Giving a Heart of Lace: Sweet and Clean Regency Romance (His Majesty's Hounds Book 3)

by Arietta Richmond

  “Lady Serafine, in recognition of the enormous effort that you have agreed to put in, over the next weeks, before our enterprise will begin to make sales, I wish to offer you an amount now – an amount that I regard as being fair compensation for the licensing of your idea and knowledge, for use in this business. Can you see your way to accept such a thing?”

  She understood his concern, for a ‘true Lady’ would reject such apparent charity with scorn.

  She was long past such scruples.

  ‘Mr Morton, that is a more than generous offer, in the light of all that you have already agreed to do, and to contribute to this business. But, I am somewhat embarrassed to admit, you have assessed it correctly. My situation is somewhat dire. So, for my mother’s sake, I will most gratefully accept your offer, in the spirit it is made.”

  “You, Lady Serafine, exhibit great courage and sense, as well as beauty. I cannot imagine a better person as a business partner!”

  After a short further conversation, which she barely managed, so dazed was she by the fact that he spoke of her as beautiful, as she was about to turn and leave, he shook her hand, just as if she were another gentleman of business!

  Then he drew forth a purse and handed it to her, saying quietly, “An advance, Lady Serafine – I will have a draft on my bank for you tomorrow, along with everything else. But I do not wish to see you in any difficulty. Please, take a hackney home, for your safety - it grows dark.”

  “Thank you.” What more could she possibly say?

  All the way home she replayed the afternoon in her mind, hugging it to her as if it might dissolve in the winter rain outside. But the purse was real, as was the scent of Mr Morton, which clung to her hands where he had held them, and seeped, dizzyingly, into her senses.

  ~~~~~

  Raphael watched her leave, feeling at once bemused, confused and more excited and alive than he had since arriving home from the war. She was a stunning woman – rich dark brown hair, thick and a little unruly, curling into tendrils from the winter damp, eyes that were almost golden, that seemed to glow from within when she was caught up in an idea, a figure that no worn and slightly outdated dress could hide, and lips that should, oh definitely should, be kissed.

  And she was intelligent, resourceful and loyal. It was a seemingly impossible combination, but, improbable as it was, it existed. His friends might think him mad, but he had no doubts about the decisions he had just so impetuously made. He was quite, quite certain, with the instinct that had kept him alive in Spain, that she was everything she said she was, and that this would work.

  And, he had to admit to himself, the thought of days with a woman like that, to create a new venture, was arousing – in more than one way – he would not at all object to spending time working with such a beautiful woman at his side.

  That night, Serafine slept better than she had for months. Her sleep was threaded through with dreams of Mr Raphael Morton, whose handsome face and compelling dark eyes seemed even more so in dreams. The purse he had handed her was under her pillow, and the subtle remnants of his personal scent which clung to it surrounded her.

  The money it had contained was safely locked in her little metal box, along with the heart of lace which had begun all of this. She had been astonished, when, upon reaching home, she had dared to investigate just what the purse contained. More than thirty pounds! Enough to keep them, in their current excessively frugal lifestyle, for months! And this was his idea of a small ‘advance’ on what he intended to pay her for agreeing to join him in a business venture! A venture which would, later, also return her a share of the profits!

  It all seemed too good to be true, yet she knew that it was true. She had never felt more certain of a man’s honesty and good intentions in her life.

  Her mother had been abed when she had returned, and she had not disturbed her. Now, as the weak morning sun shone through her somewhat grimy bedroom window, she rose and dressed, eager to tell her mother of the momentous events of the day before.

  In their little breakfast room, they sat to a plain repast of bread, cheese and a little cold meat. Serafine ate, then, unable to wait any longer, she began.

  “Mother, I have such news! Wonderful news. News which, it is my hope, will solve our precarious financial situation forever.”

  Her mother looked up, startled, and was overjoyed to see the light in her daughter’s eyes, and the enthusiasm in her expression – neither of which had been present since her brother’s death. As Serafine went on to explain, her mother’s face showed at first doubt and uncertainty, but swiftly moved to a hope equal to Serafine’s. When Sera spoke of the funds already received, her mother’s amazement and relief were obvious, although deeply coloured by embarrassment at having their severe financial straits known.

  “This Mr Morton sounds a positive paragon – you are quite certain that he is being honest with you? That he will not try to take advantage of you in… inappropriate ways?”

  “Quite certain – he is everything a gentleman should be – much more so than many of those young rakes and fops of the ton, who panted after me, then were the first to turn away.”

  “I would meet him. Might I accompany you this morning, to see that all is in order, and set my mind at ease?”

  Serafine was most glad of her mother’s interest – it had been many months since her mother had set foot outside their house, her depression had been so deep.

  “Why certainly mother, if you will not be embarrassed to be seen about without a maid to accompany us.”

  “As we have no maid, I will have to be content, will I not? You have seemed to do well enough in these circumstances Sera, much though such things might once have horrified me.”

  Both smiling, they rose from the table and went to prepare for the day.

