by Laura Landon
“I’m not sure,” Ira said. “I’ve traced them through three bogus companies so far, and the last lending office I contacted informed me they didn’t know who had acquired the notes.”
“Something is wrong here, Ira,” Simon interrupted, flipping through the pages. “Surely someone knows who bought the notes from the creditors.”
“It’s very strange, my lord. No one knows anything, yet everything leads back to Mottley and this new shipping company he’s forming, Great Northern Shipping.”
“Why would Mottley want Ravenscroft and the estates? They are of no value to him. To shipping.”
“Perhaps Mottley is not alone in the creation of Great Northern Shipping,” Ira said, thumbing through the papers as if searching for something that would help Simon.
“What are you saying, Ira?”
“I don’t know. It’s just a thought. A very scary thought.”
The Duke of Collingsworth was talking, but Jessica could not see what he was saying. From the frown on Simon’s face, it was not good.
“I’m afraid I have to agree with His Grace,” Ira said, laying a piece of paper in front of Simon. “Here is a list of all the properties Mottley has purchased or attempted to purchase since he arrived in London two months ago. Don’t ask where I got this information. Just trust that it’s correct.”
Simon stared at the paper on the desk in front of him, and Jessica watched his eyes grow wide. He leveled his gaze at Ira and then looked back to the paper in his hand. “What the hell is going on?”
Ira shook his head. “I don’t know, my lord.”
Simon stared at the papers before him again. “Everything Mottley has purchased so far is mine. The two town houses in London. Ridgeway Estate. Parkland House in East Sussex. Sutterland Manor. The iron mines near Southampton. He intends to destroy me.”
Ira reached for another paper in his folder. Simon looked at it and let it fall to the desk. Ira picked up the paper and handed it to Collingsworth.
“Damn him, Ira,” Simon said. “Damn him to hell.”
“It’s only by luck that I was able to pay the creditors for Northcote Shipping and this town house on Old Cherry Lane. The old Duke of Wellmont loaned your father the money against them five years ago. When the duke died last year, he left everything to a distant relative in France. Fortunately for you, the young scamp did not want anything in England, so he sold the notes to the first person who offered for them. Luckily, that was me.”
“Bloody hell,” Simon said, raking his fingers through his dark hair. “I could have lost the house and the ships, too.”
Jessica clenched her hands in her lap. It didn’t take a genius to realize that someone intended to take everything that was Simon’s and leave him with nothing. A knot twisted deep in her stomach.
“What do you know about Mottley?” Simon asked. “And this Great Northern Shipping Company? Who is backing him? Where is he getting his finances? What are they shipping that is so profitable?”
Jessica stirred in her chair, and Simon’s eyes darted to where she sat. The Duke of Collingsworth turned with a look of surprise on his face, and Ira stepped to the side of the desk.
Jessica faced the three men staring at her. “Opium. Mottley is shipping opium.”
Simon came around the desk and stood in front of her. “How long have you been here?”
“Long enough.”
“How do you know what Great Northern ships?”
“Alexander Mottley was at Lord Stratmore’s ball last week, and I saw him speaking to Baron Carver’s youngest son, Sydney. He is involved somehow.”
“Sydney?” Collingsworth questioned, stepping to the other side of Simon’s desk so he could face her. “He’s always had a reputation for being on the wild side, but I can’t believe he would become involved in smuggling opium. Why?”
“For the money,” Jessica said, clenching her hands tightly. “Baron Carver is bankrupt. They are in danger of losing their estate. It’s not entailed.”
Simon wiped his hand across his face. “It’s amazing what one will do for money.”
A cold shiver raced along Jessica’s spine. Yes. It was amazing what one would do for money. Hadn’t Simon taken a deaf woman as his wife for her money?
“What else can you tell us, Jesse?” Simon asked as he stepped to her and lifted her chin with his finger.
She shook her head. “Not much. The company is headquartered in India—”
Jessica stopped short when she saw Simon’s reaction. His shoulders rose, and the frown on his forehead deepened. “What’s wrong, Simon?”
