by Sophia James
‘He had business with my father.’
‘I had heard that. Your mother must have been pleased to be able to stay at Athelridge Hall, though, for I know she always loved the place and she would have been utterly devastated to lose it.’
Adelia had forgotten that Lord Grey’s wife had known her mother once.
‘When my husband informed me of your match I thought it was the perfect union. Your time here in society had its difficulties, I know it did, but a man who can stand up to any pressure exerted is exactly the one you want and Mr Morgan by all accounts is well able to do that. There is a certain power inherent in his unusual background, I suppose, and society must amuse him no end.’
Adelia used this opening to press forward her husband’s case.
‘I know he highly values the business he does with Lord Grey. He had told me a little of the rail tracks that he has had a hand in putting down and his dreams for a line that might open up the north to the advantage of all.’
‘He speaks to you, then, of his business?’
The question was framed in a way that made Adelia hesitate, but then she decided to be honest.
‘He does. I like to think there is a great deal of trust between us.’
‘As there is in my own marriage, my dear.’ Lady Grey reached across and took her by the arm.
‘Come and meet my sister, for I am sure you will like her and she you.’
Within minutes Adelia was ensconced in a group of close Grey family relatives and enjoying the company, this sort of a gathering so much easier than those she had been subjected to during her Season in society earlier on in the year.
* * *
After ten or so minutes, Simeon came back to rejoin her with Lord Grey in his wake. He moved straight to her side and she felt him there, large and looming, his presence allowing her the sort of feeling of well-being she was astonished by. She wished he might reach out for her hand again, but he did not, merely standing and chatting with an older man next to him while sipping at a drink he held.
All over the room women watched him.
That thought made her swallow. During her Season men had observed her like that, but here another set of values was in play.
It was not beauty that drew them to him, but power. In the company of all those here she could well see what she had missed when they had been alone. Simeon was beautiful in the manner of a man who had seen life and moulded it exactly to his wishes, a man who had come through a baptism of fire to arrive at the place he was always meant to be. A leader and a visionary. The thought that they all wished for the shine of his success to rub off on to them even for a little while came to her next.
The very truth of it made her feel incredibly guilty. She had tricked him into this marriage for her own purposes, never giving a thought as to his true vocation. She felt shallow and one-dimensional, a woman who had thought only of her family’s needs and completely omitted his. A woman who had imagined beauty to be the only currency men traded in and had disregarded other pathways offering far greater value.
Her husband could have petitioned any woman in society to be his wife and they would have jumped at the chance. No wonder he had refused her offer with such conviction.
She had come here tonight, expecting to be a guiding light in all matters pertaining to navigating society, and found out instead that he could do that without hesitation himself. He was a chameleon who adapted without difficulty into any new environment.
‘You look pensive.’
His words whispered close brought her from her thoughts.
‘I think even you must realise how little you need me here to smooth your way, Mr Morgan,’ she murmured back.
‘But it helps,’ he returned and took her hand in his, kissing the back of it quietly. Shock roared through her until she looked up and saw Lady Grey watching them closely.
An act, the sham of it mortifying because for a moment she’d imagined that he might have meant the intimate gesture, that perhaps his feelings for her had changed and he wanted a new start, a closer understanding. With as much aplomb as she could muster her fingers tightened around his.
‘Every woman in the room gives the impression that they want you and I doubt it is just your money they are after, either.’
He began to smile. ‘What else could it be, then?’
‘Power holds a certain aphrodisiac and when it is packaged in a man who seems to give no care for all the absurdities of grand society—’
He interrupted her.
‘You think I don’t?’
‘I think you laugh at us even as you weave your schemes with such dexterity around the archaic notion of inherited wealth and privilege.’
‘I disagree. There is always some essential danger in stepping over lines.’
This time it was she who laughed. ‘If there is, Mr Morgan, I can assure you that you hide your worry well.’
‘Perhaps you are the mirror I need, then.’ His lips came down across her hand again, and she felt his warmth with an ache.
‘Stop it.’ She almost growled the words, her pasted smile there only for the sake of appearance.
‘You said you would help. You promised me grace,’ he countered wickedly.
‘We can act married without the pathos of such deceit.’
‘What books do you read to speak this way? You do not sound like any other young lady I have ever met.’
She felt the blush crawling up her cheeks. Reading had been her one way of escaping her life and she had devoured every book in Alexander’s extensive library. It was why her Season had finished the way it did, she supposed, because finally she could no longer pretend to talk about small nothings.
‘The library at my town house is a substantial one, Adelia. I would be interested to see what you think of it.’
‘You read a lot, too?’
‘I enjoy books about history the most, but I have Mr Green from Newgate Street deliver what he feels worthy from his publishing business and some of those different books have been most enlightening.’
Adelia remembered Simeon had been carrying a book the other night when he had awoken her from her nightmares. Perhaps he slept as badly as she did?
