“Burbridge.” Frost rose to greet him when Elijah was shown into his library. “This is becoming a habit.”
Elijah couldn’t tell whether the man considered that a good thing.
“Is this involving my sister again?” Frost asked, one brow raised.
“While I’d appreciate a few moments of her time, I also have a question for you.”
“Oh?”
“Rutland gave me a book called The Seven Curses of London.”
Frost chuckled as he gestured for Elijah to have a seat in the chair before his desk. “Does he want you to read it or do something about it?”
“A bit of both, I suppose. He’s started a charity.”
“I’m aware and involved as well. Though I am also part of the Earl of Adair’s charity too.”
“I hope to meet with Adair soon to learn more of his work.”
“It’s amazing how that book continues to spread. Captain Hawke, a friend of mine and Adair’s younger brother, gave one to me last year. Julia and her father have read it, and I know her brother has read at least parts of it.”
“It sounds as if giving a copy or two is a requirement of all of those who read it,” Elijah said, half joking.
“Excellent notion, and one that seems to occur as a matter of course. The more people involved in good works, the more that can be done.”
“I like that idea,” Elijah said. “I’m grateful to know so many who are concerned with what they read are willing to take action.”
“Too often, people read such things, point fingers at who’s to blame then forget about it.”
Elijah nodded. “I’m interested in your thoughts on the book as a scholar. Some of the stories are difficult to believe even if the author professes to have first-hand accounts.”
“From what I’ve read, he has verified statistics from a variety of sources. Of course, his personal view is shared throughout the book. He no doubt chose certain individuals to offer their accounts with a specific purpose in mind. But I have a difficult time believing much of it is false. Not after what I’ve seen for myself in the past year.”
“That is exactly what I wanted to know. Tell me of your experiences.”
Frost had a logical manner of sharing shocking details, downplaying his own involvement in assisting Hawke in the capture of a criminal. In that process, Frost encountered a young thief on the street and had ended up aiding him and several others to find a better life. He’d rescued Julia from the hands of a criminal who wouldn’t have hesitated to kill her to have what he wanted.
“Perhaps you should write a book of your own,” Elijah suggested, riveted by the story.
Frost chuckled. “I prefer to study others.”
“Oliver, darling,” Lady Frost entered the library only to halt at the sight of Elijah. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you had a guest.”
Elijah rose to greet her. She and Frost confirmed that opposites attracted. She was bubbly and charming whereas Frost was reserved and cool. Yet their mutual love and respect for each other couldn’t be denied.
“Rutland gave him the Seven Curses book,” Frost advised.
“Ah. An enlightening book, isn’t it? I could hardly believe many of the accounts at first. Shocking to think what happens so close to our homes.”
“Difficult to believe.”
“Shall I advise Lillian you’re here?” she asked.
“I would appreciate that,” he advised, surprised to note his heart pounded at the idea of seeing her. Or perhaps it was because he feared he wouldn’t.
“I’ll have tea sent to the drawing room if you’d like to await her there? Oliver and I will join you shortly.”
Lady Frost obviously wasn’t going to leave him alone with Lillian for long.
After a few more minutes of conversation with Frost, he excused himself to wait in the drawing room, not wanting to interrupt the viscount’s work any longer.
Within a few minutes, Lillian appeared in the doorway, her expression revealing little. “Your grace. What a surprise.”
A pleasant one, I hope, he thought but kept the words to himself. “I wanted to speak with you further about what you mentioned yesterday at the garden party.”
“Oh?”
“Perhaps if you shared more about your friend, I might better remember her.”
“Why?”
He pondered the question for a moment, uncertain how to answer. “I hate to think I inadvertently hurt someone. Especially a friend of yours.”
Lillian bowed her head. “I appreciate that. She mentioned there were numerous parties. I’m sure many were in attendance and most would’ve been strangers.”
“Can you tell me anything more?”
