A World of Expectations_Book 2_The Confrontation

by Gayle Lynn Messick

  “Lord Liverpool, I am a curious fellow. How do our soldiers fare? I have been in the country, and have not followed our efforts.”

  “In the country? Yes, we all know where you have been, Blake. Did you perchance ride that stallion over here tonight?”

  “Not tonight. I came by carriage. However, if you would like to see him, I will gladly make arrangements for you to inspect him,” Blake bowed his head.

  “Inspect? I prefer to ride.” Liverpool chuckled. “His name is Heracles, I understand.”

  “That is the name given to him by my friend, Mr. Bingley.”

  “Bingley? I know that name and the image it brings to mind is not a young man,” Lord Castlereagh said.

  “I suspect you remember my friend’s father. The Bingley family has developed an impressive new rifle for the militia and before Mr. Bingley died, he had offered it for sale to the Army.” Blake glanced at them. Several of the men had attended his father’s shooting parties. Smiling, he added, “Bingley’s family has modified the Baker rifle in such a way, even I can hit the lead bird in flight.”

  “You? I do not doubt your word, but this is something I must to witness for myself,” Lord Liverpool exclaimed. “Your prior proficiency is legendary.”

  Blake laughed with the others. “I admit, I never was a good shot. Sir, this rifle is amazingly accurate, and quick to reload. I would never again consider competing against anyone without it.” Blake nodded and smiled at the chuckles heard throughout the room. “

  Liverpool swirled the brandy in his glass. “Is the offer for the rifle still standing?”

  “I believe so. Mr. Bingley passed away before the rifles’s latest improvements were finished. The price has risen. I am well acquainted with his son, whom I met at Cambridge. He has taken over his father’s role of selling the rifles. I could arrange a meeting if you desire.”

  “Yes, yes! And remember to ride over on the stallion. Send a message around next week.”

  Blake sighed. Darcy was correct again—deals are made over brandy and cigars.

  The other men joined in on the discussion of the stallion and the competition. Several men slapped Blake on the back and demanded stories. Most had wagered and won bets. The conversation moved onto the war on the continent, taxes, parliamentary reform, and the Catholic issue. Blake felt comfortable with these men. The Tories were a conservative lot, preferring life as it was now. They would never consider any other system for ruling and managing a country and would fight to maintain their hold on power.

  When the guests departed, Blake’s uncle pulled him aside and asked him to remain. Blake found a comfortable chair in the study while Harrowby poured two glasses of his finest brandy.

  Blake glanced around the familiar room. For someone so involved in the parliament and the complexity of any law or regulation, his uncle kept his desk in pristine condition, in fact, the desk seemed unused. A hand-drawn silhouette of his aunt as a young girl graced the desktop. Blake studied the volumes lining his bookshelves—laws, essays, histories, and war strategies. Neat and organized, he thought, and then he turned his attention onto his uncle. He is as fastidious as I am. I suppose I take after him in that regard. He examined the pattern on the rug, wondering what was so urgent or important.

  Harrowby cleared his throat several times until his nephew looked up. “It is good to see you again. I was impressed when you pulled out the victory for the horse. Beat that tradesman’s son, this Kent fellow.”

  Blake nodded, but remained silent. They had discussed this earlier with the other men. He was curious where this was heading. One trait he had acquired from studying Darcy was to remain quiet when others were attempting to attain his opinion.

  His lordship slid into the chair opposite his nephew. “I won a small fortune on the golf game. When the papers revealed the final game was golf, it was hard for me not to conceal how well it suited you. The men who bragged earlier only mentioned their winning bets on the rowing race. They did not know your skill at golf and had bet on Mr. Darcy for that game.”

  “Had Bingley chosen another sport, I do not believe I could have overcome the point deficiency.”

  He held up his glass. “Well, a toast to you. Good show.” While his nephew sipped his drink, his uncle continued, “I hope you enjoyed the dinner tonight. I had expected you to be more interested in the sweet young girl sitting next to you. Tonight you showed more interested in the politics.”

  “I found the talk exceedingly informative. I did not follow everything, but enough in order for me to enjoy the evening.”

  “Perhaps you may wish to engage yourself in this type of life?”

  “I view it as a spectator sport. I leave it to the better men.” Blake saluted his uncle with his glass.

  “Nonsense. You would do well, since politics is a competitive sport, although the stakes are higher and will affect more people. However, I warn you, passions run high at times. We were fortunate the talk about the Catholic issue did not result in fisticuffs. Sidmouth and Castlereagh do not see eye to eye on that matter.”

