“To be honest, Roger – no, that’s Your Grace now. Damnable affair, losing your brother and then your parents while you were on the front. There was a little skirmish, and we might have tipped the balance for a crucial battle. Can’t say a lot about it, eh, wot?”
“I understand,” Roger said. “When last I saw you, you were plain Lieutenant Geoffrey Carter and you were chivvying a lot of grass-green commoners through the basics of marching and charging. What brings you to London in the off-season?”
“Meeting with the surgeons,” Sir Geoffrey said, “A little lasting reminder of the lark that made me into a gentry cove.”
“Did the leeches leave you any blood?” Roger asked.
“A trifle,” Sir Geoffrey replied. “Enough to enjoy having a jaw with an old friend. How are you, Duke Shelthom?”
“Moderately well, can’t complain. I came up to town to conduct some business. Might go into shipping, if it all falls right.”
“Would you now? I’d thought you’d as soon steer clear of it, considerin’ what happened to your family.” Sir Geoffrey reached in his pocket and drew out a snuff box. “Care for a pinch?”
“Never got the habit.” Roger waved away the box. “A man must do something to add to his coffers lest they become so depleted he cannot care for his obligations. I might not have as great an understanding of the family finances as my brother, Leonard, but my man of business is a good tutor.”
Sir Geoffrey took a hearty pinch of snuff, then gave a great sneeze. He then wiped his nose with a clean handkerchief and dusted the grains of snuff from his waistcoat.
“Sit down, sit down.” Sir Geoffrey waved to the chairs on either side of the fireplace. “I’ll ring for some tea, unless you’d like something stronger, and you can tell me why the Duke of Shelthom is really calling on ordinary Sir Geoffrey Carter.”
Roger laughed. “Never could put anything over on you, Lieutenant. But perhaps we can be of service to each other.”
By the time Roger had left Sir Geoffrey’s house, the day was well advanced, and it was nearly past the time for morning calls. He now had a better plan for ferreting out information about the lost ships. Sir Geoffrey had no interest in shipping, but he knew several men who were employed on the docks, as well as some of the ship masters. He promised to put his ear to the ground as give a listen to the general scuttlebutt.
The second card in Roger’s pocket was for one Mr. Duncan Carlyle. Roger had met Carlyle at a crush the previous season. He found the man to be soft-spoken and mild, a bit of a milquetoast, but not a man-milliner. He was some sort of connection of the Marquess of Bath, barely sufficient to obtain entry into ton parties.
But Roger had learned while on the Continent that is often paid to listen to the little people. Perhaps Mr. Carlyle would have some stray tidbits of information.
Carlyle was a bachelor who did not keep a house, so the card was for a modest gentleman’s club on a moderately fashionable street. Roger was ushered into the reading room, and the attendant offered him brandy while he waited.
“No, no,” Roger said. “Thank you, a bit early for me. A bit of tea if you have it.”
Carlyle entered the room. “The same for me, please. And a bit of breakfast, if you will. Your Grace, would you join me? I have not yet broken my fast this day.”
“I breakfasted before I set out, but a scone or two would not come amiss,” Roger responded graciously. “How are you, Carlyle? I’ve not seen you since that crush at Lady Jersey’s house.”
“Has it been so long as all that?” Carlyle accepted tea from the waiter’s hands and obligingly leaned back so the tea tray could be set upon the small serving table. “It seems just yesterday. I’ve been quite busy of late. I have come upon a business opportunity that even such a lazy fellow as myself could not pass up.”
“Oh?” Roger sipped his tea, indicating that he was listening politely.
“Yes, indeed,” Carlyle warmed to his subject. “When I heard that you were in town, and that you had sold some of your horses, I thought to myself. ‘Now, there’s a man who would be interested in a promising deal.’ And that was when I determined that I should leave my card for you. In truth, I was hoping to find you at home yesterday.”
“I had business of my own to attend,” Roger said. “But I will admit that I find my pockets a trifle empty these days. A lucrative business option would not go amiss.”
“You might have heard that Lloyd’s has had a bit of trouble with their ships of late,” Carlyle went on. “People are becoming chary of placing their goods on ships insured by Lloyds.”
“Oh?” Roger took another sip of tea, then set his cup down. “I had no idea that Lloyd’s star had fallen so far.”
“Oh, it has!” Carlyle exclaimed. “But there are many stars in the sky, and when one falls another rises.”
I’m not sure that’s how that works. Aloud, Roger commented, “Say on. I am listening.”
“Well you see there is this new assurance company, The Red Star, that is showing a much higher success rate than Lloyd’s.”
“I’m a little confused,” Roger looked puzzled. “Does not Lloyd’s make good on losses?
“Indeed, it does. But here’s the thing: it has had too many losses of late, and no amount of payment makes up for lives, don’t cha know?”
“Sadly, very true.” Roger sighed bleakly.
“Oh, sorry. I had quite forgotten. You had losses of your own. My condolences, Your Grace.”
“Quite so,” Roger said, pushing his service aside. “So, what about this made you think of me?”
