It seemed Leeland required an intelligent reply from him. Duncan cleared his throat… and then cleared his throat again. “Would you like a drink? I need a drink. Some whiskey or a brandy, perhaps?”
“I’d much appreciate a whiskey.”
“Ajax! I’ll have none of that, my lad.” Florence uncurled the lash of her whip and gave her offside horse the barest flick on the nose when he bared his teeth and tried again to bite his companion. The miscreant waggled his head and flattened his ears but two seconds later pricked them forward and carried on with a perfect imitation of a well-mannered horse. There were a fair number of riders and carriages in Hyde Park at this time of day and many of them hailed her, but she paid strict attention to her animals and other than a nod of the head in acknowledgment, did not stop.
The gentleman next to her chuckled. “Delightful set of manners. Were he not such a good match, I swear he’d hardly be worth the effort.”
“Oh, Henry…he’s just testing me to see what I’ll allow. We play this game for the first ten minutes every time. When he decides I’ll permit none of his nonsense, he straightens out. Ajax is not at all mean. As you have noted, he’s a sweet mover, and he matches beautifully to Aries.” She glanced away from the pair for a moment to regard Lord Henry Seville before returning her attention to her team. He had taken her under his wing when she’d first come to London as a penniless and friendless widow, and she owed him more than she could ever repay. A pity about his lordship. He was such an elegant, handsome man, and surprisingly kind in his dry, sardonic way. He would make a wonderful husband…if only... “Thank you again, for letting me buy them.”
“My darling girl, you gave me no peace until I conceded—which I did with severe misgivings.”
She chuffed. “What misgivings? Did you think I lacked the skill?”
“Pfft… I never doubted your skill, but you must admit this pair is a—”
At that precise moment, a lady’s hat came bowling across the green and straight into the forelegs of Ajax. He slammed sideways into Aries, reared and bolted forward, infecting Aries with his panic. Florence wrapped the reins around her hands and held on with all her strength, leaning her bodyweight against the pull of the frightened pair. It wasn’t enough. It wasn’t nearly enough, until Lord Seville reached across her and closed his hands upon hers, adding his strength and steadiness and crooning to the bays in a deep, calm voice. Suddenly it was over as quickly as it had begun, and the horses came back under control. Lord Seville released the reins to her sole management and relaxed back against the plush maroon velvet of the seat as if nothing had happened.
She wondered if Henry could see the pounding of her heart through her driving cape. He couldn’t miss the rapid rise and fall of her ribcage nor the trembling of her arms.
“As I was about to say, this pair is a handful.” He turned a smiling face to her. “Please allow me to sleep peacefully at night and tell me you will sell them back to me.” He studied her profile. “Darling Florence…”
“I know. I know! But that would have happened to anyone had a random hat blown between their horses’ legs.” She scowled at his raised eyebrow and drove in stiff silence. Lord Seville said nothing, merely nodded pleasantly at those persons of his acquaintance as she clipped along at what some might have described as an indecorous pace. Ultimately, her common sense won out. “I hate that you are right. Fine, I admit it. They are not a lady’s pair. It is not that I lack the skill to drive them. It is that I don’t have the strength in my hands and arms to hold them when they bolt, and as Ajax lacks any sort of steady temperament, they can be relied upon to bolt.”
“Thank you,” her companion replied in a droll manner. “To prove that I love you, I will sell you Pippi and Freyda at a price nothing short of extortion. You have coveted them for ages, and I trust them not to upend you in a ditch.”
She straightened in delight, not at all put off by his threat of considerable expense. “Oh…Henry! Your spotted hackney mares?” She lowered her voice and cast a dubious glance at her companion. “They were your gift to Baron Anthony. Are you sure? Are you very sure? Julian dotes on those horses.”
“I will be excessively, monstrously, nice to the baron, and when he is basking in the warmth of complete satiation, I will explain what I have done and why. If Julian knows it’s to preserve you in your currently undamaged state, he’s unlikely to begrudge the loss of the hackneys.” Lord Seville slid her a heavy-lidded glance accompanied by an enigmatic smile.
