by Karen Brooks
‘There’s no doubt, it was an adroit ruse,’ Matthew began. ‘But before you bask in any more complacency, may I remind you what works in the colonies will not work here. London has a long memory.’
Aubrey reached over and brought his drink to his mouth. ‘Not so long it cannot forgive a man who contributes generously to the privy purse. Suddenly, my… how do I put it… colourful past has been painted in more attractive hues; my reputation is rakish rather than ruined.’
‘Maybe so, but never again will those in the colonies trust you, not now the vizard has been cast aside.’
Aubrey inhaled, then flapped a hand in irritation. ‘Enough of this nonsense. Say what you’ve come to say, then leave. I’ve no desire to spend a moment more in your company than I have to.’
‘On that at least, we’re agreed,’ said Matthew. It was hard not to grab Aubrey by the shirt and shake him. No, forget shake, he wanted to punch that arrogant face, wipe the smirk off that supercilious mouth, even if it was worn to disguise fear. How he could ever have thought this man a friend, been persuaded by his lies, his insistence he would be a great match for his sister, a marvellous brother-in-law… Truth was, he didn’t want to be in the same room. The man repulsed him.
‘I am here to tell you to leave Rosamund alone.’ Matthew’s voice was firm.
‘Beg your pardon?’ said Aubrey incredulously.
‘You heard me. I want you to stay away from Rosamund. I don’t care what excuses you come up with, what reasons you give her, but you are to maintain a distance. A long one.’
Aubrey’s eyes started and then he sat back heavily and forced a laugh. ‘You’ve no right to tell me who I can and cannot see; no right to tell me to stay away from anyone, let alone Rosamund. Particularly when she’s living in my house.’
‘Oh, I think I do —’
‘Well,’ said Aubrey, heaving himself out of the chair in one motion. ‘You think wrong. I’ve great plans for Rosamund. For me, us. Plans that do not concern you, Lovelace.’ He looked down at Matthew.
‘You can forget your plans, Aubrey. Just as you can forget Rosamund.’
Aubrey burst into shrill laughter. ‘Forget her? What? So you can swoop in and claim her? Ah, you think I don’t know what you’re about? Obviously, you’re besotted with her. Think you can replace Helene with her likeness?’
‘She is nothing like Helene —’ began Matthew.
‘Isn’t she?’ Aubrey began to pace. ‘You took my sister and now you seek to take Rosamund. I know what you’re about, Lovelace, and you can bluster and threaten all you like, but I’ll not listen, just as I won’t be held to account for your misfortunes.’
‘My misfortunes? That’s an odd way of describing the loss of your sister, your —’
Aubrey spun to face Matthew. ‘Don’t you dare talk about their deaths. Don’t you dare. You may not have dealt the killing blow, but I hold you responsible all the same, you cur. You still haven’t answered for what you did —’
‘What I did? Oh, that’s rich coming from you, Aubrey. The man who was supposed to be my friend. I compromised my integrity for you. I risked a great deal to warn you that the authorities were casting an eye over your business — and only because I believed they were mistaken.’ He gave a bark of bitter laughter. ‘And how do you reward me?’
‘I was your friend, dammit. But how can I be friends with the man who allowed Helene and the babe to die? Who was responsible for the death of my father? I cannot.’
Matthew stared at him in disbelief. ‘You know I neither “allowed” their deaths, nor was I responsible for Sir Everard’s. You know that. Though I’m sorry, more than I can say, for all of them. Regardless of what happened, their deaths weigh heavily upon me.’
Their eyes met. Aubrey’s were watery, his cheeks blotched. Matthew’s eyes were calm, his face cool.
‘Get out,’ said Aubrey quietly. ‘And don’t ever come back.’
‘Not before you give me your word you will stay away from Rosamund.’
Aubrey threw back his head and laughed hard. ‘Are you mad? As if I am going to agree to something like that. Do you not understand? That woman is everything I ever wanted. She is my future. I have asked her to marry me.’
