by Georgie Lee
Cecelia touched the pendant, tracing the sturdy square hidden beneath her dress. Theresa was right. The General’s gifts were never so personal or bestowed with the sincerity she saw in Randall’s face yesterday, and again today. On the stairs, with his hand so close to her cheek, he’d asked her to trust him and for one fleeting moment she’d almost believed the caring in his eyes. Cecelia pinched the bridge of her nose, wishing she knew what to think of him and whether or not she could trust him. It had taken so long to get over the last hurt he had caused and she feared suffering the pain all over again.
‘You don’t have to tell him the truth,’ Theresa said. ‘But I think you should give him the chance to be kind to you. Maybe he’s sorry for what he did and this is his way of making it up to you.’
Cecelia looked down at the reticule on the desk, thick with the money from the sale of the books. He’d already helped her today without asking for anything in return except her faith in him. It seemed ludicrous to believe Theresa might be right, but the weight of the pendant around her neck made the idea too tempting to dismiss.
‘I don’t know, but I can’t think about it now.’ She dug the money out of the bag and slid it into the desk drawer, unable to ponder Randall’s motives, Theresa’s suggestion or anything except the more pressing problems facing her. ‘I must keep my appointment with Mr Rathbone.’
‘But if you sold the books, we don’t need him.’
‘The money from the books won’t last for ever, and I’d rather see Mr Rathbone now and bargain for good terms than turn to him when we’re desperate and accept poor ones. Besides, if all goes well, we may not need Mr Rathbone’s money.’
‘You mean if Lord Strathmore proposes,’ Theresa stated flatly.
‘Him, or another gentleman.’ She wasn’t quite ready to believe Randall was that sincere in his pursuit. ‘Now, I must go.’
Cecelia headed for the door, but Theresa stepped between her and it as though stopping an errant husband from visiting the public house. ‘Promise me, no matter how desperate things become, you won’t marry Lord Strathmore.’
The concern in Theresa’s voice sent a stab of guilt through Cecelia. She couldn’t blame her for not understanding, or for hoping. ‘You know I won’t make such a promise. Now, don’t worry so much. The Season is young and we still have options open to us.’
Cecelia stepped out into the fine weather, shielding her eyes from the sun with her hand. What she wouldn’t give for a thick fog, something to match her mood and hide her from anyone else who might be out today. Hopefully, no one from society would be at Mr Rathbone’s.
A brisk breeze played at the hem of her skirt as she moved from the quiet of their neighbourhood to the busy main street, her pace slowing as she drew closer to the Fleet. The imposing front of the gaol came into view and Cecelia paused to watch a soldier in a tattered red uniform, one sleeve pinned up at his side, step through the iron gate. Catching a glimpse of two women washing inside, their lives confined by the gaol and their debts, Cecelia knew she couldn’t place her faith in Randall the way Theresa did. If Theresa was wrong, if Randall proved to be no better now than he’d been ten years ago, Cecelia and Theresa might spend the rest of their days languishing here, if not somewhere far worse. He’d asked for her friendship and she’d give it, but it would not be a deep one. She couldn’t afford it.
* * *
‘She went where?’ Randall snapped the hunting book closed and rose from his chair, stepping over Reverend, who slept on the rug in front of him.
‘Mr Rathbone’s, my lord,’ Mr Joshua repeated.
‘Surely she can’t have overspent that much?’ Randall shoved the book in between the others on a shelf, but it stuck out, breaking the clean line of spines along the library wall.
‘Might get herself in real trouble if she isn’t careful,’ Mr Joshua warned, echoing Randall’s thoughts.
‘Or if her money doesn’t arrive in time to pay the debt before the interest increases it.’ Randall dropped the book into an opening on a lower shelf, but it was too small for the space and he took it up again.
‘Mr Rathbone’s better than most, my lord, but he doesn’t shrink from sending people to the Fleet if they don’t pay.’