  ~~~~~

  From the moment she had walked out his door, Raphael had swept into action, summoning his man of business to draw up the contract, arranging staff to be allocated to support of this new project, and sending Jenkins to arrange a cleaning of the building they would use, which had recently come into his possession as payment of a debt from a Lord who was financially embarrassed at present, but whose wife had spent rather excessively on the silks that Raphael imported.

  He fell into a deep sleep, late in the night, and woke with the dawn, feeling full of energy. For the first time since his return, there was no trace of boredom in his thoughts. After Garrett had assisted him with dressing (a situation he still found peculiar after years at war, looking after himself), and he had broken his fast, he gathered up his hat and gloves, and slipped on his caped winter coat.

  As he turned to the door, Bella came down the stairs, just beginning her day. He went to her and took her hand a moment.

  “Bella, dear sister, I must thank you.”

  She looked at him, startled at this pronouncement.

  “You see, dear sister, that pretty Christmas favour you showed me, it has given me a new business idea, which I hope to find most profitable. I shall tell you more this evening, but for now, my thanks.”

  He swept on his way before she could do anything but smile. It was typical of Raphael, she thought, to leave her with a tiny bit of information, and expect her to wait all day to hear more!

  ~~~~~

  At precisely the hour of ten, the door to Morton Empire Imports opened, and Lady Serafine entered, followed, Raphael was surprised to see, by an older woman. A woman who could only be her mother, he thought, for the resemblance was clear. The older woman’s hair was streaked with some grey, but was still thick and shining, and the sharp lines of her high cheekbones were a clear echo of the softer lines of Lady Serafine’s face.

  Raphael bowed over their hands.

  “Lady Serafine. And this is…?’

  “My mother, the Dowager Lady Galwood.”

  For a moment, as she spoke, fear flickered across Serafine’s face, and that of her mother also. More than a year of being treated to the cut direct, as soon as people d
iscovered who they were, had left its mark. Raphael wondered at the fleeting expression, but let that go to think about later.

  “Delighted, my Lady. I am Mr Raphael Morton, owner of Morton Empire Imports. Your daughter is most talented and enterprising. I count myself fortunate to have found such a person to be my partner in this business venture.”

  He waved them to the seating area.

  “Please be seated, I will have everything brought momentarily. Might I offer you some refreshment? Some tea, perhaps?”

  “Thank you, Mr Morton.” Lady Galwood was, suddenly, the elegant aristocratic woman that Sera remembered, rather than the shadow that she had lived with for the last year.

  By the time another hour had passed, Serafine was in possession of a signed contract, making her the half owner of a new business, to be called Parkmorton Gifts, a signed bank draft for a remarkable amount of money, a business manager in the form of Mr Jenkins, who had agreed to take on this new challenge, a housekeeper in the form of Mrs Jenkins, who would assist with hiring domestic staff, as well as finding girls to employ in the manufactory, as she was well known in the surrounding area, and an assistant, a Miss Emily Nunn, who would help with identifying suitable materials from the vast stores of exotic items in Morton Empire Imports warehouses.

  Once again, she felt like a leaf tossed on the torrent.

  It was wonderful, exhilarating and positively the most frightening experience of her life. Her mother appeared to feel the same way, as she watched all of this happen with amazement.

  There followed a visit to their new building, which was only a few blocks away, where Sera could barely contain her excitement – for it was large, larger than she had ever imagined, and, whilst still being cleaned after some time unused, was most suitable, with rooms for offices, sitting rooms for meetings, a tidy kitchen, storerooms, and a selection of large rooms with excellent windows where the light would be suitable for girls to sit and do the fine sewing necessary.

