The Trouble With Virtue: A Comfortable WifeA Lady by Day

by Stephanie Laurens

  “A very great joy, indeed,” Elias breathed on a long exhale. “Very great.” His eyes shifted to the bottle Noah carried. “What have you there?”

  “Just a small token.” And one that Elias would clearly do better to avoid, but Noah held out the bottle of arak anyway.

  “Some of that devilish Levantine stuff,” Elias declared, taking the bottle appreciatively. “Customs must have charged you a pretty penny.”

  “Show me a trader who doesn’t slip through the odd bottle or two,” Noah said, and winked at Lady Mareck just because he knew it would irritate her.

  She regarded him as if he were the dullest bore in existence.

  The tawdry reek of perfume told him Lady Mareck hadn’t been staging theatrics last night. Elias had been out—if not at the Dewy Petal then somewhere similar. Which made two things very clear: there was no reason whatsoever why his cousin could not come to Turkey with him, and this was not the Elias he remembered.

  “See now, Josephine,” Elias said, coughing again, “here’s someone who understands what a man needs in the morning.”

  Noah laughed. “Well, now, I wouldn’t say—”

  “None of that stuff,” Elias told a maid arriving with coffee service. “Bring us three glasses.”

  “You’ll kill me before I’ve got my land legs,” Noah said, though in any other situation he would have happily indulged. “I’ll have the coffee.”

  “Good God, not you, as well.”

  Josephine cast a quick look at Noah before brushing a wisp of Elias’s hair from his forehead and smoothly divesting him of the bottle at the same time. “You know how sorry you’ll be if we drink this all now and you don’t have any for tonight.” She gave his nightcap a gentle tug and touched his whiskered cheek. Elias reached up and squeezed her fingers, and she moved away to instruct the maid that the coffee service could stay.

  And then, as though that was all he could manage, Elias sank into the pillows with a groan. “Aach. Not what I used to be, my boy. Devil of a thing, old age.”

  Old age, Noah wondered, or hard living? Noah’s gut knotted with the fear that he was too late. It was barely three years ago Elias had sent Noah a letter in which he’d blisteringly vented his frustration with the London shipyard—the accounts, the employees, pressures from the East India Company. This man, who had always lived and breathed shipbuilding, who Noah remembered from childhood days talking of nothing but ships, had been enraged by the changes of time.

  The Turkish shipyard, Noah had thought—had hoped, if he were honest—might present the perfect answer to Elias’s discontent, while giving him and Noah a chance to get to know each other, like a real family.

  All he could do was wait and see how much of this was the wild night talking. “What does the physician say?”

  “Which one? Josephine’s subjected me to so many. They all try to force some foul-smelling tar down my throat and tell me it’s past time I gave up my evening entertainments, but good God—a man’s got to have his fun.” He coughed some more. “All this endless pulse-taking and bloodletting. Christ. A fortnight’s sleep and some decent port would do the trick, mark my words.” And then, “Berwick! Where is that wig?”

  “I’ve sent young Thomas to find out any news of it, sir,” his valet said from the doorway to the anteroom.

  Elias grumbled something that sounded like “Excellent” and closed his eyes. “My dear niece has just been confessing her sins against you,” he said on a sigh.

  Noah looked sharply at Lady Mareck. “Has she?”

  “I felt it only right, under the circumstances,” she said pleasantly.

  “Resurrecting an old Turkish shipyard,” Elias breathed, and Noah realized exactly what she’d confessed. “Good God, my boy. I can barely manage a shipyard in London. If only a thief would take it from me in the night. Let alone—good God—a new enterprise in some godforsaken Moorish outpost, though heaven knows Josephine here would go in a heartbeat.”

  Noah clenched his jaw. She’d told Elias about the shipyard idea. Two bloody years of obstructions and excuses and intercepting his efforts to involve Elias in the venture, and now she’d told him.

  Because she’d known exactly how Elias would react.