Randall tapped the book against his palm, pacing before the shelves. Cecelia was intelligent and he didn’t doubt she’d be cautious in her dealings with the moneylender, but he’d seen more than one young lord fall prey to such men and all their games. It wouldn’t take long for Mr Rathbone to trap her and turn the small debt into a crushing one. ‘If she knows her payments are coming from Virginia, then why did she turn to a moneylender? Why not a friend?’
‘Being from the colonies, maybe she doesn’t know better. And I don’t expect the likes of Madame de Badeau to help her. Dalton asked her for money once, flew at him like a cat, despite all his years of servin’ her.’
Then why didn’t Cecelia come to me? The memory of her face in the conservatory, her hands balled at her sides, her lips trembling while she struggled to stand up beneath his barrage of heartless words flashed before him.
She didn’t trust him.
The realisation burned a hole in his gut. He tossed the book across the tops of others on the shelf and marched to the desk. He might have handled their break poorly, but it didn’t lessen his present concern, or his desire to see to her safety.
Removing a key from his waistcoat pocket, he slid it into the lock on the top drawer. ‘I know a little something of Mr Rathbone, he isn’t likely to tell you his client’s business.’ He removed a leather pouch from the drawer and tugged open the drawstring, then counted out a number of coins. ‘See if his servants have anything to say on the matter.’
Mr Joshua opened his hand, his eyes neither greedy nor scheming as Randall dropped the money into his palm. ‘Why not ask him yourself, my lord?’
‘And do what? Purchase her debts? Have her know I’m sneaking around prying into her personal affairs?’ He could well imagine her lack of faith in him after that little row. Even if he bought the slip anonymously, with all his questions today, it wouldn’t be long before she discovered it was him. Lord Strathmore wasn’t likely to be so generous. He probably owed the man himself, and Mr Joshua was right about Madame de Badeau’s unwillingness to help.
‘If her mistress is visiting a moneylender, Mrs Thompson’s maid probably hasn’t been paid her wages,’ Mr Joshua suggested. ‘She might be willin’ to take a little blunt in exchange for information.’
‘Make sure she’s discreet before you offer it.’ Randall dropped a few more coins into the valet’s hand, then pulled the drawstrings closed. ‘I don’t want her alerting her mistress.’
Mr Joshua slipped the coins in his waistcoat pocket. ‘Why are you so keen on this one, my lord?’
Randall returned the bag to the drawer and locked it. ‘I have my reasons.’
Mr Joshua nodded, accepting the answer as Randall knew he would. It was only the second time since Mr Joshua had begun working for him that he’d been less than candid with the valet. The young man knew enough secrets about Randall and a number of high-born ladies to scandalise society. It was the other lesson from Uncle Edmund he’d taken to heart—one loyal servant was worth his weight in gold.
‘Mr Joshua, you don’t have any plans to take up a trade, do you?’
‘No, my lord, I enjoy workin’ for you, though some day I’d like to have a son and set him up fine. Maybe send him to Oxford, raise him up like Mr Brummell was raised.’
‘Then when the time comes, we’ll have to see what we can do.’
‘Thank you, Lord Falconbridge.’ Mr Joshua bowed, then left.
Randall stared at the empty doorway and the large painting of Falconbridge Manor hanging in the hall across from it. The tall columns of the front portico stood proudly in the foreground, but little of the land surrounding
the house was visible, not the stables, the river nor the mill wheel turning lazily at the edge of the pond.
He’d been a fool to think he could secure Cecelia’s confidence with a few well-chosen words and jewellery. She’d seen through his ruse and, despite his efforts today, the damage was done. Randall settled back into his chair and Reverend rose and laid his head on Randall’s leg. He scratched behind the dog’s ear. Despite the past hanging between them, he had to find a way to earn her trust, to make her see there was more to his interest than a rake’s desire. Then she’d tell him the truth and he’d help her, whatever her problem.
Chapter Nine
The thump of the front-door knocker echoed through the house and Cecelia and Theresa caught each other’s eyes in the dressing-table mirror.
‘It’s too early for Madame de Badeau,’ Cecelia said. A little light still filled the sky outside the window. ‘We’re not due at Lady Weatherly’s until eight.’
‘Perhaps it’s Lord Falconbridge.’