“Helena said you were kind to her. There was a moment on the terrace at one ball where she decided you were quite...perfect. She thought the two of you shared a special connection.”
He struggled to place her. A vague impression of a lady came to mind along with a brief conversation on a terrace when he’d had all he could take of the gathering and escaped for some fresh air.
He’d hoped to forget on that trip, to pretend he hadn’t lost his father. But grief had other plans, keeping him from enjoying anything, no matter how much he drank.
Still, he couldn’t think of anything he’d done or said that would’ve led the lady to believe he intended a serious relationship. He would never be intentionally cruel to anyone nor did he dally with eligible ladies. Of course, he’d been fighting his own demons at the time and not as aware of people and events as he normally was.
“I think I remember her,” he said as a hazy memory came to mind. “She spoke of a horse her father had given her for her birthday.”
Lillian nodded solemnly. “Yes, that was probably her.”
He breathed a sigh of relief that he’d remembered that much. Somehow it made him feel less like a cad.
“I’m sorry I don’t remember more of her.” He shook his head, still feeling as if he’d let down Lillian. Had he said enough? Did she believe him?
“I don’t profess to understand what happened. Or why she believed something more was between you.” Her green eyes held on his. “You’re certain you didn’t write her?”
“No, I didn’t.”
Lillian turned to walk to the window. “I suppose we’ll never know. I confess that it’s been difficult to align what she said and what I’ve come to know of you.”
Longing filled Elijah, propelling him forward. “I hope you can believe me.” He took her hand. “That this won’t keep us from continuing our...friendship.”
When Lillian didn’t respond, he wasn’t certain what to think. “Unless it’s my mother’s friendship you prefer,” he jested.
She smiled in response. “I do enjoy her company. She has been kind to me. Julia mentioned she heard someone else state they felt poorly the day after Lord and Lady Patterson’s soiree. Perhaps something was wrong with the drinks served there.”
“That’s helpful to know.” Elijah knew he shouldn’t be so pleased to hear that. But it was much easier than admitting the depth of his mother’s problem. Doing so felt like a betrayal to her and his father. He should’ve been there for her from the beginning. While he was doing all he could now, it didn’t seem to be enough. The book he’d purchased on grief hadn’t been helpful in the least.
“Did she have a...setback after the garden party?” A frown marred her brow.
“She had a good evening actually. Perhaps it wasn’t the mistake I feared it would be.” Had he erred by not speaking about his father with her all along as well? That gave him one more thing about which to feel guilty.
“Speaking with a stranger like me, rather than you who knew him so well, might make a difference.”
He glanced up to see Lillian studying him. Did she see the guilt in his expression? He was usually better at hiding his feelings. Heaven knew he’d had plenty of practice in the past year. “Perhaps.”
“Please know that I will do my best n
ot to upset her. I wouldn’t want to cause her—or you—any pain.”
“Thank you.” Was he trusting Lillian too easily with the secret about his mother? She hadn’t denied that she preferred his mother’s friendship over his.
Surely she wasn’t using his mother to find out what he remembered about her friend. From a distance, her seeming affection for his mother made little sense. What could they have in common?
Lillian’s kind nature, her beauty, her intelligence—all seemed too good to be true. It made more sense to think that she was using his mother to get to him.
But he didn’t want to believe that. Not after how he’d grown to care for her. Not after those moments of her in his arms in Hyde Park.
Now, as he looked at her, her pale blue dress making her skin appear as smooth as alabaster, a hint of rose in her cheeks, a look of worry in her wide eyes, his concerns were gone in a moment.
He placed his hand on her cheek then followed his instinct and pressed his lips to hers. She was so warm, her heat filling the coldness deep inside him that he hadn’t realized was there.
Then her head shifted to better meet his kiss.
Relief overtook him, making him forget his doubts of her, of where they were, and the things that stood between them.
Overly loud footsteps sounded just outside the door.
“Anyone for tea?” Lady Frost called out, as though to warn them of her approach.
