The Lord's Persuasion of Lady Lydia

by Raven McAllan

  He nodded. ‘Until you tell me otherwise, and please don’t – not now. I have another confession. It is not just you I’m here about. Something is afoot. Now, before you think I came upon you by chance,’ Harry said hurriedly, ‘I didn’t. I searched. It was only when I found you I was tasked by my new agent to look into the matter of some of my cargoes going missing. One of them was from Teignmouth across the river. It’s somewhat worrying, I might be wealthy, and I don’t mind helping people who deserved to be helped, but I will not tolerate stealing. London is easier for my agent to enquire within, but here, so far away, it could be harder.’

  ‘So it’s handy.’ The bubble of excitement in her tummy burst with a thud.

  ‘Oh, it’s handy,’ Harry agreed. ‘But not if it interferes with our friendship. Or what might evolve from it.’ He looked at her closely. ‘Will it?’

  Now, how to answer that without throwing caution to the wind? Lydia thought long and hard. Of course it wouldn’t unless it took him away again too soon for her to put her scarcely formulated plans into action. ‘Not at all,’ she said honestly. ‘I was saddened when I decided I needed to get away from everything, including you, sooner than I had anticipated.’ Even if it was only by a day or two. ‘And, let’s make it clear, I had been waiting for this time for ages. But, and I mean this, any friendship we embark on is just that. It is not a prelude to marriage. Do you understand?’ She did her best to appear firm. Although one part of her wanted to fling her arms around him and agree to anything he asked, the other more sensible part urged caution.

  Harry, damn him, just looked quizzical. ‘If you say so.’

  ‘Harry Birnham, do not use that pander-to-the-lady, quirky expression. I mean it. I came here to escape marriage, not fall into it.’ Lydia stamped her foot, forgetting she had no shoes on and was now standing in gravel. ‘Ouch.’

  He moved and lifted her off the ground, sweeping her inside before she had time to blink. ‘Of all the silly, idiotic…’ He dropped her somewhat unceremoniously onto a day bed. ‘What were you thinking about?’

  You, naked. ‘Evidently I was not thinking at all.’ Lydia motioned him to sit in a nearby chair. ‘Thank you. So, what next?’

  Harry shrugged. ‘I appeal to your good nature and ask as a friend if I can borrow Jem tomorrow. I’m finished here and he’s well enough to take over again.’

  The sense of disappointment was ridiculous, and totally disproportionate to what he said. He didn’t mean in Shaldon surely, just in her garden. After all, she’d made a point of not bothering him or Jem as they worked. Staring surreptitiously out of the window so they couldn’t see her didn’t count, did it?

  ‘How borrow?’ she asked cautiously? ‘As in to do what?’

  ‘Nothing untoward, I promise you. I merely need to go over the river and speak to the agent in Teignmouth. And see what is in the ship that will be unloaded there. It is supposed to be china clay, but something is amiss. I need to discover what. Jem, being local, can ease my way. Will you agree?’ It was nothing less than the truth.

  ‘Of course I will,’ she said promptly. ‘The garden is well tidied and you have done a stalwart job. Plus, he will enjoy it. He is a good gardener, but is capable of so much more.’

  ‘Thank you. I agree. I’ll do my best not to poach him too much. I see the makings of a good factotum, or secretary even, in him as he matures. Do you ever go over?’

  ‘You’ll poach him,’ she said resignedly with a laugh, and then started. The abrupt change of subject confused her. ‘Over the river?’

  Harry nodded.

  ‘Yes, why?’

  ‘Perhaps if you had to go tomorrow we could have lunch?’ he asked in what for him was a very diffident and hesitant tone. ‘I believe the Jolly Sailor is a fitting place to eat with a lady?’

  ‘Well,’ Lydia said slowly, as she thought of her diary, and thrust down her growing sense of excitement. ‘I suppose I could do with some new gloves and the ladies of the village say a Miss Nixon is an excellent glovemaker. In Teign Street.’ She made her mind up. ‘Yes, I’d love to have lunch with you. Ah, I will be alone, though, as Millie is on the church flower rota. And my new hat will be… I’ve just remembered something.’

  He raised one eyebrow enquiringly.

  ‘I thought I saw that rat Jeremy when I was over there last week.’

