“Thank you. I am exceedingly grateful.” He draped the blanket around his shoulders, and placed a folded one on the deck for him to sit on. “Oh, excuse me, let me introduce myself. I am Francis Cabot Lowell from Boston, Massachusetts. I have desired to speak to you since we boarded, but I did not expect it to be under these circumstances.
Rawlings introduced himself and then asked the two seasick men if they needed water. When both men waved away the request with one hand and covered their mouths with the other, Rawlings found an almost clean spot on which to sit. Logan had not kept any food down in two days and it worried him.
Today the ship swayed more than any day since they departed. Those not able to control the churnings in their stomach had found their way to the railings. Rawlings and Lowell had exchanged a few more words when the seas finally calmed and a moonbeam broke through the gray sky. After four days of agitation, the ship sailed on top the water without a lean to the right or left. The two seasick men breathed evenly.
“What brings you to America?” Lowell asked.
Rawlings clutched his woolen blanket tight. “Business. We are seeking new ventures. What brought you to England? Is your family still there?”
“None that I know personally, but, yes, a distant remnant still resides somewhere.” Lowell paused to breathe deeply several times before continuing. “My family is engaged in import and export trading.”
“Ah. You are a good man to know. We, too, are in the same endeavor. Perhaps fate serves us well.”
“I will be pleased to provide you with a letter to give to my father. I, however, am seeking a different occupation. I spent considerable time in Manchester, studying weaving methods.”
“We have a friend in Derbyshire who is involved in textiles. Perchance we can return the favor. Are you planning on setting up mills in America?”
“Yes. In fact, I seek to establish a cotton factory in Waltham.”
Perhaps it was the kindness he had shown or his approachable manner that allowed Lowell to reveal his plans to Rawlings without fear.
“I have a particular loom design in my mind. I plan to build a working model as soon as I arrive. I hoped to convince a machinist friend to aide in the endeavor. He is an expert in building mechanical devices.”
“Is his name by chance, Mr. Bingley?” Rawlings asked.
“I beg your pardon, but no. Should I know this Mr. Bingley?”
“He is a friend whose family is mechanical as well. But are there not other mills in America; or does the mercantile system limit itself to exporting the raw materials to England for us to manufacture?”
“Mostly we send our raw material to England. There are a few mills in America performing a few functions, but mine will handle the entire operation. I want to convert raw fiber into cloth without having to rely on others for any aspect.”
“Is that not done now?”
“No one has set up an operation of this magnitude. Not even in England.”
“I wish you good fortune, Mr. Lowell. I hope you find the success you seek. And some profit!”
“Mr. Rawlings, by handling the entire operation under one roof the profit will be great. And if England does not relent in the trading prohibitions with America, a war will come, increasing the need for finished products. My finished products, I hope. During a war, the seas will become too dangerous, and all trade between our countries will stop, which would increase my sales immensely.”
“Do you think there will be hostilities?”
“Yes, I do. The Whigs are in power now and they will not allow this trade prohibition to stand without retribution. And, I warn you, that they will never stand for the way England boards our ships and takes our men. But then, as I said, war would help me reach my goal.”
“Whigs? I suppose you have your reformist party too! Do you need the war for your business?”
“Not so much since a trade embargo exists. If it remains for a period in the future, then my mill will not face competition from England. It is your finished products that I would find difficult to compete against.”
Rawlings sat quietly and vowed to remain vigilant in learning all about business in this new land. He silently thanked Darcy for giving him purpose in his life. In addition to traveling to a new country, he felt an excitement that did not come from the gentleman’s life. He enjoyed business. It was as if he had joined a secret club, and he knew the secret handshake. He belonged, and they accepted him simply because he dared to dirty his hands with trade. This man beside him did not weigh his worthiness based on his family status. In fact, he had not even questioned him on his social standing.
With the continuing calming waters, Lowell and Logan regained their equilibrium and agreed to return to warmer quarters. The three men made their way to the dining room, where Lowell pointed his head towards two eye-catching young ladies. “My sister and cousin are here. Come, let me introduce you.”
“You are looking better, Francis,” the prettier of the two girls said while keeping her gaze on Logan. Lowell’s sister preferred to check out Rawlings. She sent him a slight smile.
“Mr. Rawlings, Mr. Logan, I present my sister, Miss Marie Lowell, and my cousin, Miss Christina Long,” Lowell said.
“It is my honor,” Mr. Rawlings said quickly. He nudged Logan with his elbow. Logan, who had been staring at Miss Long, neglected to respond. Any ability to employ civil manners had been lost, overcome by the most seductive smile ever sent his way.
