The Anderson’s foundry was actually four large brick buildings arranged in a square with an open space between them. As the carriage pulled into the square the Duke was hit with the sharp smell of burning metal and the pounding clank of mechanical hammers. Wide doors were open exposing men laboring amongst sparks and long ribbons of glowing metal. The entire place made him think of Dante’s inferno.
The sight of British industriousness made his soul feel proud. He smiled to himself, this foundry was famous and had been since Elizabeth’s reign. Starting simply as a blacksmith’s, over the years it had grown. Being known for making everything from medieval broadswords to pantry butter knives. It was going to be a shame to tear it all apart if they were guilty of treason.
Jones opened the carriage door then stepped aside to let him out of the coach.
“Will you be needing this?” the valet asked as he pulled his jacket back to expose a dueling pistol stuck in his belt.
Lord Riverstone’s eyes grew three sizes at seeing the servant armed and asking if the Duke would be using the weapon.
The Duke shook his head. “I’m not here to shoot the man. Just ask some questions.”
Jones nodded, “And if the answers aren’t to your liking, Sir, then will you be needing it?”
Rolling his eyes, the Duke turned and started for the door.
Jones called after him, “Sir, I won’t be forgetting those pink uniforms. If’n this lot is tied up with them that provided those uniforms then I’ll do the shooting myself. Some things are too embarrassing to be forgiven.”
Riverstone lifted an eyebrow at the Duke. Obviously, very interested.
Shaking his head at the young Lord, the Duke said, “I’ll tell you later.”
The owner’s office was located on the top floor of the building. The secretary frowned with curiosity when they approached, then turned whiter than a bed sheet when Riverstone introduced himself, then the Duke of Richmond.
“A moment, Sir,” he said as he hurried into the office behind him. When he returned a moment later, he opened the door and announced them.
The Duke quickly scanned the office. It appeared that the Anderson foundry was rather successful. Larger than some London ballrooms. The office was commanded by a desk the size of a ship of the line. Bookshelves lined two walls. A large window overlooked the square below along with the production buildings across the way.
An older gentleman, short but powerfully built, rose to greet them. A gray beard and shrewd eyes, the Duke thought as he tried to read any fear in the man.
No, nothing but curiosity was his initial judgment.
“Your Grace, Lord Riverstone,” Anderson said as he waved at the two chairs in front of the desk, “This is a surprise. If I had known you were coming, I would have been better prepared. Can I get you anything? Tea? Something stronger?”
“No, thank you,” the Duke said. “Hopefully, this will not take long.”
Anderson nodded, then said to his secretary, “That will be all Evans.”
Returning to studying his two guests, the man frowned then took a deep breath, “To what do I owe this pleasure?”
The Duke almost scoffed. They would see if it was pleasurable. If his man had knowingly sold defective weapons to the army during a time of war, he would see him hung. Instead, he turned to Lord Riverstone and nodded.
The young man swallowed, then began retrieving several papers from his case. “Sir, your company was contracted to supply three shipments of bayonets to the army, one thousand per shipment. Are you aware that one of those shipments was defective? Every last bayonet.”
The Duke watched the man as Riverstone made his accusation. If there was any guilt, he would catch it in the eyes, he thought. But instead, the man’s frown became a scowl.
“You are wrong, Sir,” he growled through gritted teeth, obviously upset at being accused of such a grievous crime.
Lord Riverstone frowned as he looked back down at his papers. “I assure you, Mr. Anderson. I have reports from the front. Every last bayonet was defective.” Then looking up, he stared at the man for a long moment and asked, “Did you bribe someone to get them past the Army inspectors?”
The Duke laughed internally, he had to give it to him, Riverstone was like a terrier with a rat, refusing to let go. Perhaps this man might be good enough for Emily after all.
Anderson sat back and shook his head then opened the drawer to his desk and removed an envelope before taking out the enclosed paper. “My Lord, I meant that you were incorrect in your initial statement. I sold two shipments to the Army, not three. You should know, you canceled the third shipment.”
Riverstone coughed, “What? Never.”
The Duke studied his companion. This rat’s nest of confusion was getting more complicated every moment. God, life was so much simpler when the enemy met you face to face.
“This is your signature, I take it,” Anderson said as he slid the paper across the desk to them.
Lord Riverstone’s brow furrowed as he studied the document. “This is my signature, but I never signed this paper, I assure you. I would have remembered. Besides, there would be a copy in my files.”
Anderson shrugged as he retrieved the letter and returned it to the drawer. “Regardless, I sent you two shipments. Not three. And I assure you, they were perfect in every way. What do you think? I would risk our reputation by deceiving the Army? I promise you. I wouldn’t stay in business very long if I was that stupid.”
Riverstone opened his mouth to reply, then shut it quickly. The Duke felt sorry for the young man. It was as if he’d been hit upside the head by a yule log and was trying to remember what year it was.
“Why was the third shipment canceled? Does the letter explain?” the Duke asked.
Anderson took a deep breath then said, “No, it doesn’t. But I always assumed it was because I had informed Lord Riverstone that the shipment would be delayed.”
