“I trust that they were able to help? Do I detect the possibility that one of them is the perpetrator of the ‘heroic rescue’?”
“You do. They returned with Jenkins, and hid themselves in the park, while Jenkins came to tell us their plan. Once the boy returned, they followed him, watched the exchange of notes, and then Lord Geoffrey came back here, following the boy, reported to us, and took the carriage back to where he had left Viscount Pendholm to follow Porter Arbuthnot.”
“Ah – so it is Charlton who gets to be called a hero this time? Geoffrey will be pleased.”
“He is a hero!” Bella leapt to his defence, eyes glowing with fervour. “He followed Porter, snuck into the warehouse after him, and almost managed to get to me before him. But Porter grabbed me – I could barely breathe, the way he had me, and the chair was all wobbly, which made breathing even harder. The bruises on my neck took weeks to heal!”
Raphael’s expression darkened, and he prayed that Charlton had given Arbuthnot the treatment that he deserved.
“Viscount Pendholm kept talking to Porter, making him rant about what he thought, and what he wanted. The Viscount had a sword, and he kept moving it about, making Porter watch it, talking ever so calmly about how he would skewer Porter with it. Porter got so nervous that he wasn’t holding me so tightly. And the way the Viscount looked at me, the things he said, the way he moved the sword, I guessed that he wanted me to help somehow. So I did the only thing I could think of, and, when the Viscount stepped towards Porter, I flung myself sideways and made the chair fall over. It hurt, but it pulled me out of Porter’s grasp and made him stagger back. That was enough. Seconds later, he was screaming, with a cut across his face and one across his chest. There was blood everywhere, and I thought he might die. I might even have wished it, at that point, even though that is very unchristian of me.”
“And what did Charlton do with him then?”
“He hit Porter, and knocked him out. Then he untied me, and tied Porter up with the rope. We had to walk for ages, making Porter walk with us, until we got to the inn where Lord Geoffrey was waiting. None of the cab drivers would stop for us, not even at the sight of coin. I was so annoyed with them – surely we didn’t look that bad! We took Porter to the Police, and, while the officer asked him questions, he was raving on, and mentioned the fire – and I knew what he meant. He has been charged with arson, kidnapping and extortion.”
“And has he been tried yet?”
Sophia answered, her frustration evident in her voice.
“No. When the Police officer told Porter’s father, apparently he rushed straight to the Police Office to see him. I thought he might disown him, from what Porter had said, but the Police Officer has told us that, instead, Porter’s father has hired him an expensive legal man. I can’t see how he can get out of this though.”
“We will have to make absolutely certain that he doesn’t. So – you were rescued, and Porter locked up, Charlton is a hero, and you have recovered. Is there any more to this story?”
“Yes, there is, and I think you’ll be pleased about it. There are two more pieces to it, one rather more significant than the other. The smaller thing – the urchin who Porter had paid to deliver the messages, and who we also paid to make sure that he kept coming back, turned out to be very helpful with telling the Police what happened – once we convinced him that he wasn’t in trouble. We gave him a bed for the night, and a decent feed, to keep him here until the Police Officer could see him the next morning. Potts got him talking. He is an orphan with two younger siblings, and at eleven, he’s the one who’s been keeping them fed. I gave him a position – I made him Alf’s assistant. I think he’s actually honest, and so does Alf. And I couldn’t face the thought of his brother and sister starving.”
“I’ll want to meet him, but that sounds like the sort of choice I would have made, if I had been here. And the other matter – the ‘more significant thing’?”
“Viscount Pendholm was here, of course, when they brought Bella home. When I thanked him by name, Sera went all still, and paled. She sat there while we talked, and while Bella cried herself dry and settled, then she spoke.”
“It seems that her reaction when you mentioned him had cause – although it was also based on a misunderstanding. His late, unlamented brother was, apparently, the man who ruined Sera’s brother, so badly that her brother killed himself. Sera has reviled the name of Pendholm ever since. But… because she and her mother were shunned by society, she did not know that the Viscount Pendholm who had ruined her brother was dead, and that the person who now held the title was a very different man. So, she thought you the friend of the worst kind of destructive man – one who hurts others for his own pleasure.”
A wave of relief coursed through Raphael. To know that there had been a reason for her reactions, a reason that he could understand, released a tension that he had held for all of those months, without really knowing it.
“I see. And when she spoke?”
“They talked – for almost an hour, right there, as if no one else existed in the room. And in the end, they recognised that, in a way, they shared the same pain. Both had lost a brother, through that man’s own actions, both suffered negative consequences from society as a result, both felt that the repercussions of their brother’s actions would never stop echoing through their lives. Viscount Pendholm was horrified at the devastation that his brother had wrought upon Sera’s family. She asked, and he agreed to visit her mother, and tell her the story of it all as well.”
“What happened then?”
“Sera only told me a little, but it seems that he took Lady Pendholm, and Lady Harriet with him. By the end of that visit, the two families were firm friends, and have stayed so.”