‘Marry you?’ Matthew shook his head in bewilderment. ‘Good God. You really don’t have a conscience, do you? No sense of remorse or guilt. No, Aubrey. She’s not your future. She certainly isn’t your past. I tell you now, you will cease your suit, swear to stay away from her or else —’
‘Or else what?’ Aubrey downed his drink swiftly.
Reaching into his satchel, Matthew drew out a pile of bound letters. About to lay them on the table, he changed his mind and kept hold of them.
‘Do you know what these are?’ He held them up.
Aubrey squinted then blanched, staggering and clutching the back of his chair. ‘I thought… I was led to believe Father had taken care of those.’
‘Then you believed wrongly. I was going to give them to your father, but circumstances changed — and for that, as I said, I’m deeply sorry.’ He paused. ‘I thought of handing them to you, but now I see that would have been most foolish. God was on my side when I failed to locate your whereabouts. Now, having endured your bombast, heard your preposterous desires, know this: I intend to keep these letters and thus ensure you do exactly as I say. For, Aubrey, let me make this clear, if you do not find a reason to stay away from Rosamund and withdraw your proposal immediately, I will see to it that all of London learns the contents of these.’ He flourished the bundle.
Aubrey began to shake as rage swamped his frame. ‘You wouldn’t dare.’
It was Matthew’s turn to laugh. ‘Wouldn’t I? I think you know me better than that.’ Tucking the letters back into his satchel, he stood, draping the strap over his shoulder. ‘Imagine if these were published? Doors now open would slam in your face. The Blithman name would become a byword, whether you pose as Aubrey or a nephew, whether you prance about London or the New World. Your new friend, Rochester, would scorn you; the King and court repel you. The fine people of Virginia, New York and North Carolina would close their doors to you.’ Matthew lowered his voice. ‘Your man in there —’ he jerked his chin in the direction of the room where Wat lurked, ‘do you think he’d be so loyal if the truth was out? Ha. People would spit in your face sooner than look at it. That is what your father feared and that is what will happen should these letters fall into the wrong hands.’
‘Please,’ said Aubrey, putting down his glass, reaching, imploring. ‘You don’t have to do this.’
‘I thought that once too. Rosamund changes everything. For her sake, I do, Aubrey. I have to protect her and I will. I believed myself done with blackmail, but it seems to be the only language you Blithmans understand.’ Finishing what remained in his glass, he returned it to the table. ‘So, do we have an agreement? You will stay away from Rosamund.’
Aubrey fell into his chair and folded his arms. ‘As if I have a choice.’
‘Exactly. You do not.’ Glancing around the room, his eyes lingered upon the door to the adjoining room. ‘I include him in this, Aubrey. Do you hear me, Wat?’ There was a dull scrambling. ‘You stay away from her too — no notes, no attempts to suborn her.’
Matthew stood, brushing his breeches. ‘You will write to her this very morning and not only withdraw your suit but tell her she may remain in the manor for as long as she requires.’
‘What reason do I give? She’ll hardly credit it when I have been so… ardent.’
Matthew’s eyes narrowed. ‘Ardent? Is that what you call unwelcome persistence?’ He snorted. ‘I care not, Aubrey. I simply insist you take care of this immediately. Or else…’ He patted the satchel.
Aubrey’s shoulders slumped. ‘I understand.’ His hand cut the air. ‘It shall be as you say. Just promise me one thing.’
‘You have no right to extract a promise from me.’
‘Maybe not, said Aubrey reluctantly. ‘But I would beg it all th
e same.’
‘What?’
‘I want your solemn oath that if I agree to your conditions, you will never tell Rosamund what’s in those letters. Nor anyone else for that matter.’
Matthew locked eyes with him. Aubrey was the first to look away. ‘You have my solemn oath,’ said Matthew. ‘But I give it not to protect you, but to protect Rosamund and the innocent souls caught up in this sordid mess.’
Aubrey nodded then sighed, his earlier bullishness gone. ‘Good. Good. Then you have no further reason to be here. Go. Take your threats and those damn letters and get out.’
Taking a step towards him, Matthew pointed towards where Wat waited behind the door. ‘And don’t even think to set your man upon me or attempt to steal the letters. If I but catch a glimpse of him lurking, or anyone suspicious for that matter, I will make the letters public.’
