Mistress of Two Fortunes and a Duke

by Tessa Candle

  “To the women.” Aldley nearly agreed.

  Rutherford savoured the drink and let the bubbles tease his nose, then finished it without realizing what he had done. Aldley refreshed his glass, and Rutherford continued, “Forgive me if I am not wholly sympathetic, Aldley. But the woman I love refuses to marry me, so I cannot think that you have it so terribly hard.”

  “Do not take this the wrong way, Rutherford, but I think you complicate things unnecessarily. I like Miss Ravelsham, truly I do, but I hate to see you so miserable. You are hardly yourself half the time. Why do you not just give her up and find someone respectable to marry?”

  “I do not wish to marry someone respectable. Respectable maidens are total bores.”

  Aldley scoffed and refilled both glasses. “You sound like that rakehell that got blackballed from White's last month. And good riddance.”

  “Lord Screwe? I should imagine some hell fire club would suit him better. I am not so corrupt as all that, but surely you of all people understand how much more fun interesting women are.”

  Aldley wore his best sternly superior earl expression when he replied, “I will try to ignore the implication that my wife is interesting.”

  The earl gave Rutherford a quizzical look over the rim of his glass as he sipped his champagne. “But if you are indeed so devil-may-care as that, then why should you marry at all? A man of your energies will surely tire quickly of the marriage state. It sounds like a recipe for more of your listless ennui, and I shall have the brunt of your doldrums. You are barely tolerable as it is.”

  “You are quite droll, but this is nothing to the point. It is not that I wish to be married. It is that I wish to marry Miss Ravelsham.”

  “Well then, not to be blunt, but you had best get on with it, for she is scheduled to marry another rather soon.”

  “I know it.” Rutherford's practised air of cool patrician boredom slipped away entirely, and he raked his hands though his hair. Dolly and Mack nuzzled his legs and stared up at him with adoring brown eyes. He patted their heads. “I have tried and tried to convince her. She is immovable.”

  Aldley opened the door and ordered another bottle. “I feel for you, my old friend.” Then he smiled cheekily. “Have you considered getting yourself abducted? I understand Miss Ravelsham is compelled to help others when they find themselves in such straits. If someone absconded with you, she would no doubt marry you just to save your reputation.”

  Rutherford lowered his lids into a lazy glance. “Your wit is truly diverting, Aldley.” Still, Rutherford thought his friend might have a point. After all, he was wounded and convalescing in bed when Tilly first started flirting with him. Was it possible that she had been attracted to him because he was helpless?

  It seemed far-fetched. Still, being direct with her had got him nowhere. Other than compromising her virtue, he had never tried stratagems to trick her into accepting him. He scratched his chin thoughtfully.

  “I can see the clockwork turning. I meant it in jest.” Aldley shook his head. “I hope you are not seriously plotting a feigned abduction.”

  “No. I believe after last year, we have all had quite enough of abductions for a lifetime.” Rutherford rubbed his shoulder. “You never thanked me for rescuing your wife, you know.”

  “Well, let me do so formally now. Thank you, Rutherford, for saving Lydia from that filthy swine Delacroix. But I had thought for a Corinthian buck like you, heroics were their own reward.” Aldley chuckled. “Besides, she was not yet my wife. And at the time I was persuaded that you were trying to steal her away, while I was trotting about the continent, trying to recover my ramshackle brother-in-law. That must be some excuse for my forgetting to thank you.”

  “Ah, Lord Essington. Have you heard much of him, lately?”

  Aldley's brows furrowed. “No, and I am becoming a little concerned. I thought for certain the loose screw would have crawled his way back to London by now.”

  “I should think that his absence would be glad tidings.” Rutherford helped himself to more champagne.

  “It is. But with some people, when they are too quiet one begins to wonder what they are up to.”

  “Hmm. Quite. Shall you drive out to Essington Hall and check in on your sister?”

