Romancing the Past

by Darcy Burke

  Chapter 31

  Three days later…

  Richard found the warehouse manager where he’d expected, in the business offices behind the docks. As his English clothes had gone out to the tailor for alteration, he sported his rougher American-made suit.

  His tension leached away at the familiar bustle of fishmongers, stevedores, the singsong come-ons from whores, and mudlarks squabbling over bits of metal found in the banks of the Thames. Here, he could relax. He blended in at the quay, which had been a great relief as news of his impending ascent into nobility had spread. Richard refused to acknowledge the congratulations of his old friends. They had shunned him after the fire and upon his return to England. Now Richard enjoyed the opportunity to return the favor.

  His plan, if one could call it a plan and not another foolish impulse, was to return to New York and bunk with Howard in his warehouse office long enough to repay everyone for their losses. Richard didn’t know the exact cost to purchase a replacement for the Thetis, but he imagined it might take him the rest of his life to make amends for the catastrophe. It must be more than one dilapidated cottage outside London.

  “Are you certain you want to give up the space?” the man asked skeptically.

  “Our ship was lost at sea,” Richard said. “So, yes. I’ve no need of it.” The blow landed afresh. It was not only the loss of tobacco and cotton, but the sailors who had lost their lives when the Thetis went down. He counted out several precious guineas. They would have been better spent on new clothing for his meeting with King George IV to finalize his new viscountcy, but he had made an agreement and knew Richard had no intention of welching on the deal even though he had no use for the space.

  “You haven’t heard, then?” the man asked. “Before you surrender your contract, go down to the yards and ask after your boat. She’s come in.”

  He grinned widely to reveal several missing teeth. Richard narrowed his eyes in his most lord-like fashion. “You’ve a poor excuse for a sense of humor, Mr. Wilson.”

  “I’m not laughin’ at you. I’m pleased as punch you’ll be a continuing client.” But there was humor in the crinkles at the corners of his eyes. Richard left him to his bemusement and made his way down to the wharf, with its familiar shrieking gulls and the smell of rotting fish and salt air, his heart beating.

  Why do you keep making the same mistakes?

  “Excuse me,” he stopped a fishwife. “Are there any new ships arrived in port?”

  “That one struggled in just this morning. Landed perhaps an hour ago.” The woman pointed a stubby, gnarled finger down the last dock. “Can’t recall the name, I’m afraid. American.”

  It couldn’t be. They had waited weeks for any sighting of the Thetis, in vain. There had been the newspaper announcement. Richard picked up his pace, shoving through the crowds as his heart hammered in his chest. Cold perspiration dotted the back of his neck.

  “Richard!” a woman’s voice called out. Richard shielded his eyes from the sun trying to find source. It couldn’t be Miriam. She had been on an entirely different ship going in the opposite direction. When the woman called his name again, Richard’s heart pounded even harder. He rounded the end of the dock and headed for the end of the pier. Excise agents busied themselves with inspections while rough-dressed sailors secured the deck. The third time she called his name, however, Richard spotted Mrs. Kent’s familiar black-clad form. Standing beside her was a man of middling height in a buff-colored suit. Between them, Miriam’s tall, slender form took shape like a mirage.

  “Miri!” he yelled. She bounced on the soles of her feet. The man beside her spoke with an officer, who waved them on a moment later. Miriam ran headlong down the gangplank and straight into his arms. Richard lifted her off the ground and spun her around. He nearly knocked over a basket of fish, prompting an outraged cry from a fisherman. Richard set her down, his heart pounding as he stroked her hair. “I missed you. I was getting ready to follow you back to New York. What are you doing…how?”

  Miriam’s arms locked around his neck. She giggled breathlessly. “We passed the Thetis on our way out to sea. I nearly had to throw myself overboard to force the captain to flag her down. The captain put us into a dinghy, which was the single most terrifying thing I’ve ever done in my life. We rowed to the Thetis and they pulled me aboard. I’m afraid my trunks are still on their way to New York.” Miriam laughed again as if she hadn’t risked life and limb. She glowed with pride and excitement. “There must have been a mistake in the newspaper. A ship named the Themis went down where it was reported.”