Logan bowed. “Miss Long, Miss Lowell. I hope you have fared better than Mr. Lowell with the storm.”
“Yes, unlike Francis, we do not grow ill over a little tossing and... rolling. Please join us.” Miss Lowell pointed to empty seats at their table. “We were just enjoying tea and biscuits. I daresay they are helpful in weathering the storm, as my brother should have learned by now.”
The men took the seats and heartily agreed to tea. Rawlings was the only one, however, who accepted the biscuits.
“In what part of England is your home?” Miss Lowell asked Rawlings. When she saw Rawlings raised eyebrows, she added, “Your accent. It is British. Although,” she turned to her brother and added, “after a year in England, you sound exactly like them.”
“I live in London, but my family home is in Staffordshire. Have you traveled in that area?”
She shook her head. “No. We did not go beyond London.” Miss Lowell glanced at her cousin. “We attended a friend’s wedding.”
Rawlings remained quiet, but stole peeks at Miss Lowell while the group discussed London society and found her eyes to be, well, eye-catching. Having seen blue, green, and brown eyes many times in a pretty face, he now found them all ordinary. Miss Lowell’s eyes were violet. She constantly turned to him, casting him a small smile when she did. His tongue felt glued to the top of his mouth, and his palms had begun to sweat. He felt uncomfortable in this setting, and did not have the confidence to engage in small talk. Miss Lowell did not seem to mind, nor did she seem surprised by his reaction.
“Tell me about American society. Do they have one?” Rawlings said, regaining his composure and his tonque. He smiled when Miss Lowell feigned a hurt expression.
“Sir, New York City will be to your liking. It is full of old aristocrats.”
Rawlings reacted with surprise at this pronouncement. Lowell laughed. “We still call it Colonial America. They still think themselves as either British or Dutch, depending upon their background.”
“Even now that a quarter century has passed since the revolution?”
“Yes, and they still believe they are superior!” Miss Long exclaimed, blushing quickly when she realized her comment was rude. “I am sorry, I spoke without thinking.”
“Do not worry. You only spoke your mind. Nonetheless, it is understandable for these men to think this way. Why the British are superior!” Rawlings winked to Lowell. Logan’s started. This was the first time he had ever witnessed Rawlings’ humor in company. He had always assumed his master had shared this
trait with him in private.
Lowell patted his cousin’s hand. “Our new friend is jesting. He knows who won the war!” Everyone laughed aloud and returned to their tea and biscuits.
Rawlings leaned forward, and in a lower voice said, “I understand you to imply then, that Boston is different from New York.”
“Most decidedly not! They are the same,” Miss Long exclaimed, but her opinion was disputed by the Lowell siblings. Smiling, she added, “And we Americans are the superior ones.”
Miss Lowell tilted her head and gazed at Rawlings with her violent color eyes sending a gaze that burned into his. “The old aristocracy may hold sway in the New England states, but that is only with the old generation.”
Amused by their brashness, Rawlings’ attention darted from Miss Long to Mr. Lowell and back again to Miss Lowell. “And the new generation, what holds sway with them?”
“All that is truly needed to be in the upper crust is money, hordes of money!” Miss Long interrupted.
Rawlings laughed with the others, and smiled at the Bostonians. They fit his likeness of Americans. Brash, energetic, excitable, interesting, honest and above all else, accepting of others, especially second sons.
The group talked about America for the next hour. As time wore on, Rawlings found the cousin, Miss Long, to be a bit flirty, as well as outspoken. She was not afraid to speak her mind or bat her lashes to win an argument. Rawlings watched Logan’s reaction to the group, and decided to tease him later. He would call him Darcy, Jr. He rarely spoke, and when he did, it was short and abrupt in tone. Rawlings thought about the similarities between Logan and Darcy, when he suddenly comprehended Darcy’s manner was due more to shyness, not haughtiness, and that was what caused him to act in such an aloof manner. He was astonished he had not discovered this before.
Miss Long turned her charms on Logan. She spoke in sweeter tones and cast long simmering glances his way. Rawlings was concerned over her overt actions and his valet’s reaction to her. He, on the other hand, could not completely stop himself from sneaking peeks at the violet eyes aimed at him. Oh, Miss Lowell, you are lovely, exceedingly lovely.
The time arrived for the ladies to bid them all goodnight. Lowell offered to escort his sister and cousin to their cabin, but asked the men to stay for further talks. They both understood he meant they would enjoy something stronger to drink upon his return. Logan gave his regrets, announcing his desire to rest after such an ordeal, and left for his cabin. Rawlings offered to escort Miss Long, and smiled inwardly when Miss Lowell attempted to conceal a pout.