Cecelia pursed her lips at Theresa, amazed at how the girl continued to cling to the idea of a romance between her and Randall. ‘I doubt it, but I’ll go see.’
‘I’ll come with you.’
Cecelia didn’t wait, but made her way out of the room, stopping at the top of the stairs.
‘Please tell Mrs Thompson that Mr Rathbone is here to see her.’ The clipped voice trailed through the hall and sent a shot of panic through Cecelia.
Theresa grabbed her arm, her fingers tight. ‘What’s he doing here?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘What if someone sees him?’
‘Stay here while I deal with him.’
Theresa released her and Cecelia descended the stairs, gripping the banister to settle herself and regain her courage. She was once the mistress of Belle View, responsible for managing all sorts of matters high and low. She would not be rattled by a moneylender.
‘Good evening.’ She clasped her hands in front of her and fixed him with the same smile she once reserved for insolent foremen. ‘I know you said you’d call, but I didn’t think it would be so soon.’
‘I make it a habit to surprise potential clients who don’t possess property. It keeps them from hiding the valuables they didn’t offer as collateral, the ones I might seize if they default due to interest.’ He bowed and she was struck again by his youth. He was no more than thirty, tall and lean with the matter-of-fact air of a businessman. He wore a fine brown redingote, the full lapels and generous skirt adding a little bulk to his slender frame. If she’d seen him in a sitting room, she wouldn’t have guessed him for a moneylender, but the son of a well-to-do merchant. ‘The house is hired?’
‘It is.’
He peeked into the morning room, his sharp eyes taking in the furnishings and calculating in an instant their worth and hers. ‘And the furniture?’
‘It is let with the house.’
‘Is there a dining room and library?’
‘There’s no library and the dining room is this way.’
She led him down the narrow hall and into the dining room, seeing the plainness of the furniture through his eyes and hating the cheapness of it all. Her dining room at Belle View had been three times the size and the walnut table used to shine in the candlelight.
He walked around the table in the centre before stopping at the narrow buffet to look over the pewter. ‘And there is no silverware or china?’
‘No, I sold it in Virginia to pay for our passage.’
‘So you have no more collateral than the jewellery and clothes we spoke of this afternoon?’
‘That’s correct. Would you care to come to the morning room to discuss it?’
He shook his head. ‘Our discussion will be brief. Given your lack of collateral, I cannot advance you the full sum we discussed.’
Cecelia swallowed hard, fighting to maintain her composure. ‘I’m expecting an inheritance payment in December.’
He smiled to reveal white, even teeth. ‘Most people in need of my services are expecting some kind of payment. Rarely does the money arrive. I can provide half of what you requested.’
‘And if I need more in the future?’
Mr Rathbone made his way around the table, running one finger over a long scratch in the surface. ‘I’ve heard rumours of a titled gentleman who’s taken an interest in you.’
‘You presume a great deal.’
‘I make it my business to know the affairs of my clients. Is it true?’
Cecelia offered a terse nod.
‘Once you and the gentleman have an understanding, I’ll advance any additional sums you require for your cousin’s dowry or other debts.’
‘You wish me to borrow money without my potential husband’s knowledge?’
‘You wouldn’t be the first lady to do so, nor the last to appeal to her husband’s good graces to see it repaid.’
‘No, I suppose not.’ She’d heard stories of ladies losing vast sums at the gambling tables and borrowing money from friends and others to cover their losses. Some of them were the wives of great men and were obliged to retire from society until their husbands could settle their debts.
‘It isn’t my intention to ruin you, Mrs Thompson, but like any man of business, I must protect my investments.’
‘Yes, of course. Thank you, Mr Rathbone.’ She led him out of the dining room and down the hall when, to her horror, Mary opened the front door and Madame de Badeau and Lord Strathmore entered. In the dining room, so far from the front of the house, she hadn’t heard Madame de Badeau’s carriage arrive.