  Richard pulled her hard against his chest and tilted her chin up with one hand. “Don’t ever risk your life like that again,” he demanded softly.

  “I don’t intend to. I’m here to stay, my love.” He blinked. “You are?”

  “For a while, I mean. I should never have let you send me away. I understand why you did it. But I made a promise to you, Richard, and I intend to keep it.” Miriam spoke quickly, a little breathless.

  He thought he detected a wheeze at the edges of her words. Fear flared along his spine. “Shh. Let’s get you somewhere you can sit down.”

  “I’m fine,” Miriam replied briskly. “Come. There’s someone I need to introduce you to.”

  Behind them, the balding man and Mrs. Kent stood watching. Richard scanned the stranger’s face.

  “This is Lizzie’s husband, Arthur Van Buren,” Miriam said quietly. Had he thought he knew regret? This cold slice of embarrassment made every other pang feel like a scratch in retrospect. How awkward to be formally introduced to the man you’d cuckolded for months.

  “I’ve reformed,” was the first thing that popped out of Richard’s mouth. “I swear.”

  Arthur’s sad puppy dog eyes were etched world-weariness around their caramel depths. “I trust Mrs. Northcote’s word on the subject. I have come to collect my wife. I understand she was quite taken with you for some time. I apologize.”

  “You what?” Richard asked, flabbergasted. He shook his head. “I believe it is for me to apologize to you, not the other way around.”

  “No. I’ve known what Lizzie is for some time, yet I hesitated to take action because I believed I could persuade her to take a better path. I was wrong.” The suffering etched in Arthur’s face looked a thousand times worse than anything Richard had experienced. At least he’d deserved his fall. Arthur had done nothing worse than to love unwisely.

  “This is not a discussion for a public venue. Please. Come back to my brother’s home where we may speak privately.” It was all Richard could give him for now.

  The story spilled out in fits and starts as they piled into the gleaming black coach bearing the Northcote crest. Once they had paid duties on their cargo, they move it into the warehouse, which Richard would not be relinquishing after all. He could hardly believe it. The goal he had awaited for weeks was within his grasp.

  “Seven weeks is an average voyage,” Miriam said as they bumped and rattled over the cobblestones. “We were lucky to have made it here in four.”

  “Wish that we had made such good time. It might’ve saved some trouble,” Arthur interjected.

  “I doubt it,” Mrs. Kent said dourly. Miriam cast her guardian a quelling but affectionate glare.

  “The reason Lizzie pursued you overseas, Mr. Northcote, is that I had resolved to have her committed to an asylum,” Arthur continued. “You see, this isn’t the first time she has pursued an affair and attempted to leverage it into blackmail. Had I known what Lizzie was, I never would have married her. Alas, she can be exceptionally charming when she wishes to be. It’s part of her manipulations.” He sighed heavily. “As the saying goes: marry in haste, repent at leisure.”

  “You weren’t the only one taken in by Lizzie,” Miriam replied softly. “I genuinely believed she was my friend. Looking back upon it now, I think she was plotting to steal my inheritance for years. All she needed was a man she could blackmail into doing her bidding.”

&n
bsp; “And she found one in me,” Richard said bitterly. “I had nothing to live for, until I met Miriam.”

  “That was what she couldn’t understand,” interjected Mrs. Kent.

  “I beg your pardon?” he asked stiffly.

  “Lizzie was confused when you refused to go along with her plan. You did everything she wanted for months, with only a hint of resistance,” Arthur said with a small, sad smile.

  “I am horrified you know this, and that we are discussing this subject in front of my wife.” Richard glanced sidelong, his face flaming with discomfort. Miriam squeezed his hand.

  “It’s either that or the truth comes out in front of your family,” retorted Mrs. Kent.

  “Fair enough. We’ve nearly arrived. Permit me to get this humiliation over with as quickly as possible,” Richard requested.

  “As I said, it’s not the first time Lizzie has attempted something like this. Once she set her sights on your title and Miriam’s fortune, she wasn’t going to stop until she bullied her way into having it for herself. She is utterly indifferent to the effects of her actions upon others,” Arthur said.

