Finally, the door closed behind the last guest, the lock was turned, and the blinds drawn down over the large windows. The footmen had cleared away the remains of the food and drinks, and everything was quiet around them.
Raphael came to Sera, where she still stood, in the centre of the room, looking around her, imprinting on her memory the scene of the change in her fortunes.
He took her hands, smiling down at her, then, without warning, he spun her around in dizzy circles, laughing, until she joined him in laughter and collapsed against him, as the stresses and tensions of the last two weeks left her.
“You played that absolutely perfectly, my dear Lady Serafine! No famous actress could have done better – a magnificent performance! And I must thank Setford when next I see him. I would not have dared ask something so audacious as the Prince Regent’s presence but, obviously, Setford had no such qualms.”
“I was terrified – most of the time. But I was not willing to let anyone’s opinion matter – not anyone but you, that is. I have spent too long cowed by the way that they treated us.”
“After this, I would hope that you need never fear social ostracism again.”
“Perhaps. But I fear that people will now expect me to invest in new ventures, and do new things – how on Earth will I live up to that?”
“Superbly – as you do everything.”
Over the next week, Jenkins spent almost all of his time at the gallery, as did Sera, leaving Miss Nunn to manage things at the manufactory. But they rapidly realised that more staff would be needed. Not only had the gallery become ‘the place to be seen’, but the invitation cards they had sent out for the gallery function had sparked a new round of orders for similar cards.
Sera spent much time talking with Raphael, usually at Morton House in the evening. Sophia had invited Sera and her mother to dine there almost every day, as the business grew ever more hectic. When business conversation wound down, they found that their conversation turned to more personal topics. Sera relaxed, little by little, beginning to trust that she and Raphael were past the terrible misunderstandings of the last year. In the midst of the hectic days, they still found time to go out driving occasionally, to laugh, and simply enjoy each other’s company.
One afternoon, they chose to drive in Hyde Park.
Sera felt most strange, voluntarily going to the place where the ton went, to see and be seen, after so long avoiding them. Yet they were greeted politely, if a little distantly, by those they passed. As if the scandal of her brother’s death had never happened. It was a decidedly odd sensation.
After some time, and the obligatory drive along Rotten Row, they stopped in a quieter, secluded area of the park, and stepped down, to sit on a log in the edge of the trees, looking out across the Serpentine. Sera released a sigh of relief.
“Thank you. Much though every excursion into society scares me, I need to get used to it again. I find it darkly amusing that those who once condemned me, and gave me the cut direct, are now amongst those who are the most exquisitely polite to me. Just because the Prince Regent saw fit to speak to me in a pleasant fashion. Perhaps my perspective has been somewhat radically altered by two years of living amongst the merchants and the shopkeepers. I find myself frustrated by the constraints of the behaviour which the ton consider ‘suitable for a Lady’.”
Raphael laughed at her words – the natural, comfortable laughter of friends – and Sera relaxed even more.
“I far prefer you as you are, rather than the repressed way in which the ton might expect you to act. It would have been a terrible waste if you had spent your life as simply a society woman, never using your considerable intelligence, your creativity, or your business insight. A prim society lady is not the sort of woman that I could come to care for, as I care for you.”
As he spoke, he slid his arm around her waist, and warmth spread through her from the contact.
He eased towards her, until they touched, along the length of her leg and side, as well as where his arm curved around her. She leant into him, surrounded by his distinctive scent, almost dizzy from it, and allowed herself to believe that they could be this way. That she could allow herself to love, and that it would not be taken away from her.
“Sera…”
She looked up, at the soft sound of her name, and his lips came down onto hers. The sensation was as she remembered, only better, and she gave herself to the moment, returning his kiss. It was everything she’d dreamed of, all the long months while he was away, all the long months when she had believed that she might never truly be near him again. Her hands slid up to encircle his neck, and she clung to him as if she might never let go.
