by Irene Estep
She didn’t understand why he suddenly stiffened and frowned, until he said, "Well, Shipley warned me. But you can lay fault at his door, ma’am. He insisted on decking me out in these Sunday go-to-prayer-meeting clothes. I don’t cotton much to wearing jewelry, either, much as I appreciate your generosity, ma’am." He handed the jewelry case to her.
Edwin laughed.
Claresta quickly sat the case on the side table and took Lockwood’s arm as he spun in her cousin’s direction. She felt the muscles of his forearm cord beneath the fabric. The impression of taut strength touching her fingers gave her a warm, not unpleasant, tingling sensation. She gave her cousin a warning glance. If he offended Drake Lockwood, she’d never forgive him. She told herself it was because she didn’t want to begin her search all over again when she had the perfect specimen, literally, within her grasp.
She squeezed Drake’s forearm gently and said, "Please forgive my cousin, sir. Edwin is only amused by the obvious language barrier. To have one stare at you is a great compliment."
"I daresay, you shall get used to such taradiddle soon enough," Edwin said judiciously and stuck out his hand in friendship as Claresta made introductions.
Drake did not take offense that Miss Huntington did not use his title, but referred to him only as Drake Lockwood from America. He could not blame her for doubting him. Time would prove his lineage. Her cousin, Edwin, seemed familiar. He gave Drake’s hand a firm shake.
"I reckon I could get quite used to a lot of your English ways," Drake said, "if I had Miss Huntington to interpret them for me." Drake looked down at the beauty beside him, and she turned pink in the face. He could not believe she was not used to such compliments.
"Egad. Don’t say as how I understand all the young folks’ gabble myself. So much gibberish they speak now a days. But, I do believe you were right, Claresta. A gentlemen to the core." Without waiting for introductions, the talkative man added, "Giddeon Thurmond, retired Advocate in Doctors’ Commons, at your service, sir."
Drake shook the stout, gray-headed man’s hand, and after several hardy up and down jerks, he wondered if the man would ever let go. Thurmond kept pumping vigorously until Drake finally broke the grasp and asked, "You’re a lawyer?"
"Right oh, sir. Solicitor, as it were. Lawyer is a fair antiquated title in England."
The elderly man placed his quizzing glass up to his right eye and gave Drake a ‘stare’ that made him blasted uncomfortable. Then the gent continued as he looked Drake up and down, "Could have been a barrister on the King’s bench, you know. No money in such though. Same with the Advocacy. Learned that soon enough. No use to a namby-pamby title if one can’t make enough blunt to live up to it. I say, dear fellow," Thurmond’s quizzing glass dropped and bounced from the ribbons holding it to his waistcoat, "no offense."
"None taken, sir." Drake noticed his hostess’ creamy skin, a good deal of which was showing, turn a pretty pink shade again. He smiled at her to set her mind at ease. "If you’re referring to my current misfortunes, of which I assume Miss Huntington has told you, ‘tis nothing more than a temporary setback."
"To be sure, sir, to be sure. I imagine we will be wanting to get on with the particulars right after dinner, what?"
Drake puzzled over the remark and turned to the young woman hoping for an explanation.
Claresta was relieved that Nan chose that moment to enter the room and announce that dinner was ready. The housekeeper had insisted on overseeing the meal since Shipley was not present to do so and the footman was a trifle inexperienced. Claresta knew her relative probably wanted to keep an eye on things, as well. "’Tis indecent for a young lady to entertain three gentlemen with no other females present." Nan had told her.
She’d reminded Nan that at five and twenty Society no longer considered her young, and she’d long ago ruined her chances by engaging in trade. And if Nan was so worried she should be taking the meal with them. Nan’s reply had been a very loud snort.
A few minutes later, Claresta realized the wisdom of her housekeeper taking over Shipley’s duties. Nan barely salvaged the soup tray from the hands of the bungling footman when Douglas caught his toe on the runner in front of the threshold. He went sailing across the polished oak floor on elbows and knees, much like a fallen skater gliding effortlessly over an ice pond.
Lockwood immediately went to the poor wretch’s side.
Nan snorted, Edwin coughed, and Thurmond said "Egad" at least three times in a row.
Miss Huntington blushed prettily but promptly stood, took Douglas’s other arm, and assisted Drake in helping the footman to his feet.
"You okay there, fellow?" Drake asked.
"Aye, oim o’ right, sur." Douglas gripped the tails of his livery and tugged it back into place. Attempting to straighten his wig, he pushed it askew to the opposite side. He laughed good-naturedly, abandoning the austere demeanor a footman should exhibit. Realizing his blunder when Nan glared at him meaningfully, Douglas stiffened, stepped back a pace and bowed politely. "Thank ye, m’lord."
He made his exit, following Nan back to the kitchen. Everyone sat down and dipped into the delicate turtle soup Nan had discreetly laid out during the commotion. Except for the steady tinkling sound of spoons touching china, a long interval of silence prevailed.
