Journeys

by Murray, Tamela Hancock

  “Which is exactly why I did not want to tell you what I had done. I did not want you to look upon me as some sort of knight in shining armor but as a man of flesh and blood. And I did not want you to feel that you owed me your consideration only because I paid your debt. If so, I would have simply replaced the baron.”

  “If not gratitude, then what did you want?”

  “Lunenburg asked me the same thing when I made the offer, and I will repeat to you what I said to him. Believe it or not, I wanted nothing but to show compassion to a woman who was obviously a fellow Christian.”

  “Hmm. Then you chose the role of Good Samaritan.” Her voice was colored by disappointment.

  He contemplated her response. “You have a point. I did not think of that story at the time, but I can see why you make the connection. In all frankness, I felt led by my desire to obey the Savior to pay your debt and to keep you from falling into the clutches of an unscrupulous man.”

  She considered his actions and the consequences she would have faced had he chosen to ignore her plight. “Then I really do owe you a debt of gratitude.”

  “No, I told you. You owe me nothing. And even if you tried to repay me with money, time, or in some other way, I would not accept any offering.”

  “You have more than my friendship. I think you know that.”

  “Do I? I thought I had lost you.”

  “And I, you,” she admitted.

  “Why? Just because we exchanged a few regrettable words in the heat of emotion?”

  “That and the fact that you never tried to contact me. Not once.” She set her gaze upon the empty tea table in hopes he wouldn’t witness the hurt she knew would reveal itself upon her countenance.

  “I beg your pardon. After three days had passed with no word from you, I realized I had to make a gesture of regret. I wrote you a letter every day.” His voice took a slight rise in pitch, the sign of an exasperated man.

  Dorothea’s questions and vexation soon rose to the same level as his. “Indeed? But that is not possible. I never received any missives from you.”

  “None?”

  “Not the first one.”

  He leaned toward her. “But I gave them to my most reliable servant. He has never let me down before.”

  Dorothea tried to discern what could have happened. She could see from his mannerisms and obvious shock that Stratford told the truth. Indeed, she had no reason to believe he had ever lied to her in the past. Something must have happened to keep her from receiving his correspondence.

  “Did he tell you he delivered the letters directly into my hands?” she asked.

  Stratford paused to consider her question. “No.”

  “Tell me something. Did you send your messenger here Thursday morning just before the noon hour?”

  “Yes.”

  “The butler told me the message was for Luke. He bore false witness on someone’s orders, no doubt.” Anger followed on the heels of disappointment for Dorothea. “I wonder who did receive the letters, then.” She didn’t have to think long. “Helen! She is the only person in this house who would have any reason to withhold any missives from you to me.”

  “But why? What would make her do such a thing?”

  How could she tell him? With her forefinger and thumb, she rubbed the cloth of her dress. She stared at the tip of her shoe that peeked from underneath her dress. “Because—well, because Hans has been visiting us every day.”

  “Oh.”

  The distress in his tone spurred her to look him in the face. “He has a legitimate reason since I’m painting his portrait.”

  “And I venture he takes full advantage of the situation.”

  “I encourage him as little as I can.” She blushed. “I should not have said that.”

  “You never were one to be coy.”

  “No, games of that sort never held much fascination for me.” She sighed. “I must say, I am quite disappointed in Helen. I knew she favored Hans. I beg your deepest pardon for feeling obligated to tell the truth as I see it.”

  “I would not encourage you to be anything but honest with me.” He rubbed his clean-shaven chin. “I know Helen. She is smitten with that man’s popularity and his charm and wit.”

  “And Luke seems to be making money from his investments with Hans.”

  “Oh? Has he seen any cash or just reports?”

  “I am not privy to that information.”

  “Of course not.” A troubled expression covered Stratford’s face. “I was not acting properly to ask you for such information, even if you knew all the facts. I beg your pardon.”

  “Granted, though apology is not necessary.” Suspicion entered her consciousness. “May I ask why you want to know?”

  He set his hands in his lap and pursed his lips before answering. “I have disclosed much today. I wonder how many more revelations you care to learn this afternoon.”

  “I believe our last mistake was not sharing enough news with each other. Perhaps if we had both been more forthcoming, we could have avoided any misunderstandings that have unfortunately occurred between us.”

  “It would seem all of our misunderstandings were aided and abetted by a family member, mind you.”

  “She stands accused, not convicted.”

  “True. All right, then. I will tell you what I know.” Suddenly seeming anxious, he stood and paced in no particular pattern around the furniture in the room.

  She stood, as well. “Do not delay.”

  He stopped midstep and looked her full in the face. “I advise you to prepare yourself for some shocking news.”

  She had just discovered that a relative she had trusted was now under suspicion and that Stratford had a surprising, albeit selfless, reason for paying her debt. Now he wanted to share yet another revelation? She braced herself to learn whatever news he had to tell her, no matter how outrageous or vexing.

  She set her heels firmly into the rug. “I am ready to hear whatever it is you have to share with me.”

  “I am not sure I am prepared to share my revelation, but I know I must.” He leaned against the fireplace mantel. “What I have to tell you concerns the man you know as Baron Hans von Lunenburg.”