  ‘Jeremy? As in my odious heir, Jeremy?’

  Lydia nodded. ‘In the docks. It was only a brief glance so I couldn’t be sure, but…’ She shrugged. ‘If it wasn’t him it was somebody very similar.’

  Harry let his breath out in a long hiss. ‘That could explain some things. I’ll need to think about it, and get my ideas in order before I share. However, I promise I will share them with you. Once I understand them. Are you agreeable?’

  Something in his tone alerted her to the importance of her reply. Lydia knew it was make-or-break time for their friendship. She took a deep breath and nodded.

  Had she just changed her life? Time would tell.

  Harry smiled and it reached his eyes. ‘So we meet for lunch when I have been to the docks and I have Jem?’

  ‘As long as it is as friends.’ It seemed important to stress that. She was not going to be rushed or coerced into anything.

  ‘I’m fine with that.’ He winked. ‘I promise not to overstep the mark.’

  Was she pleased or unhappy about that?

  ****

  ‘What in Hades do you mean, Lord Birnham signed a document telling you to siphon a quarter off and put the funds elsewhere?’ Harry roared as the poor, hapless man in front of him blanched and swayed. ‘Haven’t we established I am Lord Birnham? Show me.’

  Harry ignored his imploring look. The man could go to hell if he didn’t fess up and soon. ‘I know I did no such thing and you now understand it.’

  ‘But, my lord.’ The poor harbourmaster looked bewildered, as well he might. ‘I assure you, I have the directive. Look, it is here.’

  Harry almost snatched the paper from the man and impatiently scanned the contents. ‘This is fake, you dunderhead. Hell, anybody with one iota of sense would know I do not sign myself Lord Harry, for God’s sake. Harold, Lord Birnham, man, is the correct signatory.’

  ‘Does it matter?’ Williams, the harbourmaster, said in a faint voice. ‘It purports to be from you. How would we know otherwise? Mr Merryworth never said.’

  Harry sighed and held out his signet. ‘Merryworth is no longer in my employ; he chose to leave. And hellfire, man, of course it matters. I am Lord Birnham and here, in case you doubt me, are letters of introduction from my London agent and my bankers.’ Thank goodness he’d thought of that.

  The poor man took them as if they might burn and slowly perused the contents.

  Beside Harry, Jem stood watchful and alert. Several other men had come into the office, alerted by the noise, and Harry was grateful for Jem’s presence.

  ‘Hey, young Jem, what’s up?’ one asked gruffly.

  ‘Some badduns trying to scam his lordship,’ Jem said. ‘And he and I ain’t having none of it.’

  ‘What’s it to you then, eh?’ the newcomer asked belligerently.

  Harry did his best ‘look-down-the-nose, I-am-a-peer-of-the-realm’ expression. ‘Mr Troup,’ he said emphatically, ‘is my secretary. I rely on him and his good judgement implicitly.’ The newly appointed secretary looked startled for a second but merely folded his arms.

  The original speaker took a step back. ‘Sorry, your lordship, but we heard the commotion and, well, we wondered, like…’

  ‘Just what was going on?’ Harry said pleasantly. ‘And helpfully rushed in to the rescue. As you should. But I assure you all that is going on is that I have a pressing need to discover who is trying to steal from me and why. No…’ He held up his hand. ‘I accept it is no one here. But someone hoodwinked Williams and that is not acceptable.’

  ‘Sir, my lord, I…’

  ‘Will help me. I know.’ Harry turned to the five or six other men wh
o had come crowding in. ‘If anyone can shed any light on any of this I will be more than happy. And generous. If you have any ideas at all, please tell Mr Troup, Mr Williams, or myself. I am at present putting up at Orchard House in Shaldon.’

  Three hours later, Harry sat in his study, a glass of wine next to him, and for the forth or fifth time read over the letters Williams had given him. Even the lunch with Lydia, enjoyable as it had been, hadn’t given him a chance to cool down. She, after one look at his face, chatted about anything except his visit to the docks. As they stood up to leave the inn, he stopped her with his hand on her shoulder.

  ‘It’s too complicated to explain yet. But it may well have been Jeremy you saw, and if so I am certain he is up to no good.’

  Lydia rested her hand over his and squeezed it gently. ‘You tell me when you want to and, in the meantime, let me know if there is anything I can do.’