  Blake set his unfinished brandy aside and attempted to stand to leave.

  Harrowby tapped Blake’s arm when he moved to the door. “Sit for a moment more. I… ” He waited until Blake returned to his seat. “ I asked you to stay to give you a fair warning.”

  “Fair warning, sir?”

  Harrowby nodded. “You are no longer a little boy with little boy's interests. This business about the Baker rifle sales caught my attention. Apparently you are attempting to make a life for yourself; one separate from your father. I applaud your decision to seek a change, and you would be wise to act quickly. However, as I said, I do give you one warning.”

  “Lock up my money when father comes to visit?”

  “Do not be coarse. I caution you to deliberate sensibly about your connections. The news accounts addressed the backgrounds of Mr. Bingley and Mr. Kent. I imagine your young friends regularly espouse the social underclass arguments. There are many groups attempting to overthrow our system of government. You must be careful with whom you socialize, boy. These are dangerous times, and only the most naïve will fail to understand.”

  “We never talk politics. They are no more interested in the subject than I am.”

  “Just a warning, and…” Blake waited for the next unwanted advice to come. “This country miss—”

  “Do not speak of such things.” Blake rose abruptly. “I grow tired of all this attention to my social activities. I wish not to discuss it beyond my assurance that there is no country miss. The reports were mistaken, sir.” Blake stomped towards the door. “Please do not raise the subject again.”

  “Very good.”

  Harrowby caught up to him and gently grabbed his shoulder preventing him from leaving the room. When Blake turned to face him, his uncle used his smile, which could disarm the angriest man debating any issue in Parliament. “I, too, would like to get a glance at Heracles.”

  “I renamed him. He is called Netherfield now.” Blake realized once he revealed the new name, his uncle would understand. He had professed his love for Lady Beatrice to his uncle and discussed his anger at his father’s behavior. Harrowby had convinced him to accept the situation and, when he did, his uncle presented him with the auburn-hued filly and suggested he honor his feelings by naming the horse after the location of his flirtation instead of her name.

  Harrowby patted his nephew on his back. “Your aunt is planning a dinner party next week. Will you join us? I promise I will not pressure you into political service. Not yet, anyway. Perhaps afterwards you can tell me all about your trip and your friends.”

  Blake nodded and departed for home. He felt an ache throughout his body when he spied his crest on the carriage before he climbed inside seeing insead the letter E engraved on a crystal knight.

  Elizabeth. Oh, Elizabeth, why? Why did you run away from me? What frightened you?

  He dabbed a single tear escaping his eye catching it before it trickl
ed down his cheek. However, it was not until he had arrived home had he realized his right foot had been repeatedly crushing an imaginary chess piece with his foot.

  ***

  “Shall I explain that for you again, Bingley?” Darcy nudged him with a light tap. The morning was cloudy and the air was cold. Darcy feared the warmth from the fire was causing his friend to nod off.

  “Excuse me; I was not attending at all. My mind is elsewhere today. Does town seem dull and boring lately?”

  “You can always hold competitions in the park outside.” Rawlings pointed to the window. “We could fence each other, or better yet, we could partake of a few boxing matches. We did not do that at Netherfield Park,” he said, and just as quickly muttered, “Damn.”

  Bingley responded with a long sigh.

  Darcy stood. “Bingley, put the work away and play a game of Twenty Points.”

  Unresponsive, Bingley continued to stare out at the street until Blake bounded into the library. “Darcy, I have excellent news.”

  “Would you like to join us in a game of Twenty Points? Rawlings and I were just trying to tempt Bingley in a game.”

  “Not today, thank you. Bingley, I am pleased you are here. I wish to share my news with you which will interest you the most.”

  Bingley sat upright and gave Blake his attention..

  “We have a meeting next week with Liverpool to discuss the rifles. I have no doubt it will be a big order and I will have succeeded in my part of the agreement.”

  “So soon? We just arrived in town,” Rawlings asked.

  “The letter I sent to my uncle from Netherfield Park...”

  Bingley moaned again.

  “… that you delivered it when you took that short trip to town. I had asked for his assistance, and last night he arranged a dinner with all the appropriate politicians. Lord Liverpool was there.”

  “Excellent.” Darcy said. “Bingley, will you be able to attend to this matter next week at Liverpool’s office?”

  Without looking up, Bingley answered in a monotone voice, “Yes. I would like to include my Uncle Watt. Would that be a problem?”

  “No, that would not be a problem. However, he has asked me to ride the Andalusian, so you will need to arrive separately.”