  “I cannot say that comes as a shock.”

  “Then perhaps this will: Baron von Lunenburg is not who you think he is. He is a fraud. He is not even a titled gentleman.”

  Dorothea had prepared herself, yet the news still came as a jolt. “What? Surely you are joking.”

  “For everyone’s sake, I wish I were. And although by settling your accounts I was able to spare you a considerable amount of embarrassment and heartache, I have not yet been able to do so for my friends. I do not enjoy watching them being played for fools.”

  “Am I to assume you have no investments with Hans, then?”

  “No. He has approached me about the matter many times, but I have always declined.”

  “So that makes you smarter than your friends,” she couldn’t resist quipping.

  “I do not claim to be smarter. Perhaps less susceptible to flatterers.”

  “Yes, I have to admit, Hans’s penchant for flattery bothered me from the moment I first met him,” Dorothea confided. “His words contain just enough truth to be believable, but his compliments are expressed too often to seem sincere.”

  Stratford left his perch near the mantel and approached her until he drew close enough so she could take in anew his citrus scent. The now-familiar fragrance made her feel safe, knowing she was in such close proximity to a man who would never let harm befall her. “You have always impressed me as a fine judge of character.”

  She averted her eyes. “Are you sure? I seem to have mis-judged Helen.”

  “I think not. After all, she may have her faults—and minor ones at that—but she did provide you with a handsome place to stay when you most needed a home.”

  “Yes, she has been good to me, and in encouraging me to make a match with Hans, she is only thinking of my best interests.�
��

  “Yes.” His tone indicated that he wasn’t sure. “So what do you consider your best interests?”

  “Not to pursue Hans, whoever he really is—that is for certain. Just who is he, anyway?”

  “Does it really matter to you at this moment? We have so many other things of import to discuss.”

  She became conscious of her beating heart. “Such as?”

  “Such as my declaration to you. My feelings have not moved one inch since we talked the other night.”

  Dorothea regarded the exceptional curves of his face and the eyes she wanted to look into every day for the rest of her life. She couldn’t lie. “And neither have mine. No matter what plans others have for me or what vile emotion might take hold of me in a moment of unjustifiable ire, the love I have for you will not change.”

  He stared into her face, searching. “How can you be so certain?”

  “I–I have said too much.”

  “No,” he protested, “you have said too little. For you see, I must be sure before I. . .” He drew her to him, took her in his arms, and touched her lips with his own. His lips, the lips she had dreamed of kissing so often, even when she was her angriest with him, had finally claimed hers. To her delight, her dreams were but a wisp of imagination in comparison to the reality of his kiss and the love she felt expressed so well in it.

  Twelve

  The clearing of a throat from the vicinity of the doorway across the room brought Dorothea back to the present.

  Stratford broke away from her.

  “Luke!” A rise of heat flushed her neck and face. She glanced at Stratford, who seemed just as chagrined.

  As was proper, Luke pretended he saw nothing. “There you are, Brunswick. I was wondering when you had planned to show yourself for our meeting. I did not even hear the door knocker. Why was I not told of your visit?”

  “Do not blame the servants, Luke,” Dorothea implored. “I saw Stratford arrive, and I admit I hastened to answer the door myself.”

  Luke’s eyebrows shot up. “I see. Well, then, if you will pardon us, Dorothea, Lord Brunswick and I have important business to discuss.”

  “Luke wants to consult me about investing in a diamond mine with Baron von Lunenburg,” Stratford told her.

  Dorothea considered his statement with new understanding. “Oh, I see.”

  “Really, Brunswick,” Luke chastised, “do you really think it is necessary to inform the women about our business affairs? They can offer us nothing in the way of counsel. You know as well as I that finances are the domain of us gentlemen.”

  “I believe that most women are not as weak-minded as some of us gentlemen like to think.” Before Luke could retort, Stratford looked at Dorothea. “I beg your pardon. I hope you will remain nearby in the hope that I may see you again before I depart later this evening.”

  Unwilling to seem too eager, especially in the presence of Luke, Dorothea simply inclined her head. “By your leave, gentlemen, I shall join Helen by the fire and stitch awhile. I would like to make additional progress on the shawl I am knitting.” Though her words implied agreement with Stratford’s suggestion, the prospect of withdrawing to create perfect little stitches and watching a skein of white thread turn into a garment of beauty seemed dull in comparison to sharing even the most mundane chore with him.

  She wished she could be privy to the men’s conversation. Imagine! A diamond mine in faraway Africa. She had heard of mines in Africa, but in light of what she now knew about Hans, she could only hope that the mine in question was not a fraud. Remembering how much money her father had lost gambling, she shuddered.

  Forcing her mind onto a more cheerful subject as she made her way to the room where she had last seen Helen, Dorothea wondered what a trip to Africa would be like. She had only seen illustrations of that continent in picture books and heard stories of adventure from her uncle when she was a child. Maybe one day she and Stratford could go on a safari.

  What a pleasant dream.

  ❧

  As soon as Dorothea left their presence, Luke pulled Stratford’s sleeve. “Come along to my little hideaway, old man. If we want to get in on this lucrative scheme, we must hurry. Lunenburg is scheduled to depart from the parish within the fortnight.”

