by Georgie Lee
‘Intrude all you want, except in my study.’ He slowed the horse as they made a turn, his mastery of the ribbons as appealing as his confidence in the seat and his openness with her. ‘A man has to have his space, just as you’ll have a room of your own to do with what you please. I want you to be happy with me and for us to work together in both our home and the business.’
‘Thank you.’ She settled her hands in her lap, fingering the fine embroidery on the back of her glove. Of all the things she must soon become accustomed to, his concern for her, not just his physical desire, would be the most difficult. She would offer him the same regard, although it wouldn’t come as easily to her as it did to him. She’d spent so many years hardening herself against attacks, it was difficult to imagine letting down her guard enough to trust another person with her life and possibly her heart, but she must. He offered her a future free of guilt and derision, a future she never could have imagined before today. She would do everything she could to be worthy of it and embrace the life he promised her.
* * *
Darkness began to settle over the city as Justin strolled with Philip through the warehouse set on the banks of the Thames. They examined the casks and bottles they’d seized from the vintner earlier in the day. There hadn’t been time before Justin’s appointment with Susanna for them to take stock of what was about to become Justin’s first inventory. Mr Tenor walked behind them, listening and observing as always. Before Justin’s ship had faltered, he’d been training Mr Tenor to take his place as Philip’s assistant, much to the elder Mr Connor’s grief. Justin’s father had served the elder Mr Rathbone faithfully, prospering under the family as Justin had done, but Justin wanted more for himself and some day his own son. However, judging by the quality of the casks, it would be a while before Mr Tenor received his promotion.
‘The vintages aren’t as good as I’d hoped.’ Justin frowned as he held up the lantern to read a label. When the vintner had run off to escape his debt, he must have taken the best of his stock with him.
‘There are a few fine ones here.’ Philip examined the bottles packed in straw in a crate. ‘They should turn a nice profit.’
‘Not as nice as I’d like. I can sell the rest to public houses and a few merchants of less discerning taste.’ It wouldn’t bring in the money he needed. Those funds would come from Lord Rockland’s order for the masque and whatever other great men’s wishes Justin could fulfil. Despite Susanna’s wariness about cultivating some of the peerage’s patronage, he hadn’t given up entirely on the idea.
‘When I have the shop, I’ll have you transfer these to it,’ he instructed Mr Tenor.
‘Yes, sir,’ the brawny man answered, scratching at the holster and pistol under his thick arm.
Justin looked over the casks. To his amazement, he was more excited for his upcoming nuptials than this first foray into his new venture. The afternoon with Susanna had been far more pleasant than he’d expected, her humour and plain speaking as charming as it was captivating. He wished he hadn’t needed to cut their drive short, but there was as much business to see to as pleasure. Very soon there’d be a wonderful meeting of both.
‘When will you have the building?’ Philip asked as they stepped out into the misty night and Mr Tenor locked up the warehouse.
‘In a few days.’ With it would go the last of the money the sea hadn’t claimed. If he couldn’t make a go of the business, he could sell the building, hopefully at a profit. If his losses were too large, he’d be forced to continue in Philip’s employ. It had taken a great deal for Justin to swallow his pride and apply to his friend when failure had beset him the last time. It wasn’t an option he wished to entertain now, no matter how much he admired Philip.
‘Do you need any assistance?’ Philip asked tactfully as they strolled to the waiting carriage. Mr Tenor fell back to the cart where the other men who worked for Philip transferring goods stood smoking pipes and chatting.
Justin rested his hands on his hips and pushed back the edges of his coat, revealing the butt of the pistol in its holster beneath the wool. Though Philip would never allow him to fall into debtors’ prison, or worse, Justin wanted to be his own man and emulate his friend’s success through his own efforts. ‘You helped me enough the last time and lost a pretty penny in the bargain. I won’t put your money at risk again.’
Nor would he risk Susanna’s dowry until it was absolutely necessary. He wouldn’t use it to fund his business, but keep the money safe. It would be a hedge against his losses, protection against total ruin in case nature decided to flatten his business with a grape blight or a sudden fire. Remaining on land was no guarantee one wouldn’t be sunk.
