A Merchant's Extraordinary Lady: A Historical Regency Romance Book

by Aria Norton

  Nearing the home he had purchased for his mother some years ago, he decided to jump off the carriage and walk the rest of the way. He would have his driver continue to the house, thereby confusing his mother. While she was outside, he would sneak inside and take a seat in her favourite chair until she discovered him. Carlos smiled. Lydia loved surprises, but she might take a switch to him for getting her hopes up and dashing them, only to show up in her parlour.

  “Hopefully, her happiness will eclipse her annoyance for playing a trick on her.”

  Once a trickster, always a trickster. He could not recall all the ones he had played on her while growing up, but they had been many. Nothing of a sinister nature, just little games a mischievous boy played because he was bored.

  When Lydia had found out Alba’s intent to kill him as well all those years ago, she had fled Spain in the dead of night, not stopping until she could secure safe passage to Portugal. There, she had kept him hidden away for fear that Alba would look for him, but once she found out that the new countess had birthed a child, Lydia had loosed the reins and allowed him more freedom to roam about.

  At sixteen, Carlos got a taste of the sea and decided that a sailor’s life was for him. Lydia had not been happy about it, but there was little one could say to a young man intent on living his life. It may not have seemed like it to her at the time, but it was the best decision he could have made for himself.

  Five years into sea life, he decided that becoming a merchant would be the best way to get closer to his father and prove who he was. It took time, challenges, and hardships, but he eventually was able to achieve his dream. However, it was only in the last three years that he had acquired the fame and fortune he enjoyed today.

  Carlos was known as one of the most successful merchants in the world, but that was it. Few knew of his personal life, which was preferred. He didn’t want Alba to somehow come to know of him before he was ready to reveal his true identity. The woman was shrewd and was to be treated as a venomous snake – keep a wide berth until one can strike it on the head in one killing blow. Alba would fall, but not just yet.

  After a quick word with his driver, Carlos set off towards the back of the house, greeting the servants that took care of the land. The house was not large by the standards of most, but Lydia had fallen in love with it the moment she saw it. He had wanted to buy the biggest mansion and estate that his money could afford, but she had been set on the cottage with enough land to keep a few animals, keep an orchard, and plant vegetables. It reminded her of her own home village in Spain before she was forced to flee it.

  “I will have to wait until she is with Philip before I can enter the house, or she might discover me.”

  His mother was an intelligent woman with the instincts of a predator; she could fathom out a trap fairly quickly. Between keeping away from Alba and dodging his pranks, she had had good practice. However, he had charged his driver with the story of bringing his belongings to the house, while he would follow up later in the week on horseback. Lydia would believe it because he had done it once before when he had had to stay for several nights in London before moving on to the countryside.

  “She will not expect me to be inside the house.”

  He approached the house with caution, not wishing to scare any of the servants. If they are actually doing any work. Once, he had come home to find all the servants sitting in the garden drinking tea while his mother had been making lunch. Carlos had been upset about it, but his mother had assured him that she had wanted to give them a treat for working so hard. Apparently, his birth mother would do the same, although she didn’t actually make the food herself. Lydia was full of stories about Maria, calling her a woman above all women, one who was selfless and caring to a fault. It was this caring and trusting nature that had allowed her own cousin the opportunity to kill her and take her place as countess. He feared the same thing would happen to Lydia, which was why he cautioned her to trust no one, no matter how good they appeared. They only had each other in the world, and he wasn’t willing to lose her.

  Leading up to the back door, he noticed the new flowers that had come up and how colourful the garden looked. Spring had indeed made itself known in the Fernandez household, and his mother had taken full advantage of it.

  “She will enjoy the pottery I brought for her. She can use it for her garden.”

  He hadn’t brought them with him, but they would follow up with the rest of his belongings. Carlos never packed lightly, a source of amusement for Lydia. She, on the other hand, could pack one single bag and be ready to go at the drop of a hat.

  “Mr Fernandez!” a woman exclaimed, dropping her load of washing.

  Carlos put his finger to his lips, widening his eyes. The maid coloured, nodding her head as she quickly picked up the laundry.

  Smiling, he helped her as he greeted, “How are you, Vanessa?”

  “W-well, sir. We didn’t expect you today.”

  “I know. I wanted to surprise my mother. Is she still speaking to Philip?”

  “I believe so. Would you have me look?”