Elijah jerked back, his gaze holding Lillian’s, pleased to find her as unsettled as him by the kiss. Surely she was just who she seemed to be—a lovely woman who was quickly gaining his affections.
Chapter Ten
“As I view the matter, the object of the preacher of total abstinence is not so much the reclamation of the drunkard already steeped and sodden, as the deterring from reckless indulgence those who are not averse to stimulative liquors, but are by no means drunkards.”
~The Seven Curses of London
D.T. Hurley read the message that had just been delivered, heart thudding, and rose from his desk to step into the office doorway. “Roberts.”
His assistant wiped his hands on a rag as he strode forward from the work area. “What is it?”
“McCarthy is comin’ here. Today. At one o’clock.” Three days had passed since he’d postponed McCarthy’s original request to meet. D.T. had decided he’d lost the opportunity when no response arrived. He’d spent the past two nights with a knot in the pit of his stomach, believing he’d foolishly tossed away the chance to truly make something of himself.
Had those three days of silence been a slap for trying to take control of the situation? If so, D.T. had certainly learned his lesson. The messenger hadn’t waited for a reply.
“Here?” Roberts frowned. “Why would he come here?”
“I suppose he wants to see the operation.” D.T. rubbed his sweaty palms against his trouser legs. He glanced about, filled with the sudden urge to tidy things. He moved behind his desk to straighten the piles of papers. “Should we pull a man off the line to clean up the warehouse?”
Silence greeted his suggestion, causing him to look up at Roberts, who stared at him in disbelief.
“You’re not serious.”
“Of course, I am. I don’t want him to think we run a sloppy business. No one wants a partner who doesn’t see to every aspect of his domain.”
“A partner?” Roberts continued to study him with narrowed eyes. “I thought this was only a meeting to talk.”
“It is, but why wouldn’t we want to make a good first impression?” D.T.’s stomach danced at the thought of meeting the man.
“If you say so.” Roberts glanced over his shoulder to look into the warehouse area where men lined a long work table. “What do you have in mind?”
D.T. stepped through the doorway into the workroom to survey the premises with a critical eye.
Dark bottles in crates sat on one table where a worker opened them. Two more men measured a portion of the alcohol out, and two others poured the removed contents into empty bottles. Still another carefully added an ingredient to each bottle while the last man added water to refill the bottles. The bottles were carefully resealed, shaken to mix the contents, and replaced into the crates, ready for delivery.
But empty crates and broken bottles were scattered around the floor of the workroom. Mud and dirt, bits of trash, the remains of someone’s lunch, including an apple core, were piled in a corner.
“Put Jonesby and Walthrup on cleanup duty. Have them haul out the trash and sweep the floor.”
“But if they use a broom, we’ll have to shut down operations,” Roberts protested. “We can’t have dust floatin’ around while we’re workin’. It might get in the brew.”
D.T. nodded. “Give them extra wages if they do it durin’ their lunch break. I want this place clean by half past noon.” That would give him time to inspect things and make any additional changes before McCarthy’s arrival.
Roberts shook his head. “His visit is already costin’ us money.” He raised his hand to stop D.T. from berating him. “You’re the boss. Whatever you say. I’m just tellin’ you now I think dealin’ with McCarthy is a mistake.” He called for the two men as he left D.T.’s office.
D.T. watched for a moment to make certain the men understood what was wanted of them before returning to his desk. He took a few minutes to file some invoices and shipping documents he hadn’t bothered with until now then went through the rest of the papers. But he couldn’t dismiss Roberts’ warning.
In all honesty, the regret he’d felt the past days for postponing the meeting made him far too eager to agree to whatever McCarthy suggested. This meeting could change the course of his career and therefore the rest of his life. He was both excited and terrified at the prospect.
But he needed to find a way to control those feelings and not allow McCarthy to get the better of him. That would never do. He had no intention of handing the man the keys to his business. Far from it.