‘Bastard, you ruined me.’ A man’s voice rang out from the deep shadows between the buildings.
They whirled to see a man rushing at them, pistol raised. His face was black with grime and his long hair reached down to touch the dirty red soldier’s coat with its black shoulder boards.
Justin stepped in between his unarmed friend and the man, brandishing his weapon. ‘Move an inch closer and I’ll take the top of your head off.’
The man jerked to a halt, fear widening his eyes. Justin recognised him as a bookseller who’d used Philip’s loan for drink instead of paying off his debt and whose business had failed last year. He’d since accepted the king’s shilling to feed himself and apparently to buy more gin. Justin could smell it over the stench of the river.
‘I’ll kill you both for what you did to me.’ The man kept the pistol aimed at them, refusing to back down, too drunk to be afraid.
‘Drop your weapon and walk away and we’ll all forget this ever happened,’ Justin suggested, not wanting trouble with either this man or the constable.
‘Not until you’ve paid for ruining me.’
Justin squeezed the trigger of his gun. In an explosion of smoke and noise the ball fired, skimming the man’s shoulder and tearing off one black shoulder board, but leaving him unscathed.
The man’s face went white in the moonlight as he pressed his free hand to the hole in his uniform, amazed to find himself unharmed.
‘You missed,’ he jeered with a high, nervous laugh.
‘I hit exactly what I aimed for and it wasn’t your head,’ Justin corrected as he exchanged his empty pistol for Mr Tenor’s loaded one and levelled it at the man. ‘Now, I’m aiming at your forehead. Put your weapon down, or I’ll put a ball through it.’
The man blanched and the end of his pistol began to shake. Justin tightened his grip on his weapon, afraid the man’s fear would trigger his gun. He’d drop the man with a shot before risking it if he didn’t surrender soon.
At last, reason seemed to overcome the bookseller’s muddled senses and he threw the pistol down and bolted into the darkness.
‘Should we go after him, sir?’ Mr Tenor asked.
‘No, he won’t be back.’ Experience told him when a man had been scared off his taste for revenge. He lowered his weapon and strolled over to snatch up the pistol from the puddle it’d fallen into. Shaking off the water, he handed it to Mr Tenor. ‘Unload it, then give it to one of the men.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Without a word, Justin and Philip made for the carriage. Once they were inside, the driver set the vehicle in motion.
‘Thank you again,’ Philip said across the semi-darkness, his voice as even as ever though a certain strain lingered in his tone.
It was always a challenge to shake off the anxiety after an incident, but it’d never clung to either of them quite like this before. Usually Justin would make a joke or comment to break the tension, but nothing came to him tonight. It wasn’t just his future wrapped up in this kind of encounter now, but Susanna’s, too. Once they were married, he couldn’t be so casual about being on the wrong end of a pistol.
‘How do you handle it, now you have a wife?’ Justin asked.
‘I’ve surrounded myself with exceptional people. You’ll do the same in your business.’
; Justin pressed his fist to his chin and stared out of the window as the warehouses along the Thames gave way to the dark shops and houses. One of those bow-front windows glittering with wares would soon be his and it couldn’t come too soon. The risks of working for Philip had never troubled him before, not even when he’d been a child. His mother had always been stoic in her support of his father, never fretting whenever he was called away to assist the elder Mr Rathbone. Her bravery had fed Justin’s and he’d carried it with him when doing his duty. Now he was about to be wed, it seemed an altogether different matter.
He fingered the smooth handle of the pistol beneath his coat. He shouldn’t fret about his position like an old lady, not when the risk of childbirth was greater to a woman’s life than an unhinged client. He knew more women, including his mother and Philip’s first wife, who’d perished in their travails than he did men who’d been brought down by a man’s misplaced anger at the moneylender. Still, the threat he’d encountered tonight, for the first time ever, gave him more encouragement to do well than his desire to prove he could manage a business of his own. In a few days, Susanna’s livelihood would rely on his success and he didn’t wish to leave his wife and whatever children they had alone. She’d agreed to stand beside him for better or for worse. He’d make sure it was better.
