The Gentle Art of Fortune Hunting

by KJ Charles

  “I am extremely sorry to hear it.” Hart touched his hand gingerly. “I truly am, Robin. It is a disgrace that children should brought up like that in a Christian country.”

  “It could have been a great deal worse. We had our lessons, and we have each other. We are doing very well.”

  “You certainly will be if your sister marries a marquess. That would be a vindication for your teacher.”

  Robin sat up at that. “Tachbrook wants her for her beauty, which is real. He knows she has no birth or wealth worth boasting of. Does it matter that the truth is a bit worse than he thinks? Is she less a rose because she grew out of shit?”

  Hart started to say something, stopped himself, and spoke carefully. “She has far more beauty and charm than Tachbrook deserves, and he has enough birth and wealth for two. One might say, if he’s fool enough to marry an unknown, he deserves what he gets.”

  “But you wouldn’t want her to marry into your family.”

  Hart hesitated on that, which was answer enough. Robin waved a hand. “Never mind.”

  It wasn’t unreasonable on Hart’s part. Of course Marianne wasn’t good enough for his family; Robin wasn’t even good enough for his bedroom. Hart had still wanted kisses and sought to understand him more, so it wasn’t as though he were being brutally spurned. It was just...

  “Robin?” Hart said softly. “If I have been clumsy, I’m sorry.”

  “Not at all.”

  He evidently didn’t make that sincere enough, because Hart searched his face with troubled eyes. “I swear I won’t repeat your confidence. I truly don’t give a damn for Tachbrook.”

  “But if you did, you would feel differently? You know, given the choice I’d have preferred not to be the fatherless son of a woman of the town,” Robin said. “I’d very much have liked to have a comfortable childhood with a real family, and get my education in a more formal manner than a tutor who was resentful when sober and raging when drunk, and who brought me up for fifteen years then wanted to put us up for sale. I didn’t have the choice. I’m not a gentleman; I can only play at one. And if that bothers you, there’s very little I can do about it. Except crawl back to my gutter, I suppose, but I’m not going to do that.”

  “I disagree. Your character and conduct are nothing to do with your birth, and you can control those.”

  “Conduct depends on your options. Yes, you can be poor but honest, except I don’t want to be poor. I’ve tried it and I didn’t like it. And if I had the best character in the world, I still wouldn’t be a gentleman.”

  “I dispute that,” Hart said, to his surprise. “My mentor emerged from a situation of greater degradation than yours. He is unquestionably a gentleman, and I am proud to call him a friend.”

  Robin blinked. “Really? Who is he?”

  “His name is James Alphonso, and he was born a slave on a plantation. He was purchased by a wealthy family and well treated, but until his twenty-fifth year, he was a possession, a chattel. He was fatherless and motherless from the moment he was sold away. And you can hide your origins, but he wears his on his skin. So—”

  “I should probably stop feeling sorry for myself,” Robin said, grateful for the chance to move the conversation on. “How is he your mentor?”

  “His master, a Midlands brewer, relied on him as his right-hand man, and left him a generous legacy along with his freedom in his will. James used it to set up his own brewing company, which soon rivalled his former master’s, then set out to take its business until it was struggling to survive. The family was forced to sell to him, and now the business is in his ownership and his name.”

  “Oh, now, that is brilliant. Vengeful and profitable.”

  “He is a remarkable man. I came to know him when Edwina was left the brewery. She was devastated by Fenwick’s unexpected death and needed help, but I was only twenty-one and had no idea how to oversee its running or what to do. We had been through so much, and this was a devil of a blow. I was in despair when James visited to offer his condolences. He spoke very kindly to Edwina, and then took me for a walk and asked if I was all right, and I broke down.”

  “Really?” Robin found that hard to imagine.