  Aldley rubbed his chin. “I am afraid I cannot bring myself to leave Lydia alone for so long as that. Not while she is in the family way. It would be hard enough if she were confined. But as long as she is out in the world, I cannot stop worrying. She actually chastised me this morning for smothering her.”

  Rutherford's lips pursed as he drawled, “I really cannot imagine.”

  “You are rather smug for a man who will not stop petting his dog's belly for more than five minutes at a time. I wonder how Smythe manages to dress you.” Aldley paused to lift a brow at Rutherford's attire. “On the other hand, that might explain your hideous green waistcoat. What vile, daltonic genius has possessed Smythe to pair that with a beet red shirt and gold neckcloth?”

  “I instructed him on the colour choice. It is a la Lord Byron.”

  “Oh, indeed?” Aldley's nose twitched. “I believe you may have exceeded your goal.”

  “True, you know nothing of the art of fine dress, and go about wasting perfect tailoring on depressingly bland colours. You and that Beau Brummel dandiprat. I cannot abide him. Puts a person to sleep with his attire and then rouses him into wakeful irritation with his rude comments and his damned quizzing glass.”

  “I am no follower of Mr. Brummel. But I believe there must be some alternative between dangling after dandies with upstart pretensions and,” Aldley waved a hand at Rutherford's clothing, “whatever this is.”

  Rutherford flicked an imaginary crumb from his sleeve and replied with an air of boredom, “I am sure there is, for people who like half measures. But you know me well enough to know that I am not such as these.”

  “True. You tend to pursue things at full force.” Aldley smiled. “I shall just hold out hope that you are some day seized by a profound love for dove grey, or perhaps an everyday sort of blue.” He shook his head. “But where was I? Ah yes, I was about to share my wonderful idea with you.”

  “Indeed?”

  “I thought you might need a little distraction. Get out of London, stop dangling after Miss Ravelsham, that sort of thing.”

  “My friend you are always thinking of my wellbeing. You are truly too good. Might I venture a guess that the destination you have chosen for my restorative journey is Essington Hall?”

  “Rutherford!” Aldley grinned in mock surprise. “What a marvellous idea! I had not thought of it, but it would be an excellent opportunity both to relax your nerves and to see how my sister is faring with her dirty-dish of a husband.”

  “Quite.” Rutherford held up his empty glass to Aldley. “How fortuitous that I thought of it.”

  Chapter 3

  Tilly squeezed Mr. Degroen's hand as they stood by the great black oak door of the DeGroen house. She leaned into his ear and whispered, “He only lectured me on the supreme importance of chastity twice. I do believe Grandfather Fowler likes me.”

  Mr. DeGroen whispered back, “What a frightening thought. How is Mr. Rutherford?”

  Tilly sighed and shook her head in reply. “I will see you at my brother's on Sunday, my dear. Be good.” She kissed his cheek. “Do not take the old puritan out to any gaming hells, now.”

  “As much as I should like to see that,” he smiled with a thoughtful squint, “I should be petrified of killing the old boy.”

  “True. That could complicate the good character clause attached to your inheritance.” She winked.

  He gasped. “Good Lord you are a bad one, Tiddly-wink. I knew there was something I liked about you.”

  “I had assumed it was my willingness to go along with this ridiculously long engagement.”

  “You do not have much to complain about. An engaged woman has a great deal of freedom. In fact,” he shook his head in dismay, “that is the one among
my grandfather's strange testamentary demands that I find least irksome.”

  Tilly huffed. “Long engagements are a family tradition my left buttock! I think he just likes controlling people and is compensating himself for the fact that he will not be around much longer to do it in person.”

  “You are awfully sweet to him, for someone who thinks him a bitter old tyrant.” He grinned.

  “Well, he is not so very awful. He is the only one of your relatives that does not treat you deplorably badly. And I cannot help being diverted by difficult characters. Beside all that, I was taught to defer to the elderly. Especially the rich elderly.” Tilly gave him a significant look.

  He put an arm around her shoulder and squeezed affectionately. “You are a gem among women, Tiddly.” Then he smiled mockingly. “Both of your men are so lucky to have you.”

