Winning the Merchant Earl: Sweet and Clean Regency Romance (His Majesty's Hounds Book 8)

by Arietta Richmond

  They began with a number of exclusive, invitation only small events, at which the paintings on display had been chosen specifically to suit the invitees, based on Mr Featherstonehaugh’s recommendations. They served wine, and small cakes, and allowed the potential buyers to convince themselves to pay high prices – for, often, seeing another man interested in the same painting had a salutary effect on how much a gentleman was willing to pay.

  Sera stayed in the background – never introduced, barely visible, dressed plainly, and always careful to avoid the presence of anyone she had known well… before. A small part of her wished that she could be seen, be more involved, but the fear overrode that wish, and she stayed in the shadows.

  Still, the venture thrived.

  ~~~~~

  The tap on the door broke his concentration. Raphael pushed the ledger aside – he would come back to it later.

  “Enter.”

  Potts pushed open the door, and held out the silver correspondence tray. A single letter lay on its centre. Raphael picked it up, curious.

  “Thank you, Potts.”

  As the door closed, he resumed his seat at his desk, and studied the missive. He did not recognise the hand. He turned it over, and stared at the seal – that, he recognised. But why would the Prince Regent be sending him a letter? This could be something good, or something unpleasant – there was nothing to do but open it.

  It contained few words – simply

  His Royal Highness, the Prince Regent, requires that Mr Raphael Morton attend upon him at four of the clock this afternoon.

  And a flourished signature.

  Such informality was most unusual, and Raphael felt tension coil within him – what did the Prince Regent want of him? He stood, checked the time on the elegant mantle clock, and rushed from the room, calling for Potts to send for Alf and the carriage, as fast as possible. There was barely time for him to dress appropriately and be there on time.

  They made it – just.

  Alighting, he brushed himself off, assumed his most controlled and casual air, and entered the building. They had, it seemed, been warned to expect him, for the footmen and ushers did not hesitate to guide him through the throng of hopeful courtiers, and to the door of the Prince Regent’s Audience Room. It was not a place that Raphael had ever expected to find himself. Five minutes later, having been announced, having successfully bowed to the correct degree, and been greeted by the Prince Regent, he found himself seated, and in possession of a glass of excellent brandy. Such casual largesse from the Prince Regent only increased his nervousness.

  “It seems, from what Baron Setford tells me, that I have been remiss – I have not adequately rewarded your services to the crown. And I must declare that I include in those laudable services the invention and creation of those delightful little favours, which have so impressed the ladies of my… acquaintance. As a result of those, I’ve a mind to declare your business an official supplier to the court. That should send all of the toadies running to your door. Just don’t sell them anything even vaguely similar to the pieces you provide to me, or I shall be mightily offended.”

  “I wouldn’t think of doing so, Your Highness. I am deeply conscious of the value of exclusivity.”

  “As you should be. Now, about the real reason I commanded your presence today. Setford’s right. Annoying man, he usually is. If he were not so effective at what he does, it would be insupportable. I have decided to confer a title on you, in recognition of your service to crown and country.”

  “A… a title, Your Highness?”

  “Yes. Can’t have you unable to easily mix in society with your friends. You’re too valuable to us, as an individual, and as part of the group they call His Majesty’s Hounds. So my solution is to make you a peer. The Earl of Porthaven, to be precise. The title comes with a house in town, and a country estate, plus a number of other smaller properties. Most of them were entailed to the title, and will remain so. Plenty for you to enjoy. And I’m looking forward to watching the more irritating members of the ton deal with the conflict induced by the fact that you will be both a merchant with my favour, and a peer. Perhaps a few of them will have the courtesy to have an apoplexy at the thought, so that I won’t need to deal with them hereafter.”

  The Prince Regent laughed at his own humour, and Raphael joined him in laughter, whilst his mind reeled.

  “I am honoured, Your Highness. And if you would do me the courtesy of informing me about who irritates you, I will endeavour to initiate conversation with them, of a nature which may induce apoplexy. Given the attitudes of many of the ton, it would seem a simple enough service to perform.”

  That produced another laugh.

  “I can see that you’ve been around Setford far too much. That’s exactly the sort of thing he’d say. I’m intending to formally announce your title just after Easter, when the Season will be in full swing. We’ll launch you into it in a way that will make it hard for any of them to turn up their noses at you. But I thought I’d warn you. I like a good entertaining show. And if you’re prepared, you can appear at your best.”

  “I appreciate your thoughtfulness Your Highness. I will prepare myself as you request. I look forward to ensuring that you are entertained on the day.”

  “Good. Don’t disappoint me. Bridgemont will send you a package of information – just follow his instructions, come the day – I depend on him to have it all organised.”

  “As you wish, Your Highness.”

  “Oh, and do create something exquisite and unique that I can give my favourite mistress, appropriate to the Easter season, and send it to Bridgemont, with your bill – I don’t care what it costs – just make something she’ll like. Bridgemont will bring it to me discreetly.”

  “Of course, Your Highness, I will ensure that it is such that she boasts of it to everyone around her for weeks.”

  “Ah, you have grasped the need exactly. Now, be off about your business, and leave me to deal with the tedious meeting that awaits me. I think that I’ll enjoy having you around.”

  Raphael, dismissed, bowed his way out, and left. Just outside the door, a gentleman took him aside, introducing himself as Bridgemont, and handed Raphael his calling card.

  “I know where to find you Mr Morton, and now you have my direction. I will keep you informed as plans progress. Oh, and my congratulations on your soon to be new status.”

  “Thank you, I think. I am rather uncertain at this point of the scale of what will be involved. I hope that you will be able to help me become clear on that.”

  “I will be delighted to assist.”

  The gathered courtiers had watched this interchange with interest, although they were far enough away not to have heard what was said. Suddenly Raphael felt as if he were an animal in a menagerie, being gawked at by the crowd. He was glad to slip quickly through the room and away, into the crisp fresh air of the afternoon.

  In the carriage on the way home, Raphael turned the startling conversation over in his mind. It seemed completely unreal. The idea that he would become a peer, would carry a title of higher precedence than those of most of the other Hounds, was the stuff of a wild imagination – yet it had become real. He had only just begun to rebuild his relationship with Sera, and had decided to simply focus on the gallery business, and the favours business, ready for the Season. He hoped that the day to day closeness would allow them to become truly comfortable with one another again, yet he found himself doubting everything now.

  Anguished, torn between amazement at the honour being granted him, and fear of all the change that it would bring, he wondered what would happen. Most of all, he was afraid of how Sera might react – would she, once the Prince Regent announced his grant of title, see him differently? Would his change of status help to bring them closer on the social scale, or would she see him as most of the ton undoubtedly would, as an upstart? Raphael was afraid, too, of how he himself would deal with it all when the time came – there was much to learn, and the ton would
be watching for any failings on his part. As the carriage drew up before Morton House, he decided not to tell anyone else until he was sure that it was actually going to happen, just in case it didn’t.

  A few weeks after the gallery’s opening, they received news that Porter Arbuthnot’s trial had finally completed, and that he had been found guilty on all charges, and imprisoned, pending transportation to Australia. He was scheduled to be shipped on the Almorah, a ship expected to leave during the month of April.

  Gossip said that his father had taken it very badly, especially as he had sunk more than he could afford into paying the lawyers who had attempted to get Porter acquitted. Isabella was glad that Porter would not be in the country, that she would never need to see him again, but it saddened her that all his attempts to restore his family’s business to glory had only resulted in ruining it completely.

