Two hours later, relaxed, and refreshed, he turned to make his way home, ready to tackle the day. He was preoccupied as he rode, still worrying at the challenge he had set himself before Christmas, to find a new project, which would leverage his existing stock, yet be unusual and attractive to the wealthy. It was proving a much bigger challenge than he had expected.
As he reached the Grosvenor gate, he was startled to see, perched on the high seat of a fashionable phaeton, his sister. She was laughing in delight as the young man beside her drove in through the gate at a rather indecorous pace. Who was Isabella with? He had not known that she intended to go out, and an early drive with a young man, with no more chaperonage than a very young looking tiger, who clung with some desperation to the back of the speeding vehicle, was not the sort of behaviour that he expected from her. He would not want her thought fast.
As they came closer, he realised that he knew the young man – it was, surprisingly, Porter Arbuthnot. His family had not been on good terms with the Arbuthnots for many years – not since his father’s skilled handing of the business had brought them to wealth and prominence, quite eclipsing the Arbuthnots, who had, hitherto, been acclaimed as the wealthiest of merchants.
He wondered, as he moved aside, unnoticed by Bella and Arbuthnot, if this had been going on for any length of time.
Was Porter Arbuthnot courting Bella, seriously? Or was this merely an amusement to him? Or worse, some attempt at disadvantaging his family through disgracing his sister, in revenge for their mercantile success?
Raphael turned his horse, and followed them, at a distance, keeping amongst the trees and out on the grass, simply watching.
After a half hour or so, they turned back, and Raphael, relieved, followed as they proceeded, at a more sedate pace, through the streets towards his home. He had half expected them to stop in the park, and descend to walk in some secluded spot – which he could not have allowed.
As Arbuthnot deposited Bella at the front door of their home, Raphael slipped quietly into the lane at the rear, and delivered Foxfire to his groom. Striding into the house, he was in time to catch Bella still in the Hall, as she removed her fur pelisse and scarf.
“Is that the first time young Arbuthnot has taken you for a drive?”
Bella startled, her cheeks flushing a charming pink, which could charitably have been attributed to the cold wind outside, but which, to Raphael, more resembled guilt than anything else.
“N.. nnooo. It was the third time.” Her voice had that edge of defiance that he recognised from many moments in her childhood. Her chin came up, and he could see that she was waiting for a reprimand. Intentionally choosing to disconcert her, he smiled genially.
“I would prefer, in future, that you have a maid with you, should you grant a gentleman the honour of taking you for a drive in the park. I would not have you thought fast, or your reputation called into question.”
Obviously surprised, and expecting more, she glared at him for a moment.
“Yes Raphael, if you so insist.”
It was too easy an acquiescence.
“Is he courting you? And do you wish it so?”
Bella flushed again, before half shaking her head. She answered with the honesty that was the essence of her, which endeared her to him more.
“I do not truly know. He is flattering, and amusing to be with. He flirts with me, but I am not sure that I would call it courting. I like it well enough, but… I am not sure if I wish it to become more.”
Raphael did not allow his face to show the relief that he felt. A sudden insight made him ask, “Was it he who gave you that pretty Christmas favour?”
Bella nodded, blushing again, and said nothing more.
“Be careful Bella – best that you discover his true intentions before things go any further. After all, our families have been on less than friendly terms, ever since father began to do better than they, in business – it seems odd that he should be so friendly now.
She nodded again, and fled to her room to think.
Raphael went in search of a light meal, before turning his attention to the business of the day. Pensively, he considered the conversation with Bella, and, unbidden, the image of that Christmas favour rose in his mind again. He remembered her delight at receiving it, and their mother’s admiration for its prettiness, as well as his own recognition, at the time, of the quality of its design.
Now there was a simple thing, which could yet be made in many different designs, which might interest the ton, as easily as it did his sister – so long as the quality of materials and manufacture was high enough. For the ton loved fripperies and extravagant gestures… the thought led to the very beginning of an idea.
~~~~~
Serafine took a deep breath and pushed open the door, causing a bell attached to it to ring. Inside was a small seating area, and a counter, off to one side. Behind the counter, in an exquisitely constructed glass fronted case, were samples of fabrics, beads, feathers, and a range of other items. As she stood there, feeling nervous and unsure, the door to one side of the counter opened, and two men entered.
The first appeared to be a clerk, well dressed but ordinary. The second was another thing entirely. They were mid conversation as they entered, but stopped immediately upon noticing her presence. The second man turned towards her, taking her in with a single pass of his dark eyes, and she felt suddenly unable to breath, a flush of heat rushing through her entire body.
He was tall, lean and elegant, moving with the fluid economy that spoke of skill with weapons and military experience. His hair was dark, and his skin tanned as if from long exposure to the sun.
She thought that he looked somehow foreign, just a little – perhaps Italian? This must be Mr Morton - hadn’t Mr Tanner said his mother was Italian?
She had never seen a man so handsome, so understated in his dress and manner, yet so utterly sure of himself.