She chuckled but then cleared her throat as a surge of overwhelming gratitude swamped her. “Lord Seville…you and Baron Anthony are two of the finest gentlemen I know, and I will take to task anyone who says differently.” Her vehemence resulted in an amused sideways glance and an urbane response from her companion.
“Of course we are, darling. How sensible of you to realize that. Now, find a place to turn around. You have dropped your whip, and I cannot be seen with you if you drive without a whip. The Four Horse Club would expel me in disgrace should I allow such negligence from one of my protégés.
“Yes, my lord,” she uttered meekly and did exactly as he ordered.
Captain Everleigh was waiting for her when she returned home. He stood military straight, facing the fireplace in her drawing room, his hands clasped behind his back, looking up at heaven only knew what. There was nothing over the fireplace but a large mirror. The image of his face seen in that mirror was grim.
“Captain …I would say it’s a pleasure to see you; however, you are looking anything but pleased.”
He turned and lowered his chin to stare down at her. “The weather was particularly pleasant this afternoon, and I decided to try out a new pair of greys that my half-brother sent to town for my use. I wanted to drive them a time or two before I took you up as I disliked the idea of driving a strange team with you in the carriage.”
She lifted her eyebrows and smiled vaguely. “How coincidental. I, too, was driving in the park this afternoon.”
The muscles in his jaw worked visibly. “Yes. I saw. All of it.”
She squared her stance and lifted her chin. “So now you are here to tell me I must be rid of my bays. That I have no business driving such an unmanageable team. That I should know my place as a weak, helpless female and drive some insipid, dull, lifeless pair of slugs so that I am never over-challenged or god-forbid, get any real enjoyment out of it.” Her voice rose in pitch and volume until she spat her last few words at him with some vehemence.
He closed his eyes and dropped his head before sighing and regarding her upward through his lashes. “Well, I was going to say something close to that, but now that I hear it from your mouth, I realize how utterly absurd it is to expect you to do anything of the kind.” He shook his head with a rueful laugh. “Will you at least allow me to loan you Lord Miles’ greys? They are lovely animals and a delight to drive. They don’t lack for life, but their manners are exceptional. I believe they will provide you a sufficient challenge and won’t kill you in the process.”
She relaxed and with good grace replied, “Well had you said what I suggested you would say, I would tell you that I agree with you.” At his look of surprise, a crooked smile twisted her mouth. “The bays are too much for me. I am selling them back to Lord Seville. For a hideous price, he has offered to sell me a lovely pair of spotted hackney mares who are utter sweethearts. A child could manage them.” She pulled loose the bow made of azure satin ribbon that secured her bonnet and cast the gorgeous creation of stiffened tulle and silk on a side table as she walked to the double sofa and sat, then gestured to the chair closest to her as she worked to pull off her kid gloves. “Please sit, Captain. My neck hurts, and you are very tall.”
He lowered into the chair in something of a loose-jointed sprawl, propped his elbow on the chair wing and rested his head against his forefinger and thumb. He studied her with what appeared to be fascination. “You are a most unconventional woman, Florence.”
She chuckled. “
You don’t know the half of it.”
Most men of her class held the belief that any person of her gender lacked the intellectual capacity to do something as mentally complicated as to plan and direct sources of revenues. Women, even high-born women, were not commonly educated past the ability to do basic sums, pen a thank-you note and read the Bible. Most conventional men were taken aback, some going so far as to express their disbelief and revulsion when presented with the source of her monies and that she directed the assets. If her unwomanly independence didn’t make them recoil from her, then the fact she engaged in trade did. How dare she, a noblewoman, sully herself in common business? She should be willing to starve rather than so degrade herself. She’d experienced starvation. It hadn’t suited her.
The question remained; how conventional was Duncan Everleigh? What if he didn’t react well to her revelations? If he had feet of clay, she allowed she’d be inordinately disappointed. She’d caught herself entertaining… hopes... about the manly Captain Everleigh.