  “He doesn’t have a title. The Lord is only a courtesy,” Miriam explained with a grin. “See? I am learning.”

  “I’m afraid you’ll have to learn it all over again, my love. For I have been made a viscount, by order of the king.” Richard clasped her hand. Mrs. Kent sputtered.

  “It’s a good thing I came, then. Who knows what Lizzie would have attempted if she’d found out?”

  “Let’s not think of it,” Miriam said with a shudder.

  “Are they sleeping?” Miriam whispered. A floorboard squeaked beneath her foot, and Miriam winced. Two tiny infants slumbered in the arms of Viola and Richard. Lord Darby loomed over Viola and brushed a strand of hair over her shoulder.

  “Like babies,” Viola grinned up.

  “Are you certain you don’t want one?” Darby asked quietly.

  “Without doubt,” Viola whispered as the bundle in her arms fussed. “Although I am an excellent auntie, I am content not to have one of my own ever again.”

  “You are without doubt an excellent auntie,” Darby responded softly.

  “If you need another of your own, I understand,” Viola replied sotto voce.

  “As if he will ever leave you,” scoffed Edward. “No title is worth giving up your dreams.”

  “I have an heir,” Darby said mildly. “My nephew, Cameron. The only reason to want another baby is because it would be yours. If you are not so inclined, I shall silence myself on the topic forever.”

  Viola clasped his hand and brought it to her lips. “That would be the only reason for me to want one as well. Alas, I couldn’t survive the loss of a child again.”

  Miriam stroked one infant’s impossibly soft cheek. With love came loss. Adventure brought pain along with stimulating discovery, and it was impossible to know in advance how much of each she would encounter. Like a ship, she could harness the wind to go where she wanted, but there was no avoiding the storms. Richard was her North star, guiding her home, lighting her way through dark times.

  “I hope to have a child one day,” she whispered.

  “Not if I have anything to say about it,” Richard growled from the shadows near the grand fireplace.

  “Come, now, brother.” Edward effortlessly rose and offered the tiny bundle to his brother. The baby made a shuddering sigh. “New life will melt your heart as easily as a flame melts candle wax.”

  Richard awkwardly accepted the tiny bundle. Miriam’s heart swelled in her chest as she crossed the room on tiptoe to peer at the infant’s face. With her eyes swelled shut and her nose crusted in a waxy yellow substance, little Selina didn’t look like much. No matter. Miriam fell in love as if she were diving off a cliff’s edge.

  “I want this,” she whispered, tracing the plump curve of her cheek with the barest touch. Air stopped in her lungs, yet Miriam felt no panic closing her throat. Only a lump born of yearning and emotions she could barely contain.

  “I won’t do that to you.” Richard brushed a kiss against her cheek in an open display of affection that would have been unimaginable only a few weeks ago.

  “Richard,” she whispered. The other adults in the room paid her no attention. “Loving you has been so much greater an adventure than I ever imagined. I won’t settle for hiding behind my father and Mrs. Kent’s protection any longer. I intend to live my life fully for as long as I draw breath.”

  Her husband gazed up at her with liquid brown eyes. Miriam’s mouth curved upward at the corners. Possessive. Despite his flaws—and Miriam knew now that he was far from a perfect man—Richard loved her enough to help her reach for her dreams. The child in his arms fussed. Her beloved broke contact and bounced the baby in his arms. She settled as a long shadow fell over them.

  The earl. He moved so silently that Miriam never heard him approach. “They want their mother now.”

  “How is the countess?” Miriam asked, a bit guiltily.

  “It was a rough birth, but Harper will make a full recovery. We cannot ask for more.”

  “Of course.” Richard’s expression that made Miriam’s heart swell. He would give her a child. There would be pain, but there would be joy and love, too. Miriam squeezed her husband’s shoulder.

  Epilogue

  JANUARY, 1826

  “What you want to trade?” Mr. Featherstone snapped without looking up. He looked haggard and despondent. Miriam smirked as she surmised it was likely the effect of his disastrous bet on railroad stocks. In mid-December, the London stock market tumbled eighty percent. Had it not been for an infusion from French coffers, the Bank of England would have failed. Other banks were not so fortunate. The damage had spread to the U.S. and Latin American banks. Railroads had been acutely affected.”