He looked like he would have been completely at home in the ballrooms of the ton – yet, if he was here, and so obviously in a position of authority, if he was the Mr Morton, then he could not be of the nobility.
He waited, eyebrow raised, while she stood there, stunned to silence. When it became obvious that she was not about to speak, he approached her and asked, “Can I help you my Lady?”
She felt a ridiculous sense of relief, that she still looked enough of a Lady for him to grant her that status of address immediately. Would he still think her a Lady when she asked the questions she had come to ask?
“I hope so, Mr….?”
“Mr Raphael Morton, at your service, my Lady.”
He swept a courtly bow over her hand, his eyes sparkling with some amusement.
“Welcome to Morton Empire Imports – how can we assist you today?”
Serafine’s heart beat harder – she had not imagined the owner of such a large merchant business to be so young and good looking – somehow, she always expected successful merchants to be old, and bent from poring over ledgers.
“I… I would like to ask some questions about the materials that you import – to see if they may be suitable for a project of mine.” Sera watched his reaction, hardly daring to breathe.
This was obviously not quite what he had expected her to say, but, being both a consummate gentleman, and a clever merchant, he simply waved her to the seating area and turned to the clerk.
“Jenkins, if you would, some tea and biscuits for Lady…. “
He looked at her enquiringly.
“Lady Serafine Parkington.” She managed, just, to keep her voice steady as she spoke, waiting for the condemnation to appear in his eyes – for surely a merchant as wealthy as he would be aware of the gossip of the ton, would know of her disgrace.
He simply nodded, and waved Mr Jenkins on his way. She let out the breath that she had not realised she was holding, and lowered herself to a chair, depositing her basket on the floor at her side. He turned back to her.
“So, Lady Serafine, tell me more a
bout your project, ask your questions, and let us see if I can supply what you wish for.”
Wickedly, her internal voice suggested that he could supply many things that she wished for, in her most secret thoughts. She pushed it away, and began.
“First, Mr Morton, I must make an admission that may shock you, coming from a well born Lady.”
At her words he looked most interested, and raised that enquiring eyebrow once again, but said nothing, waiting for her to continue.
“I… create… things. It began as a hobby of sorts, some years ago, but, in more recent times, it has become more… commercial… in nature. My family are in rather… straightened… circumstances, and I have been forced to supplement our income in small ways.”
She waited, again, for an expression of horror or disgust to cross his face – for Ladies were not expected to sully themselves with work. It did not appear. He simply nodded, and she had the most peculiar feeling that, even wealthy as he was, he truly understood what it was to be poor.
At that moment, Jenkins returned with the tea tray, and placed it on a small table before them. She was forced to wait until Jenkins had left, and tea had been poured. It felt strange to have a man pour tea for her, but this was his premises, after all. At last she could continue.
“I am finding that I need more materials for my creations – materials of a better quality than those I have been able to source to date. It seems that there is a demand for my work – but a demand for items of the best materials. I only need very small amounts, as the items I make are quite small, but the materials must be unusual and high quality. I purchased some offcuts and other items from a shop selling trifles to Ladies of Quality, and the proprietress informed me that she purchases such things from your business. Hence my visit.”
In her need to get her explanation out, Serafine had quite forgotten to be nervous, somewhere in the middle of speaking – perhaps because he seemed so genuinely interested in what she had to say. There was something about him that made her feel respected, safe, in a way that she had not, since… before. He appeared to consider for a moment, then spoke, his voice warm and positive, wrapping around her softly.
“It certainly sounds as if I may be able to assist you – but to do so, I believe that I will need to see an example of these items that you create, to better understand your needs. For I must confess, at this point I am at a loss to guess what they might be.”
As he said it, she felt like a complete goose – how had she managed all of that long winded explanation, without ever actually telling him the core of it? She lifted her basket to her lap. Folding the cloth cover back, she lifted out the last of her most recently made favours, and, pushing aside the tea tray, laid them on the small table before them.
A small gasp escaped his lips, and he reached out a hand to lift one up and examine it, touching it as if it were some precious thing. She was not sure that her work deserved such reverence. Silently, she waited until he had completed his examination. When he looked to her again, his face was alight with what appeared to be excitement, with a smile that lit his eyes, and transformed him from merely handsome to utterly breathtaking.
“The perfect solution!” His exclamation confused her, and she waited for him to say more.
“Did you, perchance, make some of these just before Christmas, Lady Serafine? Including one with tiny holly berries and bells?”
She nodded, wondering how on earth he had seen it, when it had been purchased by that other merchant – Arbuthnot, if she remembered Mr Tanner’s ramblings aright.
“Excellent! A hopeful swain gave it to my sister, and I was most impressed with its elegance and workmanship when I saw it. So was my mother, whose taste is quite beyond compare.”
It was as if he had read her thoughts. She still could not fathom why he was so delighted, for surely the small amounts of materials that she might buy would be but the tiniest pittance compared to what most highborn Ladies might buy from him.
“Lady Serafine, I have a proposition for you.” At the look of shock in her eyes, he gave a light laugh and continued, “A business proposition only, let me hasten to assure you, nothing of any impropriety, one which I most sincerely hope will be of monetary profit for both of us.”