Again, Lord Riverstone shook his head as he searched through his pile of papers.
The Duke sighed heavily it was like pulling teeth. “Why was the shipment to be delayed?”
The foundry owner’s cheeks grew pink as he stared down for a moment. “Because they were of inferior quality. The blades were too brittle and the mounting ring snapped off when they were fixed to the rifle.”
Both the Duke and Lord Riverstone glanced at each other. Finally, something that matched their reports.
“The new hammer system applied too much pressure for the amount of carbon in the steel,” Anderson explained. “As for the ring portion, a simple error that we didn’t catch until the end of the production run.”
The Duke frowned, “What did you do with them?”
“We were going to melt them down and start all over,” Anderson said as he nodded to Lord Riverstone. “I explained it all in my letter to you.”
Lord Riverstone continued to frown as he shook his head while rifling through his papers.
“Let me guess,” the Duke said. “You decided not to melt them down but sold them instead. To a third party.”
“Yes,” Anderson said with a nod. “But when the order was canceled, there wasn’t much call. The high carbon content would have made things complicated. In fact, I had anticipated starting from scratch and using the bayonets for some cannon the Navy had ordered.”
“And this third party?”
Again, Anderson shrugged. “They said they were looking for high carbon steel. I got a good price, better than if I melted them down myself.”
The Duke raised an eyebrow, silently asking for more.
“Ten percent over raw scrap.”
“But what? Ninety percent below what the army was going to pay you for finished bayonets.”
“Yes, that is correct. But like I said, they were useless. You get used to that in this business. Things don’t work. You throw it in the next melt cycle.”
“And who did you sell them to?” the Duke asked as he held his breath.
Anderson
frowned, “A new company out of Manchester. It surprised me, The last thing Manchester needs is another foundry.”
“The name of the owner?” the Duke said through gritted teeth.
“Grainger, William Grainger.”
Lord Riverstone frowned as he began to search his papers, “Where do I know that name?”
The Duke sighed, “He is Lord Hawley’s younger brother.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Pacing back and forth in the parlor, Emily took a deep breath as she tried to calm a churning stomach. Lady Denton looked up from her needlework and shook her head.
“He will be back when he is back,” the older woman said. “You would think after all these years you would be used to his absence.”
Emily swallowed an angry retort about things being different now. Six days and there had been no word from His Grace. He had been expected back yesterday. But nothing. It was as if he had disappeared off the face of the earth. The King’s post reached every city and large town, couldn’t the man have sent word?
It was so typical of him, she thought with a quick anger. To not think of those he left behind. But then, why should he? she thought with bitterness. She was but his aunt’s companion. A sergeant’s daughter. He was a British Duke. Of course, her fears and concerns were of no matter.
Then, to make things worse, she had exposed her greatest secret to Lady Denton. Even now it was impossible to look at her employer without her cheeks growing warm with embarrassment. Admitting to the older woman that she had shared her nephew’s bed had been both a tortuous event and soul freeing at the same time. A combination of shame mixed with pure relief that someone else knew the truth.
Thankfully, Lady Denton had not dismissed her immediately. Instead, she had pretended as if nothing of importance had happened. Not another word about the matter had been spoken. Emily wondered if it was because Lady Denton wished to pretend it had never happened? Or had she been spending this time developing a plan to make the Major fall in love with her companion?
Of course, because the issue was ignored, her fear and worry were given license to grow. There were so many questions she wished she could ask the older woman. Things she wanted to share. Not the intimate details, but the emotions, the feelings.
Was she a silly girl for letting her heart rule her head? Of course, she was. But she had done the right thing by saying no to his proposal. That was something she could be proud of. It had been the correct action. Regardless of how much it had hurt. It was the only solution.
“That’s enough,” Lady Denton said as she sighed heavily and put her needlework back in her basket. “Come sit here and keep me company. If not, you will wear a path in Duncan’s rug, and I rather like this pattern. It goes well with the drapes, don’t you think?”
Emily’s insides clenched up. Was this to be it? The conversation she had both feared and desperately needed. How would it go? she wondered, as she tried to map out different scenarios. And why now? Was it the reduced opium? Three days earlier, Lady Denton had announced to both Lizzy and Emily that she no longer needed the laudanum to sleep.
A simple statement, as if she no longer needed a particular hat.
At first, Emily had doubted the older woman. But Lizzy reported that she had removed the opium bottle that very day. And, true to her word, Lady Denton had slept the sleep of the blessed. Emily sent up a silent thank you that she had not been required to confront Lady Denton. How could she possibly approach such a tender subject?
And why the sudden change? It was as if Lady Denton had pulled herself out of a deep depression. Why? How? Was it because of her new interest in His Grace and his young ward?
Emily poked the fire and added a log before smoothing her dress and sitting on the same settee as Lady Denton. Her insides churned as she clenched her hands together to stop them from shaking. Folding her hands in her lap she looked down, unable to look up and see the disappointment in her employer's eyes. A sudden thought of her mother made her cheeks grow even hotter. She would have been so ashamed of her daughter.