  The men began to sketch out the particulars for the meeting. After fifteen minutes Bingley was almost his old self. He even joked about Blake claiming to hit the lead bird to the politicians. Once the specifics were completed, Bingley stood, excused himself, and departed.

  “I have never seen Bingley so despondent. Do you know why?” Blake asked.

  Rawlings leaned further into his chair. “I believe he is missing the excitement, as he said. London does seem dull and boring.”

  “Perhaps. I have other news.” Blake stood and walked over to the fireplace. He pulled a packet from his pocket and held it up for friends to see.

  “Insurance papers.”

  “You have been a busy person,” Rawlings said. “Are they life policies on us, Blake? Should we be afraid to be alone with you?” He laughed. Blake shook his head and sighed.

  “No. These are examples for drafting our liability insurance policy, although it was used for fire insurance, which is the most similar. I have taken the liberty of marking up a policy.”

  “Good work. You always did your assignments quickly. If you leave the papers here, I will review them tonight. Do you mind if I share these with Mr. Rogers, my secretary? He has an experienced background in this area.”

  “Yes, if you are sure of his secrecy. I would not want this to be shared with anyone.”

  “I trust him.”

  A knock caused all the men to turn their heads towards the door.

  Before any announcement, Kent walked in, holding several hefty bound documents, fat with pages of information. “Good morning.”

  “What are those? Not our reading material for today, I hope. You could take a lesson from Blake. See, that is his contribution.” Darcy pointed to the three-page document on the table.

  Kent laughed. “Well, apparently being succinct is not a Blake family trait. These are the laws regarding importing and exporting. I believe his uncle was involved in drafting them.”

  Rawlings thumbed through the information. “Our politicians have been busy. Blake, perhaps politics is the profession for you since you are a busy man as well. You might teach them how to economize on their words. No wait! Mr. Bennet did not find your chess tournament rules succinct. In fact, he complained about the verbosity. Yes, verbosity was his word.”

  “Where did you get these, Kent?” Darcy asked.

  “My uncle was kind enough to lend them to us. He also offered his services.”

  “Does he know about our alliance?” Darcy asked.

  “I revealed only enough of our plans to elicit his help. He provided a little guidance for dealing with importers from America. Trade is currently sporadic. He did say the potential for profit is great once our countries differences are resolved. However, if the situation worsens, we might suffer untold losses. America has the resources and the ability to manufacture any goods we do, and would need us less than we might need them.”

  “I believe working with John Jacob Aster will resolve that problem.” Darcy picked up the contract Rawlings would take on his journey.

  “Perhaps.” Kent shrugged.

  The men spent the morning plowing through the mounds of papers on Darcy’s library table. In the afternoon, each man went his separate way, returning for dinner.

  “Miss Darcy, another beautiful table,” Kent said as he led Georgiana into the dining room. “From the fragrance in the air, might I guess we are having roast beef tonight? My favorite!”

  “Yes, we are.” Georgiana lowered her head to hide the rising blush she assumed was appearing on her cheeks.

  “I hope The Rivals proved appealing.”

  “The play was… interesting. The central character, Lydia, had several suitors for her hand with one man pretending to be something he was not. I found much to like and much to dislike.”

  “Perhaps one day another play will live up to your expectations. I will be on the lookout for one to recommend.”

  Georgiana fell quiet for the remainder of the meal.

  Darcy had noticed that her head remained bowed, even when Kent attempted to include her in the conversation. The play had left her cheerless. He had worried that the plot of the young girl’s romantic desire for elopement with a penniless military officer would be too difficult for his sister. In hindsight, he should never have allowed her to attend, or at the least, they should have left once Richmond warned him. His sister had not smiled since the play.

  Darcy reminded himself to contact his aunt without delay. His sister needed an older, wiser companion or governess, and this time he would rely upon any recommendation she would make. He and Richmond had failed when they employed Mrs. Younge. That horrible woman worked with Wickham to deceive them. This time, he would let Richmond’s mother assist with locating a worthy lady. He was jarred back when Rawlings tapped the glass with his knife.

  “My friends, next week is Atterton’s ball. Do not forget, a person who never takes time off from work becomes boring, as well as bored. What do you say? Shall we attend?”

  Blake and Bingley declined. Miss Bingley had petitioned her brother to escort her to a soiree. Blake had indicated he had other plans, the details he did not provide.

  Kent agreed quickly, as did Darcy, although with more reluctance.

  When Georgiana left the dining room, Kent noted her slumped shoulders and subdued parting words. He leaned toward Darcy, and in hushed voice asked, “Did I say anything to upset her tonight? I am truly sorry if I did.”