Unleashed Desires 0f A Noble Lady (Steamy Historical Regency)

by Scarlett Osborne

  “So it does. Thank you for bringing it to my attention. Did something happen? A fire in the shop district or some social faux pas by a middling lord or lady involving fur? Anything that would decrease their sales among the shoppers who frequent those shops?”

  “Nothing of that sort, no M’Lord. This is the effect of competition, plain and simple,” Baldwin explained.

  “I see. I thought we were expecting a move like this, Baldwin. How were they able to secure all these small contracts from us?” Donald was growing more frustrated, rather than less, now that he knew what the problem was.

  “Well, M’Lord, our rivals have been managing to undercut our prices beyond what we can match and still make a profit,” Baldwin confessed, “and my investigation shows they are using a rather unscrupulous tactic.”

  “Are they breaking the law?” Donald asked, almost aghast at the prospect that someone would stoop so low to get an advantage on others in the fur trade, no matter how cutthroat it was.

  “No, not literally, but they are doing something that might as well be illegal, considering.” It was Baldwin’s turn to look frustrated. “They are offering smaller companies reduced rates and are able to compensate their loss by selling a ‘quality promise cost’.”

  “Quality promise cost? What is that?”

  “It is an extra charge based on the total amounts of furs they buy that guarantees that any low quality furs that don’t meet a standard will be replaced by furs of a superior quality at a cost to the seller,” He explained in an incredulous tone.

  “What? They are charging for that? Do we not provide a promise of quality on my name and title? Don’t we do that for free?!” Donald was trying to understand how his competition was outselling him by charging more for services.

  “We do, M’Lord. But it seems the promise backed by one’s own investment makes the smaller shop owners feel more comfortable when they have finances backing the promise, even if it’s their finances. Not to mention that many of our smaller customers feel it would be an imposition to come to the offices and negotiate over a handful of furs, despite it being a sizable amount of their order. If it is a service they paid for, then they feel no issue with it...” Baldwin’s explanation trailed off when he noticed the dark look that had build upon his lord’s face as his fingers drummed on the desk.

  “Who is the man responsible for this? Who owns Empire Furs?” Donald’s tone was strained.

  “Aaron Fitzroy, the Viscount of Gallanville.”

  “Well, we will have to see if I can converse with the Lord directly. I will give him the opportunity to address this behavior. I will assume he is an honorable gentleman who has simply let his business affairs get away from him. Many lords do not have the time to monitor all of the happenings with their estate.” Donald stood and grabbed his coat, off to make the proper arrangements for a meeting at this very moment.

  “And what if he doesn’t listen, M’Lord? What action will we take?” Baldwin asked, standing to meet his employer.

  “Then we will find a way to win our business back,” Donald replied uncertainly, but then followed it up more firmly with, “and show Empire Furs why Atlantic is the premier fur traders in London, and will remain as such.”

  And with that Donald walked out the door to seek out his rival.

  * * *

  Emma and Henrietta stood in the entrance hall of the London Estate to welcome the Earl and Countess of Westfolk, Emma’s parents. They spent most of their time living on the lands that they governed, coming into London only for the most important social events. They often left Emma in the care of her grandmother.

  Their return had given Emma pause. They were only starting the middle of the season, and her parents were more inclined to be around for the beginning and the end of it. Then her grandmother had received a letter only a couple of weeks ago, a few weeks after that fateful meeting with Donald as she was flustered to even recall, that informed her that her parents would be moving back for a few months.

  The Westfolk’s luggage came long before they did, almost an hour before they made it through the door. Emma and Henrietta were fully occupied directing the servants to their new duties in preparation for the return of the Earl and the Countess.

  With things finally calming down, Emma was excited to see her mother and father come through the door, greeting them with a polite curtsy. Henrietta greeted her hosts with a deep curtsy as well. Emma’s parents were caring and loving, but had abstained from physical affection for many years, deeming it unseemly, and expected their daughter to adhere to that same standard with them.

  The Dowager, who had started the non-touching tradition of the family, greeted her son with a curt nod from farther back in the hall.

  “Father, Mother, I am so glad you have decided to come to London early. There are so many early spring activities that you are usually unable to attend with me,” Emma said after greetings were exchanged.

  “Unfortunately, my dear, we have come for a very specific event,” Lord Westfolk commented astutely as the butler in the hall assisted him in removing his traveling coat.

  Robert Weston, the Earl of Westfolk, was a bold-looking gentleman with strong features and skin made a bit ruddy with a combination of age and social drinking that his position often required. Emma took far more after her mother, Tulip Weston, The Countess of Westfolk, who she bore a striking resemblance to. Though she had her father’s dark hair rather than her mother’s honey-colored curls.