She was about to ask him more when a group of men and women approached and their conversation faltered. She recognised Miss Rebecca Winston and her heart sank, for she was a friend of Mrs Trenwith.
‘Mr Morgan, how good it is to finally meet you.’ The tall man spoke first. ‘I am Frank Winston and this is my wife, Penelope, and my sister, Rebecca Winston.’ His glance came across to Adelia. ‘I met Miss Worthington at the Thackerays’ ball in January.’
‘Mrs Morgan now.’ Simeon’s firm voice broke into the silence.
‘Of course. Please forgive me.’
Rebecca Winston took over from her brother. ‘It seems you have had a busy time since leaving London, Mrs Morgan. I suppose you are aware that the hearts of half of the male population of the ton were broken with loss when you left?’
Laughter rang around the group. She had departed under a dark cloud with every suitor withdrawing his hand from the game of marriage and well they would know it.
Straightening her spine, she reached for fortitude and smiled politely. ‘I remember you as a woman with her own large set of admirers, Miss Winston, and as the central point in any group.’ The words almost stuck in her throat, but Adelia knew that to keep the possibilities of Simeon’s dreams alive she would need to be extremely diplomatic here. ‘I have also long admired the cut of your beautiful gowns.’
The small silence was charged, but Adelia could feel the change in the atmosphere. Now Rebecca Winston was smiling in truth and she had moved back a little as though to allow her some space.
‘Well, that is very kind of you to say so and, in truth, Rodney Anstruther was always a bit of a prig right from the time h
e was a child. I am sure you were well within your rights to admonish him with your umbrella.’
Adelia shook her head. ‘No, that was a mistake I do regret. I would simply walk away from him next time.’
She didn’t elaborate exactly what it was she would walk away from and saw the faces opposite her imagining some inappropriate gesture on the part of Mr Anstruther. With Simeon at her side it was much easier to partake in this social discourse because she did not feel so alone. He looked strong and real beside her, a man who might simply laugh at the small stupidities of society because he was trying to mould a better future for everyone, rich and poor alike.
She moved towards him just a little, liking the way her arm brushed his.
If he felt her there he made no sign of it, but then he did not pull away, either. Rebecca Winston was now practising her wiles on him with her fluttering eyelashes and a pattern of speech that was so patently false.
‘I hear you have just bought a large piece of land on the river at Richmond, Mr Morgan. It is by far the prettiest area in all of London, I have always said, with the trees and the birdsong and the peacefulness. What sort of a house do you plan to build there?’
‘A sturdy one, Miss Winston…’
‘Oh, call me Rebecca, please. With the sliding roles of the aristocracy and the merchants in society the formalities have long since disappeared, and perhaps it is for the best.’
Her tone plainly said that such a turnabout was undesirable and unwelcomed. Adelia thought this conversation was one that Simeon must have had time and time again in his quest for equality, but he did not flinch in the slightest as he gave her his reply.
‘I imagine everyone is scrambling for purchase in this new world and Lord Grey has been most kind to give me a hand up.’
His response was as veiled as her own, the truth hidden somewhere under his words. This was how he had survived, thrived even, when the old vanguard had caught the whiff of his unexpected triumphs and unhidden ambitions. By allowing them gratitude and making less of himself he remained untouched.
She wished she’d had the wit to recognise such a strategy when she had endured her seemingly endless Season six months before. The ridiculous expectations of making the most advantageous marriage might have been less exasperating had she simply laughed at it or played along and then left to be exactly as she had been.
‘Where was it that you met your wife, Mr Morgan?’ Frank Winston asked this question, and Adelia waited for his answer.
‘At my town house in Carlton House Terrace. It was a small and informal family gathering.’
Very small, she thought and swallowed down guilt.
‘You knew the Viscount, then?’ Frank looked surprised.
‘Briefly.’
‘The rumours were that Worthington offered you Athelridge Hall as a part of the dowry.’
‘In truth, the land meant little for it was his daughter I was far more interested in.’
A new streak of shock ran through Adelia as she looked over at him, his eyes catching hers properly for the first time tonight and blazing in memory, making the time thin between then and now.
His mouth at her breast, the heat of him beguiling, his skin dark against the candlelight, hair long and loose. An image that only they could share and shocking in the present moment.
‘So when we finally gave our troths our wedding could not come soon enough.’
The spell was broken, fractured into pieces falling out of shape, jagged bits of half-lies. The act of a man who used tonight as a show and an opportunity. She was no more than a prop. She looked away. There was still dinner to get through and presumably some dancing as well and she was pleased when they were called to the table, Lord Grey at her elbow and Lady Grey at Simeon’s.
Simeon.
