Sera nearly fainted at his words, so ill did the thought of being so on display to the ton make her feel. Yet he was right. The knowledge that men of Ducal standing would be attending any event would be sure to draw a crowd of the lesser aristocracy, hoping to rise by association.
“I believe that might make sure that a crowd attends – but how do you expect that to make them accept me, more, or see me as less scandalous?”
“When the Dukes greet you personally, as a friend, and congratulate you on your astute investment, what will the toadies do?”
“Oh! I would most likely, in such a circumstance, suddenly be found to be at least a little acceptable, although most would still treat me with distant politeness. But that would be far preferable to the cut direct! They would still whisper of my family scandal, but they would do it quietly, for fear that a Duke might disapprove of their actions.”
“Exactly as I had hoped it might be.”
“But… where will you find these Dukes and others to do your bidding in this way?”
“Perhaps you have forgotten my friends… Hunter is the Duke of Melton now, Oliver is a Marquess, and his wife’s sister is married to the Duke of Rotherhithe. In addition, if we can persuade them, Geoffrey’s brother is a Marquess, and Bart’s father is an Earl. Charlton is ‘only’ a Viscount, but his opinion is at least respected. I believe that, between them, we can create the effect that we want. It will be a piece of stagecraft to present all as natural on the day, of course.”
“Oh! I had forgotten – you speak of them as friends, as simply men, and I forget who they are, in society. That does, indeed, seem likely to at least have a chance of success.”
“We will need a week or so to arrange things, and we must design and make a truly unique invitation card for this event. And you will need a new gown – something highly fashionable and beyond reproach, which will have all of the ladies sighing in envy. I believe that Nerissa will be happy to introduce you to Madame Beaumarais, who will, I suspect, rather enjoy dressing someone with a scandalous reputation.”
“I… yes, simply tell me what must be done.”
He was doing it to her again – that thing where his vision for something allowed him to see the whole path that must be taken, and move, fast. That thing where he swept her along, like a leaf on a torrent, exhilarated and terrified at once.
~~~~~
Within days, arrangements were made, and, one evening, as Sera and her mother chatted with Sophia and her family, there came a knock at the door of Morton House. Potts tapped on the parlour door, opened it, and announced, in his most imposing voice:
“The Duke and Duchess of Melton.”
Raphael stepped forward to greet them, his face alight with pleasure. Soon, introductions had been performed and Raphael was explaining, in detail, the problem, and the plan he had constructed.
As Hunter spoke of all the elements that would need to be in place, and Raphael spoke of precise timing and the sequence of events, and how they might best convince Geoffrey and Bart’s families to attend, the Duchess turned to Sera.
“I will leave them to sort all of that out. I have complete faith in their ability to develop a comprehensive plan, scheduled to the minute, that will work. But I am much more interested in your part in it. I gather that we must transform you into an unimpeachably perfect fashion plate, so that, past scandal or not, all of the ladies will wish to emulate you, hopefully both in investing and in following your taste in dress.”
“I wasn’t thinking quite so… expansively, but yes, that does seem to be what Mr Morton has in mind, Your Grace.”
“Oh do call me Nerissa. I have quite enough of formality every day, without needing it with friends – and I do hope that you will be a friend. I will delight in introducing you to Madame Beaumarais. She is redoubtable. And very good at what she does. She saw a potential in me that I had never seen, and actually convinced my mother to listen to her – which is rather a miracle. And what she did for me was equally miraculous. I am sure that she will enjoy the challenge. And of course, when we succeed, she will have yet more customers queueing at her door, and she will raise her prices again.”
“She sounds like an excellent businesswoman. And I must confess, I am most curious to see what she will do with me – even at our wealthiest, I really could not have afforded her. Yet now… My life has transformed so much.”
As Sera spoke, Nerissa noted that her eyes went to Raphael, as if he were the architect of that transformation.
Perhaps he was.
There followed days where others of significant rank in society visited Morton House, and planning accelerated, with Jenkins run rather ragged arranging things to meet the plan. Sera was continually amazed that these people of rank were so willing to come here, to the house of a Cit, and to associate with her, and her mother, who were persons with a scandalous past. Truly, the bonds that Raphael had forged with these men, in the war, and since, were remarkable – more so than he realised, she suspected.
There was also a sequence of visits for Sera and Nerissa, to Madame Beaumarais, who instantly enchanted Sera with her attitude. Nerissa had introduced her, and explained what they hoped for. Madame Beaumarais had smiled, and turned to Sera.
“So, Lady Serafine, we must transform you. Mais… you make my task easy. You have the shape…” she waved towards Nerissa, “as does ma chère Duchesse, to make élégance from almost anything. However, to imply scandalous that is proud, yet unimpeachable, that is most interesting. I will make all of the ladies of the ton wish that they were you, and the gentlemen, ah… they will fall at your feet!”
Immediately, Sera discovered that Madame Beaumarais also possessed the ability to make her feel like a leaf on a torrent. Fabrics were held against her, colours discussed, a myriad of design sketches perused, and a veritable treasure chest of laces and gems reviewed for suitability as trimmings. Over the following days, Sera also discovered that Madame was capable of doing magic, for the speed with which she was provided with three new gowns, more beautiful than anything she had ever seen, was astounding.