  “An event?” Emma questioned. She was a bit confused. She was a young lady with her finger on the pulse of the London social scene. How had she missed something that was important enough that it warranted her parents knowing of it two weeks ago? “I’m afraid I haven’t heard of anything concerning a party or similar events.”

  This time her mother spoke up. “The Duke of Castron is hosting a grand event. One that only select members of society are invited to. Your father has secured us an invitation.”

  Henrietta added, “The Duke of Castron, I’ve heard of him. He is supposed to be a tad interesting when it comes to his events. He doesn’t host them very often and when he does, he makes it a huge affair, plenty of secrets and such,” she commented, half talking to herself.

  “Particular or not, His Grace has a way in the world that demands the attention of the important people. Which is why I made sure the invitation that I secured would allow me bring Lady Henrietta and you as guests.” Lord Westfolk smiled, her father clearly pleased he was able to deliver the good news to them.

  “Is that true, Father? Do you mean it?” Emma’s voice was alight with excitement. She hadn’t been to a ball in some time and now she was to go to an exclusive one being arranged by a Duke.

  What fun she would have. Dancing, music, and surely some of the most delicious food she had ever tasted. “Oh my, what am I going to wear? I have to start preparing. Mother, Father, I will be back for dinner. Henrietta, you must come and assist me.”

  And before her friend could even acquiesce Emma pulled her off to go help her sort out party plans, leaving the Lord and Lady of Westfolk standing in the hall.

  * * *

  “I am afraid, My Lord, despite the gravity of the situation, that meeting with Lord Gallanville is quite impossible.” The tall and lengthy butler insisted, looking at Donald through the doorway of the surprisingly modest apartment.

  “My Lord spends little time in London,” the butler continued, “He is often securing trade in many parts of the world. He will not be returning to London for some time, My Lord. I can let him know you stopped by and he will make his best and most earnest effort to contact you.”

  “And how long will it be until then, approximately?” Most of the anger Donald had built up to come out here had dissipated in the investigation to find the lord’s London home. After directing his coachman in circles and bribing three children with expensive sweets, he eventually wound up on these steps.

  “Hard to say,” the butler thought to himself for a
moment. “Six months, more or less?”

  “Six months?” Donald took a deep breath. “Six months...fine”

  “Thank you very much for your time.”

  His mind swam after he walked away. How could he secure himself a meeting with Lord Gallanville? He would have to track him down somewhere. This Lord was enough of a businessman to interfere with The Atlantic Animal Fur Company, which meant he must have a lot of influence. Was there an affair coming up that would be so important as to demand the Lord of Gallanville’s attention?

  Of course, the Duke of Castron’s ball, how could have I forgotten!

  Donald had received an invite to the ball. With all the comings and goings of the business, it had slipped his mind. It was always Matthew who had the keen eye and ear for any sort of social events. Perhaps he had grown too dependent on him to sort out the comings and goings of the ton.

  Donald made a mental note to learn more about ways of the season, as Matthew wouldn’t always be around. Present issue being the exact case and point. Donald could stand to forgive himself a little though, as this event was particularly secretive. For right now he needed to prepare more thoroughly for this upcoming ball. Helt would have to order and prepare proper clothes.

  Donald double questioned his plan, but for only a moment. It may be uncouth to bring up business at such an important gala, but Donald knew if he could simply meet with the man he would be able to secure a meeting sooner than six months.

  His mind occupied by the preparations he would have to make before the ball, he climbed up into his carriage and directed his driver to take him home

  Chapter 6

  “Why are we doing this?” Henrietta let out a deep sigh that seemed to Emma to still hold out the last bit of resignation she had saved for this moment.

  “Should we not try and look our best for His Grace’s ball?” Emma asked from her spot in a nearby chair. They were in Henrietta’s room. Henrietta was positioned with her arms extended from her sides while Selena fretted to and fro around her.

  “Lady Henrietta, I must insist that you stay still just a bit longer, or else my measurements will be imprecise.” Selena was already on the smaller side, but Henrietta’s height made her lady’s maid look practically diminutive. Emma always thought she was a good compliment to Henrietta, her over attentiveness making up for her lady’s devil-may-care attitude.

  “This is exactly what I am talking about. Why should we bother? It’s not like I will be able to impress anyone.” Henrietta pouted and Emma frowned, “And even if I do, the ball is a secret so no one will be able to tell people about the impression I left.” Her friend was often prone to these moods, especially when she felt stressed. Balls had a tendency to make Henrietta pessimistic and panicked, but Emma knew that once she was at the event itself she tended to perk up. The trick was getting her there to begin with.

  “You are going to be the loveliest lady there, I am sure,” Emma said while eyeing the dress Selena was altering.

  “I have no doubt about that,” a cross note in Henrietta’s voice accompanied her perpetual pout. “But to what end?”

  “To the end of dancing, music, and delicious food. What other end could there be to a ball?” Emma stood from her chair and half-danced, half-walked around her friend.