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Feathers. I wish to purchase railroads,” Miriam said gravely. Her new bonnet covered her thick curls. It had been several months since her last visit. She couldn’t blame the man for forgetting her.

  By the scowl deepening across his face, Mr. Featherstone remembered her with perfect clarity. Miriam bit her cheeks to constrain her smile.

  “Miss Walsh. Such a pleasure to see you again. Must I remind you that my name is Featherstone? It is inscribed on the nameplate six inches beneath your nose.” He tapped the six-inch slate rectangle with a pencil.

  Miriam gave in to her grin. “I have missed you, Mr. Featherstone. In a very peculiar sense.”

  “Why on earth would you want to buy railroads now?” he demanded, shoving a piece of paper across the desk. “Their value has cratered.”

  “Because they’re inexpensive, and I have places to go,” Miriam replied cheekily as she scrawled her orders with a quill. Mr. Featherstone ground his fists into his eyes. “My local investments are performing reasonably well, you know.”

  “You forgot to sign the slip,” Mr. Featherstone ground out.

  “In fact, I haven’t.” She produced two carefully creased papers. “I must ask you to change the name on the account. To my name, Lady Miriam Walsh Northcote. The second proves my status as viscountess.”

  Poor Mr. Featherstone’s eyes bugged out of his head. After a full minute of recovery, the man asked weakly, “I shall need Mr. Walsh’s signature on the form.”

  “I can handle that,” Richard replied, moving into view over Miriam’s shoulder. She beamed up at her doting husband radiantly. “I am here to sign on behalf of Marshall Walsh, whom you see before you.”

  “I half-guessed. Your title, however, carries no weight here.”

  Miriam smiled sweetly. After all, the man had never gotten her into trouble over her activity. He could have shut down her account at any time.

  “Ah, but have I introduced you to my husband, Lord Richard Northcote. He is half-owner of the Howard Shipping Alliance, a transatlantic shipping concern. We are six months into the venture and preparing to solicit investors later this year.” Miriam grinned up at her husband.
“I thought you may wish to know. In case you need to recover from your Latin American losses. About Mr. MacGregor’s fictional Poyais…” Miriam clicked her tongue. “Such a pity.”

  She scribbled her name across the bottom and awaited her confirmation of the purchase. When it was done, they pulled up the collars of their outerwear and went arm-in-arm to find Mrs. Kent. A snowstorm had fallen in the night, and the wind off the river whipped a funnel of snow about them. Richard bent down to kiss her.

  Whether in England or America, Miriam found being a Viscountess very satisfactory adventure, indeed.

  Author’s Note

  Like mental illness, asthma has been around for as long as there have been people to suffer from the affliction. The word stems from the Greek word meaning “to breathe hard.” The English definition, “shortness of breath,” dates to the 14th century. Remedies included foxglove, large doses of caffeine, and choosing climates that were less liable to trigger an attack. The greenhouse atmosphere as cure is my invention to allow Miriam to live comfortably in urban environments.

  Lizzie is a psychopath. I do not mean this in the sense of a serial killer; that is a modern invention. Yet there have always existed people who seem to be born without a moral compass or ability to empathize with other human beings. Because I had written Harper Forsythe as a trained alienist—a term that did not exist at this time period—in The Wild Lord, I was interested in exploring how a woman with a severe mental illness might cause an outsized impact on those around her, particularly in a time and place like early-19th-century New York. One thing about my favorite city that never changes through history: it is a place where outrageous “characters” can and do thrive.

  Astute readers will note that Lizzie’s scheme is based on The Wings of the Dove.

  Before researching The Lost Lord, I knew little about the history of the New York Stock Exchange beyond its oft-repeated founding beneath a buttonwood tree on Wall Street. Unfortunately, records of the NYSE between 1800 and 1865 is not readily available outside of archives, and the Library of Congress was unable to produce a record of how stocks were physically traded prior to the late 1890s. I have therefore taken creative license to describe Miriam’s investment activity.