Minutes later, they broke apart, both unsure what to do or say, but quite certain that they wished to repeat that kiss, and soon.
“Raphael… I… have come to care for you too. Rather more than simply care. I…” she hesitated, as if afraid to go on, then, in the fashion so typical of her, thrust her uncertainty aside and spoke. “I love you, Raphael. I have, I think, from not long after I met you, no matter what I may have told myself this last year, when I still believed Charlton to be the man who had ruined my brother, and you just as bad for being his friend. Except I don’t think that, in my heart of hearts, I ever truly believed you bad. My thinking may have been confused, but my heart knew the truth - I love you.”
It was such a relief to finally say it to him.
For a moment, Raphael simply looked at her, his eyes wide with a kind of dawning wonder, then he crushed her to him, his lips finding hers again with a desperation borne of long denial. If the kiss of a few minutes before had been remarkable, this was more – more in all ways than her imagination had been capable of. As she responded, he deepened the kiss, his tongue tracing her lips, and exploring within, until she forgot where they were, forgot that anything existed but him.
Finally, they broke apart, leaving her flushed, breathing fast, and suddenly cold, wanting to be wrapped in his arms again.
“Sera… I had hoped – hoped that you might forgive me for simply running off and leaving you, for my hesitation and pride, that you might come to care for me, over time, as much as I care for you. Hoped that I had not lost you forever, through my own foolishness. I could not bear to lose you again. I love you. Can we, with love, find our way past all of our misunderstandings? Can you, having just reclaimed your rightful place in society, bear to risk that by being with a merchant?”
“I used to think that I cared about losing my place in society. I have discovered that there are now things that I care for, far more than that. For my mother’s sake, I will attempt to at least keep the ton speaking to us, but beyond that…”
“Then we will, I hope, find our way together.”
She nodded, and twined her fingers with his, as they walked back to the carriage. She wondered if she were dreaming, if this had just been her imagination, but his fingers were warm on hers, and his scent surrounded her. She smiled, her heart lighter than it had been for two years.
~~~~~
The gallery flourished, and a large proportion of the initial stock of paintings had been sold. Two weeks before Easter, Mr Featherstonehaugh arrived in London, with three carriages full of carefully packed paintings and other pieces. There were still many more at Witherwood Chase, he informed them, but those could be brought to London in good time, as needed.
They were glad of his arrival, for not only did it provide them with new paintings to sell, but his presence in the gallery, to advise the buyers, increased the sales significantly. He had quite a reputation with many of the collectors amongst the ton.
He had brought more than paintings, as well. The news that he brought from Witherwood Chase delighted everyone – Lord Geoffrey had asked Lady Harriet to marry him, and she had accepted. Raphael had grinned, amused.
“She has, for a year or more, praised him at every opportunity, for his heroic saving of her brother and others. At first, Lady Sylvia was quite sure it was childish infa
tuation, but Harriet was determined. It seems that her determination has achieved her aim. I rather thought that things were going that way, when I saw them together at Charlton’s wedding. I expect news of their planned wedding date soon!”
For Sera, everything seemed wonderful – not only was there news of others that she cared about finding happiness, but she and Raphael were closer than they had ever been, and she began to allow herself to dream again – those dreams in which she was his wife, and they might travel to exotic places together.
One morning, as they checked that all was in order before opening the gallery for the day, a messenger arrived. Raphael took the letter from him – Sera instantly recognised the hand in which it was addressed. It was from Setford, and concern settled in her mind immediately. What if Setford sent Raphael away again?
“It’s from Setford. He wants me to meet with him an hour from now. Says its important – but then, he always does. I’d best be on my way, if I am to be there in time. If any of the buyers insist on seeing me, they will need to make an appointment time for tomorrow.”
“I hope that his ‘important’ doesn’t translate to ‘difficult’.”
“So do I!”
