The Lost Lord (London Scandals Book 3)

by Carrie Lomax

  Mrs. Kent sighed.

  “We shall stay long enough to establish the business. That’s all,” Miriam promised reassuringly. What if there was a way to retain her hard-won freedom without losing her dignity?

  “Thank you.” Richard’s simple words conveyed an ocean of relief.

  “You are not to attempt to charm your way back into Miriam’s good graces,” Mrs. Kent ordered. “I overheard that ridiculous vow you made to Miriam. We know what you’re after, now. Money is all you care about. We shall help you obtain it honestly, then set sail for home.”

  “If that is what you wish, I will not stop you.” Richard bowed, a courtly bend at the waist. Here, it was neither ridiculous nor excessive. It made her feel as if the weight and import of Richard’s family and country’s history watched her with judgmental gazes. What must it have been like to grow up under the crushing sternness of all this ancestry?

  Miriam started into motion. Richard’s palm landed on the small of her back, jolting her with a surge of heat from his touch.

  “I mean it, Miriam. If you want to go, I will not stop you. But think how you might like to be a Viscountess. If my brother can sway the King, I am to be offered a title.” He half-grinned, a little bashfully.

  “Congratulations. I don’t know what a Viscountess is,” Miriam replied bluntly. His face fell. A second later it hardened into a mask of disappointment.

  She wished she could take it back.

  “There you are.” The earl swung into the foyer at the bottom of the stairwell with an easy lope. His strange voice, like a hoarse growl, raised the hairs on Miriam’s arms. “We were about to request your presence for supper. Given your interests in sightseeing, Mrs. Kent, the prospect of a social calendar reviving, and my brother’s newfound business interests, we ought to spend the evening planning the next several weeks. I presume he has told you the good news.”

  “Yes, just now,” Miriam replied. The words tasted like ash.

  “Thank you, your lordship. Is Richard’s receipt of a Viscountcy a certainty?” Miriam licked her lips. Behind her, Mrs. Kent coughed.

  “It is not. Kings are notably fickle, and King George IV more than most. I have a feeling he will enjoy Richard’s company, however, if they have a chance to meet.” Edward clapped his large hands together. “Shall we go in?”

  Miriam permitted her husband to take her by the elbow and steer her toward the dining room. His touch sent heat radiating outward. Miriam was acutely aware of his body but a few inches from hers. If only there was a way to retain her hard-won freedom without giving herself over to Richard completely.

  Chapter 25

  Mrs. Kent lost her bid to see Windsor Castle. The next morning, the trio bundled into the too-warm coach and made their way back down to the wharves seeking news of their ship. Five weeks had passed since the Thetis had departed New York. They had planned for a five-to-six-week journey. Considering their own rapid journey, Richard had fully expected to find her bobbing next to the wharf.

  Mrs. Kent was not the only one to suffer disappointment that morning.

  Richard exchanged a glance with Miriam as they asked after newly arrived ships. Although he tried to keep the women secure, the place was no more suitable to gently raised ladies than the piers in London. They endured as many taunts and catcalls as they could stand before retreating to the safety of the coach. Miriam collapsed against the squabs. A faint, familiar wheeze haunted the edges of her voice when she spoke. “While we are here, oughtn’t we investigate warehouses?

  “Can you manage it?” he asked, regarding her with concern.

  She nodded. Mrs. Kent busied herself with the kit, while Richard opened the windows to let in fresher air. He gave a list of addresses to the driver.

  “Take us to the nearest one.” It was as good as any a place to begin. By the time they arrived a few short minutes later, Miriam’s breathing had mostly returned to normal. He was learning to recognize when an attack was getting out of hand, and how to manage the more common bouts of wheezing and coughing she suffered.

  They found the first storehouse packed to the rafters.

  “Are you certain this is the right place?” Miriam asked doubtfully. He wanted to reassure her but couldn’t. His own suspicion had pricked up in unison.

  “No.”

  This warehouse was a tinderbox waiting to go up in flames. “Good afternoon?” she called into the stuffy darkness. There was no response.

