Beastly Lords Collection

by Baily, Sydney Jane

  First thing in the morning, he would head to his bank and see where he stood.

  Meanwhile, this tedious tête-à-tête with his father needed to end.

  “Thank you for telling me your tale of woe. I don’t know what you thought I could do for you, but I assure you, I can do nothing. Despite your shabby treatment of me, I hope you fare well.” Standing, he picked up his drink and walked away.

  Hopefully, David would still be in the billiards room.

  “Think of your sister and brother,” his father’s voice cut across the room.

  Michael barely broke his stride as he crossed the carpeted floor.

  Yet, when he reached the next room, his father was right behind him. The man was harder to get rid of than the pox. Thankfully, that particular challenge had not been visited upon him.

  Whirling to face the earl, Michael kept his tone neutral. “What do you want?”

  “You are the heir! Do you wish to deal with this after I die? You’ll have a grieving widow on your hands, as well as two siblings looking to you for help, one for a dowry and one for an allowance. At that point, we may no longer have our beloved Oxonholt. Thus, your family will leave Kent and come live with you in Town. Won’t that be cozy?”

  Michael considered all this. “Then don’t die anytime soon.”

  He meant what he said. He wasn’t prepared to become the head of the family, nor be responsible for the maintenance of his mother, brother, and sister. He certainly didn’t want them in his modest townhouse.

  His father’s impatience was written upon his countenance.

  “It’s time for you to start preparing, at the very least,” the earl continued. “What do I want from you? I want my eldest son to use his God-given brain for something besides enjoying himself. You used to have a conscience and a purpose. Five years ago, you were talking about railways and mining and even textiles. I think it’s past time you started figuring out how to make money the way every man-Jack is doing in this budding nation of ours.”

  Michael narrowed his eyes. “At the time, as I recall, you turned up your nose at my interest in such middle-class business dealings.”

  “At the time, I didn’t realize servants would demand a raise in their wages or the price of bread would shoot through the roof or the government would start taxing my land right out from under me. I tell you, it’s almost not possible to be a landholder if you aren’t also a savvy businessman. And that’s the truth.”

  “I am supposed to suddenly figure out the intricate world of business, am I?” Michael desperately wished this entire encounter never had happened and even more desperately wanted another soothing glass of French delight, only to discover he still had one in his hand.

  “Somebody has to,” his father pointed out, “and I’m too bloody old to start. Come see me in a week and let me know what you’ve found out.”

  Michael spluttered his last sip of brandy. “A week?”

  “If I give you any longer, then you’ll simply dawdle about and put it off. We need action now. I’ve already waited too long for you to come to your senses.”

  “Come to my senses? You’re not making me want to help you.”

  “You’re not helping me,” the earl insisted. “You’re helping yourself, if you haven’t figured that out yet. When your grandfather’s money is gone, how long do you think White’s will let you stay?” He gestured at the grand establishment around them.

  “Maybe more important to you, how will you keep your mistresses? Or have you sunk so low you don’t mind them keeping you, like a bloody lap dog?”

  “We’re finished,” Michael told him, turning his back and walking away.

  “One week,” his father called after him.

  *

  Ada was in love! When Maggie came to visit, bringing her little Rosie, Ada simply had to tell her.

  “I absolutely love my new home. Look, come see the adorable carving around the drawing room fireplace.”

  Maggie agreed it was adorable. “And yes, to the pale green draperies,” her friend agreed. “They are a far better choice than ivory. Every detail is perfect, and suits you down to the doorknocker. You’re creating a wonderful home.”

  “I thank that clever Mr. Cubitt for developing the square. He’s positively ancient, but I wonder if I should visit with him and offer him my honest appreciation.”

  Ada’s friend laughed. “Think of where we were a few years back,” Maggie recalled. “Can you believe our lives at present? I was practically penniless in Sheffield, and we were both husband hunting. And now you’ve bought your own white stucco home in Belgrave Square. Why, there’s a duke living two doors down, for goodness sake, and an admiral of the fleet across the way.”