  Tilly left her fiancé and settled into her coach with her deaf companion, Mrs. Carlton. She permitted herself a moment to enjoy the scent of lavender from one of her many carriage-freshening sachets, before descending into a moment of sadness.

  She wondered how Rutherford was supporting himself under the burden of her engagement. If only she could explain to him the real reason that she could not marry him. If only she could make him understand that her life was complicated and he was better off without her.

  Or did she really want him to understand that? Did she really want him to be happy with another? Perhaps she was not quite as altruistic as she liked to suppose, for the thought immediately sent her over-active mind into machinations of how she might prevent such a match. She was roused from her thoughts by their rapid arrival at the London home of her brother, Frederick.

  The entryway was lit by myriad candles, and the brass fittings seemed to gleam with a sort of well-polished self-satisfaction. Mrs. Carlton, her companion, smiled and nodded at Tilly before the servant showed the patient woman into the large parlour where she would wait by the great stone fireplace—so large it almost made one fearful—until Tilly returned from her meeting.

  Tilly made her way unassisted to the main wine cellar. At the back of the extensive rows of dusty bottles stood a stack of crates that almost touched the low ceiling. She reached behind one corner and depressed a latch, which permitted a door concealed in the centre of the crates to spring open.

  She went through, and was greeted on the other side by her brother and the two assistants she had recently hired. Both had got themselves into a spot of trouble last season, while aiding members of the Delacroix family in their plots against the Aldleys, and Tilly had helped them out and given them employment.

  There was no point, after all, in imprisoning people who had shown themselves willing to go a long way for a small amount of money. That would be a wasted resource. Better to give them work, for their gratitude made them very loyal, and their history made them discreet. And loyalty and discretion were crucial.

  Tilly only hoped her good friend Lydia, the Countess of Aldley, never discovered that she had hired them—particularly Crump, who had been involved in trying to abduct Lydia. She was uncertain she could make her friend see things clearly.

  Tilly received a kiss on the cheek from her brother, before seating herself at the head of the oak table that took up most of the small room.

  She nodded to Crump and Miss Wheeler. “Thank you all for waiting.”

  “It hain't been long, Miss.” Crump checked the door to be sure it was latched, and then seated himself next to Miss Wheeler.

  “Let us start with the Belle Hire. How have your researches at the servant registry been proceeding, Wheeler?”

  “I got five. Three of them are quite happy to go through training for respect—ah that is to say to go through your servant academy. The other two weren't really the sorts. I can't imagine what made them think they'd find work as servants. Fresh from the country, too. I reckon I just snatched them out from under Red Martha's nose. She loves a country fool. They are pretty girls, and they know it. But they liked the offer, so Crats has got them settling in now.”

  “Good. Do not turn your back to Red Martha. She is vicious. If she looks like she has noticed you, you get word to Crump or one of the lads.”

  “Yes, Miss.”

  Tilly smiled. “You are turning out to be a real asset, Wheeler. I want to help as many as possible, but if Red Martha should stab you for your troubles, I will not be pleased.”

  “Yes, Miss.” Wheeler's lips betrayed a stifled little smile.

  “Anything else?”

  “Some of the street boys brought me a young one. Doesn't want to say where she comes from.”

  “How old?”

  “Five, or maybe six. She's a wee thing, so it is hard to say. Got eyes like an old crone, though, and she doesn't talk much. I reckon she has not had an easy time of things.”

  Tilly nodded. “What did you do with her?”

  “We gave her some work at the servant academy in the kitchen. She can stay in the servants quarters for now. Not sure she'll make a house servant, though.”

  “Keep me apprised of her progress. Have you the numbers?”

  Wheeler handed over some documents. Tilly looked over the accounts for a few minutes. “Very good. You may convey my thanks to Shaw.”

  Wheeler nodded.

  Tilly turned to her brother. “And how are things at the Hell Fire?”