~~~~~
Within a week, everything was in place. The artworks for display had been chosen, the food and drink arranged, the delicate, elegant, and exquisitely decorated invitation cards had been created and sent, the exact timing of every moment of the evening had been precisely laid out, and everyone was aware of the part they had to play.
Sera was, if that were possible, even more terrified than when Raphael had first suggested the plan.
And quietly, through the people they knew, and the servants in great houses whose relatives worked for Raphael, or in the manufactory, or for one of his friends, they had started their own gossip, about who would attend, and how remarkable the art was, and how exclusive the evening. Rumours were also started, to the effect that the gallery’s primary investor would be present, and revealed to those attending. Curiosity would draw them.
Raphael had also sent a letter to Baron Setford, informing him of the event, and the plan, using the coded language they had used to report from America. He was not certain what Setford might do, but it was at least worth asking.
All too soon, from Sera’s point of view, the appointed day was upon them.
“There’s a crowd formed on the pavement outside, Lady Serafine. Mostly lesser nobility so far, but a few high ranked people too. This is going to be a crush. It seems that we have achieved our aims so far.”
“Thank you, Jenkins. I am even more nervous now, knowing that!”
Raphael stepped up beside her, as Jenkins rushed back out into the front of the gallery, to make certain that everything was ready for the moment when they would open the doors.
“Don’t worry, you will be perfect. You look spectacular. Madame Beaumarais is, indeed, a genius at her craft.”
His arm slid around her waist, and he pulled her against him for a moment of reassurance, being careful not to crush her gown in the process. She sighed, and leant into him. The momen
t was too short, but he forced himself to release her – it was minutes from the appointed time.
Jenkins looked around the door edge.
“All ready?”
At Raphael’s nod, he smiled.
“Good, for the Duke of Melton’s carriage just drew up outside. I’ll go and open the doors. The staff are all in place.”
“And I will go out and greet the guests. Stay here in the quiet until it’s time for us to introduce you as the ‘secret investor’. I’ll send one of the footmen back with a glass of wine for you.”
“Thank you.”
Raphael wondered if that thank you was for the wine, or for the brief embrace – he hoped that it was for both.
Soon, he stood by the main doors, as Jenkins ceremoniously checked his watch, observed, through the windows, by the crowd outside. Jenkins bowed to him, and turned and unlocked the doors, throwing them wide.
As the crowd went to surge forward, Hunter’s footman timed things perfectly, announcing in a loud and rather imperious tone:
“Make way for the Duke and Duchess of Melton.”
The crowd, startled, paused, turned, and then stepped back to allow them entry. Raphael greeted them with great ceremony, hard pressed not to laugh at the mischievous twinkle in Nerissa’s eyes. The crowd again pressed forward, seeking entrance, and the footmen were ostentatious in asking to see each person’s invitation card.
Only a few had entered when another carriage drew up, and, again, the crowd were pressed back as a footman announced:
“Make way for the Duke and Duchess of Rotherhithe.”
The crowd drew back, and they passed into the gallery, greeting Raphael and others of their acquaintance. And so it went for the next hour or more – a few of the lesser nobility would be admitted, upon showing their invitation cards, and then another carriage would arrive, and another significant personage would be announced.
Oliver was next, after the Rotherhithe’s, soon followed by Geoffrey’s brother, all puffed up with pride at having the entrée to such a glittering event, then Bart’s father, whose curiosity, in combination with the promise of paintings depicting the hunt, had drawn him in, then a long line of other notables – all somehow associated with Raphael, or one of the Hounds.
Soon the gallery rooms were full to overflowing, and gentlemen began to seek out Jenkins or Raphael to discuss purchases.
They were keen to obtain their preferred paintings before someone else did, and the competitive nature of the collectors began to show, with a bidding war beginning over some of the better pieces.
Throughout the first hour or so, their plan ran perfectly, with both Hunter and Rotherhithe making sure to spend considerable time in conversation with Raphael, and to make positive comments about the gallery, and the event, to all of the most gossip prone members of the ton. Once the incoming stream of invited guests slowed, and the footmen were more engaged in turning away the uninvited, Raphael caught Jenkins eye, and a nod passed between them. Raphael excused himself from conversation with a rather boring, but extremely wealthy Earl, and slipped to the back room.
“It’s time. Things are going perfectly. It is a complete crush – the sort of event that any society hostess could be proud of.”
Sera took a deep shaky breath and drew herself up. Afraid or not, she would not flinch from this. Raphael offered her his arm, and she placed her hand upon it, drawing on past practice to assume a smiling and serene face.
“Then proceed. I would have this done with, and know my fate – if they cut me, so be it. But let us hope that the plan succeeds in this part as well as the first.”
They stepped through the door, into a veritable maelstrom of aristocratic humanity. As they did, Jenkins struck a large gong, which they had found in the part of Raphael’s warehouses which stored items from China. The sound reverberated through the room, and sudden silence resulted. All eyes turned in their direction, and Sera’s fingers tightened on Raphael’s arm.