  And because she was a smug, presumptuous interferer who thought the world ended at the Thames and was probably a damned hypochondriac herself, hence all the doctors, and probably only cared about Elias out of an artificial sense of charity. She wasn’t even related to Elias by blood.

  “It sounds as if there’s been a bit of a misunderstanding,” he said. “I am indeed considering the possibility of a venture in Turkey—more than considering, in fact. I’m planning on it, and I’ve secured the approval of the local governor. And nothing would please me more than to have your expertise and even your partnership, but the idea that you would abandon your own shipyard to help me start mine...” Noah offered what he hoped sounded like a self-deprecating laugh. “Well, that would be damned ballsy of me.”

  Noah looked at Lady Mareck—directly into those cool, hazel eyes—and smiled.

  “The whole idea is rather ambitious,” Noah added, just to see how Elias would respond.

  Elias made a noise. “Not for a man in his prime.”

  But Noah was quickly hurtling past his prime, without a single meaningful, lasting legacy to show for the years he’d lived. “No limit to what a man can imagine while adrift on a calm summer sea.” Or while huddled over endless pieces of paper, drafting plans and calculations and correspondences, but Elias—and especially Lady Mareck—didn’t need to know all that. “I can’t claim to be a naval architect, so I’d hoped to benefit from your expertise while I’m in London.”

  “Nothing like I used to be, my boy. Hardly keep my eyes open these days. ’Course, getting to bed before five might help.” He looked at Josephine.

  The valet cleared his throat from the doorway of the anteroom. “Mr. Woodbridge, I’ve received news that the wig—”

  “Ah, sod the bloody wig.” Elias sighed. “Just...” He waved his hand and let it drop back to the covers. “Put it with the others when it arrives.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  “Perhaps you ought to take a look at things while you’re here,” Elias muttered to Noah, shifting against his pillow. “The accountings, the records, the entire shipyard. Learn the working of things. In fact—” He looked up at Noah. “I’ve a good mind to sign it all over to you now and be done with it.”

  A moment’s alarm lit Lady Mareck’s eyes before she managed to hide it. “I cannot imagine that Sir Noah wants a shipyard in London,” she said.

  “So let him sell it. Take Archibald to Turkey. Devil of an architect, Archibald.”

  Noah didn’t want some architect named Archibald. He wanted Elias. His cousin. But he couldn’t— God. He couldn’t simply say as much.

  So he said, “There’s no need for anything so drastic. I’ll be in London for a while—perhaps I can help sort out whatever trouble you’re having with the shipyard. You could direct me to your man of business—” no reaction, none at all, from either of them “—and perhaps I can be of some assistance.”

  “No, no, no.” Elias waved the idea away. “There’s no telling how much longer I’ll be around—”

  “Elias, hush,” Lady Mareck said.

  “If those doctors of yours have their way with me, it may well be sooner rather than later. Better you have it all now, my boy. Josephine will make sure you have all the records. Everything you need. She’ll make sure you have every last scrap.”

  Devil take it. He didn’t want every last scrap. Something had to be done.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “I SUPPOSE THIS means you’ll be my man of business now, Joseph,” Sir Noah said outside Elias’s rooms when they left him to dress, and Josephine smiled, because she knew t
hat would irritate him more than anything.

  “You will need a London man of business now that your plans have taken such an unexpected turn,” she told him. “How fortuitous that you may receive a shipyard after all, and under much less ambitious terms than you originally contemplated. I expect once you reaccustom yourself to London once again, you will be reminded of its many benefits and you will hardly miss your Mediterranean life.”

  “You say that as if you plan to simply stand by while Elias signs the shipyard over to me.”

  “It has nothing to do with me. Elias is master of his own affairs.” But there would be no signing of the shipyard over to Sir Noah.

  “It seemed to me he is master of little more than a whore’s quim and several bottles of port. Tell me, is that the reason for your employment, Mr. Bentley?”

  He was furious. It was there in his blue eyes, cold as the Arctic now and brimming with aggravation.