  “No, no, there’s no need. As you were.”

  He handed her what appeared to be a flimsy piece of material. He first thought it a scarf until he saw that it had ‘handles’. By the averted gaze of the maid, he realised that it had to be some sort of womanly undergarments. Oh. Carlos put his fingers through his hair, scratching the nape of his neck.

  “I will, uh, I will go inside now.”

  Vanessa bobbed, her eyes on the ground. “Yes, sir.”

  Scooting into the house, he promised himself never again to touch any laundry unless he knew it was his own.

  Making his way to the parlour, he could hear his mother coming back into the house, her thick Spanish accent making the English language sound more lyrical than was typical. Carlos did not have any such accent, having travelled the world since the age of sixteen, but he could speak several languages well enough that even a native would find it challenging to decide if Carlos was a fellow countryman or not.

  Tiptoeing, he kept a lookout as he rushed to the parlour, nearly diving for the chair when his mother’s voice came through right outside the door. She paused when a servant called her, kindly speaking with the woman for some moments. Carlos took that opportunity to arrange himself to lounge on her chair, closing his eyes as he leaned his head back. He heard his mother dismiss the servant, gasping when she turned around and saw him. Struggling not to grin, he kept his eyes closed.

  “Mi hijo! My son!”

  He opened his eyes in time to see his mother run and launch herself at him, near strangling him as her chubby arms encircled his neck. Raining kisses on his brow, she spoke to him in a torrent of Spanish about how she missed him and was so happy to see him.

  “Mother! I’m no longer a young boy. You cannot greet me as though I am but ten.”

  She drew away from him, smiling. “You will always be my little Carlos, no matter how big you become. However,” she said, smacking his arm. “I do not like your tricks. Why did you ask your driver to lie to me? Poor Philip.”

  “Once a trickster, always a trickster. But you are happy with my surprise, yes?”

  “Of course! Have you eaten yet? I have made pie for lunch, boiled a few potatoes with butter, and a honey cake for dessert. Or would you like to eat something else?”

  “That sounds perfect to me. Why are you cooking again? Did I not hire a cook?”

  He hated his mother to stand for too long because it affected her leg and caused her excruciating pain.

  “I allowed Martha to go to her daughter, who just had her first child. Do not be angry, Carlos. I did not stand for too long. I sat while I chopped the vegetables and meat, and Vanessa helped me where it was needed.”

  He still wasn’t happy about it, but he didn’t want to distress her. “Very well, but do not let me hear of any more work done on your feet. I hired servants for a reason.”

  “Yes, yes, and thank you for that. I
will tell Vanessa to ready a plate for you. Will you eat it in the dining room?”

  “I would rather sit in the garden. I see that you have been busy during the months I was away. I left at the end of summer, and now I have returned to the beginning of spring. It seems that I have entered another garden altogether.”

  His mother beamed. “I hoped you would like it. Perhaps if you make me happy and take a wife soon, she will share my love of plants.”

  He fought not to sigh audibly. His mother had been nagging him about a wife for the last five years, but he wasn’t ready to settle down and have a wife and children just yet. His primary purpose, what he had been working towards for so many years, was getting to his father, proving his identity, and getting justice for his biological mother’s murder.

  “A wife will come in due time, but do you really wish to have another woman to run the home? I thought you preferred to do all that.”

  “ I am not getting any younger, and I would like to see your grandchildren. I will take care of them while your wife runs the household.”

  “Let us deal with one thing at a time. First, the garden, and then we may continue talking while I eat. I will tell Vanessa to fix my plate; you can meet me in the back.”

  His mother pursed her lips. “You are not home two seconds, and already you have started to order me about.”

  He laughed. “’Tis called looking after you, Mother. Please, go and rest with your flowers, and I will meet you there. I need to freshen up after my trip.”

  “Then you freshen up, and I will speak with Vanessa.”

  He tried to argue, but she lifted her finger, silencing him. Laying a kiss on his brow, she went off, her limp barely noticeable. His mother rarely spoke about the horrors that had led to her leg injury, but she had at least told him that she had spurned the advances of a suitor in her village, and he had grown angry. His biological mother had saved her when she was discovered terribly injured on the side of the road, personally nursing her back to health. If Carlos ever found the man that caused his mother such great pain, he didn’t know what he would do.