  As he mulled over everything he had learned, Harry decided it made no sense, except that the letters showed categorically that someone, or several someones purporting to be him, were making a fortune that did not belong to them.

  The heading on the documents was false, the writing ill-formed, and the language uneducated. No, not uneducated, Harry realised, just written by someone unused to how a business transaction should be expressed.

  The burning question was who had written them, or ordered them to be written? They might have his name at the bottom and be headed by Buckley, his solicitor, and Pugh, his London – and main – agent, but they came from neither of them.

  However, someone knew enough about his business to use the correct names, albeit with an address he didn’t know. He’d ask Stephen to aid him there, rather than involve any of his London staff. Harry leaned his chair onto its back legs, steepled his hands on his chin, and pondered. With the willing help of Williams, he’d made sure that the subterfuge wasn’t discovered by asking the latter to send a letter as he normally did, but this time to say the load was inferior and had been refused. He was guessing whoever received the missive wouldn’t know enough about china clay to query it.

  So who?

  Jeremy? Even a few days ago it would have seemed unlikely, but who else was in need of money, and knew with whom Harry dealt? Plus, Lydia thought she had seen him at the docks. And everyone confirmed that the man who had approached people at the docks was not him. It was a humiliating thought that his heir could stoop so low, but it had to be considered. On more than one occasion Harry had come across him reading files in his, Harry’s, desk, or shutting a ledger surreptitiously. When should he divulge everything to Lydia? Not tonight, for he knew it was the evening the village ladies met for their friends’ supper and no doubt Lydia would be there. But first thing in the morning, he’d have to go and see her.

  Now he needed to think hard and get his musings in order. Lydia would be the perfect person to pick holes in his theories if there were any. But, meanwhile, he had other things to do. A missive to Stephen asking him to put his peculiar talents to use again, for a start, in such a way no one knew of his enquiries. And then to set his solicitor the task of tracing the fake signatures, perhaps?

  A tap on the door made him lift his head up and bid the caller enter. Jem came in and hesitated.

  ‘Go on, I won’t bite,’ Harry said mildly. ‘If it’s bad news, better to get it over with than worry. You’ve gambled your wages on a snail race and lost?’

  ‘Eh?’ Jem stared and then grinned. ‘With my ma around? Not a chance.’

  ‘She’s burned the pudding?’

  ‘Lord, that would be around the village like a seagull after scraps. The pudding is safe. Ma said to come and tell you straightaway, like, that Lady Babbacombe, her from over the hill, got a pile of papers from Lunnon.’

  Harry swore under his breath. He knew what was going next. ‘Go on.’

  ‘Well, her housekeeper goes to the ladies’ gossip evening. You know, the one they call the supper. It’s beneath Lady B; she’s so puffed up with her own self-importance. So the housekeeper, I can’t mind her name, got it from lady L that Lady Lydia was engaged to a Lord Birnham and it was a matter of sorting out an agreeable date afore the wedding day were announced and stuff. Then another one said the lady fled rather than it happening and now no one knows where the lord is. And Ma said as Lady Lydia is here and it’ll not be long before that news is all over the county. Then…’ He took a deep breath. ‘Then, Ma says there was another one that said the marriage was no longer on. Because she’d met someone else. And it used letters like J and M. So she said I need to warn you. Oh, and Lady Lydia was all over frosty and said if they liked to listen to scandal she hoped they enjoyed it, but she had nothing to say except that gossip sold papers. And then, Ma said, she sat and sipped her tea as calm as you like. My ma don’t half admire Lady Lydia.’

  Not half as much as I do.

  ‘Thank your mother for me. There’s nothing we can do really. I’ll go and talk to Lady Lydia tomorrow and see what she wants me to say. We are friends, good friends, and this is pure conjecture. Sadly, in the world of the ton, gossip, scandal and half truths make up most of what a lot of people rely on to help them through their otherwise boring lives.’ It was all nonsense but he hoped Jem didn’t understand that.

  ‘Ah, I guess so.’ Jem nodded. ‘You know something? It’s not fair for people to be doing this to her and you. She’s nice and a real lady, and the… the gossipmongers aren’t,’ he added passionately. ‘The besoms. No offence, sir, but a man is more likely to blow it off than a lady.’