Raphael went, and Sera allowed herself to be swept up in the activities of the day, taking great satisfaction from having members of the ton be polite to her, whilst she ‘dirtied her hands with trade’. Obviously, when the activity involved something so genteel as art, it became magically more acceptable. Or perhaps, it was the fact that the Prince Regent had commended her on her involvement which affected their attitudes?
~~~~~
Mr Bigglesworth greeted Raphael cheerfully, waving him through the curtain into the back corridor. The shop seemed to contain even more books than at his last visit, and Raphael idly wondered how that was even possible. When he entered the room upstairs, Setford waved him to a chair, and handed him a cup of perfect coffee, as usual.
Raphael sipped appreciatively, and waited.
“I’ve an opportunity for you, m’boy.”
“Pardon me if I am a little cynical when you offer me an ‘opportunity’ so cheerfully. Just what does it entail?”
Setford laughed – the hearty guffaw of a man genuinely amused.
“All alike, you Hounds. Sharp, and straight to the point. I appreciate it, even if many wouldn’t. Now, to the matter at hand. Your gallery is doing very well, and Prinny liked the rather scandalous painting you sent him as a gift – he tells me that he intends to buy more, if you have them.”
“Good, I rather thought he might like it, given his taste in women, and the… errr… erotic arts, shall we say.”
“I suspect that it now graces the boudoir wall in the house of his favourite mistress. I hope you do have some more suitable pieces, to keep him happy. But the opportunity… I know that the stores of art from Witherwood Chase are extensive, but you will need more. Lord Geoffrey’s collection will eventually run dry. I have a solution for you.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, a solution which happens to align very well with my needs at the moment. There is a man in Paris, who deals in art… and other things, discreetly. He has quite a number of paintings of the sort of indeterminate provenance which makes it better if they are sold outside France. He also has a collection of letters and documents which I need, and which I would not trust to any manner of transport but personal carriage by the hand of someone I trust implicitly.”
“I begin to see the shape of this opportunity. You wish me to go to Paris, to purchase a stock of paintings for the gallery, from a certain merchant to whom you will provide a written introduction. And, as well as paintings, I will bring back with me a small locked box of letters and documents, most likely concealed amongst the art. And, if past experience is anything to go by, you would like me to do this immediately, if not sooner?”
“An excellent summary, and correct in all details. It shouldn’t take above a week or two to go, make the deal, get the things packed, and get back, even allowing for ships and weather.”
“Perhaps, if the winds are with us.”
“I believe that you have a ship in port at present, so an additional trip to France should not make too much of a challenge for your shipping schedules.”
“You are correct – the Morton Venture is here, and just unloaded. She’s scheduled to sail for India the week after Easter, so this would be possible. But then, I am quite certain that you already knew all of that.”
Setford simply nodded, his piercing grey eyes twinkling with amusement.
“You’ll do it then?”
“I have Geoffrey’s gathering to get to, at Easter, but I think that I can make it back by then. So yes – but these French paintings had better be a bargain, for I had not wanted to be away at all this next few weeks, with so much happening.”
“I will make sure that they are.”
He turned to the side table, and lifted a small oilskin packet that rested there, extending it to Raphael.
“In fact, on the assumption that you would see the value in this, I’ve already prepared a letter to Monsieur Villeneuve, and provided you a map with his establishment marked. It’s all in there. You’d best be off then, if you’re to have the schedules changed and catch the morning tide.”
Raphael took it, wondering, as he always did, how it was that Setford so easily got all of them to do as he wished, tucked the packet inside his coat, and left, as commanded.
~~~~~
“Paris? Tomorrow!”
Sera’s face fell when he explained what Setford had wanted.
“Yes. Very sudden, I know, but, if what he says of these paintings is correct, they are a bargain which will bring the gallery more renown, and us a great deal of profit. It should only take a little over a week – I should be back for Easter. Geoffrey will never forgive me if I am not there for this gathering of the Hounds, as I missed the last one at Meltonbrook Chase for Twelfth Night.”