  “So much for a secure storehouse. We appear to be alone.”

  “Perhaps we should try another tactic,” Miriam suggested. “We can continue looking into warehouse space. But wouldn’t it be better if we never had to store them at all?”

  “How do you mean?” Richard asked. The tightness in his chest eased. He was supposed to be the local expert, but he had never rented warehouse space before. Anything to get him out of needing to take this step was welcome. Especially if it meant keeping Miriam by his side for a bit longer.

  “What if we could sell the goods even before they arrive?” Her eyes sparkled. “Offload the boat, put the crates onto a wagon and take them directly to the buyers. It could work.”

  Richard found himself nodding agreement. “Sensible. Very sensible.” He was so relieved to escape the warehouse that he leaned in to buss her on the cheek. Startled, Miriam squeezed his hand. The small gesture made his heart swell with hope.

  “We represent a shipping company from New York,” Richard said for what felt like the millionth time. To Mrs. Kent’s consternation the visit to Windsor had been delayed yet again. “We import tobacco, cotton, and fine imported goods from America. While we establish our presence here, we are offering excellent prices.”

  Howard’s warning echoed in Richard’s mind. Not too excellent.

  “You’re English,” replied the prospective buyer with confusion.

  “Yes, that is fact.” Richard heaved an inward sigh. He and Miriam had traipsed through seeking a distributor of goods. They might have had more success if the Thetis had come into harbor, but without actual goods or duties clearance, they might as well be selling clouds instead of cotton.

  “If you’re English,” the merchant asked with more puzzlement than insult, “why do you work for an American?”

  He glanced sidelong and met Miriam’s brief flicker attention. It was enough for Richard to see the worry in her. “He is the partner in this venture,” Miriam interjected. “I am Mr. Northcote’s…” Miriam trailed off. “Wife.”

  Hearing Miriam call herself his wife sent a shiver up his spine.

  “Oh,” the shopkeeper replied. “I see.”

  Clearly, the man did not. Not everyone was born with the same intellectual gifts, of course, but Richard briefly wondered how the shop stayed in business with a man this thick at its helm. The answer appeared before the thought finished flickering through his mind.

  “What are you…” A large-hipped, big-bosomed woman bustled into the front room.

  “My wife,” the man said. “She usually makes the orders.”

  “Good afternoon, Mrs…” Miriam trailed off.

  “Smith.”

  “Mrs. Smith,” Miriam started, “We represent a new export concern operating out of New York. We’ve a shipment of tobacco, cotton, and other fine goods arriving any day. As we’re working to establish ourselves in London, we are prepared to offer substantial discounts on our goods if you were to purchase ahead of their imminent arrival.”

  Mrs. Smith cocked her head. Hair a mousy brown streaked with gray pinned up in a topknot. “But you haven’t any goods to sell us now.”

  “They are on their way,” Richard said reassuringly.

  “Yet as of now, you have nothing,” the lady sniffed. She turned her back to them and began rearranging jars on the shelves behind the counter. “Assuming your shipment arrives and clears the exchequer, you’ll find the discount less inviting, I wager. How am I to know you won’t sell to the highest bidder?”

  Mrs. Smith cast a hard lo
ok at the man who had entertained their pitch for a quarter-hour, to no avail. Miriam nodded to the door and mouthed, let’s go.

  Outside, Richard exhaled his frustration. “Between the overpriced warehouse and the lack of interest from buyers, it’s beginning to seem as if this venture is doomed.”

  No wonder. If he was involved, the situation was bound to go south. Richard kept an achingly small distance between him and Miriam. Or, perhaps, she kept her distance from him.

  “If making money were easy, everyone would attempt it,” Miriam replied briskly. Yet her shoulders sagged as the warm sun beat down from above. Suddenly, she halted and grabbed him by the arm. “Do you see that?”