Her heart began to race. If Madame de Badeau saw Mr Rathbone, she might guess the reason for his presence. Cecelia looked around for somewhere else to lead the moneylender, but there was nowhere, not even a linen closet in which to stash him. All she could do was continue forward, though she slowed, forcing Mr Rathbone to come up short behind her and then step back to avoid colliding. Though Mr Rathbone was not the most sought-after moneylender among the ton, he dealt with enough people in society to be known. Hopefully, Madame de Badeau would not recognise him and Cecelia could safely see him out with little question or concern.
‘There you are,’ Madame de Badeau called with a wide smile before she glanced over Cecelia’s shoulder. Her smile remained fixed, but a cat-like glee filled her eyes and Cecelia’s heart dropped. She recognised him.
Cecelia summoned again her mistress-of-the-plantation facade. Whatever secret Madame de Badeau thought she’d discovered, Cecelia would use confidence to dampen its impact. She stopped and stepped to one side, giving Madame de Badeau a full view of the moneylender. ‘Madame de Badeau, Lord Strathmore, allow me to introduce Mr Rathbone.’
Madame de Badeau’s eyes darted back and forth between Cecelia and Mr Rathbone as if observing something so wicked, not even her skills as an actress could hide her curiosity. ‘We have already been introduced. It was in Brighton, was it not?’
‘I do not recall.’ The clipped words made it clear the moneylender didn’t share her interest in their former meeting. Madame de Badeau shot him a scathing look, but it failed to humble him or change his attitude and Cecelia silently applauded the young man. He was the first person she’d met, besides Randall, who cared nothing for the woman or her opinion.
Whatever Lord Strathmore thought of the encounter he kept it well hidden as he examined a poorly executed landscape near the foot of the staircase.
‘Good evening, Mrs Thompson.’ Mr Rathbone tipped his hat to her and left.
As soon as Mary closed the door behind him, Madame de Badeau began her second act, appearing all concern and care as she took Cecelia’s hands.
‘My dear, you aren’t in trouble, are you?’
‘Of course not.’ Cecelia laughed, sliding her hands out of the woman’s tight grip. ‘I on
ly consulted him on the advice of my solicitor. It seems money from Virginia takes a great deal longer to reach London than I realised and I overspent. My husband used to manage such affairs. I fear without him, I’m simply lost, though I am improving.’
At last Lord Strathmore joined the performance, his face long with sympathy. ‘I know how hard it can be for a woman without a man to guide her. Please allow me to send my man of affairs to help you. It would save you the trouble of dealing with unsuitable people like Mr Rathbone.’
He laid one hand on his heart, his sickeningly sweet look of pity making Cecelia want to scream. ‘You’re most generous and kind, but I assure you, I’m in no need of such services. My money from Virginia arrived this morning, Mr Rathbone has been repaid and I shall have no more dealings with moneylenders. Please allow me to collect Theresa and then we may go.’
‘Of course,’ Madame de Badeau agreed. ‘We can’t keep such an eligible lady from all the young men.’
Madame de Badeau’s words followed Cecelia up the stairs to where Theresa stood, pressed against a far wall, out of sight of the hall. Her eyes were wide with worry and Cecelia took her arm and pulled her back into her room.
‘She didn’t believe you, I could tell by her voice,’ Theresa whispered as Cecelia closed the door. ‘How long until she tells everyone?’
Cecelia fixed a small flower in Theresa’s hair. ‘We aren’t interesting enough to society for her to bother spreading rumours. If anything, she’ll only whisper nasty things to Lord Strathmore and his loss, as you’ve pointed out before, would not be a tragedy.’
Theresa’s body eased, her worried frown softening. ‘No, it wouldn’t be.’
‘Now smile and put on a brave face. We can’t have Madame de Badeau and Lord Strathmore suspecting more than they already do.’
* * *
Randall stepped into Lady Ilsington’s crowded ballroom, conscious of, but ignoring, the many people watching his entrance. Hushed conversation trailed him as he made his way to the garland-draped balcony overlooking the dance floor. Beneath the high crystal chandeliers, men and women moved in circles and twirls over the polished dance floor while the ones along the sides performed as many intricate steps for those around them. None of them interested him. Cecelia was the only person he wanted to see.