  Hart looked a bit self-conscious. “I was young, and had been under a great deal of strain, and he is a very easy man to talk to. I told him everything in the end. Poured my heart out and asked him what I should do—he, a business rival of Fenwick’s. He could have taken full advantage of my inexperience, but instead he took me under his wing. He taught me everything I know about brewing and the business, and helped me unstintingly, and we have been friends ever since. He even turns to me for assistance now and again these days, and we are to embark on a joint venture soon, if the details can be agreed. Don’t mention that to anyone please.”

  Robin mimed that his lips were sealed, as if he knew anyone who would care about breweries. “He sounds a good man.”

  “A good man, a gentleman, and a friend. So I hope you believe that I would not deny you my friendship either.”

  “Friendship?”

  Hart gave him a slightly wary smile. “I hope we are friends? It was not the best of beginnings, granted, but I am enjoying this. Not just the, uh, arrangement, but your company. I only realised how much yesterday, when you left me.”

  Robin’s lips parted involuntarily. Hart stroked the lower one with a finger. “You look startled. I dare say that is my fault. In truth I didn’t expect to like you as much as I do.” He winced. “I don’t mean to offend you by that. You did present yourself as a rather ghastly individual.”

  “You cut me to the quick,” Robin said. He likes me. He wanted to kiss me because he likes me. “I like you too, Hart. I would be very glad to think you saw me as a friend. And a devastatingly attractive lover, of course.”

  “Very much that,” Hart said, and leaned in to kiss him again.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Hart had been looking forward to his meeting with James Alphonso, which took place in the third week of the arrangement. It was always a pleasure to see James; they had important business to conduct; and mostly, Hart was in urgent need of a reminder that his life encompassed a great deal more than Robin Loxleigh, even if it didn’t currently feel like that. Robin was always on his mind, not to mention his skin: he carried the other’s scent with him like a perfume. Or perhaps that was his imagination, which had turned out to be a lot more vivid than he’d ever realised. Maybe he hadn’t used it before.

  They fucked, a lot. They laughed more than Hart could remember doing, because Robin was amusing and absurd and unsquashable. They ate together when they could, always at Hart’s rooms. That was doubtless sensible, even if it felt a little peculiar to know nothing more of Robin’s home than his direction: the arrangement entitled him to Robin’s body, not his personal life. Hart wasn’t sure if Marianne knew of her brother’s proclivities. He could not possibly have told Edwina his, but she was a respectable woman.

  He was having a lot of thoughts like that these days. About when and how he could see Robin, and what they could do, and how their lives intersected. He tried not to think about the fact that they intersected because of the arrangement, and in a diminishing number of days that would no longer be the case.

  He had booked a private room in his club for lunch with James. It was a courtesy he always offered his friend, since in a public place one never knew when some numbskull might try his patience with an offensive comment.

  James was waiting when he arrived. He was still hale and hearty in his late sixties, with white hair in striking contrast to his dark skin.

  “John, my boy!”

  “James. Good to see you.” They embraced, rather than shaking hands. Hart had never known precisely what generous impulse had caused the ruthlessly practical James to offer assistance in his moment of despair; his respect and gratitude for his rescuer had only grown over time. He’d attempted to repay the debt a little with assistance and support of James’s various concerns once he was in a positi
on to do so, and over the years a warm affection had developed between them, along with a very satisfactory working relationship.

  “Let’s get business out of the way first,” James suggested as Hart poured wine. “Now, what about the Tring site?”

  Hart had long held ambitions to start his own brewery, at a sufficient distance from Fenwick’s Aylesbury site to avoid direct competition with his sister. That required a substantial outlay, and James had proposed to put in part of the money. They thrashed out terms and ideas over two courses, and reached a very satisfactory conclusion.

  James sat back with a sigh once they were done, and topped up both glasses. “Very well. I look forward to working with you, John.”

  “I too. I have a great deal still to learn from you. How is Theodora?”

  James always smiled at the mention of his wife. Hart wondered if he even knew he did it. “A touch of rheumatism, but still pretty as a picture. And Edwina?”