Lady Denton let out a long breath, “Really, Emily, you need to calm down. It isn’t as if I am going to report you to the Queen. And if I did, they wouldn’t drag you off to the gallows.”
Emily almost laughed. Of course Lady Denton made light of the matter. She was the sweetest person. To dismiss such an error in judgment so easily. Only a truly kind person could be so forgiving.
“I am so sorry,” Emily whispered.
Lady Denton scoffed. “I’ve never thought a woman should be expected to either marry or go through her life without experiencing … such a thing. It is rather a lot to ask.”
Emily finally looked up. “But you did. Lived a life of purity.”
Again, Lady Denton scoffed, “Whatever gave you that impression?”
A quick gasp escaped before Emily could stop herself. No, this was impossible.
“I will have you know,” Lady Denton said as she looked off into the distance, “I was young myself, long ago. And pretty too, not this dried up old woman you see before you now.”
“But …” Emily began as she tried to organize her thoughts. This was impossible to believe. Lady Denton? A lover?
“His name was Stephan Campbell,” the older woman said as a sweet smile crossed her lips. “A baron’s heir. Tall, handsome, gallant, and oh so much more. We were engaged.” Again Lady Denton looked off into the far distance, as the smile slowly turned over to a look of pure pain.
Emily’s heart ached for the woman. “What happened? I mean …”
The older woman took a deep breath. “His regiment was ordered to the colonies. We wanted to get married before he left. But, Father refused. He didn’t want a young widow for a daughter. He insisted that we wait.”
“But …” Lady Denton said with a sly smile before continuing. “Did I mention that he was handsome. Anyway, I refused to allow him to leave without him knowing what he would be missing. Under no circumstance did I want one of those American hussies leading him astray.”
“Why didn’t you marry when he returned?” Emily asked as she held her breath, terrified of the answer.
Lady Denton paused for a long moment as if gathering herself. “Trenton, a stupid village in a place called New Jersey. I was told that he died quickly.”
Emily bit down on her tongue to stop herself from asking a thousand questions. How was this possible? Had anyone ever discovered what had happened? And, The Major. He had gone off to war? What had Lady Denton experienced each day? The fear that once again she would lose someone she loved.
“Why do men go to war?” Emily cursed.
Lady Denton laughed. “Why do they do everything they do. … Women.”
Emily’s brow furrowed in confusion. Lady Denton smiled at her, “When it comes down to it. Almost every action a man performs is about obtaining a woman or protecting the ones he has. Really, they are not that different than a dog.”
“Lady Denton,” Emily gasped. “How can you say that?”
“I can say that because I am old and have lived long enough to see the truth. The trick is to be the woman he wants.”
Emily’s heart sank as she realized that would never happen for her. “How?” she asked tentatively. “How can I make a man fall in love with me. It’s impossible, he either does or he doesn’t.”
The older woman waved her hand in dismissal as she shook her head. “I would have told you to seduce him and take him to your bed. But, since you’ve already tried that approach …”
Emily’s cheeks flushed with heat as she quickly looked down. Would she ever live down the shame?
“… The only other way is to make him realize what he does not have and needs desperately.”
A sadness filled Emily as she thought of the hopelessness of the entire situation. She desperately wanted to spend her life with the Duke. She refused to marry him because he didn’t love her. And it was impossible to make him love her.
“It is simple,” Lady Denton
said as her brow narrowed with concern. “You must make him jealous. Nothing motivates a man more than thinking another man might best him. Especially, when it comes to women.”
“I couldn’t,” Emily said as she shook her head. “I refuse to manipulate him.”
Lady Denton barked out a quick laugh. “You aren’t deceiving him. You are making him aware of what he feels already. This is the man you love. You will do whatever it takes to win his heart or you’re not the person I thought you were.”
Biting her lips Emily looked at her employer. Was this possible? No, she couldn’t do this.
“Tomorrow night, at the Hamilton’s I want you to flirt with every man in the room. I want you to dance every dance and make a dozen conquests.”
“What if His Grace has not returned by then?” Emily asked as once again that familiar fear began to eat at her stomach.
“Good,” Lady Denton said. “That will be even better. Word will get back to him, I will make sure of it. And if I know my nephew, the thought of you enchanting other men will drive him to bedlam.
Emily’s shoulders slumped. How could she make this woman understand? This was different. She respected the Major too much to manipulate him like this.
Lady Denton shook her head at her young companion. “I am telling you, that our Duncan loves you he just doesn’t know it. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. He just needs a good kick in the head to get him to see it himself.”
But … Was Lady Denton correct? Could she really make the Major fall in love with her? And what if he discovered he had been manipulated and maneuvered? Would he hate her? But then, if he loved her, he would forgive her. If he couldn’t forgive her, then he had never loved her, and all of this was mute.
Perhaps Lady Denton was correct in that she was not changing the Major’s feelings. Simply showing him what they were. This was her only chance she realized. Her only chance at happiness. Yes, if necessary, she would deceive the Major. Unlike the lie she had told about Lord Riverstone preferring carriages. This time, the deceit would be for her own benefit.
A Duke's Decision (The Duke''s Club Book 4) Page 14