“And a good thing too, as I said at the time. I was not at all looking forward to a lifetime with a brother who was torn between his best friend, and a woman who couldn’t stand the man. Still, I could always have ignored everything, and buried myself in the business. You’ll be pleased to know that you were right. I do enjoy it. You’re stuck with me working in the business now that I’ve got the taste for it.”
“Gabriel, I hoped you’d say that – I’ll be sure to work you to the bone.”
The brothers grinned, happy at the chance to support each other. The conversation turned from there to Gabriel and Sophia’s description of what had been achieved in the business, and how busy they were in the favour manufactory, with all of the Saint Valentine’s Day orders. When the clock struck midnight, Raphael refused to tell them of his travels until the morrow, and took himself to bed.
As he lay there in the dark, adjusting to the pleasant, but odd feeling of a bed that did not roll with the waves, he thought about everything that had happened. When he had seen Sera, he had wanted to rush to her, to sweep her into his arms, to kiss her senseless. Yet she had been quiet, reserved, and left as soon as she could. Perhaps she had not ever cared as much for him, as he for her? Perhaps even knowing that Charlton was not the villain she had thought him, that Raphael did not associate with vile persons, had not been enough to change her mind. Or perhaps she had met someone else. He did not know. But he would be cautious until he did. He found the thought that she had forgiven Charlton, yet was still cold to him, a bitter thing to accept. He dreamed of kisses, that turned cold and faded away.
The orders for Saint Valentine’s Day favours exceeded anything that they might have predicted, especially in the last two weeks before the day. In what seemed an eerie echo of the previous year, Raphael and Sera worked to exhaustion each day, barely speaking to each other beyond the needs of getting the job done.
Their conversations were a little stiff, a little too formal, but the work left no energy to consider attempting more. Sera quietly grieved for her hopes – it was obvious to her that Raphael did not feel about her as she did about him, for he barely spoke, and always seemed rather aloof. If he did not want her, then she was too proud to beg for his affections.
She might, a year ago, have been willing to beg for food, but for this, she would not. If she had destroyed her own chance for happiness, by acting as she had in the summer, then so be it – she would take responsibility for her own actions.
But still she grieved the loss of something she had barely had – those few weeks of cautious exploration of each other might be all of him she ever had. The memories would have to be enough.
~~~~~
Baron Setford waited for the moment when he would be admitted to the Prince Regent’s audience chamber. In his stillness, he almost faded into the tawny coloured drapes, his clothes a soft brown, with only a little bit of gold work on the vest were a perfect match for the chamber. Only his piercing grey eyes moved, tracking the people in the room, watching who spoke to whom, and listening intently to what they discussed. There was much to be learned when others thought themselves unobserved.
Finally, he was called forward, and was amused to note how startled those closest to him were, when it seemed that a section of the drapes had come to life. He was announced, entered, bowed, and took the seat he was waved to.
“You commanded my presence, Your Highness?”
“Yes. I have a request of you. I am sure that you will be able to do as I wish with ease.”
Setford simply smiled, waiting to be told more, but a thread of concern rolled through him. This might be a trifle, or it might be much more.
“Anything, Your Highness. I am always at your service.”
The Prince Regent gave a casual wave of his hand.
“Of course you are, it is your job to be so. But to the matter at hand. Those pretty favours which Mr Morton supplied last year. I fear that they have created an expectation in the minds of certain ladies. An expectation which I wish to see fulfilled. I wish to commission some unique pieces, some designs that no one else will see, made from the most exotic and expensive materials. I wish no one of the toadies who copy my every foible to know, or they will see fit to indulge in unattractive imitation. Therefore, I require you to convey this commission to Mr Morton’s business, and ensure that it is fulfilled, exactly as I wish.”
Setford allowed himself a small exhalation of relief. Such a command was more easily fulfilled than almost anything else the Prince Regent had ever asked of him. And it provided an excellent opportunity to turn the conversation in the direction he wished it to go.
“Indeed, I am certain that can be achieved. If you will let me know of any particular fancies of the ladies in question – colours, favourite gems, that sort of thing, I am certain that the items can be made to elicit exactly the response that you wish for.”
“Good. Be certain that they do.”
“Your Highness, you will remember our discussion, last summer, about conferring the Porthaven title on Mr Morton?”
“Yes…?”
“Bridgemont has all of the papers in hand. Mr Morton has returned to England, just this past week, so there is no longer a reason to hold off.”
“I see. And why do I feel that you have a suggestion to make, with respect to this?”
“Perhaps because you know me well, Your Highness. I do indeed have a suggestion. I believe this may best be achieved if you meet privately with Mr Morton to forewarn him, but leave the formal announcement and ceremony until shortly after Easter, when the ton will all have come to town, and the Season will be in full swing. A very public show of the value that you place on the man will ease his acceptance into society, and therefore facilitate his usefulness to us.”
“That seems a wise and acceptable course, Setford. Tell Bridgemont to arrange things for me. Now, be off with you, and expect a message tomorrow, with those details of certain ladies’ preferences. Just make certain that the results are spectacular. Cost is, of course, no object.”
Setford bowed, and departed, well pleased with the interview.