  “Boorish gentlemen who think that I am there to find a marriage partner.” Henrietta’s pout was now dangerously close to becoming a scowl.

  “Isn’t that what we are there for?”

  “It’s not what you are there for?” Henrietta snipped, turning to give Emma a look before Selena gently chided her back into place.

  “What do you mean?” Emma asked, honestly confused at what Henrietta could be insinuating.

  “The gentlemen there know whose company you keep. You may not be courting anyone specifically, as of yet, but most lord’s prefer their courtship go unchallenged.”

  “Awfully forward of you to propose that people would suspect my friendship with Lord Stapleton and Lord Thetmont to be any more than what it is.” Emma was intentionally circling out of Henrietta’s line of sight as a way to keep the accusation light.

  “I don’t mean to insinuate anything, Emma. I don’t believe anyone suspects anything. I think of it as more of a prediction.”

  “Prediction?”

  “Why yes, ladies in your position, having been raised alongside lords of similar age that is, just have a tendency to become attached.”

  “I resent the idea that a gentleman would presume to know me without ever having truly met me.” Emma sat back down in her chair, positioned so she could talk to Henrietta via the mirror.

  “You are describing all gentlemen, Emma,” Henrietta smiled. “Either way, you don’t have to worry about finding a dance partner.”

  “Weren’t you just talking about all the reasons that gentlemen would avoid my company?” Emma observed, arching an eyebrow.

  “Other gentleman might, but Lord Stapleton will be there.” Henrietta chuckled lightly as if it hadn’t occurred to Emma. Which it hadn’t.

  Of course he will be there, he is a Marquess. The Duke is sure to invite him to a secret ball.

  “We are done for now, Lady Henrietta, you will need to fidget no more. Lady Emma, if I may request privacy. I need to help My Lady change so I can make the proper alterations.” Selena stood and collected herself, one hand still holding the pin-filled dress away from her.

  Emma stood again from the chair, “Josephine has already taken my measurements and is making my alterations right now. I’ll let you know before I try it on so you can see how it turned out. You can even harass Josephine while she ensures the fit is proper, if you like.”

  “I am sure Selena appreciates our commitment to distressing our maids equally.” Henrietta smiled at Emma as she departed the room.

  The dressmaker, Mr. Lewiston, had been eager to go on at length about the latest fashions and was determined to sell them to the ladies with equal enthusiasm. Emma was always an avid shopper and took to a dress that was a light buttercup yellow, reminding her of the spring flowers outside. Henrietta, on the other hand, had to talk the dressmaker out of offering her several shades of brown that she said made her look like “a great tree” until they settled on a dark grey.

  I wonder what Donald will wear?

  Emma knew he liked to favor those dark reds. The accomplished tailors he frequented knew what colors complimented him but chose to cut his clothes too tight, making the gentleman’s broad frame always strain his suits. Was this a mark of the lack of skill or the craftsman’s wisdom? Emma made a mental note to thank them someday.

  She was a proper lady and had never wanted to challenge that acceptable etiquette. Still, here alone in her room, it must be acceptable to think about what she finds attractive in a man. She would have to know if she were to ever marry, after all. She couldn’t help it if whenever she imagined her ideal man, Donald was who came to mind.

  Emma had to take a minute to realize that her heart had begun to race at the thought of Donald. His broad shoulders, strong forearms and large, but surprisingly gentle hands. What would it be like to let those hands hold her, to touch her, to squeeze her? Right now, with her eyes closed, she swore she could feel the tingle and warmth of his touch still linger on her hips.

  It was not meant to be an improper touch, and only the most particular of ladies avoid helpful gestures by gentlemen. But he was the only gentleman to make her feel this fire inside herself. Not only that, but Emma wanted to let the fire engulf her. Touch her where she felt hot and make her only grow hotter. A not-so-secret part of her wanted Donald to set her aflame.

  Her breath caught in her throat when there was a knock at her door and she noticed she was clutching so tightly to her skirt that her knuckles had turned white. “E…enter” she managed.

  “Lady Emma,” it was Josephine. “I have finished with the alterations, the fit should be right and proper now.”

  “Yes,” she cleared her throat and stood, “and time is
short so we must have me look stunning. We have only a few days until the ball, and...” Emma tried to recover her thoughts, “this is likely to be the social event of the season, regardless of the secrecy. I am a tad nervous.”

  Josephine, a maid of few words, nodded understandingly as she crossed the room. She had Emma’s dress folded neatly in her arms and laid it out on the bed to ready it. “I am sure you will look stunning, My Lady. Would you please stand in front of the mirror?”

  Knowing she had to allow Josephine to double check her stitching and sizing, Emma stood from her bed and moved to the full-length mirror, embarrassed at the noticeable flush of her pale skin that was reflected back at her.