  ~~~~~

  The gallery went from strength to strength, and word passed amongst the aristocracy. Some sought it out because they were collectors of art, others simply to be seen somewhere stylish.

  It became necessary to hold some more public exhibitions of works, using those pieces which Mr Featherstonehaugh had noted as being of lesser value, to allow those who only wished to attend a fashionable event to do so, without impeding the more profitable negotiations with the collectors.

  Always, Sera remained in the shadows. She watched those who attended, and quietly whispered to Raphael anything that she knew of them, their habits, history, and likely financial status. Her insight was remarkable, and he treasured those moments, for, in the focus on doing business, she forgot to be distant and reserved with him, and was once more the Sera he had known a year ago.

  Then, as Easter approached, the rumours began.

  They first heard of them through both Liza and Jenkins, as they had cousins in service in various houses of the ton. Gossip was circulating, that there was a scandalous woman associated with the gallery, and salacious speculation was rife, about just how scandalous she might be. No-one had yet determined where the rumours had originated from, but their very existence was enough to change the results for the gallery.

  Thrill seekers came to gawk at the place, and to boast to their friends that they had been there. Some of the best buyers became hesitant, and the revenues declined. Sera was sure, from the start, that the woman referred to was her. It seemed that there would never be any escape from the fact of her brother’s death, and worse, that the contagion was spreading, and doing harm to others she cared about.