  There was also a small stable at the rear, where the yard opened onto a lane between the buildings. And… the stable contained a small town carriage, two horses, and a cheerful groom/coachman named Alf. Mr Morton casually informed Sera that they were for her use – she was now an important merchant, and should look the part, apparently.

  At the end of the visit, when Mrs Jenkins had arrived and been introduced, Alf drove Lady Galwood and Mrs Jenkins back to Sera’s home, to begin on the hiring of staff and the planning there, and Sera returned to Morton Empire Imports office with Mr Morton, and Mr Jenkins, to begin planning in earnest.

  By evening she was elated, and exhausted, and still only just beginning to believe that this was real. The sense of unreality was heightened when she reached home (driven by Alf!) and a footman opened the door for her.

  Mrs Jenkins greeted her in the hall, and introduced the shy looking young girl standing behind her as, “Polly, your new maid, my Lady.”

  As she dropped into sleep that night, the thought drifted through her mind that it was incongruous, and rather amusing, that the thing that should give her back something almost like her old life was to ‘sully her hands with trade’ – that idea most reviled by the nobility. After a year of barely surviving, she would take practical and comfortable over poverty and ridiculous concepts of noble behaviour every time.

  ~~~~~

  Over dinner that evening, Raphael had, as promised, explained his new venture to Bella, and the rest of his family. His mother thought it an excessively clever idea, and praised his astuteness in capturing Lady Serafine’s skills before anyone else saw the potential. Gabriel thought it boring – girls sewing fripperies held no interest for him – he would rather listen to the sea captain’s tales of exotic lands.

  Bella thought it wonderful, and romantic, that making love tokens should transform the life of a woman fallen on difficult times, as well as make what should be the coup, for their own business, of starting a new fashion. Perhaps she would tell Porter Arbuthnot what a wonderful chain of events his gift of the favour had set in motion.

  She was still unsure how she felt about him, but she had agreed to another drive tomorrow, albeit insisting that it be in a vehicle where Liza, her maid, could accompany them.

  Indulging in a quiet glass of port with his mother, after the meal was done, Raphael was surprised when she spoke, breaking into his thoughts of business.

  “Raphael, Lady Serafine… you said that her mother is the Dowager Lady Galwood?”

  “Yes, that was the name.” He wondered where this conversation was going.

  “I seem to remember something about that name. From more than a year ago, whilst you were still at war. Before your father…”

  Her voice caught, for she still missed her husband fiercely, although she rarely let that show. He waited, sipping his port, letting the stresses of the hectic day slide away, as she paused, seemingly sifting through memories. Eventually, she spoke again.

  “I remember now. There was a scandal, young Viscount Galwood, that would be Lady Serafine’s brother, killed himself. Gambling debts, I believe. He had gambled away everything not entailed, and left his family ruined, so he took the coward’s way out and killed himself. His mother and sister were cut dead by the ton, for the scandal of having a suicide in the family, and the title went to some distant cousin. That would explain their straightened circumstances, and her need to create an income.”

  “Whilst I cannot see that suicide should ever be a choice for a man of any class with any honour, I also cannot see why the ton must cast aside the family of such a man. Surely they suffer enough in losing him, without needing disgrace added to that.”