Chapter Five
‘How exciting to be dining with Mr Connor and his friends,’ Mary, Susanna and Edwina’s shared lady’s maid, gushed while helping Susanna into her emerald-green silk evening dress. Lady Rockland refused to hire a lady’s maid for only Susanna and in a small way she was glad. She’d soon be able to don her clothing without another woman fluttering around her, returning to the days when she was quite capable of dressing herself.
‘Yes, very exciting,’ Susanna lied, too cautious around Mary to express her concerns as she sometimes did with Mrs Fairley. The young woman with the button nose was more relaxed and open in Susanna’s presence than she ever was with Edwina. However, Susanna was never quite sure how much of what she said remained with cheerful young Mary and how much was repeated to the woman’s demanding employer.
‘The bodice is a little tight, miss,’ the maid said as she tugged it flat against Susanna’s breasts in order to do up the buttons along the back. ‘You must be enjoying too much of the good London food.’
‘Nonsense, I’ve hardly eaten these past few weeks.’ There’d been too much for Susanna to worry about with her secret relationship with Lord Howsham, and then Mr Connor. The anxiety had curdled her stomach every morning until she could barely stand the smell of eggs and ham. ‘You must not have tied the stays tight enough. Try them again.’
‘Yes, miss.’ The maid began undoing the buttons and Susanna took a deep breath as the dress dropped away from her body and she stepped out of it. The comfort was short-lived as the maid began to tighten the stays and the cotton and boning pressing against Susanna’s breasts made them sting. She rubbed her chest, surprised at the tenderness. It must mean her courses were coming on for her breasts were always sensitive when they arrived, though they’d never been quite so sore.
‘There we are, now let’s try the dress again.’ Mary helped Susanna step into the dress, then raised it over her hips to settle it against her bust.
Susanna turned so the young woman could do up the buttons and it was then she noticed Lady Rockland watching from the doorway. How long had she been standing there, hand on the doorknob, dark brows knitted tight together as she watched the maid struggle to do up the dress.
‘How does it feel now, miss?’ the maid asked, oblivious to the observing duchess.
‘Much better.’ Though it didn’t fit as well as it had when she’d last worn it in the country a few weeks ago.
‘It must have been the stays, then,’ Mary concurred.
‘Yes, I’m sure you’re right,’ Susanna said more to Lady Rockland than to the maid, afraid the ill fit of the gown might reflect poorly on Mrs Fairley’s skills. While Susanna doubted the imperious woman would send so much as her lady’s maid to the blonde modiste after Susanna left, she hated to think of the young woman with the kind eyes missing out on any work. As the daughter of those in trade, she knew how important each order was, especially those such as the Rocklands’, which tended to be large.
‘Mary, go and see to Edwina,’ Lady Rockland commanded and the girl scurried away.
Lady Rockland strode into the room. Her dress hung like mourning crepe on her shoulders and increased the sternness of the dark ringlets arranged over the top of her head. ‘You were feeling ill at breakfast this morning, and most of last week.’
‘As any woman so close to marriage might be expected to feel,’ Susanna asserted. Lady Rockland was probably worried Susanna would take ill and never leave the Rockland house. Even if she were on her death bed, Susanna would find a way to make it down the aisle and away from these people for good.
Lady Rockland came to stand incredibly close to her, far closer than she’d ever stood before, but Susanna didn’t move back. She met the duchess’s dark eyes as she always did, but this time Lady Rockland wasn’t cowed. ‘I hope you didn’t do anything to jeopardise the wedding, for if you throw off this suitor, you’ll be tossed in the gutter where you belong.’
Susanna said nothing about Lord Rockland having already made such a threat. She didn’t want Lady Rockland to learn she and her husband were, for the first time ever, in agreement about Susanna’s future. The woman was tiresome in her hate. ‘I assure you the wedding will take place as soon as possible and you may have the pleasure of watching me wed.’
‘I don’t think it necessary for either Lord Rockland or myself to attend such an event.’