The hours passed far too quickly. Nerves kept D.T. from eating his luncheon of potato and mutton pie. That was all right, he told himself. With luck, he’d enjoy a fine meal this evening when he celebrated the success of the meeting.
He inspected the work area, pleased with what he saw. Then he addressed his workers. “As you may have heard, we’re havin’ an important visitor today. I’d like each of you focused on your job, movin’ quickly and efficiently through your work. Does everyone understand?”
The men nodded with the exception of Douglas, who yawned instead. D.T. frowned and nodded for Roberts to follow him into the office.
“Keep an eye on Douglas. He may have had one too many pints with his lunch. I don’t want him makin’ a poor impression on McCarthy.”
“Did ye say McCarthy?” Walters asked from the doorway.
D.T. couldn’t help but smile with pride. “That’s right. Jack McCarthy is callin’ on us.”
Walters backed away, shaking his head. “I don’t want no part of anything McCarthy is involved in. I’ll be leavin’ now.”
“Here now,” Roberts berated him. “What is that about? I can’t pay you the day’s wages if you don’t work a full day.”
“I don’t care.” Walters strode to the door as if he couldn’t leave quickly enough. “If the rest of you know what’s good fer ye, ye’ll be leavin’ right behind me.”
The door slammed shut, leaving silence in the workroom. The rest of the men looked at each other then at D.T.
Walters’ departure unsettled him, but he didn’t want the men to think he wasn’t in control of the situation. He licked his suddenly dry lips. The idea of not having any men here working when McCarthy arrived caused his empty stomach to pitch.
“Anybody else feel the same? Now’s your chance, but you’ll be missin’ out on an incredible opportunity. And don’t think you can come back lookin’ for work.”
Two of the men went back to work as though nothing had happened. Another shook his head and left, the door
shutting quietly behind him. The remainder grumbled among themselves for a few moments then continued with their work.
Roberts took one of the empty places at the table. “All right, boys. Look lively. Lots to be done.” He gave a confident nod at D.T. though worry lingered in his eyes.
“Show Mr. McCarthy into my office when he arrives,” D.T. advised him.
Roberts nodded.
D.T. had hardly settled behind his desk when he heard voices in the workroom.
Roberts rapped on his door. “Mr. Hurley, Mr. McCarthy is here to see ye.”
As D.T. rose, a bull of a man with dark, flat eyes filled the doorway. The man’s gaze swept over him, leaving D.T. felling as if he could see all his strengths and weaknesses with one glance. Another man flanked his side, part guard, part associate if D.T. were to guess.
“Hurley.” McCarthy reached forward to shake D.T.’s hand. “Good of you to meet with me. I’ve heard many things about you.”
“Likewise.” Fear settled deep into the pit of D.T.’s stomach as McCarthy’s hard gaze continued to hold his. Impressions filtered through his mind. Powerful. Ruthless. With a bit of the polish that wealth often provided.
McCarthy’s gaze swept the office then he stepped back into the workroom, his guard staying out of the way. D.T. followed, already feeling off balance.
“This is the extent of your operation, eh? I expected it to be bigger.”
“I’ve kept it small to ensure quality.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Roberts roll his eyes. That wasn’t helpful in the least.
“Quality?” McCarthy chuckled, a rather unpleasant sound. “That’s an odd goal in your line of business. I’d have thought quantity would better suit your purpose.”
The urge to agree was on the tip of D.T.’s tongue, but he held it back. “Quality ensures the liquor still tastes good, which means repeat customers and word-of-mouth business.”
McCarthy’s gaze swung back to study D.T., a hint of respect in his expression. Or was that merely D.T.’s wishful thinking? “How does it work?”
Again, D.T. hesitated. He didn’t want to share too much, or the man could run him out of business. Trusting him was too risky, but if he didn’t give him something, McCarthy would turn and walk out without a backward glance.
Daring the Duke (The Seven Curses of London Book 7) Page 12