  “I do hope the state of Elias’s health has impressed itself upon you,” she said as she started down the stairs, “and that you can understand now that involving Elias in a Mediterranean venture would be impossible. I do regret how disappointed you must be.”

  “This has nothing to do with any bloody shipyard venture, in Turkey or London or anywhere else. The last time I saw Elias—and granted, it’s been nearly twenty years—he lived and breathed that shipyard. Even the last letters I received before you began intercepting them gave no hint of this. Frustration? Aggravation? Yes. But never apathy.”

  She paused on the landing, listening to Sir Noah’s memories and concerns. They mirrored hers so perfectly. But if Sir Noah’s presence in London had less to do with the shipyard venture than with Elias himself, it changed everything—for the worse, because it would make him all the more tenacious.

  “Perhaps, as Elias has aged, he has begun to see that things like shipyards and construction contracts are not what our Maker will ultimately be concerned with,” she said.

  “If that were his line of thinking, I doubt very much he would suppose his Maker would prefer a list of brothel triumphs. Let us cut to the chase, Joseph. Elias may be suffering some effects of age, but that’s hardly the entire story.”

  “I never meant to pretend that it is.”

  “It’s as if he’s lost his interest in life. As if carousing has become his only interest. And—good God—wigs.”

  “I won’t deny it.” Trying to deny it further would only make her look foolish.

  “Then it appears we are both in agreement that something needs to be done.”

  “We are. And I am in the process of addressing the situation.” Her voice came out a bit too sharply. His shipyard plans she could combat—Elias himself had no interest in that kind of effort. But if Sir Noah got it in mind to help Elias, that would be another matter entirely.

  “You are?” he asked skeptically. “How?”

  “I’ve identified a house in the country that is for sale. I have an appointment to view it this week. I’m told it’s lovely—very quiet.”

  “Oh, yes.” His words dripped with sarcasm. “A fine solution indeed.”

  “Mays Abbey presents the exact kind of calm and peaceful setting which will best promote Elias’s health and soundness of mind, and where he may repose himself with a minimum of distraction.”

  “Does it?” He laughed, closing the gap between them. “Perhaps you haven’t considered that there are any number of savory Covent Garden ladies who would happily settle into this Mays Abbey permanently. Elias Woodbridge, host of the never-ending house party.” It was far too easy to imagine. “On the other hand,” Sir Noah went on, “he could fare very well under my supervision in Turkey.”

  And there it was: Sir Noah’s true intentions revealed.

  She allowed her lips to curve, as if she found the idea amusing. “An excellent idea, Sir Noah. Nothing could suit Elias’s condition more perfectly than the exotic indulgences of life in the land of the Moors.”

  His lips curved. “You could always come with us. To ensure his safety and well-being.”

  The idea unfurled like a sail being hoisted to catch the wind. For one vivid moment she saw herself during the voyage from Gibraltar to England all those years ago, standing on the deck with the wind in her hair and a fine, salty spray in her face. Watching the seabirds, the porpoises...the impossibly handsome first mate, Ahmet, who had let her look through his little telescope.

  Mama and Charlotte and even Father had spent nearly the entire time below. But the sea—and Ahmet—had called to Josephine like the Sirens themselves.

  “To ensure his early demise aboard an uncomfortable ship bound for the Mediterranean,” she countered.

  “Ah, Joseph. I could make Elias every bit as comfortable aboard my ship as he is in his own bed. If you doubt it, perhaps you would care to join me for an evening in my cabin.”

  His words settled over her like a touch, and intimate places on her body flared suddenly to life.

  “Such a tempting offer, Sir Noah. But I shall take your word for it. Anyhow, Elias’s hypothetical comfort aboard a ship is irrelevant, as he has already declared himself uninterested in going anywhere.” She did not want to see how deeply Elias’s situation troubled Sir Noah. Did not want to remember the emotion in his voice when he had first clasped Elias’s hand. “Country air and quiet will do him a world of good,” she added.