Susanna remained firm in front of the woman, despite her sagging spirits, and was relieved when Lady Rockland at last flounced away. For all the gold in England Susanna wouldn’t have her stepmother at the wedding, but the girlish part of her which still craved her father’s affection wilted. He wouldn’t be there to give her away. He’d already done so the morning Mr Connor had accepted the offer and made his proposal.
* * *
Augusta marched down the hall to her husband’s room. She barged in without knocking, coming upon the duke in his breeches and waistcoat as he held out one hand to the valet who fastened his cufflinks.
She fixed hard eyes on the skinny valet. ‘Get out.’
Without a word, Rawlings made a hasty retreat.
‘What is it now, Augusta?’ Horace drawled, as he finished fastening his cufflink.
‘That brat of yours is with child.’ Augusta stormed up to her husband, explaining about the tight dress, Susanna’s lack of appetite and her suspicions. ‘I should have known she’d do something like this, the little whore.’
‘What does it matter if she’s expecting?’ He took up his coat and slid his long arms through the sleeves. ‘She’ll be married in a few days and the child will be Mr Connor’s to deal with. No one will be the wiser.’
‘What about her lady’s maid? She might suspect something and then how long will it be until the cheap woman tells every maid in Grosvenor Square? It’ll taint Edwina. People already wonder why she wasn’t married last Season. You never should have brought Susanna to us in the first place.’
‘If you’d spent more time worrying about Edwina and less time concerning yourself with Susanna, you might have succeeded in marrying her off.’ Horace tugged his cuffs out from beneath the jacket sleeves.
‘I’ve done my best.’ Failure struck Augusta, bruising her pride more than any motherly sense of duty. She wasn’t blind to her overweight daughter’s lack of grace and elegance, but she hated to be reminded of it every time Susanna entered a room and fixed her with those hateful green eyes, Horace’s eyes. The morning Augusta’s mother had informed her of her own arranged marriage, she’d known Horace’s heart wasn’t part of the contract, but she’d expected his respect. He’d denied her even that courtesy and there was nothing she could do about it.
‘Then do
better.’ Horace rolled his chin over his collar, straightening the cravat, his signet ring glinting in the candlelight. ‘I want Edwina well settled by the end of this Season or you’ll have more to worry about than any rumours surrounding Susanna. Do I make myself clear?’
‘Yes.’ Augusta bit back a more forceful retort. If Horace failed to take her concerns about Susanna seriously, there was nothing she could do, overtly at least. After many years, she’d learned to accomplish a great deal in more subtle and effective ways.
‘Good, then send Rawlings back in. I’m expected at my club,’
‘We wouldn’t want you to be late for your club.’ She snorted, knowing very well Horace wasn’t going to White’s but to Drury Lane to fawn over his actress mistress. At least in this affair he was maintaining some discretion, but if he got this mistress with child, Augusta would insist on a separation before she allowed the filthy little mongrel into her house. She’d borne enough embarrassment among her friends and society because of Susanna. She wasn’t about to endure more.
* * *
There seemed little difference between Fleet Street and Oxfordshire except for the number of establishments crammed together, their bow-front windows displaying all the items available inside. Were Susanna allowed to, she would have gladly walked through this neighbourhood to the Rathbones’ house. She felt more at home among these shops than in any of the ballrooms or salons she’d been forced to accompany Edwina to in the more fashionable district of Mayfair. Instead, she remained in the Rockland town coach, the one without the duke’s arms, noting as another person on the street outside paused in the stocking of their cart to admire the maroon coach lumbering by. From inside, Susanna met their eyes, catching a sense of their curiosity as they wondered which grand lady had dared to venture into this section of London.
She was nobody and she settled back against the squabs, giddy to know she’d soon be allowed to travel these streets like a common woman once again. It would be a relief to return to the world in which she’d been raised. Whether these people would accept her remained to be seen. In Oxfordshire, the butchers and grocers had looked down their noses at her for being born without benefit of a marriage ceremony, reserving their greatest disdain for her mother, who had held her head up proudly at her daughter’s accomplishments instead of shrinking away with her shame. She wondered if Justin’s friends would treat her the same way. He might not wish her to refer to herself as a bastard, but it wouldn’t stop anyone else from flinging the word at her.