  “Well enough.” Hart updated his friend on the goings-on in the family, drawing his rich laugh.

  “Alice is a wonder. Send her my love.”

  “I will.”

  James raised a brow. “And who are you sending your love to?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I still have the use of my eyes, boy, and you have a spring in your step. It’s rare enough that I see you with a smile. Of course I want to know who you have found to smile about.”

  Oh Christ. Hart felt a pulse of panic, and hard on its heels, one of choking resentment. “There’s nobody.” The words came out harshly.

  James looked puzzled, as well he might. “Really?”

  “Nobody,” Hart said again, getting a grip on himself. It wasn’t James’s fault that he couldn’t answer a perfectly normal question. “I, uh—”

  “Don’t want to tell me,” James finished for him. “You need not. I beg your pardon for prying.”

  He sounded a touch offended and Hart couldn’t blame him. “You did nothing of the sort. I’m sorry. It’s just—”

  He didn’t want to talk about Robin to James, except that he did. He wanted to talk about his intimate affairs, perhaps not as freely as others talked about theirs because that was not his way, but at least with the man who’d been father, partner, and friend to him. He resented the world that denied him that, suddenly and savagely.

  “It’s a little complicated,” he said, feeling himself flush. “I have—well, yes, there is a young person—”

  “That much is obvious. Does she return your sentiments?”

  Oh God. “I don’t know what my sentiments are. And if I did, there is no way I could pursue the matter, so—”

  “An offer of marriage is traditional,” James pointed out.

  “That’s not possible.”

  The humour vanished from James’ eyes, replaced by concern. “What? Why not?”

  “It is a difficult situation. Marriage isn’t on the cards, now or ever.”

  James frowned. “That doesn’t sound good, John. Not good or right.”

  “It’s not my fault!” The words came out rather more loudly than Hart intended. “It’s not a matter of fault on anyone’s side. It’s circumstances.”

  “Is she married?”

  “No. It’s— Don’t ask me, James. It’s a great tangle and I don’t want to discuss it.”

  “Well, I’m sorry to hear this. It doesn’t sound like an association that will bring you joy.”

  “It does,” Hart said, because to deny that would be to deny everything. “It brings me great joy, more than I have known in my life, and does no harm to anyone. Nobody is betrayed, nobody suffers—”

  James was looking sardonic. “The woman usually does, in the end. Especially if Nature takes its course.”

  “That’s not—” Hart bit that off, reminding himself that he and James were having two slightly different conversations, which was not his mentor’s fault. “The situation won’t arise.”

  James snorted. “No? What if she loses her name at your hands? Can you protect her then?”

  “The situation isn’t of my choosing, curse it! And I’m not a damned rake. I don’t abandon people I care for.”

  “No,” James said more gently. “You don’t, do you?”

  “If I had a choice, if I could conduct things otherwise, I would. But I don’t. So I will grasp the happiness I can have, and do the best I can within that because it’s all I can do!” The words rang off the walls.

  James regarded him for a few seconds. “I will take your word for it. But I must say, you don’t sound like a man who doesn’t know what his sentiments are.”

  That left Hart lost for words. James sighed. “Well, you are a grown man, and I dare say you have considered your position. I am sure you will do your best by her in whatever way you can. But I’m sorry.”

  So was Hart. He was sorry he’d mentioned it at all; he was sorry he couldn’t tell James the truth; he was sorry he couldn’t have done that anyway because to admit that Robin was tupping him in lieu of a debt and that Hart had given his situation damn-all consideration would be to lose James’s respect for good, and deservedly so.

  He put his face in his hands. James slapped him lightly on the arm. “Ah, don’t despair. After all, if people make vows and keep faith and conduct themselves as they should, does it truly make a difference if a parson didn’t pocket his fee?” He was a Nonconformist, with strong views on Church rates. “I dare say the Lord will understand what’s in your heart, even if men don’t. Just be careful of your lady, John. You have responsibility there, and I am sure you know it.”