  Such a declaration surprised Stratford. The confidence man seemed to be enjoying indulging in rich foods served in fine homes, and judging by the self-possessed tone of his voice when he spoke in front of anyone who would listen, he relished his popularity. So why would he leave in such a short time? Unless he was ready to move on to a new set of unsuspecting victims.

  A rush of nerves pulsed through Stratford as he thought about his plan to expose Lunenburg. He and Gilbert had gone over their strategy enough times that they could assure the plot would work.

  Meanwhile, Stratford followed Luke into a smallish room on the bottom floor of the east wing of the house. When Luke opened the door for them to enter from the drafty hallway, Stratford noticed the odor of stale tobacco smoke mingled with the smell of burning coal. He had visited Luke there enough times that he knew the space almost as well as he did his own. A man’s hideaway it was, with hunting trophies all around and a large stuffed fish positioned over the mantel.

  Luke sat in an overstuffed chair in front of the fire. He reached for his humidor made of light-colored wood. “Care for a cigar?” He opened the box and tilted it toward Stratford.

  “I don’t believe I do, thank you.” He decided not to remind his friend that he was not a smoker, especially since Luke was so proud of the fine tobacco he procured.

  Luke lit the cigar and inhaled with several short breaths. The tip of the cigar flickered between orange and black as he breathed. After a short moment, when he was satisfied that the tobacco was lit sufficiently, Luke sat back in his chair. Stratford worried that he looked much too comfortable for someone about to embark on an important investment. He inhaled again and took the cigar away from his lips long enough to study the thick stick of tobacco. “This brand of tobacco is one of Lunenburg’s favorites. No doubt he will take me up on my offer of a cigar when he arrives soon.”

  “Yes, he is living well among us, is he not?” Stratford observed as he inhaled the mellow yet pungent aroma of Luke’s superior brand of tobacco. “If I were him, I would hesitate to leave the parish, especially in such a hasty manner.”

  “He has expressed regret upon leaving, but business beckons. And I would not consider his departure hasty,” Luke said. “But he does have a reason for leaving at this point in time. You see, his group of investors is in need of a rapid infusion of new funds to continue to finance the miners they have in place. If we can put together enough funds to keep them going another month, we should gain great profits.”

  “Oh?”

  “Indeed. Lunenburg tells me they think they are just a few more weeks from striking diamond ore, and the investment will be returned a hundredfold a short time after that.”

  “A hundredfold, eh?”

  Luke shrugged. “That is what he says, and perhaps he is swelling his rough estimate a bit to lure us. But you know how salesmen talk. One expects them to embellish a tad now and again. If the return on our investment proves to be only ten or twenty percent instead of the amount he proclaims, even you would have to admit that would be a fine profit. And of course the more money one invests, the greater the profit.”

  “And the more money one invests, the greater the loss should the profit not materialize,” Stratford felt obliged to say.

  “But it should.”

  “Luke, your attitude surprises me. You are not known to be a foolish investor. Surely you are aware more so than most men that no speculative mining is guaranteed to pay dividends.”

  “Of course not. But Lunenburg is so sure the mine will pay us well. Why would a gentleman tell a lie, especially?”

  “Why indeed?”

  “Besides, he has a considerable amount of his own money invested in the enterprise. He showed us the records himsel
f to prove it.” Luke inhaled deeply on his cigar. He rounded his lips and blew rings of smoke into the air. Stratford watched the irregularly shaped circles float, then disintegrate.

  “Records can be falsified.”

  “I would not suggest that to Lunenburg’s face if I were you.”

  Stratford decided to try another tactic. “Let us say he is telling a lie—and I make no accusation now. Of course you know that even a well-intentioned gentleman can make an honest mistake. What if Lunenburg proves to be wrong? I do not want to see my friends lose any more money than they can afford to lose. How much does he want each investor to risk, anyway?”

  “At least ten thousand pounds.”

  Exactly the amount Dorothea needed.

  “At that rate, not many investors would be needed for the firm to see quite a bit of money. The miners must be enjoying the equivalent of a Christmas feast every day and sleeping on the finest linens.”

  Luke chuckled. “The crew is large. They have hired many men in hopes they will be quicker in finding precious stones.”

  “And you have no qualms about the possibility of losing such a grand amount of money?”

  “I have plenty, but I trust Lunenburg.”

  He couldn’t resist a quip. “That is not what Helen seems to think.”

  Luke took another drag of his cigar. “Oh, are you referring to how she did not seem overly generous with Dorothea when she asked for money?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then it is obvious you are not a married man. You see, Helen does not know the true worth of our family. And likewise, I would hope you would not tell your wife the true extent of your fortune.”

  “Why not?”

  Luke chuckled and set his excess ashes into the ashtray on the side table. “You are naive, my friend. If your wife discovers the exact balance of your accounts and the money involved proves to be even more substantial than she suspected, she is sure to find a way to spend your fortune. And those expenses are likely to be on frivolities such as fancy ball gowns, entertaining to excess, and making extravagant purchases of art to beautify the home and to impress the other landowners of this fine parish.”