The room glittered with hundreds of candles, reflecting in the glass of the specially designed chandeliers, making it seem bright as day. The light flashed also from the jewels that adorned so many of the guests.
They stopped. Raphael looked around the room, then spoke, in a quiet, yet carrying voice.
“Welcome. Morton Exclusive Art thanks you for your patronage. We are pleased to present to you this evening a selection of fine artworks, many of which have not been seen for centuries. This is a unique opportunity – to see pieces of this quality and, should you find them appealing, to secure them for your own. Before you return to studying the art, however, I wish to introduce you to the person who has made this gallery, and this event, possible. To recognise the potential in such a venture, and to be willing to put into it not simply funds, but time, and the judgement of a connoisseur, takes a special astuteness. May I present the primary investor in this gallery – Lady Serafine Parkington.”
Raphael turned to her and bowed, as Sera stood there, looking regal and calm, whilst on the inside terror held her. She watched the crowd as a rustle of whispers ran through them like the wind through long grass. It was obvious that some remembered, instantly on hearing her name, all of the scandal, and were happy to inform those who didn’t. In the momentary hush that overlaid the whispers, Hunter stepped forward to greet her.
“Lady Serafine, my congratulations. I could wish that I had been so astute as to invest in such a fine opportunity. I look forward to purchasing many magnificent works of art from this establishment.”
Sera curtseyed, a sweeping movement worthy of presentation at court.
“You are too kind, Your Grace.”
“Not kind. Simply honest – this is a very wise investment.”
He moved away, and, as was called for by their plan, others came to her, talking, congratulating, and behaving as if there had never been a scandal in her family. Soon, some who were not part of their plan joined the line of those wishing to speak to her, and, for the first time since James’ death, Sera faced the ton with some sense of at least a little confidence. The fear still waited inside her, but it was weakening with every person who chose to speak to her.
Just as things began to quiet, there was a commotion at the door. Raphael went forward, to discover Baron Setford, in the company of the Prince Regent himself. Raphael bowed deeply, stunned at this turn of events.
“Your Highness.”
“Mr Morton. I am pleased to see you again. I have been informed that you have here an establishment that must now be regarded as the premier gallery in London. Show it to me. I have a surfeit of walls which could benefit from something more interesting than pictures of my ancestors.”
Raphael stepped back, and the Prince Regent moved into the room, preceded by a wave of bowing and curtseying people, then followed by those toadies who would watch his every move and copy his choices in anything he did. Setford moved at his side, and, when the Prince Regent paused to consider a painting, whispered in his ear.
The Prince Regent gave him a curt nod, and Setford stepped back, his piercing grey eyes meeting Raphael’s for a moment. Raphael was certain that what he saw there was satisfaction. Interesting.
Casually, as much as a large man surrounded by sycophants could be casual, the Prince Regent moved around the room, genuinely studying the art with interest, until he came near the line of people waiting to speak to Sera. With one stern look, he caused them to step back, to clear his way to her.
Sera fell into her deep court curtsey again, remarkably glad that she had that excuse to not immediately meet his eyes.
“Lady Serafine Parkington.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“Rise, Lady Serafine, we are not at court now. Setford informs me that this excellent establishment would not have come into existence without your investment. I must commend you on your astute choice of ventures. I believe that I have just chosen my new preferred art supplier. If all of those I deal with were as beautiful as you, Lady Serafine, my life might
be infinitely more entertaining.”
There was a distinct twinkle in his eye as he spoke and his gaze roamed over her, lingering on the rather low neckline of her new gown.
“You do me great honour, Your Highness.”
“On this occasion, it gives me pleasure to do so. I will ensure that we meet again soon.”
Smiling, he turned away, and the rush of people wishing to speak to Sera tripled on the instant.
The Prince Regent, as was his wont, only stayed a short while, before leaving to, undoubtedly, attend another event of some sort. But that short visit was enough. It was, for all intents and purposes, a seal of Royal approval. All had seen and heard him speak approvingly to Sera, and, after that, no-one would dare to shun her presence in society. Many might still be cold and distant, but they would be forced to be polite to her face.
Once they were certain that things were going well, Jenkins had sent Alf to fetch Sera’s mother. Lady Galwood had arrived in time to be standing quietly at the rear door of the gallery when the Prince Regent spoke to her daughter. Once he was gone, rather dizzy with the change in their fortunes, she moved quietly into the room, to stand with Sera. Nothing was said. People simply greeted her politely. Their eyes suggested that they were consumed by curiosity, but they had no polite way to ask. She was simply there.
It took another two hours before the event began to fade into the quiet of late evening. Those who had come simply to ‘see the show’ had seen more than they had expected and went home well pleased with the fact that they could tell stories of the evening for weeks. Those who had come to purchase art had either done so, or had arranged later, private showings, of works better suited to their tastes. The sales made during the evening came to an astounding sum, ensuring Lord Geoffrey’s wealth for years to come, and ensuring the gallery’s continued existence.
Winning the Merchant Earl: Sweet and Clean Regency Romance (His Majesty's Hounds Book 8) Page 15