  “I will. Thank you, James.” Hart felt the tension in his shoulders slacken a little. “Thank you for listening to me.”

  “For what good it does.”

  “It does,” Hart assured him. “I have needed a dose of good sense from someone. Actually, can I ask you something else? In confidence?”

  “Of course.”

  “This isn’t my situation, though it is related. Suppose you knew of a woman who was not what she pretended to be. Who came from unfortunate beginnings and had a dishonourable past. And suppose she was masquerading as a woman of birth and might soon marry a very wealthy and well-born man who would turn from her in horror if he knew the truth. Would you feel you had an obligation to warn him?”

  James frowned. “Is she an honest woman now?”

  Hart considered Marianne Loxleigh. “I don’t know about her chastity, and she is certainly deceiving him. She has many excellent qualities, I am told.”

  “And does she love this man or is she marrying him for his money?”

  “The latter, unquestionably.”

  “Can you be sure she hasn’t told him the truth?”

  “Quite sure. He does not have the character to prize anyone’s virtues over their origins. He is a damned fool, in truth, and I dislike him intensely, which has no doubt affected my judgement. I am watching a wrong being done, and I wish I did not know of it so matters could go ahead without my complicity. But since I do know, have I a moral obligation to speak?”

  “Eh. If this man is the fool you say, he will make any wife unhappy, and if she is offering a Smithfield bargain, she will make any husband unhappy. Why not let them make each other unhappy and save two less deserving people from that fate?”

  Hart had to laugh. “That was roughly the conclusion I had reached, but I have other reasons not to speak out and I was concerned I had let that sway me from what was right.” James raised a brow. Hart shrugged awkwardly. “The lady in question is very close to, er, my cher ami.” Blessed French, with its indistinguishable genders saving him from a lie.

  “Then keep your mouth shut like glue,” James said firmly. “Believe me, John, and I have been married thirty years: any woman worth a man’s having will fight him to the death over her friends. Theodora might forgive me if I struck her, but if I informed against her cronies?” He sucked air through his teeth to indicate the scale of the potential disaster. “Is your lady the
same? Of unfortunate background?”

  “I— Yes.”

  “If that’s all that stands between you, then wed her, you trifling idiot. Is that it? Preserving the Hartlebury lineage? Because let me tell you, after a few years in the grave, the baronet and the pauper look very much the same. What a damn fool way to go on.”

  “That isn’t it at all,” Hart protested. “My situation is different. But if I were to marry, I hope I should put character before any other consideration, including birth. My sister’s example alone should teach me that.”

  James acknowledged that sorry truth with a nod. “I’d stay well out of this business, John. It sounds like you have trouble enough of your own.”

  “By God I do. More than I had realised.” He made a face. “I said I would look after my, uh, cher ami, and I will, but how one ought to go about proposing that—”

  “There, my friend, you are on your own. I’ve never kept a mistress. You can tell because Theodora has left my manhood intact.”

  Mrs. Alphonso was a redoubtable lady, and not to be crossed. “No, I wouldn’t dare in your shoes,” Hart agreed. “I suppose one just offers?”

  James shrugged. “With the right sort of woman, I suppose one does.”

  THE LUNCHEON LEFT HART with a great deal to think about, much of it unflattering to himself. He felt raw all over, from revealing—well, hardly anything, but still more than he ever had of his love life. And from James’s scorn, too. That was foolish, since he’d been working off the misleading information Hart had given him, but it still hurt from a man Hart loved and respected.

  And it contained enough accuracy to sting. Hart could not be blamed for the hidden, trammelled, precarious way he was forced to conduct his affaire, but that didn’t absolve him from seeing and shouldering his responsibilities. He wouldn’t have taken a mistress without considering her means of support. Robin’s life was chaotic and insecure, frighteningly so. It was only right Hart should help, and if that meant he could extend the arrangement, put them on a firmer footing, a longer term...