“Nothing,” he answered. “Go on.”
“Well, they said that most of the opium would be sold to China in exchange for tea, which they will bring here to England. Although there will be one shipment of opium that will come to England.”
“Did they say when?”
“No.”
“Anything else?”
“Only that the owner of Great Northern Shipping is still in India. He’s expected soon, but neither Mottley nor Carver are looking forward to his return.”
“Bloody hell, Simon,” the Duke of Collingsworth said. The worry on his face was evident. “How did he find out already that you had married—”
“That’s enough, James.”
Jessica looked from James to Ira and then back to Simon. “What’s wrong, Simon?”
“Nothing, Jesse.” Simon placed his hands on her shoulders. “Are you on your way to pick up the duchess and visit Madame Lamont?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Spare no expense, Jessica. Make arrangements for at least a dozen gowns.”
“But if money is—”
“Money is not a problem.” Simon turned to Ira. “Tell her, Mr. Cambden.”
The moment Jessica looked into Ira’s familiar face, something inside her breast tightened. She took one step toward her friend, and when he raised his arms to her, as was his habit, she stepped into his embrace.
Ira held her longer than was proper, but Jessica was glad. She hesitated to leave his embrace.
Finally, he pulled her away from him and held her by the shoulders. “Money will never be a problem for your husband, my lady. You can order a hundred gowns if it pleases you to do so.”
Jessica forced a laugh. “I think one gown will be enough for today, Ira.”
Jessica felt a touch on her shoulder. She knew it was Simon. “I think no less than a dozen will be enough for today.”
She started to protest and stopped when she saw the determination in his gaze. “Very well.”
He nodded his approval. “Are you ready to leave then?”
“Yes.”
“Sanjay will go with you.”
“Very well.” Jessica said good-bye to His Grace and Ira, and then Simon walked her to the door.
“Simon?” She turned and spoke quickly before he closed the door behind her. “Does my stepbrother have anything to do with this?”
Simon placed a finger against her lips and shook his head. “Don’t worry about a thing, Jesse. This involves only me. You have nothing to fear.”
“But—”
“You have nothing to fear. Take care of the dozen gowns you are required to purchase, and I will take care of the rest.”
He didn’t give her time to respond but turned his back and closed the door to the study. Sanjay stood there with a ready smile on his face.
An uneasy feeling gnawed inside her. She didn’t know how he’d found out she’d married Simon, but she was convinced Colin had already started his campaign to destroy them. His plan was clear. He would destroy Simon first.
Chapter 14
Jessica placed a shaky foot onto the cobblestone walk in front of Madame Lamont’s dress shop, praying the smile on her face made her appear more confident than she felt. She crossed the narrow walk and took her first step through the open doorway. Even though Melinda walked close at her side, Jessica had never felt more alone.
With head held high and shoulders st
raight, she made her way through the crowded room. All eyes turned in her direction, the shocked expressions obvious. She’d expected as much.
She followed one step with another until she reached a large oval table displaying fine laces and netting. She stopped, pretending to peruse the fabrics. She absently picked up a width of canary-yellow netting.
Melinda touched her arm, and Jessica looked up.
“That is a beautiful color, isn’t it, Jess?”
“What?”
“The netting you have wadded in your hand. It’s a very pretty color.”
Jessica loosened her grip around the netting and noticed the material and the color for the first time. “Yes. It’s very pretty. It would go perfectly with your coloring.”
“And yours,” Melinda said with a smile.
Jessica lifted the corners of her mouth. “I will have to keep it in mind.”
She turned her head to look at the women who crowded Madame Lamont’s dress shop. She’d hoped business would be slow this afternoon. It wasn’t. All eyes watched her, the awareness evident in their wide-open gazes. Their curiosity was obvious as dainty gloved hands cupped the sides of their mouths.
In one corner, three young debutantes stood before a velvet-covered table admiring a display of fine Irish laces. On the other side of the spacious room, a middle-aged woman with two younger girls, perhaps her daughters, sifted through samples of ribbons and frills of chiffon and velvet piping. Three or four more groups of women milled about, shifting from one display to another. Most of the women she recognized from the balls she’d attended. A few she did not. All seemed to recognize her. Each gave her a cursory glance and then huddled closer to make whispered comments.