“Well, a prudent man could do worse than to get in on the ground floor with a new assurance company, one that is operating in the black and whose ships come in,” Carlyle explained.
“I suppose that is true, but I have little with which to make an investment.” Roger frowned. “I’ll leave your card with my man of business and see what he says. He will know if I have any assets that I can contribute.”
“Oh, but that is the beauty of it,” Carlyle waxed enthusiastic, “You don’t have to pay up front. You just sign a paper, and when there is a need for assurance payouts, you provide a small amount of the collateral. In the meantime, as the company earns money, your account gets a payout.”
“Be as that may,” Roger demurred, “I’d still like to have my man of business look it over. He has a better head for these sorts of things than I. Might I have one of those papers for him to look over?”
“Of course, of course!” Carlyle pulled out a sheet of parchment and handed it over. “By all means share this with him. I think you will be pleased at the results.
“Thank you for the tea and for the information,” Roger said pleasantly. “I have a few other calls to make this morning. But I will certainly give your proposition thought.”
Roger tucked the papers in his inner coat pocket and followed the attendant back out to the street. Herbert was waiting patiently, gently grooming one of the mares.
“Is all well?” Roger asked.
“All is well. A couple of young toughs came by and wanted to bully me about, but I whistled for the watch and soon put paid to that,” Herbert said.
“I am glad all is well, but I dislike it that you were chivvied about. Perhaps we should have brought a second groom with us and not one of the lads.” Roger’s brow furrowed in thought, for he disliked the idea of his friend being bothered while undertaking so simple a task as caring for the horses.
“Where to next?” Herbert inquired.
“Lady Witley’s residence. She is “at home” this morning, and I am likely to find Lady Amory there, as well. The two of them seem to have their ear to the latest gossip, and I’d like to learn the latest en dits."
Lady Witley was, indeed, at home and Lady Amory was with her. The two elderly ladies made it a habit to alternate homes, just to keep everything lively and to spread out the cost and inconvenience of entertaining.
Roger was immediately ushered into the parlor and s
howered with tea, crumpets, clotted cream and fruit.
“I am so glad you could visit,” Lady Witley gushed. “It is such a treat, isn’t it, Lady Amory?”
“Indeed, it is,” said Lady Amory. “So, few young men call these days. If you keep coming around regularly, Your Grace, we shall no doubt soon have some hopeful mamas with marriageable daughters calling as well.”
“Providing they are not scared away by my late financial reversals,” Roger commented candidly.
“Oh, la,” said Lady Amory, “when they learn that such a handsome young Duke as yourself is in the marriage mart, they will come flocking. Why, you might even find an acceptable heiress.” She sipped her tea, her eyes twinkling at him over the rim of the cup.
“Well, er, quite,” Roger said, taking refuge with a sip of his own tea.
“There, now,” Lady Witley said, “You’ve embarrassed the young Duke. Do behave yourself, Jane.”
“Hmph,” Lady Amory retorted to her old friend, “Don’t tell me you haven’t been thinking the same thing, Anne.”
“I might think it,” remarked Lady Witley, “But I wouldn’t be so lost to good manners as to say it. Although…” she smiled wickedly. “You were observed with a handsome young woman up in your curricle yesterday.”
“Lady Dahlia needed transportation to the market. She was purchasing birthday gifts for her sisters,” Roger said repressively.
“Indeed, she was,” Lady Amory added, “and properly chaperoned by her brother who rode alongside. Such nice youngsters, the Lovells, all four of them. And she is an heiress, too.”
“Not a large fortune,” said Lady Witley, “but a respectable competence. Practical minded, too. I’ve spoken with her once or twice.”
Roger felt his face grow hot. “There now,” Lady Amory said, “We’ve embarrassed His Grace. Anne, do behave yourself.”
“I?” protested Lady Witley. “But it is no matter. I believe that the Earl of Goldstone has set his eye upon her and has her papa’s favor.”
“Goldstone. Now, there’s a rogue,” Lady Amory said. “Were we not just discussing yesterday how Lady Dahlia gave him a set down at Almacks?”
“Was it at Almack’s or one of Lady Jersey’s crushes?”
“Almack’s. Lady Jersey has taken exception to Lord Goldstone. He made a nasty comment about a relative of her’s who has connections with Lloyds.”
“Indeed? I would have thought that to be political suicide, given the Lloyd fortune.” Lady Witley shook her head at the thought, tsked, and then sipped her tea.
“It didn’t do him any good,” Lady Amory agreed. “But he still seems to show up at the best houses. One does have to wonder why.”
Chewing on this nugget of information, but feeling himself well awash in tea, Roger soon took his leave. So, Goldstone didn’t like someone connected to the Lloyd family? Probably not significant. The man seemed to have a genious for putting people’s backs up.
Herbert met him with the curricle and pair, the little mares looking impatient to be off, as well they might.