The crooked leer on Aubrey’s lips vanished. Matthew knew then he had guessed aright.
Releasing a long sigh, Matthew shook his head in disappointment. ‘Ask yourself this, Aubrey: is it really worth the risk? Lest you’ve forgotten, I have a printing press at my disposal.’
Aubrey didn’t respond.
Adjusting his sword, Matthew tilted his hat. ‘If I have my way, and I think I will, we won’t meet again, Aubrey.’
‘I pray we do not.’ Aubrey strode to the window, refusing to face him.
‘My sentiments exactly.’ With one last look at the man he was once foolish enough to deem a friend, Matthew went to the door.
Aubrey’s voice stopped him. ‘You’ll never have her either, you know.’
His hand on the latch, Matthew froze.
‘I may no longer be able to see her even though she dwells under my roof, or have her for wife, but she’s still a Blithman, Lovelace. A Blithman. Just like Helene… and she didn’t want you either. Whether you like it or not, whether I never see her again, she’s still mine. Always will be.’
Anger boiled in Matthew’s veins. His vision was shot with scarlet and black. It took all his willpower to open the door and not look back; he knew if he did, he would draw his sword and run the prigging bastard through.
Back in Thames Street, the smell of the river caught him — brine, old fish and leather mixed with human feculence. Nonetheless, he had to stop, take a few deep breaths and clear his head. Dockers on the wharf before him were unloading cargo from a ship, their sea shanty giving a rhythm to their actions as they tossed bales and wound winches.
It was more difficult seeing Aubrey again than he had thought. Older, more lined than he remembered, there remained aspects of the man he once called friend — the charming smile, the peculiar eyes, the way he carried himself. But all that was overshadowed by the truth, the truth he now realised he must carry for the rest of his life.
Whereas once he believed the burden too great, in the end it had served him well. Thank God Aubrey had evaded his hunt. If he had found him and relinquished the letters, where would they be now? Where would Rosamund be? In an ironic twist of fate, they allowed him to safeguard the woman he had come to care for in a manner he never thought possible; the woman he prayed with all his mighty heart might harbour feelings for him.
As he moved down the street, he found his chest freed of the steel that had girded it for years. Even his satchel was no longer a weight, but a guarantee. It allowed him to cast a protective net over the future.
Picking up the dockers’ song, with a merry whistle he set off up the hill, back towards the chocolate house.
FORTY-TWO
In which a proposal is made
Matthew happened to overhear Robert Boyle and George Villiers, the Duke of Buckingham, talking about Rosamund the following day as they descended into the bookshop, and was struck by the nature of their discussions. It was not unusual for the patrons to speak of their hostess — usually about her striking beauty and the wondrous taste of the drink she served, a taste they could recall hours after consuming it. Oft times, it was the attention she’d paid them, flattering their already overgrown egos and delighting them no end. Today, however, the talk was different. It was about how being in her company was akin to basking under a midday sun, or sliding cold toes next to a crackling hearth and feeling the life breathe back into them. Each tried to outdo the other as they sought to explain the effect she had upon them. It was evident they were deeply touched. Matthew was reminded anew how people — not only men — responded to Rosamund, and his heart filled.
Did she sense Aubrey was gone from her life?
Trying to be patient with the customer searching among dusty tomes for something he might gift the lord who had invited him to dinner that night, he willed him to make a decision so he might ascend to the chocolate house and sit among the patrons knowing that the woman who elicited such passions was the one he wished to spend the rest of his life with.
For that was the truth — a truth he’d denied acknowledging until yesterday. To think, Aubrey Blithman had proposed to her. The gall of the man knew no bounds.
With Aubrey’s capitulation, everything changed. He could put the past behind him. He was done with it, done with it all. Time to live.
Swiftly wrapping the man’s purchase and scraping the coins into a tin, he propped a ‘closed’ sign on the counter, hung another near the door and took the steps two at a time, almost bowling over Sam in his enthusiasm.