  Ada laughed. “And you and I both have a child.” They beamed at each other.

  Maggie and her husband, John Angsley, the Earl of Cambrey, were the only people outside of Ada’s own family who knew she’d never been wed and widowed. She’d told Maggie in a long letter from Juniper Hall as soon as she realized she was with child a month after fleeing London.

  A month after receiving Alder’s terribly cynical wink.

  Yet even her friend didn’t know who Harry’s father was. Ada would take that to her grave.

  For one thing, Lord Alder had once been engaged to Maggie’s older sister, Jenny, now happily married to Lord Lindsey. Their engagement had not been official, however, since it had never been announced. What’s more, Alder had broken the agreement as soon as Jenny and Maggie’s father passed away leaving the Blackwood family in debt.

  The shallow cad!

  Ada hadn’t known any of that during the time she’d been smitten with Michael Alder. She’d simply thought him an upstanding viscount with a certain dash-fire that appealed to her tremendously.

  Had she known he hadn’t kept a verbal promise to wed, she might have looked at him differently. Unfortunately, she learned Jenny’s tale far too late to avoid her own ruin.

  After finding out from Maggie one day when they were visiting, enjoying their babies, and discussing men in general, how Lord Alder had ill-used Jenny, Ada imagined it would be terribly awkward to disclose who her child’s father was. Instead, she let Maggie believe she had loved a man who’d ardently loved her back, and who for private reasons couldn’t marry her.

  Then she’d created an entirely false and tragic romance to save face and keep Harry’s father perceived as a good man. Often, Ada wished she hadn’t. It was a burden not to be able to rage against Lord Vile just once to a sympathetic ear.

  “How is Jenny?” The question popped out of Ada’s mouth unbidden. She still had a fascination for the woman who, unlike her, had moved on from Michael Alder to a full and seemingly happy life.

  “Very well. Living in utter bliss with her husband. And like me,” Maggie patted her barely blossoming stomach, “expecting again.”

  Ada nodded, thinking how Harry might wish for a brother or sister who would never come.

  “Her third, isn’t it?”

  “Fourth,” Maggie said, then offered a wry grin. “You know Jenny with numbers. She likes to add.”

  They both laughed. For as Ada had a head for the stock market, Maggie’s sister was a skilled accountant.

  Inside, though, Ada thought if Michael Alder hadn’t broken off with Jenny Blackwood, then those four children would be his, and Harry wouldn’t exist at all. Stranger even to think that she and Jenny had kissed the same man.

  “Are you all right?” Maggie asked, seeing some change in her expression.

  “Yes, thinking how nice it would be for Harry to have a sibling.”

  Maggie tilted her pretty head. “It could still happen, couldn’t it?”

  Ada appreciated the softening in her friend’s eyes and voice, but she couldn’t think of opening her heart to another man, nor ever being used again for a man’s pleasure. She was sure Aristotle’s Masterpiece, the explicit book of relations between a man and a woman, had got it all wrong, for Ada had felt a little pai
n, certainly fear and excitement, but none of the great pleasure mentioned in the book, which got passed around from sister to sister and from sister to friend in the debutante groups.

  Plus, she couldn’t recall that night without remembering how her maid and her mother had seen the blood on her undergarments—her utter disgrace had been complete.

  No, it had been nothing but shame and humiliation. If Maggie and her sister didn’t mind the marital act of procreation in order to have happy husbands and more children, that was their business.

  “Next time you see Jenny or write to her, please tell her I wish her well.”

  “I will,” Maggie promised. “Where is your Harry, by the way?”

  “We’ll go up to the nursery in a minute. I can’t wait for you to see the room. It’s—”

  “Adorable?”

  Ada smiled and rang for tea. “Yes, positively. And his nanny is patient and wise. My mother found her for me, and I love her.”

  Maggie leaned back on the pale, rose-colored sofa. “You seem content. Is there anything amiss?”

  “Except for needing to hire more staff, no. Why do you ask?”