  ‘True and don’t worry, I’ll sort it for her.’ I hope.

  ‘That’s what Ma said. His lordship, he’ll do the right thing for her, not to worry. Her very words.’ Jem grinned. ‘I’ll be off then, sir. I’m not at Lady Lydia’s tomorrow, apart from lunch. Do you need anything doing?’

  Harry’s mind whirled with all the information Jem had imparted, almost without drawing breath. ‘Thank you. If things carry on like this I’m going to have to think of extra help around here. I can’t put it all on you and your mother.’

  ‘We don’t mind, sir, really we don’t,’ Jem said earnestly.

  ‘No, but Lady Lydia might if her gardener is conspicuous by his absence.’

  ‘Eh?’ Jem look mystified.

  ‘Never there,’ Harry elaborated.

  ‘Ah, I see. Well, I’ll come and help you when I’ve finished there.’

  ‘Jem, you are a gem,’ Harry said with a laugh. ‘I think you’ll need to ride to my solicitor’s office in the morning, if you don’t mind? I need these letters to go by courier not the mail. It’s quicker and they need to reach London post-haste. Or rather haste, not post.’

  Jem half smiled. ‘I thought I might. That’s no problem. You leave what I need out and I’ll sort it for you.’ He headed to the door and turned around to look at Harry. ‘I ain’t half glad me dad thrashed me if I tried not to go to school. He said how lucky we were to have one, and if I got book learning and could read and write I’d be set up. He was spot on.’ He left the room and Harry heard the thud as the kitchen door shut after him.

  Harry watched the way a nearby picture on the wall swung in the unexpected breeze the door’s movement created and pondered on his next moves. He really needed to go and lock up, but his mind was full of what else he ought to do, and how Lydia would continue to deal with all the rubbish that was going on.

  He soon found out.

  A scraping at his window made him swivel in his chair and look across to where the curtains were drawn over the encroaching darkness. It was past ten o’clock and, for the country, late for people to be abroad. Intrigued as to who was doing their best to catch his attention, Harry walked across the room and pulled the heavy brocade curtain back so he could look through the glass.

  Lydia stood there, her hand raised, poised to knock again. He slid the bolt, turned the key, and stood back to let her enter.

  ‘As happy as I always am to see you, is this a good or a bad thing?’
Harry asked as he lifted Lydia’s cloak from her shoulders and propelled her towards a comfortable chair to one side of the almost dead fire. ‘Give me a second to get more warmth in here.’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ Lydia said as she tucked her shoes under the base of the chair. ‘But whatever it is, I needed to see you and have your strength reassure me about what I’m doing and give me some advice about how to proceed.’

  He noticed her watching him, as she nibbled her lips and frowned. He stirred the embers to life and added a few more coals. ‘Then have a glass of something while you decide. Wine? Brandy? Port?’

  ‘Any will be most acceptable. I’m awash with weak tea and stale buns. It was Miss Parmenter’s night to cater and she always just brings whatever is left at the bakery. We all know not to go on an empty stomach on her nights.’

  ‘I thought the whole point of these evenings, according to Mrs Troup, was to feed up on good food someone else had made for your delectation.’

  Lydia giggled and rolled her eyes. ‘It is all in how you define the word supper. Miss Parmenter says it’s a tomfoolery and no one needs more than a cup of tea and a bun. But she also says strong tea is bad for your stomach. So we all have dinner before we go, and expect our stomachs to gurgle.’

  ‘And what does the estimable Miss Parmenter do when someone else caters?

  ‘Ah, now you have it. She tuts and harrumphs and says she can’t let good food go to waste, especially as someone had taken time and effort to prepare it.’

  Harry laughed out loud. ‘I see. Shade of Lady James with her supper dances out at Richmond, eh?’

  ‘Oh, I’d forgotten that old harridan,’ Lydia said with a giggle. ‘Yes, exactly.’

  ‘Well, to dilute the tea, how about that drink I promised you?’ Harry gestured to the decanters on the sideboard.

  ‘Oh yes, please, whatever you’re having.’ In the grate, the coals took light and flames flickered and warmed the room. ‘Oh, this is nice.’ The night had turned chilly. ‘I was glad of my cloak. And the back lane to get here. I, er, waited until I saw Jem leave.’