‘Whoa,’ said Sam, flinging himself against the wall, palms up in mock surrender. ‘Why the hurry, Lovelace? There’s plenty of chocolate for everyone now our ships have been permitted to dock.’
Matthew halted abruptly. ‘Sam, forgive me, I didn’t see you.’
‘That much was evident.’ He squinted at Matthew, trying to make him out in the dark stairwell. ‘Are you all right, sir?’
‘Fine, thank you.’
‘You seem…’ He looked him up and down. ‘Altered somehow and not merely because you’ve abandoned that satchel you’re always carrying.’ Sam propped his chin on his fingers as he studied him further. ‘You seem… focussed, but also damnably happy.’
Matthew smiled. ‘That’s because I am, Sam. I am. Now, if you’ll forgive me, I have a drink to request and a lady to address.’
‘Ah,’ Sam smiled knowingly. ‘Well, be prepared for a wait, my friend. I don’t know what it is about Rosamund today, but she’s shining like King Midas on a dull day. Everything she touches is turning to gold — gold dipped in diamonds and sprinkled with sunshine.’ He chuckled at his own fancy. ‘Why, the queue for her services hasn’t diminished since I entered. Everyone wants to luxuriate in her radiance. Something’s happened — you mark my words.’ He tapped the side of his nose. With a tilt of his hat and a good day, he went on his way.
Matthew’s grin broadened as he entered the chocolate house and saw Sam’s apt description confirmed. A line insinuated itself from the bar and around the booths as men waited impatiently for their drinks. Thomas and Solomon kept offering to mix them, but the men preferred to wait for Rosamund’s touch, as if she was His Majesty and they had scrofula. To think they once eschewed this woman’s service. He buried his laughter and bypassed the line to stand before Solomon, who immediately began preparing a drink.
Rosamund glanced over from where she was serving a customer and gave him a smile that took his breath away.
Taking his bowl, he found a position from where he could watch her working. He’d denied himself the pleasure for months, aside from surreptitious glances, and relished the view — and he was not alone.
Seeing her now, so comfortable with the men, able to control them with a raised brow, a curved lip or a twinkling glance, it was funny to think of how he first encountered her. Fighting like the harridan he christened her, she’d laid into those two lads like a street urchin. Determined to defend herself, she’d been so caught up in the fight she’d failed to hear him come to her aid.
For a fleeting second, he’d thought her Helene returned from the dead, but as he swiftly drank in her features, watched the
way the anger left her eyes but not the passion that fuelled it, and then saw her offer compassion and justice to the two rogues, he knew this was no Helene reincarnated but a wondrous woman who, already, drew him the way shrines did pilgrims.
Loath to part from her, guessing who she might be yet reluctant to acknowledge it, he was determined to learn more about her. Were all women like Helene, capable of donning vizards that hid their true identities? That question had dominated his mind for weeks.
Meeting her in Will’s bookshop had been an unexpected boon as he maintained his vigil over the chocolate house and fulfilled his plans for revenge upon Sir Everard. That she was a Blithman he could barely reconcile, yet, when he learned she possessed no knowledge of what was going on, he knew he would shield her from the fallout, whatever happened.
When Sir Everard died, he not only felt responsible for his untimely death, but for the widow left behind. Offering her a stake in the chocolate house was easy — leaving her was the difficult part. Yet he’d felt he had to. If he was to mend the rent the Blithmans had torn not just in his heart, but in his life, he had to face the truth and confront the last of his nemeses.
His quest was over. Like Odysseus, his work at last was done. He could come home.
Stretching his long legs out, swaying to the melody of a lute and pipe, he nodded towards John Evelyn and Sir Henry Bennet, sipping his drink slowly, savouring it as he inhaled the fragrance. As he did, he imagined a pair of cinnamon-chocolate eyes gazing into his own, the laugh he knew would bubble from those rose-tinted lips and the embrace they’d share when he finally expressed his constant and deep affections. Quashing the tiny flicker of doubt that tried to flare in the wake of Aubrey’s parting words, he reassured himself that the look he often saw in her eyes, the touch of her hand upon his arm, suggested something more than simply a friend or a business partner; something deep and lasting.