  “Your missive sounded as though you had something on your mind besides nannies and fireplace carvings.”

  Ada knew she would need to get to the point, but was having trouble articulating exactly what she wanted from her friend. What if Maggie said no?

  “Yes, in fact, there is something important I want to speak with you about. However, it’s rather… how shall I put it? Irregular.”

  Maggie raised her eyebrows. “Really. How interesting?”

  Just then, Rosie, two years old like Harry, got up from where she sat on the soft carpet playing with her two dolls.

  “Mama,” she said, placing her hands on her mother’s lap. “I want a bicky.”

  “Biscuit, dear. I’m sure Auntie Ada has something for you.”

  “Oh, I do, and better than a biscuit, too.”

  Ada opened the top drawer of the lamp table beside her, withdrawing a paper-wrapped chocolate bar. She handed this to the delighted toddler who jumped up and down with glee.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” Ada said to Maggie. “It’s from Fry’s, and I think they’re fabulous.”

  “It would be a bit late if I did mind.”

  They both looked at Rosie who’d already proceeded to rip off the wrapping with her chubby fingers and was half-sucking, half-chewing on the sweet confection.

  “I don’t suppose I’m going to get a bite of that,” Maggie said, and Ada reached into the drawer, pulling out another one.

  “See what it says? Chocolate delicieux à manger. When I saw the French, I thought of you.”

  “Thank you. Glad to know my fluency is good for something.” Maggie took the bar and slipped it into her reticule. “For later. I’ll share it with John. My husband has quite the sweet tooth, as well.”

  Ada tilted her head. “You may be disappointed. It can be a little chalky and even bitter.”

  They both glanced at Rosie who seemed to have no complaints.

  Then Ada had a thought. Perhaps if she helped her friend grow her income, she’d be more willing to aid her in her scheme.

  “If you’re interested in turning that sweet tooth into a little extra income,” Ada continued, “I would suggest you approach John Cadbury and see if he wants someone to invest in his business. It’s growing, and his workers love him. Also, I have a little inside knowledge Parliament intends to get rid of the high tax on cocoa soon, within a year or so. I think the chocolate industry will blossom.”

  “Goodness gracious, you are a wonder!”

  Ada felt her cheeks warm, and she shrugged.

  “You didn’t invite me here to give me investment advice,” Maggie said shrewdly.

  “No, but I also didn’t invite you here merely to ask for your help.”

  “I know, but let’s get that out of the way so we can go see the adorable nursery and your lovely boy.”

  Taking a deep breath, Ada blurted, “I need to figure out how to masquerade as a man.”

  Chapter Three

  Maggie said nothing at first. Ada liked that about her, neither condemning her nor immediately drowning her in a barrage of nosey questions. Instead, she asked a very intelligent one.

  “Do you need to be the man specifically, or will someone acting on your behalf suffice?”

  Ada sighed in relief. “Oh, the latter, as long as I can trust him. And he must seem intelligent and be personable enough that someone else will trust him, too.”

  “Someone in particular?”

  Ada nodded. Oh, yes!

  “Strangely enough, Jenny was in a similar situation a few years back after my father died,” Maggie disclosed. “Remember when we left Town and went back to Sheffield?”

  “Yes, of course.” Ada had mourned the loss of her friend mid-Season.

  “I know you’ll keep this in confidence since it doesn’t really reflect well on a countess, but Jenny worked as a bookkeeper. She let our manservant, Henry, be the liaison between the outside world of my sister’s clients and herself, whom she called ‘Mr. Cavendish.’ Henry collected people’s ledgers and returned them after she was done.”

  Ada considered. “I don’t want anyone to know there is another person involved, namely me, in the background. If I didn’t masquerade as a man myself, then I thought to hire an individual who could meet with a specific someone to pass on information as if it were his own.”

  “Depending on the type of information, that seems so much harder,” Maggie mused “What if your ‘specific someone’ whom you are trying to fool asks a question and your counterfeit man doesn’t have the answer?”