A number of Madame Lamont’s shop assistants, each attired in a white ruffed shirt and a gray and maroon-striped skirt, moved busily from one group to the other. At a table nearby, one of the assistants held up a beautiful shade of apricot voile for the Marchioness of Crestwall. The Countess of Burnhaven stood beside her, and although Jessica had never spoken to either of them before, she recognized them. They were both very influential ladies in society. Influential enough that they could make or destroy a reputation with a single word or a turn of their heads.
Jessica wished there was a way to avoid them. But there was not. She and Melinda would have to pass beside them on their way across the room. To ignore them would be inexcusable.
She braced her shoulders and matched steps with Melinda, walking around a cushioned divan near a table set with small cakes and hot tea, then past a counter with parasols of every imaginable color and material. The marchioness and the countess both ceased talking as she and Melinda neared, the apricot voile in Lady Crestwall’s hand drifting unnoticed to the table. Melinda stopped.
Jessica couldn’t help but concentrate on the gown Lady Crestwall wore. The fabric was the richest shade of emerald-green satin, the full overskirt edged in wide scallops draped from a narrow, gathered waist, exposing an underskirt made of the palest yellow satin Jessica had ever seen. She could not find words that would do justice to the stunning picture Lady Crestwall presented.
She was a beautiful woman. Ebony hair, perfectly coiffed, a flawless complexion the color of fine porcelain, and a figure rounded in all the right places. Without a doubt she was one of the most gorgeous women Jessica had ever seen.
Rumor had it, however, that her beauty did not reach to the inside. She was known to be noticeably unapproachable, and Jessica could see that every fiber of her bearing exuded a chilling aloofness.
Lady Crestwall’s evaluative look studied Jessica, appraising her from the top of her head to the hem of her skirt. She did not look like she was impressed with what she saw. Her gaze halted first on Jessica’s out-of-fashion bonnet. She raised her brows in disdain. Then she focused on Jessica’s worn gown. Her eyes widened in horror, giving both Jessica and her gown a most disapproving glare. With a regal lift of her chin, Lady Crestwall turned her attention back to Melinda.
“Good afternoon, Your Grace,” Lady Crestwall said, making it apparent that the new Countess of Northcote didn’t warrant further notice.
“Lady Crestwall. Lady Burnhaven,” Melinda returned. “What a pleasant surprise.” Melinda turned toward Jessica. “Have you and Lady Burnhaven had the pleasure of meeting the Countess of Northcote?”
Thankfully, the Countess of Burnhaven stepped forward, not giving Lady Crestwall an opportunity to snub her. “No, we have not met,” Lady Burnhaven said. “It is a pleasure to meet you, my dear.”
Jessica smiled. “The pleasure is mine,” Jessica answered, not taking her gaze from Lady Burnhaven’s smiling eyes. Her expression was kind and gentle, her easy manner cordial and open.
She was older, perhaps in her midfifties or more. She carried a pleasingly plump figure that suited her well, her roundness adding to the friendly, comfortable picture she conveyed.
“May I congratulate you on your recent marriage, my lady,” Lady Burnhaven added, her wishes made sincere by the smile on her face. “The earl is indeed a fortunate man.”
“Thank you, my lady,” Jessica answered. “I will tell the earl you said so. He will no doubt need reminding upon occasion.”
Lady Burnhaven laughed politely and nodded in agreement. “You are so right. All husbands need reminding on occasion.” She reached for Jessica’s hand again. “I can tell you have a sense of humor. It is undoubtedly an attribute the earl finds charming.”
“I’m not sure. There are times when I’m certain it is a confusion to him.”
Lady Burnhaven patted the top of Jessica’s hand. “I would keep it that way if I were you, my dear. A little confusion is always an advantage.”
Jessica could not help but smile. “I will remember you said so.”