“No…I’m certain I don’t know the half of it … but I’d love to learn.” A less than virtuous smile stretched his mouth. “Go on. Scandalize me,” he dared.
She threw her head back and, most improperly, laughed aloud and then threw him an impish glance which she had faith disguised her susceptibility should he respond less than favorably. She so, so wanted him to like her. She drew a breath to steady her pounding heart but smiled as if she had not a care in the world and said lightly, “Tell me what you know about teak wood. Specifically, its use in building cargo ships.”
Chapter Six
Duncan wrinkled his brow and straightened in his chair. “I can tell you everything I know about teak and cargo ships in a word. Nothing. What an unusual question. Why ever do you ask?”
“Ever since the British East India Company was stripped of its monopoly, I have invested money in partnership with a banyan, a Hindu merchant in Bengal. Together, we own several ships that run the Maritime Silk Roads. We import mainly spices—cinnamon, cassia, cardamom, ginger, pepper, nutmeg, but we also trade in silk and perfumes. It has proved a vastly lucrative association but maintaining our aging vessels is an enormous expense. Mr. Agarwal has presented me with a new hull design and an ambitious proposal to start a shipyard in Calcutta. We would build our own ships using teak from Java. Teak does not weather, rot, nor is it susceptible to shipworms. We will sheathe the hulls in copper so it will not be necessary to careen the ships every three months to remove barnacles and seaweeds. Our new ships will be much faster, more spacious, vastly more durable, and of superior seaworthiness.”
“Calcutta as in India… that Calcutta?”
At his tone of skepticism, she frowned, her buoyant good spirits sinking, and she opened her mouth to pass off her talk of East India merchant ships as something frivolous and then make some superficial comment on the fine weather they’d been enjoying.
He shook his head and held up a finger. “Idiotic question. You must think me a halfwit. Forgive me. You took me by surprise. Half my mind was still considering Miles’ greys and spotted hackney horses and the excessively disagreeable feeling I had watching you get run away with, and suddenly, you are expounding on teak wood and cargo ships and India... and I have no understanding of what you mean by ‘careening’ a ship.” He steepled fingers in front of his mouth. “I suppose I’d have to see the drawings for the shipyard and ships, but on the surface, if you trust this chap, this Mr. Ag—.”
“Mr. Agarwal.”
“I cannot think you would err by following through. Are you hesitating?”
Her diminishing spirits took an upsurge, and she continued with a renewed enthusiasm. “Neither Mr. Agarwal nor I have sufficient funds to finance so large a project in its entirety. The copper sheeting alone will be a hideous expense. We need several investors, but that is not the real issue as the project is very sound, and we have a history of profit. It should, on its own merit, attract people willing to put money into it, and it has. Unfortunately, as soon as the investors discover that the two principals are a Hindu merchant and a British noblewoman, well, they begin to hum and haw. Quite infuriating. Any number of persons have pledged money if I but find a moneyed British nobleman of good character who will offer a legal pledge to repay the investors should the venture founder.” She closed her eyes and shook her head at the impossibility. “Where shall I find such a one, who, possessed of a significant fortune, and on the word of a foolish woman, is willing to put all at risk? So, I am becalmed until such a paragon arises. Eleanor has assured me that Miles would be willing to stand for me when he becomes the Earl of Rutledge, but as it would be unconscionable to hope for the death of Eleanor’s father to resolve my difficulties…” She raised her hands in a shrug. “Oh yes … to careen a ship is to lay her up on the beach on her side so that her hull can be scraped. It is astounding how much drag can be produced in three months from barnacles and sea plants. They won’t grow on copper. It has something to do with copper forming a chemical reaction to the seawater. A chemist explained it to me, but I don’t remember the particulars.”
“I cannot begin to imagine.” He regarded her intently. “You are something quite out of the ordinary way, Lady Lloyd-Smith. I wish I were in a position to help you. Have you always had an interest in maritime shipping? Was it something your husband introduced you to?”