  Ada could easily see how that might happen. There were so many tricky components to the stock market, which she’d spent years figuring out. On the other hand, she didn’t want Alder to suspect there was anyone else he could blame when things went terribly wrong as she intended them to.

  “My counterfeit man, as you call him, will know enough to fool anyone. I’ll make sure of that. If he doesn’t know something, then he’ll say, ‘That’s a trade secret’ or something like that.”

  “I suppose it will work,” Maggie agreed. “Before we proceed, I need to know one thing? This is about business, I assume, and your investing skills? It sounds as though you want to impart something you know to someone without them knowing it’s you.”

  “Precisely,” Ada agreed.

  “No one will get hurt, especially you?”

  “Can you be more specific?” Ada asked, prevaricating. “What do you mean by ‘getting hurt’?”

  “Oh, dear,” Maggie muttered. “I suppose I mean no one is going to lose life or limb or go to prison unjustly.”

  Ada considered. “Then, I can say yes, no one will get hurt, especially me. So how do I find a trustworthy man willing to act a role? Your connections are greater than mine.”

  “I’ll have to ask John.”

  As Ada’s eyes widened in alarm, Maggie calmed her. “Don’t worry. He knows everyone, and he won’t mind helping as long as no one will get hurt. It sounds as though you intend to help someone who wouldn’t otherwise take the help of a woman, am I right?”

  “Something like that.” Actually, nothing like that, Ada thought.

  But Maggie was sipping her tea and wearing a dreamy expression.

  “Wouldn’t it be frightfully romantic if you fall in love with either the counterfeit man, or the other one, the individual he’ll meet with?”

  Ada recoiled. “No!”

  Maggie shrugged. “All right. Don’t look so alarmed. I am sensing this isn’t about romance.”

  “No,” Ada repeated. “This has nothing to do with an affair of the heart.”

  In fact, she had to keep her heart utterly detached for the rest of her plan to work.

  This was all about cold, hard vengeance.

  *

  “As easy as falling out of bed,” said the man whom Lord Cambrey, Maggie�
�s husband, sent a week later.

  Ada was extremely grateful to meet the discreet Mr. Clive Brunnel, an innocuous man of indeterminate age, with an accent marking him as well-educated and an open, trustworthy face. No scars or pox marks visible, either. In a word, perfect for the job.

  However, she didn’t see her plan as easy. To her, it was complicated and scary. What’s more, the time to act was imminent, since she’d found out Lord Alder was asking about potential money-making businesses.

  How incredibly fortuitous! She had thought getting the despicable viscount interested in his own financial ruin would be difficult. Then she’d come to London only to find he would make things easy for her, as long as she could steer him away from the Royal Stock Exchange, where she had no connections, and toward the London Stock Exchange, of which her father was a member.

  Ideally, her liaison, as Ada now thought of Mr. Brunnel, would himself have been a member of the exchange, either a broker or a jobber. However, none of those men would endanger their good standing, or risk becoming defaulters, by taking purchase requests from a woman. Thus, Mr. Brunnel was a necessary go-between, and she’d told him to deal with an associate of her father, a jobber named Andrew Barnes, who would deal fairly with Clive Brunnel and not charge an exorbitant commission.

  “Very well. You mustn’t ask me any whys or wherefores. You must simply do as I say.”

  “Yes, missus. You’re paying my fee. As long as there is no bodily injury required, either to myself or anyone else.”

  “Gracious, no.” Ada wondered what he’d been asked to do in the past but didn’t really want to know. “You’re positive you’ve never met Lord Alder or his family?”

  “No, missus. I’m sure.”

  “Very good. First, we need to make contact with him. Do you think you could encounter him outside of his club, perhaps seeming to be coming from a meeting? I envision you with papers and a satchel and look very knowledgeable. Perhaps we should get you some glasses.”

  Clive looked doubtful, but nodded.

  “Then you bump into Lord Alder on the doorstep of White’s and drop your stock reports and say something like, ‘Can’t make a fortune for a man if my investments are all on the ground.’”