  Looking down at his hands, he was surprised to see them tightly clenched. It seemed that whenever his mother’s safety was involved, he grew angry at the slightest provocation. I have lost one mother due to one person’s cruelty; I will not lose another. For extra measure, he had guards posted about the land who kept an eye on everything during his absence. Carlos feared that Alba would somehow discover where Lydia lived and come after her for ruining her plans. It was unlikely, but he was not about to take any chances with her protection.

  Twenty minutes later, he strolled into the garden, his nose meeting with tantalising smells.

  “I cannot wait to try the pie,” he said.

  “Come, sit,” said his mother, patting a chair. “I have some interesting news to tell you.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. Sit, sit, I cannot talk when you are standing above me like so.”

  He obediently sat, drawing his loaded plate closer to him. “So, what is this important thing you wish to tell me?”

  “You have heard of the problems between Spain and France, yes?”

  He nodded. “Yes, I am glad we do not live there. Or Portugal, for that matter.”

  “Yes, but it seems that our past has followed us all the way here.”

  That stilled him. “What do you mean?”

  “The problems between Spain and France have pushed your father to come to England. He is currently residing in London.”

  It took Carlos a moment or two to fully absorb the implications of what his mother had told him.

  “What?” he breathed. “Here in London?”

  “Yes. A neighbour commented on it the other day, saying that her husband had seen the count and his wife at Almack’s. She mentioned it because she knows that we come from the same country and wondered if I knew them.”

  “What did you say?”

  She shrugged. “That I knew of them. What else could I say? It was your mother that I knew well, so I was not lying.”

  Carlos passed a hand over his face, breathing out through his teeth. I have waited for so many years just to get close to him, and now I hear he is in the same country? This has to be a sign.

  “I need to go to London.”

  “And then do what, Carlos? You know that you cannot get close to your father with Alba in the way. I will not have you risk your life.”

  His mother was right. The second Alba realised who he was, she would do all that she could to get rid of him. At the end of the day, she was of nobility, and he wasn’t. It didn’t matter that he was the count’s true heir, not when no one but he and Lydia knew it. What was the point of becoming a powerful and successful merchant when it had not afforded him entry into nobility circles?

  “But I must see him. This may be my only chance, Mother. I have waited years to finally confront Alba and reunite with the Ortez family.”

  “I am well aware of how important it is to you, but nothing is worth more than your life to me. Promise me that you will not make any hasty decisions concerning your father?”

  Could he make that promise?

  “Carlos, promise me,” his mother insisted.

  He could never deny her anything, could he? He nodded. “Yes, I promise not to make any hasty decisions. However, I will make decisions if I find them to be in my best interests. Will you at least accept that?”

  “When I see how stubborn you are, I always think of your mother. You may look like your father, but you are surely your mother’s son. God rest her soul.”

  “Then it is agreed.”

  He was going to find out everything he could about his father before making his first move. Carlos knew he had to be careful since Alba was never too far from him. Or had she loosened the reins? He didn’t know, but he doubted it. Why would a woman capable of killing a mother and attempting to kill an innocent baby not remain alert? She knew that he was alive; that much was certain. And I will not leave this earth until justice is served.

  Chapter 3

  Aurora didn’t bother looking at her father as he bid them farewell, keeping her eyes on her book. She wasn’t reading it, but that didn’t mean that he had to know that. I am suspicious of his reasons for going to London well before the Season. He says it is for business, but I do not entirely believe that. What if this was yet another plan to find a suitor? Foolish man. Hadn’t he learnt his lesson from the last suitor she drove away? That, by far, had been the most amusing situation yet.

  The minute the man had seen her wearing men’s clothing, he had become somewhat apoplectic as he grabbed his chest and huffed like a man starved for breath. Aurora had wondered if she had gone too far and perhaps would cause the death of the man by such a scandalous move, but he had left his chair soon after with scathing remarks about propriety, being a woman of a contemptible nature and other words she had already forgotten. And no wonder! The man had been a vicar on the search for a suitable wife.

  “A vicar of all things!” she muttered. “What was Father thinking?”

  “Speaking to yourself again, I see,” said Edward.

  Aurora turned to her brother, meeting his sardonic gaze. Why did Father have to call one of my brothers to remain with me? Merely months before he could leave me with the servants, but now that I am suddenly of age, ’tis against his better morals to leave a young woman unattended. Hogwash.