Morgan is a man from trade. He has made a fortune, but it does not change what is in his blood. He is base and rough and an outsider. He will never love you as you deserve.’

  The sky above was blue and the wind had lessened, but Adelia felt as though she stood in a cold storm of unexpected emotion.

  She could never love Alexander. He was a weak man with no sense of the world, a man who would pull her down into the mire just because of who he was. He was brittle, too, a product of being told since birth that he could have everything in this world if he only wanted it enough.

  She tried to smile.

  ‘Alexander, we are each of us on different pathways in life, which hold no promise of ever crossing over. I am sorry, but you have to realise that I have married Simeon Morgan and it is a union I mean to stand by.’

  He began to cry more even as she continued.

  ‘You have to find your own future now and it can be a good one. There are places you will see and women you will meet and…’

  One hand began wiping away the tears in a manner that was harsh.

  ‘No. Without much in the way of funding I am stuck here. You know that.’

  After this outburst he turned and strode back towards the Hall, leaving her there to watch him, a lonely man with no family and very little hope.

  Perhaps she should give him some of her allowance? Perhaps if she altered her figures a little in her ledger she might be able to see that he was at least cared for. She owed him that. The horror of everything fell down upon her because she knew in her heart that Alexander Thompson was tainted somehow and there was a time when she had very nearly thrown in her lot with him.

  Simeon Morgan’s visage shimmered before her and she prayed to God that he might come here to Athelridge Hall and see her if only for a day.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Adelia was so very careful with the allowance Mr Shelman had handed her, relegating a great deal of it to a tin that she hid at the back of her wardrobe and keeping the rest out for all the day-to-day needs of a large estate and her small family.

  It was more than her father had allowed her mother in years.

  It was unbelievable.

  A part of her wondered if it was blood money, a stipend to keep her away from London and uncomplaining, but the much larger part of her heart could only see the generosity despite the unusual visit from her husband’s bookkeeper. She made a point of keeping some out for Alexander and sent old Cranston over to the Thompson estate with a parcel.

  Noting the sum down in her ledger, she wrote Labour around Athelridge and next to that Mr Thompson. At least the money was accounted for and she had a record of it for her own sake.

  She had not seen Simeon Morgan for almost a month now and there were no plans in place to alter such a fact. If her mother wondered, she certainly did not voice any opinion and her sister Charlotte was far more settled and healthy with better food and less stress.

  The ring and her gold cross had been returned, a carriage rolling into Athelridge Hall a day after Simeon Morgan had left. The thin gold ring she had fastened on to his little finger before their wedding had also been returned in the same package. There had been no note attached as a servant had handed her the jewellery. She had fastened the cross around her neck as soon as the conveyance had left, her wedding ring dispatched into a decorated pottery bowl, allowing the bauble a safe home.

  She could not lose it, but she would not wear it. It seemed like a talisman of defeat with spinsterhood stretching before her in an unbroken line of forfeiture. A circle of pain and lost promises. A token of guilt and contrition, as well. She’d tried to write her husband a letter of thanks, but since every draft sounded worse than the last one she had given the endeavour up completely. If she’d been braver, she might have simply hired a carriage and gone to London to thank him personally, but there was always the chance that such an action might anger him given her solemn promise of not interfering in his life.

  So she had made her bed and now she must lie upon it.

  The box he had given her the night of their wedding as a birthday gift sat beside the bowl. The earrings were an exact match to her ring with their rose gold and emeralds. She had tried them on many times in her room alone at night, liking the feel of the draped gold and the way the baubles sparkled in the candlelight. She had never had such finery and enjoyed this hidden ownership.

  A knock at the door made her start and the newly employed younger maid, Anna Stephens, stood there.

  ‘There is a visitor downstairs, Mrs Morgan. He has come from London.’

  Adelia’s heartbeat quickened. Was it her husband? She resisted the urge to go to the mirror before following the girl out. Thank goodness she was at least in a dress that was presentable and her hair, while plainly tied back with a ribbon, was tidy.

  Disappointment blossomed when she saw a servant waiting hat in hand at the front door and bowing as she came near.

  ‘My master bade me to deliver this into your hands, Mrs Morgan, and to wait for an answer.’

  Taking the letter, she broke the seal, seeing her husband’s name scrawled at the bottom of the missive.

  Simeon Morgan asked if she might come to London to stay at his town house in Carlton House Terrace. She was so surprised by the request she almost dropped the sheet of paper.

  Why? Why would he suddenly want her there after all these weeks of no communication whatsoever? The note enquired if she could be ready to leave on the Thursday, mentioning something of an engagement at Lord and Lady Grey’s house in Mayfair.

  She remembered the Greys from her time in London. They were a middle-aged couple whom she had occasionally spoken with on the edges of the balls.

  Other problems rushed in. Would her few gowns left from last year’s Season fit into this one’s social events? Would she have to endure the same censure that she had suffered at the end of her extended time there? Would Rodney Anstruther and his family be in attendance, looking down their noses at her?

  She could do nothing, however, but agree to her husband’s request and, crossing into the blue salon, she found pen and paper and quickly scrawled out her reply.

  Four days to be ready. Four days to try to formulate exactly what it was that she might say and act and do and wear.

  The memory of his kiss at her breast in his bedchamber surfaced once more then, small jolts of heat in her stomach building up to stronger ones. Returning the missive to the Morgan servant, she watched him depart.

  * * *

  Simeon held his wife’s answer in his hands and smiled.

  At least she would come. At least he would keep Lord Grey happy in his wishes for some social communion and if he did not fit in entirely, then he knew that his wife would.

  This was the part of business that he
hated, the part where a certain humble and obsequious demeanour was required. Men like Lord Grey only believed in the notion of greater social equality to a certain degree. It was fine to invest in the business deal of a wealthy newcomer who had not the public standing he was more used to, but quite another thing to socialise with him. His wife, however, was a different matter as she had the connections of both title and an ancient estate.

  Simeon would not even have imagined attending this dinner a month ago. The thought both amused and angered him.

  But he needed Lord Grey’s funds for the new push into connecting railway lines, his own money heavily promised to other schemes. He was being drawn thin across all his different endeavours in a way he had sworn never to be, the opportunity of new lines coming fast. If he did not put his hand forward, there was a danger of his expansion being hindered and cut off and bravery in business had always been his special distinction. Not unwise, but bold. Not foolish, but always escalating, a player in a field of others who watched his next move and copied him.

  He stood and walked to the mantel, picking off the invitation he had received a week ago, the crest of the Greys displayed with pride and purpose.

  He could not refuse this invitation even though he wanted to. He had seldom walked into the hallowed halls of the old money, preferring instead to operate in his own sphere, but he had come to a point where this was no longer possible.

  Hell.

  He hated relying on another person. He hated allowing himself to be beholden to anyone. He mostly hated having to send a pleading note to his wife who he had not seen for nigh on five weeks.

  A knock at the door had him turning, and Mrs Wade, the governess, stood there with Flora Rountree at her side.

  In all his ruminations he had forgotten the woman had asked for this meeting today. He placed Adelia’s note in a drawer and sat behind his desk. He had expected Mrs Wade and Flora to sit, too, but they didn’t. Rather, the woman pulled Catherine’s child into line beside her and began to speak.

  ‘I have asked to see you because your ward is under the misguided illusion that she may be going home soon. She seems to feel that her lessons therefore are a waste of time and has given no true endeavour at all to their learnings. I should like you to clarify her situation, Mr Morgan, just so that she does realise the true state of her tender here.’