“Now we’ll ride on up to Cottleroy’s townhouse and have a word with Bochil. I’m fair worn down with talking, but Geoffrey – how strange that seems that he has been knighted – is a fount of information and promises to help find more. And that Carlyle fellow, I scarcely know what to make of him.”
“I’d be chary of any financial schemes there, Your Grace,” Herbert said. “The gossip has it that he is fairly pockets to let, and is trying desperately to recover.”
“Interesting to know,” Roger replied.
“Will that be all of your investigations, Your Grace?” Herbert inquired.
“I think not. I’ll meet with Bochil, hope to catch a glimpse of Lady Dahlia and then sally home for a bit of something stronger than tea.”
“And after a bracing nuncheon, Your Grace?”
“Ah, Herbert, how well you know me. After that, we shall visit my club. We will take a hired horse cab so that while I mingle with the peers of the realm, you shall be able to chat up their servants.”
Herbert chuckled. “I knew you’d find work for me sooner or later. Well, I’ll be happy to oblige, and your mares will be glad of their stable, I’ll warrant. We’ve had little enough work for them, but a lot of standing about in harnesses. They are growing warm and tired.”
* * *
At the Cottleroy townhouse, Roger was astonished by the decidedly cool reception he was given. The butler gave him no disrespect, but showed him to the small withdrawing room where he had met with Lord Bochil and Lady Dahlia the day before.
He had not been in the room for long when Lord Bochil came quickly into the room. “Praise the saints you are here, Duke Shelthom. Sadly, I must offer you poor hospitality. My father, the Duke of Cottleroy is in a great taking this morning, and we must carry on any further conversation away from the house.”
“I am driving my curricle,” Duke Shelthom began.
Lord Bochil waved the offer away. “No, no, I shall ride my horse. There is a tavern a few streets over. It serves a decent stew and a fine ale. We can speak there.”
Roger was taken aback by this odd directive but accepted the idea that fathers could be problematic at times. “Very well, I am at your disposal.” The Duke gave a brief nod.
“I’ve already taken the liberty of calling up my horse and your team, so they should be waiting for us,” Bochil said. “Let us go quickly before my father notices that you are here.”
Wondering at the haste, Roger followed Lord Bochil back out to the front steps where Herbert waited with the curricle and the mares, and Lord Bochil’s bay pranced around a stable boy who was trying to get her under control. At the touch of her master’s hand, the mare steadied and soon they were on their way to the tavern.
It was clear that Lord Bochil was well-known there. The tavern keeper quickly found them a private room. It was small, with rough-hewn, blackened timbers holding up the ceiling. The fireplace, which was not lit, created a welcome draft in the room. Their host brought them ale, portions of stew and crusty bread, then withdrew to allow them privacy.
“What has you in such a taking, Lord Bochil?” Roger asked.
“My father ordered Dahlia locked in her room last night. Unknown to him, Miss Emma left my sister’s room key in her keeping. Father does not know that Dahlia had a copy made some years ago so that she could slip out and wash her face in the morning dew.”
“Did she indeed do so?” Roger was mildly amused by this innocent escapade.
“Oh, yes, she did. Father was incensed by it, saying that his daughter was no common housemaid to be taken in by superstitions.”
“So, this modest defiance of her father has been going on for some time?” Roger sipped his ale, watching Lord Bochil’s face.
“I wouldn’t call it defiance, exactly.” Lord Bochil stirred his stew. “My sister hates to be confined or constrained. She would have made a fine brother, and perhaps I encouraged her a little too much.”
“I didn’t find her mannish,” Roger commented, “Quite the contrary.”
“Oh, she is not,” Lord Bochil agreed. “She is well-versed in the social niceties, very refined. But she loves to read books of philosophy, debates points of politics with me, and would probably have learned to play cricket if our governess would have allowed it. As it was, I taught her a little pugilism on the sly, and we played at fencing and quarterstaves in the Long Gallery on rainy days until I went away to school. But I digress.”
“Indeed?” Roger looked at Lord Bochil quizzically.
“She has run away,” Lord Bochil said soberly. “No one knows it yet except Miss Emma, our governess, Suzanne, Dahlia’s abigail, and me.”
“Did she leave a note?” Roger asked. “Often people who run away leave notes.”
“No note,” Lord Bochil said. “She’s too intelligent for that. She has often remarked how heroes or heroines are caught because they write out their plans for all to see.”
“How do
you know she has run away? Perhaps she is just hiding?” Roger broke some bread into the bowl of stew but did not pick up his spoon.
“She took her reticule, the money she had left from shopping yesterday, which I had given her. She wore her worn-out boots and her abigail says that her oldest dresses are missing from her closet.”
“Did she take anything else?”
“Hard to say. Her abigail didn’t know for sure. Oh, wait, yes. She took the things she bought yesterday and some squares of muslin.”
“That’s an odd combination,” Roger commented.
“Not really. We had a maid some time ago who made a little extra money doing embroidery. She created little muslin pillows and pillow covers and sold them on the side. Father turned her off for it.”
The Hazardous Gamble of the Alluring Duchess: A Historical Regency Romance Novel Page 9