  “Raphael, I must agree with that sentiment. The poor women, this last year must have been hell. It does, however, amaze me that this Lady Serafine has the vision and the courage to have even considered working, and going into business – for most members of the ton would surely actually starve before they did so!”

  “She is, indeed, most unusual.” As Raphael spoke, the image of her rose in his mind, as she had been that morning, flushed, excited at what they had begun, golden eyes alight, rich dark hair escaping its pins to lie in tendrils around her face, and full of intelligent questions. She was beautiful in an unconventional kind of way, for he found that her beauty came as much from her keen intelligence as from her fairness of form.

  He also remembered, in that instant, the fleeting expression that had crossed both Lady Serafine’s and her mother’s countenance – could it have been fear? Did they fear that he would act as the ton did, and reject them for the actions of her brother, actions over which they, personally, would have had no influence whatsoever?

  With him, they had no need for fear, he would never behave that way. But… he wondered, how the other Hounds would respond? They were of the ton (although Gerald had only recently risen to such high estate), would they reject her? Or see it as he did? It was the first time that he had ever had to consider a situation where their opinions might be so divided. He did not like the possibility at all.

  “Thank you for the information, Mother, I will bear that in mind as we proceed with this.”

  Soon after, he took himself to bed, to dream of golden eyes and hair the colour of rich mahogany timber from the East Indies.

  Two days later, whilst Serafine and Raphael were immersed in a whirlwind of arranging the manufactory, hiring girls, choosing materials and starting to teach them how to make the favours, Isabella was nervously awaiting the arrival of Mr Porter Arbuthnot, her maid, Liza, standing patiently by her side.

  When she saw, peering through the curtains of the front parlour, the small but elegant open carriage draw up outside, Isabella breathed a sigh of relief – she hated waiting… for anything.

  A moment later, there was a knock on the door, and the footman ushered Mr Arbuthnot in.

  “Miss Isabella, you are beautiful as always.” He took her hand, and performed an exaggerated bow, his lips barely brushing her glove. Liza stifled a giggl
e. Isabella glared at her, sidelong.

  “Why thank you sir!”

  He offered her his arm, and led her out to the carriage, Liza dutifully following. Once they reached the park, and he could take some of his attention from the task of avoiding collisions, he asked her how she had been, declaring that he had missed her terribly since they had last met. Isabella blushed, not entirely convinced, but certainly flattered.

  “Why Mr Arbuthnot, I believe you are gulling me. For, surely, your duties in your father’s business must occupy your thoughts the majority of the time?”

  “Ah Miss Isabella, nothing can completely distract me from thoughts of you.” She was beginning to find his approach rather overdone, now that she considered it. Still, perhaps he was sincere.

  “Well… I have mostly been rather bored, for it has been a little too cold for my liking, to walk, or even to visit my friends. Still, I do have one bit of news that may please you. You remember, I am sure, that delightful Christmas favour you gave me?”

  He looked at her, puzzled by this turn in the conversation, and nodded.

  “Well, it was so beautiful that I showed it to my family at the time. My mother, and my brother, both thought it most elegant and well made – a very nice sentiment. And now I find that it has inspired my brother to a new enterprise. He plans to arrange the making of such things, to sell through our business! Your romantic gesture has resulted in good fortune for us, and for a Lady who has agreed to assist with this venture. Isn’t that wonderful!”

  Whilst Isabella was enamoured of the romantic nature of the whole concept, it seemed to her that Mr Arbuthnot was not. As she spoke, it had seemed to her, for a moment, that an expression of annoyance, almost anger, had crossed his face – but… surely not? For what was there, in what she had said, that might conceivably annoy him?

  After that, for the rest of their drive, whilst he spoke most amiably to her, he seemed a little distracted, and flattered and flirted considerably less than usual – a development that Isabella was not sure she appreciated at all. Still it was a pleasant outing, and she returned home happy enough with the day.