  “What about it?” Richard echoed, testily, staring at a billboard that read What About Gliddon’s? He could not fail at this. Howard depended upon him. Livingston, his almost-father-in-law depended upon him. Richard needed this shipping venture to work if he wanted to avoid hating the man he saw in the mirror each morning. If it failed, he might as well go back to drinking and rutting his way through life. Richard mentally batted away despair. He hadn’t expected selling quality goods to be this hard, but he would persevere.

  “This handbill says the coffee house opened in February. Are they popular?” Miriam asked.

  “I don’t know. I wasn’t here in February,” Richard reminded his wife in name only. Miriam cast him an exasperated sidelong glance. Richard suppressed his frustration and examined the old poster pasted to the side of the Smith’s storefront. It read, Visit Gliddon’s Cigar Divan. Offering Fine Tobacco in 42 King Street beginning 8 February, 1825. “Ah. I see what you’re getting at, Miri. After the Peninsular Wars, cigars have become a popular vice.”

  “Have you ever tried them?” Miriam asked softly, staring at the poster.

  “Of course. However, when my income declined abruptly, I decided I didn’t care enough for tobacco to prioritize wasting money on it.”

  “Very wise,” Miriam observed with cautious approval. A swirl of warmth that had nothing to do with the early September afternoon swirled through him. Yet Miriam’s stiff spine told him not to touch. She continued to keep a physical distance between them that invited no familiar touches. The brief squeeze of his hand had not been repeated. Richard missed Miriam’s teasing invitations to kiss her. He yearned for the light brushes of her hand against his, tiny temptations that he’d refused to indulge when he had the chance.

  He was ever and always the greatest of fools.

  “Shall we try them?” he asked through a throat choked with regret. He raised his hand to her elbow. Miriam turned away on her heel.

  “We must offload our tobacco shipment one way or another,” she replied briskly, signaling to an exasperated Mrs. Kent to follow her back to the carriage.

  “We could light it on fire,” Richard observed acerbically to cover his disappointment.

  “How would that help?” Miriam tossed over her shoulder. “We will have had to pay wages to the captain and the crew. Howard will have lost the use of his best ship for months. No, Richard, we must see this through. My idea of bypassing the warehouses hasn’t worked out. Yet the city is practically aflame with tobacco smoke. I have seen children smoking from these little pipes.” She marched down the busy street.

  Richard didn’t have the heart to tell her about the source of the cotton they had yet to attempt selling. Cotton could be stored for long periods without spoiling. Selling their tobacco would give them a quick profit to get off the ground—if they could find a buyer.

  “There is a certain irony in a young woman with weak lungs going about town looking to sell tobacco,” Mrs. Kent observed grumpily. “When she ought to be visiting elegant castles. Or dancing.”

  “Have you been to a London ball, Mrs. Kent?” Richard asked.

  “You know full well I have not, Mr. Northcote.” Ever since Lizzie’s appearance on the New Hope she had reverted to omitting his title. “Our first excursion isn’t until next week.”

  “Prepare to be shocked by the ratio of dancing to gossip,” Richard offered. “I am of half a mind to send you to Windsor tomorrow and let me and Miriam attend to this business of finding buyers ourselves.”

  “I am of half a mind to permit it,” Mrs. Kent replied sharply.

  “Do it,” Miriam insisted. “Mrs. Kent. You deserve a holiday. I promised you castles, and castles you shall have.”

  The woman hesitated. “Leaving you to approach coffee housing cigar divans is possibly the stupidest thing I could do. What if you have an attack?”

  “I know how to treat her,” Richard said. “Miriam will be safe with me.”

  “How do I know this isn’t part of your plot to get her money for Lizzie?” Mrs. Kent demanded.

  Guilt punched Richard in the gut. “You’ll have to trust me,” he said softly. “Technically, I could take Miriam’s money any time. I haven’t done that. I have taken great pains to protect her interests.”

  “He’s right, Mrs. Kent,” Miriam said gently. “I trust Richard enough to spend a day chasing sales at tobacconists and cigar divans. Go and see your castle.”

  Mrs. Kent eyed them narrowly. “If anything happens to her…”

  “It won’t,” Miriam replied. She tucked her hand into his elbow. “Richard will keep me safe.”