Lady Crestwall made a slight movement, and Jessica turned her attention to her. The cool smile on her face appeared haughty and judgmental, her wary scrutiny visible. She stiffened her demeanor and graced Jessica with a most condescending look. “You cannot imagine our surprise, my lady,” she said, hardening the fixed look on her face. “Your marriage to the earl came as a shock to the entire ton.”
An uncomfortable pause followed. Finally, Lady Crestwall lifted her pert, patrician nose and continued. “Considering your husband’s past disastrous relationship, we did not think he would ever marry.”
Jessica stiffened. Melinda’s hand lightly touched her in warning.
Lady Crestwall was not content to stop there. The malicious glint in her eyes told how much she enjoyed causing such agitation. “You are, of course, aware of the scandal surrounding his last attempt at marriage. Those of us who know him are surprised he took a wife so rashly.”
Jessica met Lady Crestwall’s malevolent glare. “I doubt Northcote considers our decision to marry rash,” she said, raising her chin. “As you know, choosing a woman…or man…with whom you intend to spend the rest of your life is not a decision one would make without careful consideration.”
The slight curve of Lady Crestwall’s lips threatened to crack her face. “Of course.”
Lady Burnhaven may have said something. Jessica chose to ignore any comment she might have made because she didn’t want to look in her direction. She would not be the first to shift her gaze from her adversary. The Marchioness of Crestwall would have to look away first.
She did.
She lowered her gaze, giving Jessica’s outdated gown a scathing look. Her perusal was meant to intimidate and embarrass her.
As Jessica watched the cold, haughty glare, she realized that even the most beautiful outside covering could not hide or change such ugliness on the inside.
“Have you come to see Madame Lamont?” Lady Crestwall asked.
“Yes,” Jessica answered, bringing a small smile to her lips—a smile she far from felt. “My husband is not overly fond of my wardrobe.”
Lady Burnhaven laughed. The movement turned Jessica’s attention to the elderly lady. “Do you have an appointment?” the countes
s asked.
Jessica shook her head.
“Oh my. I wouldn’t be too disappointed then if you are not able to see Madame today. It’s nearly impossible to see her without an appointment. Lady Crestwall has had to wait two weeks to see Madame. Haven’t you, Lillian?”
A deep color darkened Lady Crestwall’s cheeks as she struggled with an excuse to the question. “Our schedules did not match. That was the problem.”
Lady Burnhaven spotted an assistant coming toward them. “You had best inquire, then, my dear,” she said to Jessica.
Jessica watched a young shop clerk make her way to where they were standing and steeled herself for another confrontation. Lord, but she was growing tired of this. Simon was demanding too much of her. She only wanted to sit in her room with her sketch pad and pencil and get lost in her creations. She only wanted to live a quiet, peaceful life without having to watch every face to see who might be speaking to her. She only wanted to escape to someplace where she would not be subjected to such constant scrutiny.
Jessica looked at Melinda and lifted her chin proudly. “We should go—”
“Oh, miss,” Melinda said, raising a graceful hand to gain the girl’s attention. “Would you tell Madame Lamont that the Countess of Northcote is here to see her?”
“Does the countess have an appointment?” the girl asked, looking at Jessica.
“Please, tell Madame Lamont that the Countess of Northcote is here and requests a moment of her time,” Melinda repeated.
“Yes, my lady.”
The assistant turned away, and the lift of Lady Crestwall’s shoulders drew Jessica’s attention. “I’m afraid you are in for a disappointment, Lady Northcote,” she said, curling her lips sardonically. “Madame Lamont will not see you without an appointment. Perhaps she would make an exception for the duchess,” she said, nodding in Melinda’s direction, “but she will hardly give up her time for—”
“Lady Northcote,” Madame Lamont said, rushing across the storeroom floor. When she reached them she clasped her hands together as if elated to see her. “What a surprise. It is indeed a pleasure to welcome you to my humble dress shop.” She clasped her hands together again and bowed her head. “Have you found everything to your satisfaction? Is there anything I can show you? I am, of course, completely at your disposal.”