She found herself laughing with him, and a ridiculous, giddy bubble of hope was fluttering about in her chest. “Please, Mr Morton, you intrigue me – tell me more.”
“I have been looking, this past month or more, for a new venture, a new way to use materials that I already have, or import often, to create something new to catch the interest of the ton. For the wealthy of Quality love to outdo each other with fripperies, and fads, and I would profit from that shallowness.”
She nodded, fully understanding what he meant, for the outrageous fashions taken up by the ton had always both fascinated, and repelled, her even whilst she was one of them, and oblivious to how the world truly went on.
“Ever since I saw my sister’s Christmas favour, it has niggled at the back of my mind – I felt it important, but did not know why. Now I do. For surely, this sort of thing, created with high quality materials and workmanship, and using exclusive, exotic imported materials would appeal to them. I need only gift a few select pieces to the current arbiters of fashion, or perhaps to the Prince Regent himself, and, should they like them, they will be all the rage overnight, and will be sent to young Ladies as often as hot-house flowers are.”
Excitement shot through her, for this was her vision, multiplied tenfold. The thought that one day, a piece made by her hands, her, a shunned and disregarded member of society, might reach the hands of the Prince Regent was both satisfying and sublimely ridiculous. Still she must take care.
“That seems a wondrous concept, Mr Morton, yet… even with the best of materials, I can only make so many, for each takes some time. Should your vision come to pass, I could not keep up with such a demand.”
Nervous again, she reached up from habit, tucking the escaped tendrils of her rich dark brown hair back. His eyes followed her movement, and she found herself caught in them. They simply looked at each other, until he broke the spell by speaking again.
“Ah, but I have a solution to that problem too.”
Serafine was suddenly utterly conscious of everything around her, in fine detail – the colours of the fabrics on display, the subtle scent of oriental spices that pervaded the place, the pine and leather scent that could only be from Mr Morton himself, the muted sounds of movement in the back rooms of the shop. It was as if her future turned on this moment. She waited.
“It would be possible for you to teach others to make these, would it not?”
She nodded again.
“But… if I should do that, how would that make income for me?”
Perhaps her question sounded greedy, but she had to ask – her mother’s survival, and her own, turned upon the answer.
“Because, Lady Serafine, you will not simply be a pair of hands to sew, you will be a business partner with me, and the business that you will own half of, will be a manufactory for these. I have a small building nearby that we can use, and we will employ poorer girls from hereabout, helping their families survive, and you will teach them how to make these to the exacting standards required for us to sell them to the ton. You will help me understand exactly how to make them something that the Ladies of the ton will crave – for of that world, you have much greater knowledge than I.”
His eyes were alight with excitement again, and she found herself caught up in it, swept away by the scale of his idea. This was beyond all her imaginings. There was only one thing that she could do.
“Yes, Mr Morton, I accept your business proposition.”
“Wonderful! We will need to move fast, for I believe that our best opportunity to launch this endeavour approaches. In but a month, it will be St. Valentine’s Day, and people of all classes will be giving love tokens to those they admire. Can you design some suitable favours, that girls could make, in time for us to h
ave them on sale before then?”
He was sweeping her along, and she felt like a leaf on a torrent, caught in the enthusiasm of his ideas. It was terrifying and exhilarating at once.
“I will most certainly do my best – but there is much to be done, and for some of it, I have no idea where to start, for I find that the education of a gently reared Lady is sadly lacking in the area of setting up a manufactory.”
He laughed, delighted at her gentle wit, and reached to take her hands.
“My Lady, I will have a contract drawn up, immediately, so that you can be assured of your security in this enterprise. And I will arrange staff to assist you. If you will return here tomorrow morning at 10, all will be ready – you will have the contract, your staff, and the building at your disposal.”
Stunned, she simply nodded, for the heat flowing through her from the touch of his hands quite fuddled her brain, his nearness leaving her more flustered than that of any man, ever before. He looked at her again, as if considering whether he should speak further. Then, apparently, he decided that he should.
“I will understand should you be offended at what I am about to say, but I feel that I must say it, nonetheless.”
The old dread curled in her – was she, after such a wonderful few minutes, about to meet the rejection again – had he, perchance, just remembered the scandal attached to her name?
“I sense, Lady Serafine, in what you said, and what you did not say, that your financial position is, at present, very difficult? I must commend you for your initiative in acting to change that, for many young women of the aristocracy would simply retreat into tears and depression, and starve.”
She could do nothing but nod, again (he must be beginning to wonder if she had a weak neck, for she had been nodding stupidly through half of this conversation!). She was embarrassed at the truth of his words about her poverty, yet elated to find that he actually respected her for taking action. It was a novel experience for a man to regard her that way. When he continued, it was tentative, as if he expected her to push him away. Startled, she realised that he still held her hands.
Giving a Heart of Lace: Sweet and Clean Regency Romance (His Majesty's Hounds Book 3) Page 3