  “The income is up about ten percent from this time last year. Part of that is the increase in the cut to the house, part of that is an increased enrolment in the enhanced memberships.”

  “That is very good news.”

  “Yes.” Frederick pursed his lips. “But I am afraid there may be a problem with one of our enhanced members.”

  “Indeed?” Tilly knew that Frederick was more troubled than he let on. Enhanced memberships were a delicate matter. On the one hand, the Hell Fire profited from them obscenely well. On the other hand, they suffered from the fundamental tension between the libertine personalities that wished to enrol and the very high degree of discretion required by the nature of the club.

  Running a gambling hell that encouraged vice and never closed its doors was one thing. Facilitating every imaginable type of congress and cavorting amongst the aristocracy and the unfathomably wealthy was quite another. No matter how carefully anonymity was protected, a problem with one of the members was a problem for everyone.

  Tilly rubbed her temple. “Do you have any biscuits, Frederick?”

  “I am sorry. I should have had some brought down.”

  She smiled affectionately at her brother. “Not to worry. Perhaps we can talk about the Hell later.” She knew he would infer that she meant when we are alone. Wheeler and Crump were as loyal as anyone working for them could be, but this was not something they needed to know about.

  Tilly turned to Crump. “Well then, how are the lads?”

  He tilted his head and grinned. “Bit bored, really. And too well fed. Yer spoil them with what yer pay.”

  “Worth every penny. Are the young ones having any problems with the new delivery schedule?”

  “Not at all. Sharp, they are, and lively. Little bastards.”

  Tilly laughed. She knew very well that Crump had come to love the young mongrels who ran the deliveries and gathered information from the streets almost as though they were his own children—which some of them might be.

  “Only thing is,” Crump continued, “Shaw did some reckonin', and seems as we may run short. Lot of new folks lookin' to buy.”

  Not for the first time Tilly wished she were not in the business of growing, importing, and now distributing opium. But it had its uses, legitimate medical uses, and if someone were going to make a fortune off of it, it might as well be her.

  Anyway, it was better that someone with morals had control of the trade, for people put all sorts of things in boxes and bottles and sold them. She had heard of one charlatan disguising horse manure as a mummy powder panacea.

  And the money generated helped fund the servant acade
my and the orphanage. But she was conflicted. Opium could carry a person away entirely, and libertarian though she was, Tilly could not see how there was any liberty in being a slave to such a drug. Still it was better that the matter be in the hands of someone who cared about people.

  She had started out supplying doctors and apothecaries, but now she had many customers in the upper classes who liked having discreet deliveries.

  The problem was that if they could not get it, who knew what desperate things the customers might try? Lord, she really needed a confection. And maybe one of Rutherford's delicious shoulder rubs.

  Tilly shook herself and wondered how that thought had come into her head. “Tell Shaw to calculate an appropriate increase in the price. But wait until Friday before you start charging more.”

  She would get her importer to go to the competitors and buy up a portion of the stock from each. If done quickly, she should be able to acquire another eighth share of the market without extreme expense, before scarcity drove the price up.

  “Yes, Miss. Yer not goin' to like it, but there is one other matter.”

  “What is it?” She badly needed a biscuit.

  “Lord Essington is askin' for more.”

  “Of course he is.” Tilly shook her head. The man was hell bent on killing himself, and she did not want to have his death on her hands. He was her best friend’s brother in law. But she had little choice but to supply him with weekly deliveries, free of charge. It was the only way to keep him from talking about her brother's wife, who had been compromised by Essington.

  In fact, nothing untoward had actually happened, however the matter needed to be hushed up for the sake of appearances, and Essington had a great flapping mouth, but was addicted to opium. Supplying it to him seemed quite a rational solution at the time.

  “Only, the thing is, Miss, that he says he knows things, and he'll talk.”

  Tilly toyed with the idea of giving Essington a stronger mix. No, she did not do such things, even to inconvenient bounders. She was not a monster. She just needed some sugar. She would suck on a chunk from the tea service if there were any—which there was not. Frederick could at least have provided them with tea.