  Each day she dreaded hearing more rumours, and struggled to conceive of any action she might take, to change things.

  ~~~~~

  Raphael ached every time he saw the hurt desperation in Sera’s eyes. In the end, he could stand it no longer.

  At the end of another day in which they hosted an event at the gallery, and sold little, whilst receiving many curious stares, Raphael was seated in the parlour of Morton House, with his mother, and Sera. Since the rumours had begun, she had become pale, thinner, and more fretful. More than ever, he wanted to sweep her into his arms, and protect her from the world.

  A tap at the door heralded Jenkins’ arrival with the day’s report on the gossip.

  “Mr Morton, I have finally discovered more about these rumours. My cousin Jasper, who is a footman in Viscount Bellham’s house, was called on to refill the decanters in his Library during a recent entertainment. The gentlemen in the room at the time were discussing the gallery. And they specifically mentioned Lady Serafine’s name in that connection. There was talk of moral weakness, and the scandal of her brother’s suicide. Jasper made sure to take his time about his task, so that he could listen for a long as possible. It seems that one of the gentlemen had the gossip originally from their tailor, who, he believed, had it from one of his suppliers.”

  “And do we know the name of the tailor?”

  “Indeed, we do. Jameson is the one in question. Not one of our customers.”

  “Do we know who supplies him?”

  “There are a few, but the majority of his goods the last few years have come from the Arbuthnots.”

  There was a silence in the room, as everyone digested this information. Sera had gone even paler when Jenkins had confirmed her belief that the gossip was aimed at her, and she twisted her hands together in her lap. Would it never end? How many people would James destroy, even from beyond the grave? She felt faint, and stared blankly at the fire, finding no warmth or comfort in it.

  “I see. Thank you, Jenkins. Please let me know if you uncover more information. We must find a way to defuse this situation, as rapidly as possible.”

  “Of course, Mr Morton.”

  Jenkins bowed and left. As the door closed behind him, Raphael turned to Sera. She stared at him, all of her despair written on her face. It was as if a fog cleared from his mind. He saw himself as he was – a fool compounding his foolishness, by being hesitant and overly proud, when the woman he loved was hurting.

  He went forward, and dropped to his knees before her, then reached out and pulled her into his arms. His mother rose from her chair, and went to pour three glasses of brandy. For a moment, Sera was stiff and awkward in his arms, then she released a great sigh and melted against him. His heart lifted as she did, for he had not been at all sure that she would not push him away.

  “I can see that you are blaming yourself again. You must not. You are not responsible for your brother’s actions – you never were.”

  A small sob escaped her, and she lifted her head a little from his shoulder, where it had fallen, quite naturally, as he held her.

  “I most strongly wish that the ton saw things as you do. But they do not. Many still believe that if one member of a family does such a thing, then all those closest to him must be lacking in moral fibre. I am so sorry! You, and your family, have been so good to me, and all I have brought to you is pain – first inciting Porter Arbuthnot’s jealousy, so that he tried to burn down the manufactory, then making it so bad that he kidnapped Bella, now this – even with him locked away, his poisonous madness continues – I can only assume that he told his father about me, when the trial was in process, and his father has chosen this method as revenge for the loss of his son, and his business.”

  “Hush, my love, I do not for one minute believe that any of that is your fault! You cannot blame yourself for a man’s madness. If we are to indulge in taking blame, then much of it is mine – for permitting Bella’s association with him in the first place, when neither I, nor my mother ever liked the man, and then for running off to America without talking to you.”

  “But you went for Setford’s reasons, as well as business!”

  “Yes, but that was no excuse for not at least trying to discover why you were so upset at the mere mention of the Pendholm name. I was foolish – I allowed my hurt at your reaction to blind me to the fact that you do nothing without good reason – I should have asked – even if I had to do so via my mother – before I left.”

  Sophia gave a quiet laugh at his words, and proffered two sizeable glasses of brandy.

  “I rather think that the situation calls for these.”

  Raphael released Sera, and eased onto the couch beside her. They each took a glass, and sipped, watching each other as they did.

  “But I didn’t give you any chance to talk to me. I was so angry, so sure that what I believed was true, that I didn’t stop to consider how completely unlike you it would be, to have a friend as terrible as Charlton’s brother was. I… I missed you so much, yet I couldn’t see past that belief.”

  Raphael took a rather large gulp of his brandy, then set the glass aside. “I think that, if we are to get past this terrible rumour mongering, then we must both let go of our pride, and work together. Can you bear to do so? Can we begin to trust each other again?”

  “I am not sure that there is any way to get past these rumours, for the ton love scandal and gossip, but I am willing to trust you, to try at least.”


  Impulsively, he leant forward, and brought his lips to hers – it was a gentle brush, barely touching, but it lit up every inch of her body with warmth.

  “Thank you, Sera. I will work to be worthy of your trust.”

  Wishing his lips had stayed on hers, Sera found that she could not prevent herself from running her tongue across her lips, as if to taste him. His eyes followed the movement, and heated. How she had longed for him to look at her that way again, all of this last year!

  “But what can we do? Do you have any idea? I cannot imagine what would make them let go of such a tasty piece of gossip, now that they have it to play with.”

  “I believe that I do have an idea. But it will ask much of you, as, for it to work, you will need to let them see you, and stand proudly when they do.”

  Sera flinched back at his words, the fear clear on her face for a moment. Then she stilled, as if considering his words carefully.

  “You know, I think that you are right – however much it terrifies me to face them, I believe that I am no longer willing to spend my whole life hiding. But what would you ask me to do? What could we possibly do that would make them change their minds?”

  “Well, I cannot guarantee that this will work… but I think it might, if my assumptions are correct. Amongst the ton, a man’s rank will allow him to be forgiven many things, especially if he is wealthy, is that not correct?”

  “It is. A Duke may do much as he pleases, and will be forgiven many things that a Viscount would be ostracized for.”

  “And is it also true that those who wish to rise in social standing are most likely to copy the things that a Duke does, to patronise establishments that a Duke buys from, or visits, and to regard as acceptable those whom a Duke associates with?”

  “Yes, all of that is true, although a little uncertain at times, depending on who has whose ear at the time.”

  “Then I do believe that my idea will work. I intend to host a grand gala art exhibition and sale at the gallery, and to invite absolutely everyone. Making sure that they know that there will be two Dukes present, as well as a Marquess or two and more. And you will stand with me, as the primary investor in the business, to greet them all.”