  He hoped she was right.

  Half an hour later they arrived in Covent Garden.

  “There it is.” Miriam tapped on the glass. Beside her sat Mrs. Kent, who had tipped her head back on the squabs to close her eyes. It was the closest Miriam had been to alone with Richard since his visit to her room on the day of their arrival.

  “Gliddon’s Coffee House. Number 42.” The footman released them from the stuffy coach. The horses were beginning to tire. If this didn’t work, it would be another day of wasted effort. Miriam didn’t know how much more disappointment she could take. Adventures were turning out to be a great deal of work.

  Still, trying to will this venture into being had proven to be an enlivening experience. Miriam only regretted the part where she had married Richard without knowing what a scoundrel he truly was. Each day she spent working by his side, however, made Miriam’s feelings a little more complex. She was still hurt and angry. Yet there were moments when she understood why he’d done it.

  When Richard’s hand pressed gently against her low back Miriam didn’t brush his touch away. It wasn’t forgiveness. Not yet. His betrayal still ached deep within her soul. They stepped into the establishment together. The pungent scent of coffee hit her nostrils in a blast, followed by the thick air of smoke. Her throat closed.

  Not now.

  Mrs. Kent had waited in the coach. She had been tired. Miriam had seen it in the shadows beneath her eyes.

  “I’d like to speak with Anne Gliddon, the proprietress,” Richard said. Miriam felt the world press in upon her. She could not afford to interrupt this meeting.

  Panicked, Miriam stumbled back out the door and burst into the coach. A vise tightened around her lungs. Mrs. Kent lurched up from her catnap.

  “Dear god. Miriam. I thought Richard was going to protect you.” Mrs. Kent fumbled around preparing the concoctions that had saved Miriam’s life so many times.

  He would have, she thought as her air supply dwindled. But I wouldn’t let him.

  She’d thought she could trust him. But it turned out she could not. Now everyone would say, “What was he thinking, bringing that poor fragile girl all the way here?” When really, it had been her own doing all along. Miriam choked on bitter coffee extract. Her world swam and went dark.

  Chapter 26

  Miriam rested in bed the next day while Richard returned to Gliddon’s to finalize their sale. Mrs. Kent went to Windsor with Viola, leaving Miriam alone with her equally confined sister-in-law.

  “Do your asthma attacks hurt?” asked the countess. This had been a very serious attack. It had been resolved that she and Mrs. Kent must remove to the countryside to avoid further exposure to foul London hair. The ea
rl would escort them and return to Harper’s side after a brief excursion with Richard to visit the cottage. After that, Edward was needed in Parliament. As much as she preferred to remain in the city, Miriam found she had no energy to fight the plan.

  “Very much,” Miriam replied weakly. “It’s like being suffocated. I imagine it doesn’t hurt nearly as much as childbirth, though.”

  Harper chuckled. “True.”

  “Are you worried about the birth?” Miriam asked.

  “Of course. There is always a risk, and with two babies that risk is heightened.” A fleeting sadness crossed the countess’s lovely features. “It is out of my hands. I pray it does not come to being me being sliced open. Despite Edward’s confidence, I am uninterested in being a test case for Caesarian section.”

  “I shall leave you to rest up. I am jealous of your being able to escape this city.”

  “Funny,” Miriam said sadly. “I am jealous of your ability to remain here.”

  Richard and his brother Edward hadn’t spent this much time together since the trip they had taken with their father to Brazil in 1808. There was little opportunity to speak privately, but once Miriam and Mrs. Kent were settled, they took to horseback to leave the women with as much room in the coach as they needed to be comfortable.

  “There’s something I wish to see when we reach Briarcliff,” Edward said as they approached the estate which Richard had loved so much before it was lost to him.

  “Oh?”

  “Father left you a letter. I haven’t read it, of course.”

  “I would have, in your position.” Richard chuckled.

  “No, Richard, I believe you have more honor than that,” Edward said quietly.