Sera nodded, her disappointment obvious. Then she took a deep breath and smiled.
“I had better get used to such things, hadn’t I? I gather that Baron Setford is not likely to disappear from your life, or that of the other Hounds, any time soon. It’s just…”
“That we have only just begun to really talk to each other?”
“Yes.”
Raphael took her hands in his, and drew her to him.
“I promise to return as soon as I possibly can.”
She nodded resignedly, and he kissed her gently, a butterfly touch, before he turned and went to prepare.
~~~~~
The Morton Venture sailed on the morning tide, and Raphael with her. With fair winds, she made good time, and soon Raphael was ashore in France, and travelling as fast as he could to Paris. The hired carriage was of good quality, the horses fair, changes of horses easily available, and the road bearable. But when Raphael allowed for the extra time that it would take on the way back, possibly with multiple carriages laden with precious paintings, he became glumly certain that he would not arrive back in London by Easter. Perhaps a day or so after Easter at the best.
In Paris, he followed Setford’s map and easily found Monsieur Villeneuve’s establishment. It was an older house, with a large walled garden and imposing gates, in a respectable district. The perfect location for a man who worked with Setford – ordinary for where it was, amongst other houses of no particular distinction.
Monsieur Villeneuve greeted him cautiously, but became expansively welcoming once presented with Setford’s letter. The carriage was sent to the stables at the rear of the property, and Raphael was provided an excellent meal, followed by a cognac of exquisite quality, before any discussion of art.
Raphael savoured the cognac, then turned to Monsieur Villeneuve.
“Je vous remercie pour votre hospitalité. Mais pouvons-nous maintenant faire des affaires? De nécessité, je dois retourner en Angleterre à toute vitesse.”
“Ah, oui, viens, suivez-moi, s’il vous plait.”
/> Monsieur Villeneuve led Raphael through the house, unlocked a door and lit the way down steep stairs into an extensive complex of cellars. Another inconspicuous door, located behind a pile of barrels, led to a larger room, which was filled with paintings. Raphael gasped at the sight of so many.
He had been given to understand that many of these may have come from the homes of those dispossessed in the wars, from those driven to sell everything they had to survive, and, quite possibly, from the results of looting in war devastated cities. It was best not to ask too closely. Raphael, seeing them collected before him, was glad that so many of man’s creative masterworks had been saved. For, if not looted or sold off, they would likely have burned with the buildings that contained them, or rotted on the walls of crumbing ruins until they were ruins themselves.
He walked through the cave of treasures, examining them closely, noting those most likely to sell, and assessing the authenticity of the more impressive pieces. Mr Featherstonehaugh would be the final arbiter of the value, but Raphael knew enough to make a decision immediately.
A hard negotiation followed, and its conclusion was sealed with more cognac.
More carriages would be arranged in the morning, and guards to ride with them. A number of the more ordinary pieces would be packed at the top in each carriage, so that, should anyone explore the contents, they would seem unexceptional.
The package containing the papers for Setford would be handed to Raphael as the last thing before he departed.
Well satisfied, he collapsed into the comfortable bed in the chamber he was shown to, and slept deeply. But he dreamed of Sera’s disappointed face, when he had told her that he needed to leave, even for these short few weeks. In the dream, he kissed the sadness away.
The following day, even with the best of intentions, it took until early afternoon for all to be arranged and packed, ready for his departure. Monsieur Villeneuve had been paid, mainly in gems of high value – for they were easy to carry in quantity, and easier for him to turn to other forms of funds than English money would have been. As arranged, when Raphael was sitting in the carriage, Monsieur Villeneuve handed him a small chest, and its key, conveniently strung on a cord, that it might be worn around the neck, and under clothing. After checking that it did, indeed, contain the relevant letters and documents, Raphael locked it again, and tucked it into the storage cavity under the carriage seat.
Winning the Merchant Earl: Sweet and Clean Regency Romance (His Majesty's Hounds Book 8) Page 16