She chuckled without humor. “My deceased husband had little interest in anything other than his horses and dogs and maintaining the respectability of his family name. My interest in maritime shipping was driven by my arrival in London on a frigid day in February, an impoverished widow, wondering if I would starve to death before I froze to death or vice versa. If not for the kindness of Lord Seville, I might well have.”
“The gentleman driving with you today in the park.”
“Yes. You’ve met Lord Seville?”
“No. I made inquiry.”
“Really?” Had she made the good captain jealous? That was a pleasant thought. “Well, he offered me a chance to join him in a small investment—a percentage of the cargo of a merchantman sailing the East India Trade Route.” She shrugged. “And here I am, many years later, the co-owner of eight merchant vessels.”
“Eight?”
She nodded. “I invest in more than ships. I have an account at Barings Bank. The General Director notifies me of areas for potential profit. Another good friend, Baron Julian Anthony, is a primary shareholder in the bank and he oversees everything Barings sends my way. He would not deliberately lead me astray.”
“And you have done this by yourself?”
“Not entirely. I owe much to my servants—primarily my house steward, Mr. Greyson and his wife but also my lady’s maid, Tillie Malone, and my groom and tiger, Barnaby Watts. They removed to London with me after my husband died and entrusted me with their hard-earned savings so that I might put together enough to purchase a share of the merchantman. That investment repaid itself many times over, and it was that money, the profit from that merchantman, that gave me a start. I will never forget their loyalty and trust, nor the generosity and guidance of Lord Seville and Baron Anthony. Without their friendship…” She sighed. “I would not be so comfortably situated and most likely not be here at all.”
Duncan asked her several additional intelligent questions about her shipyard project and listened to her answers with, if she was not mistaken, a fair degree of admiration. They conversed so easily and at such length that she was surprised to realize how much of the afternoon had stolen away. When he stood to take his leave, she said as much as she accompanied him to the front door.
“Oh goodness, Duncan, I must apologize for nattering on so, though you have only yourself to blame. You gave every appearance of genuine interest such that I fell to the temptation to prose on at length.”
“No apology necessary.” He smiled. “I am genuinely interested.” He snugged his top hat on his head and drew on his gloves. “I would like to take you driving tomorrow, Florence. S
ay, three? After that, will you join me for the theatre and a cold dinner? There is a production of Shylock at the Old Drury. Edmund Kean is playing the leading role and has been receiving good reviews from the critics.”
“I’d enjoy that very much.”
Duncan picked up her bare hand and placed a kiss on the back of it, all the while holding her eyes with his. The stark desire she read in them melted her spine like a beeswax taper left in the sun. “Until tomorrow,” he murmured. “I will number the hours.” Releasing her hand, he turned and walked out her door and down the steps to the street without a backward glance.
She knew because she stood in the open doorway and watched him until she realized her behavior was that of an infatuated schoolroom miss, whereupon she retreated and closed the door. When she turned to walk down the hall to the morning room to retrieve her hat and gloves, she passed her steward standing in the doorway of her study. He eyed her dispassionately and then took a breath to speak.
“My lady—“
She held up her hand to forestall him. “I don’t want to hear it.” She stopped before him and looked up to meet his gaze. “Captain Everleigh has engaged my affections, and I find I like him more with every encounter. If he should break my heart—”
“Which he most assuredly will.”
She pursed her lips and glared at her steward. “If he should break my heart, then I will have no one but myself to blame.” She sighed. “For however long he stays, allow me this respite. Allow me to believe I am someone who can be courted and admired by a man such as he.”
The man softened and said in a gentle tone, “My lady…you deserve infinitely more than he can offer. He is a soldier. He is not his own man. He must go where the army moves him. He will not stay in London, and if by some unlikely circumstance he should? He cannot support you, not even as...” He paused for a long moment. “Someone other than a wife.”
A Destitute Duke Page 5