She had started referring to him by his Christian name just to herself and it felt right. She hoped he would be seated next to her or somewhere near at least and as he came to stand behind the chair to her left she was grateful. A charade it might be, but at least she understood the rules of it and she knew he would never deliberately harm her.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Hell, Simeon thought, this was far harder to get through than he could have imagined and Adelia looked as if she, too, was finding the whole thing exhausting.
Sitting, he poured out wine from the bottle before them and raised his glass to her.
‘Thank you.’
He wanted to say more for she had been the essence of a perfect wife with her conciliatory demeanour and her beautiful smile. She had beaten them at their own game again and again with diplomacy, refinement, grace and tact. Just as she had promised him when she’d made him an offer of marriage.
‘You are welcome.’
The woman Rebecca Winston was sitting too close on his other side, her leg touching his own until he had moved away. She smelt of some strong perfume that he disliked. Frank Winston glowered at him and Simeon knew that he was trying to protect his sister from the taint of trade that even a fortune could not remove. Further along the table, two other men were looking at Adelia as if she was the answer to every male’s prayer ever uttered and Simeon could well see why.
Under the lights her hair took on colours he had not noticed before and the brilliant hue of her eyes exactly matched the emerald earrings she wore. With the sort of admiration that swirled around her from all the men present he wondered again at her need to approach him for the role of husband. Athelridge Hall was a card in his pocket, but he knew, even though she had no fortune, she could have made the match of the year should she have wanted to and he certainly was not that.
Her hand lay on the table between them, a long white glove showing off the small and delicate shape. He suddenly felt tired by it all, the past, the present, the striving, the uncertainty. He was only here to make sure that the lines of communication for people who were often voiceless were left open. A quiet pilgrimage that might give back a little to the communities that had been his once, all those years ago, places of desperation and bleakness.
His uncle had a hand in this, too, a self-made man who had held the principles of charity and philanthropy as guiding goals and believed very firmly in the notion of one man being able to make a difference.
Jamie Morgan would have liked his wife, he thought, just as he had loathed Susan Downing with her melancholy and her unending neediness. He watched Adelia as she chatted with those across the table from her, a stream of interesting conversation, but words that gave nothing at all of herself away. He’d learnt the knack of such dialogue when he had first come into the field of investments, for his beginnings in business were both forced and unnatural. It was only when he had begun to understand his true direction and the need for diplomacy to achieve it that he’d seen the requirement to be largely formal and undisputedly impersonal. A different man, the rough edges softened by detachment, the anger inside made more pliable by his new ability to pretend, his accent carefully bland and minutely copied from those men of society whom he’d had business with.
As if aware of his silence Adelia turned to him and smiled, a quietly worded question falling into the space between them.
‘Lord Grey’s brother was just saying that any new railway needs an Act of Parliament passed to begin the works. Is that correct?’
‘He’s right. They do not come cheap, either, and any opposition can effectively prevent construction.’
‘Who would oppose such a thing when it helps so many people?’
‘Canal companies who are unable or unwilling to upgrade their facilities to compete with railways, for one, and they use their political power effectively.’
‘And what happens then?’
‘Purchasing a large share of the canal companies is a good solution. It neutralises intent.’
‘My goodness, that seems very wrong to have to buy into such corruption.’
‘Do you wish it didn’t?’
He felt his heart beat in his throat, felt the shame that had so often accompanied such transactions.
‘I have not made a fortune by being only black or white, but at the end of the day there are sacrifices that are probably worthwhile.’
Her expression was puzzled. ‘I was just speaking with Lord Grey’s brother and he sees you as a pioneer in the field and one of the few men who has not traded his soul for gain.’
‘Then I hope Grey feels the same way about me.’
‘Even if it is not true?’
‘Even then.’
‘Are you as honest with others as you are with me, Mr Morgan?’
‘Simeon,’ he qualified. ‘And, no.’
Her dimples surprised him. ‘Then I am glad for it.’
‘What of you, Adelia? Were there other times, apart from the circumstances surrounding our marriage, when you hawked your principals for an end result, when you have sold lies for expediency?’
‘Yes.’
‘But you will not tell me?’
‘We are at a dinner party, Mr Morgan, fighting for your future. It is better, I think, to concentrate on one thing at a time.’
‘You do that well, I think.’
‘Pardon?’
‘Beguile others into believing anything you want them to.’
‘That could be taken as an insult.’
He leaned forward and lifted her hand, the glove covering skin, the whiteness slender. He felt her warmth through the fabric. ‘But it was not meant to be. I’m impressed by your talent in making small talk.’
‘The building blocks of relationships,’ she shot back. ‘The mortar between bricks.’
‘It’s a game I am poor at. One day I will tell you why.’
This time she turned into him, and he felt her thigh full up against his own beneath the table.
‘Everyone here is in awe of your unending capacity to make good decisions in business. I doubt high marks for small talk have a huge importance on any list of financial largesse.’