  “While his mind atrophies and he quietly goes insane. Or supplies himself with every kind of ribald entertainment available to a man with a large house in the country.”

  She thought of the way he had insisted on having that coffee, so smoothly that anyone would have imagined he wanted to open the bottle but feared the result. If not for Elias, perhaps he would have gladly indulged.

  “But I would hazard a guess that your influence could change his mind about my Turkish shipyard,” he said.

  He thought she would try to change Elias’s mind? She couldn’t help it—she laughed. “My goodness, Sir Noah, you have spent too much time away from civilization. I shall see that the necessary papers are delivered to you as soon as possible. Of course, it will take time to compile everything in a manner that promotes ease of viewing.”

  “Oh, I would hate for you to go to any trouble, Joseph. I’m sure I can decipher the papers myself. I propose we begin with the account books. Those shouldn’t require any preparation on your part. Shall we say this afternoon?”

  “I’m afraid that won’t be possible. I must take my nieces visiting this afternoon.”

  “This evening, then.”

  “This evening I must return to see Elias, and then I am to accompany my nieces to a private musical entertainment. Quite frankly, Sir Noah, I can’t imagine I shall have time to produce any records before next week. I must return home to see to my nieces—do have a lovely afternoon.”

  * * *

  IF SIR NOAH thought she was simply going to hand over all of the shipyard business and allow him to use it to his own advantage, he was very wrong. Elias needed that shipyard. What little work he still did was the only thing preventing him from sinking into complete oblivion.

  He would find interest in it again once he was away from the baser distractions of London.

  “Do forgive my tardiness, dears,” she said, sweeping into the upstairs drawing room having just arrived home. At the writing table by the window, Pauline flipped her sketchbook shut and turned abruptly in her chair. “My visit with Mr. Woodbridge took longer than expected. I must change into a different gown, and then I shall be ready for our afternoon.”

  “Do you think we shall see Captain Ryson, Auntie Jo?” Lettie asked, sitting in a chair with Bentley on her lap. “And do you think Papa would approve of him?”

  Pauline pushed at her spectacles and peered over her shoulder.

  “Darling, everyone approves of Captain
Ryson,” Josephine said. And it seemed he was developing a keen interest in Lettie. Hope for a quick understanding welled up from a deep place that wanted desperately to fulfill her promise to Charlotte, to prove to her sister that there was no more reason to worry. She was no longer the young, reckless Josephine who listened to her heart instead of to reason. She would use her station to see that the girls made excellent marriages, and Charlotte could put her mind at ease. If Lettie became engaged to Captain Ryson, there would just be the matter of Pauline.

  Josephine looked at Pauline now, and her heart squeezed. She might have been the elder, but she wasn’t ready for marriage. Josephine knew it, Charlotte knew it—the only one who refused to consider the obvious was Charlotte’s husband. For heaven’s sake, at eighteen Pauline looked twelve. Small bones, delicate features, huge childlike eyes... With her auburn hair swept up and her intricately embroidered sacque gown, she looked more doll than woman.

  Josephine rubbed her temple against a small, throbbing headache.

  Lettie set Bentley aside and stood gracefully. “Aunt Josephine, are you feeling quite well?”

  “Just a small headache. Nothing a cup of tea won’t soon banish.”

  “Don’t fret about us,” Lettie said, touching Josephine’s hand. Her dark hair and eyes were exactly like Charlotte’s—if her somewhat flighty personality was not. “We have plenty to occupy ourselves, don’t we, Pauline?” She turned her head and pointedly arched a brow at her sister.

  “Indeed.” Pauline put a small drip of sarcasm into her timid voice. “I would be perfectly amenable to staying indoors this afternoon.”

  “No doubt you would, so that you may continue drawing your ships.” Lettie turned back to Josephine. “Mother doesn’t like her to draw ships. She says they represent a coarse and wild existence that should not occupy a young lady’s imagination.”

  A bark of male laughter came from the doorway. “A true representation indeed!”