“Mr. Rawlings,” Marie Lowell whispered. Rawlings leaned down nearer to her face and whiffed the unusual fragrance. He was not familiar with the flower used in her perfume. He looked closer at her eyes, and discovered they became a deep purple when candlelight displayed them.
“I must apologize for my cousin. She is overly friendly, but she is a fine lady.”
“There is no need. I took no offense at anything she said.” Rawlings presented her with his smile, well practiced to appear welcoming and charming. “Nor you, Miss Lowell. I respect the devotion a person has to his or her home, however long they lived there.”
She smiled up at him. “It would be my pleasure to introduce you to Boston, should you find your way there. My brother would like that. My cousin will, I am confident, have other activities to fill her time.” She accepted her brother’s arm. Miss Long slid her hand around Rawlings’s and spent the short walk to her cabin in blatant flirtation.
For the first time in his life, Rawlings seemed to be the hunted, and he was intrigued. He decided he would make time for a trip to Boston. Perhaps he would visit there once his business with Astor was finished.
***
When attending his Uncle Harrowby’s dinner, Blake hoped for a quiet evening of honest discussion about politics without so many guests; but Lord Harrowby’s life was social as well. Tonight, many fine families and their unmarried, young daughters graced his home for dinner and an evening of entertainment—music and card playing. The latest amusement was whisk and Blake’s uncle and aunt partnered together and won often.
Harrowby had invited the Godwin family, including their beautiful, unmarried daughter, Avery Anne. He had known them for years. Forty years earlier, his and Mr. Godwin’s fathers had worked together on Lord North’s India Bill. Although the Act had not been perfect, the bill gave greater parliamentary control over the East India Company, and for the first time, made a distinction between commerce and ruling the territory. Today, Mr. Godwin had taken his father's place, and followed his lead by remaining involved in the Company, albeit as an advisor to the current Lord Harrowby. Mr. Godwin cared about the commercial aspect, while Harrowby concerned himself with the governing side.
Blake bowed and spoke politely with each lady when presented to him. A few were tall, others short, all were thin; but it was not until he was introduced to a redheaded vision in a shimmering gold gown, that he paid the slightest notice. Her beauty first caught his interest, as did her green eyes, but her ability to hold a conversation was what drew him to her. In addition, she did not smile as much as the other ladies did. In fact, she barely smiled at all. As he led her into the dining room, he remembered Darcy’s comment about Miss Jane Bingley. She smiled too much. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps all the smiling that the ladies did was just another trick. Even I prefer women that do not flirt and smile at me. Lady Beatrice was the first, Miss Elizabeth the next and now I meet this serious Miss Avery Anne Godwin.
Lord Harrowby watched carefully, pleased his nephew was engrossed with his friend’s daughter. She was a better orator than her father, who was standing across the room, also intrigued with the two young people. The two older men shared a glance, indicating their hopes for a future alliance. Blake and Miss Godwin chose to sit together at dinner, spending the time in close discussion.
“Do you have political leanings, my lord?” Miss Godwin smiled before biting into her roast beef.
“I have recently become interested in politics. I find the Tories want the aristocracy to hold onto power, while the Whigs wish to give others opportunities.”
“My lord, surely you cannot believe anything a Whig says.” In a deliberate motion, she placed her fork down as sparks flew from her glare to his.
Intrigued by the fierceness of her words, Blake was thankful he was of the same political party. He supposed, if allowed, she would have purchased a modified Baker rifle and shot any reformist that stood in her way.
“You have been misled by your friends.”
“If they are Whigs, they have not informed me,” Blake answered. He slowly brought the rice to his mouth as he glanced sideways at her. He stifled a chuckle when she gulped her wine.
“Mr. Kent’s family is full of Whigs. You know him.”
“We never discuss politics.”
“Just games, competitions, and horses,” she said without concealing her smile.
“Mostly. There are a few other topics gentlemen discuss when left on their own too long.”
Miss Godwin placed her hand upon her chest. “Such as the ladies, I presume.”
Blake raised his glass. “Drink. We argued once over the best wine to serve and brandy to drink.” Blake tried to conceal a slight smile as he brought the glass to his lips.
“I am assuming the wine was not French!” Miss Godwin spit the words out.
“No. My friends did drink Scottish whiskey.” Blake chuckled when she gulped her wine. “I do not care for that drink, and was content to have won the stallion and not the Oban.”
“Mr. Kent’s family is involved in all matters of industry.” She leaned closer and spoke in a whisper. “If you are not careful, your friend will push for control, and turn you into a... tradesman.”
A World of Expectations_Book 2_The Confrontation Page 17