~~~~~
Raphael went through each day as if in a dream, or perhaps a nightmare. A state in which there was nothing but work, and an ache of deep sadness every time he saw Sera. She at least permitted him in the same space, and even spoke to him – but only rather formally, of the business, never anything of her thoughts or feelings, no touch of the conversations they had once had, no sense of emotion at all.
It seemed obvious to him that she no longer cared for him, if she ever truly had. Yet he loved her more each day.
Everything that he had admired about her before, he now saw as even more worthy. She worked unstintingly, she cared for the girls that they employed, she was full of ideas that became amazing new products – her beauty and intelligence shone through in everything she did. Her brightness only dimmed a little when she was speaking to him – which hurt. For diminishing her in any way was quite the last thing he would wish to do.
He did not know what to do, beyond being there, and hoping that things might change. The rush of business at least made it easy to not talk, it gave him an excuse to avoid a conversation that he dreaded – for if he asked her about her feelings, she might confirm his worst fears. He was a coward, he knew, but he preferred to live in a state of painful hope.
With only a week to go before Saint Valentine’s Day, Raphael received a note from Setford, summoning him to a meeting. He approached it with some dread, and worry – partly because being away from the manufactory at this point would place extra load on Sera, and partly because he almost dreaded what Setford might ask of him.
When Setford relayed the Prince Regent’s commission, complete with a carefully annotated list of ‘Lady A’, ‘Lady B’, etc, with the preferences of each noted, he laughed, so hard that he suspected Mr Bigglesworth could hear him from below, then collapsed into the chair beside Setford’s and took a sip of the excellent coffee to compose himself.
“Of all the things! Does Prinny think you his errand boy now? But yes, we can fulfil this commission, in time for the day, and charge him handsomely for the privilege.”
“Good, it’s in your best interests to keep him happy. Make sure they are absolutely unique, and extravagant. I suspect that you can work out the true names of the ladies in question, for I fear that their preferences are rather predictable, and oft reflected in the clothes and jewels they are seen to wear. Give them good cause to gloat over others about the items that they receive.”
“Oh I will. And I am certain that Lady Serafine will see this as a design challenge, and will rise to the occasion magnificently.”
Setford watched Raphael’s face as he spoke, and made his own assessment of the emotions behind the words. If there was something there, that would align rather nicely with his plans. So be it.
“Having the Prince Regent appreciate your services is good – it will lead to more business, in all areas. You’re doing well, m’boy, very well. Let’s keep him happy.”
“I fully intend to.”
~~~~~
The favours for the Prince Regent were delivered on time, and met with his approval, and the approval of the ladies that he presented them to. Saint Valentine’s Day itself was, like the previous year, a day of rest for all involved, as they recovered from the hectic weeks before.
Sera had simply gone home the evening before, and had a quiet evening with her mother, before collapsing exhausted into her bed. Yet she could not help but remember the previous year.
The moment when she had risked exposing her heart, the moment when he had first kissed her. How had they come to this? This bitter empty aching place, where she saw and spoke to him every day, yet could no more reach him as she wished to, than she could touch the moon.
She had hoped, when he returned, that things might be different, that they might mend things, and start again, where they had been when she had so foolishly cast him aside. Yet they had not spoken of anything important.
He must know that she now knew the truth about Charlton, for his mother and sister had told him ‘all about Bella’s adventures’ but he had not tried to speak to her of any of it. And she had no concept of how to start s
uch a conversation herself. She lay there thinking of it, remembering that kiss, and wishing herself back then. But that was not possible. She cried herself to sleep.
~~~~~
Raphael spent the next week focussed on the main Morton Empire Imports business, and was very impressed with what Gabriel had achieved in his absence – it was a delight and a relief that his brother had taken to things so well, for it would reduce his own workload, and allow them to expand the business further.
Once certain that things were in good order, he was putting things in place, ready for his trip to Pendholm Hall for Charlton’s wedding, which was now only a few days away, when Jenkins came to find him.
“Mr Morton. I’ve just been rather forcibly reminded that, in the rush of things upon your return, there’s something I didn’t tell you.”
“Oh, what would that be, Jenkins?”
“Back in November, we received a letter from Lord Geoffrey, requesting some assistance. Given how much help he had been with Miss Isabella’s kidnapping, I simply actioned it on the spot – for trying to send it to you and wait for a reply would have caused a ridiculous delay. Here’s the letter.”
He handed Raphael Lord Geoffrey’s note.
“I engaged Mr Featherstonehaugh, and sent him off to Witherwood Chase. I’ve had a few letters from him since. It seems that Lord Geoffrey has an astounding trove of artistic treasure. The values that Mr Featherstonehaugh has estimated are quite remarkable. Today, the first batch of paintings arrived, for us to sell on Lord Geoffrey’s behalf. Mr Featherstonehaugh has sent a comprehensive report with them, detailing what he knows of each, of the artists, and the pieces, as well as persons he suggests as potential buyers. How do you wish to approach this?”
Winning the Merchant Earl: Sweet and Clean Regency Romance (His Majesty's Hounds Book 8) Page 12