Finally, Edwin chuckled, and Mr. Thurmond repeated, "Egad."
Drake held a straight face until Miss Huntington tried unsuccessfully to hide her pretty smile behind her napkin. He tugged it away from her lips and together they burst into laughter.
When they all regained their composure, Edwin said, "I warned you the man was never meant for this sort of duty, Cousin."
Thurmond added, "Right oh, my dear. You cannot go ‘round offering positions to every sad rattle that shows up on your warehouse steps no matter how successful the business."
Drake couldn’t help but notice the sudden pause in conversation following the lawyer’s remark. He knew the English looked askance at its well-born citizens mucking around in trade. They were on his stepmother’s list under People he should avoid socially. Druscilla seemed to forget that his shipping business had made their venture to the mother country possible. Strangely no funds had been sent from the Norwood estate to allay his expenses to claim his title, even though the New York contact sent word to Denton, Norwood’s solicitor, advising him a legitimate heir had been found. Curiosity drove him to ask the young lady, "Warehouse? What sort of business?"
Miss Huntington’s spoon clattered against her soup dish, causing all eyes to turn on her. Her nervous titter and pretty blush added to Drake’s interest.
Claresta stuffed a bite of potato into her mouth, chewed and smiled. Chewing gave her a little more time to think what to say. From the good manners and intellect he exhibited, she realized that Lockwood may have fallen on hard times, but he was not your average ne’er-do-well. He may be more of a stickler for convention than she’d anticipated. She might as well get the worst over with, she thought, and swallowed. She washed the dry lump down with wine. I--"
"An import and export business. I manage it for her, you see," Edwin said, coming to her rescue with an outright lie. "Gilbert and Huntington was established by Claresta’s grandfather Gilbert."
"Gilbert and Huntington? Yes, I’ve heard of it. It must have been quite an undertaking for someone with barely above a score of years on his plate."
"Be that as it may," Edwin said, "an irresponsible agent made waste of the business during her father’s lingering illness, and Claresta had the devil of a time finding a reliable replacement. Wouldn’t do for a lady to be involved in such ventures, now would it? So what was I to do, but step in and take over."
Claresta cast a murderous glance at her cousin, warning him not to do it up too brown. He coughed, and she could see the gleam of enjoyment in his eyes over taking credit for her hard work.
"Right oh." Mr. Thurmond got into the swing of the deception. "Bang up job you do of it, too, my boy. Made Claresta a very wealthy la
dy, very wealthy indeed."
"How true," Edwin said. Adding salt to the sauce, he added, "You’ll be interested to know, Mr. Thurmond, that I just made another hefty profit on a load of chamomile tea I sold recently."
Claresta dithered with her conscience momentarily, but now that the deception had started she could not refute her cousin’s words. Nor could she deny her relief that an explanation of her trade connections was taken out of her hands for the moment. Not that Lockwood wouldn’t have to be told the truth of it eventually. Preferably, not until after the nuptials were performed. "Well done, Edwin. You are an excellent steward."
Her left eye started to twitch, an occurrence that plagued her when she outright lied. More times than she could remember, her father had caught her out by the strange phenomenon.
"Interesting," Drake said. He now remembered the young man he’d purchased the chamomile from, but Edwin’s bartering hadn’t seemed to be quite as skillful as one would expect from the head of a successful company like Gilbert and Huntington. He decided to test Edwin’s memory and see if he recognized him. The interior of Captain Mercer’s office had been dimly lit that morning. With a thick layer of beard stubble and wrinkled attire, Drake knew he had sported a contrasting appearance from the one he now presented. "The Black Eagle, the ship I came over on carried just such a shipment. Could it be the same?"
"Yes," Claresta said too quickly. She cleared her throat and dropped her gaze, hoping the infernal twitch in her eye would cease. But, unless one observed her very closely, it usually went unnoticed. "At least, I believe that is the ship you mentioned, wasn’t it, Edwin?"
"Really, Huntington, you should do something for that nasty cough," Thurmond remarked and smacked his lips after slurping the last of his soup.
"Shall I have Nan make up one of her possets for you, Cousin? I remember how the mere mention of her curatives used to make you well in a trice." Claresta was grateful for a chance to turn the subject to something else. Her nervous eye immediately returned to normal.
"As it still does." Edwin shuddered with exaggeration.
Nan, bringing in the next course, trout seasoned with dill, overheard their remarks and made a frog-like sound as she passed behind Edwin’s chair. Douglas moved ahead of Nan and carefully placed the removes on the tray atop the buffet one at a time. In this manner he carried out his duty and only dropped one spoon upon the floor with a clatter. Everyone ignored the small mishap.
The rest of the meal went along reasonably well until, during the final course--a rich creamy chocolate soufflé--Lockwood asked after the plight of veterans returning from the Napoleonic war. Sympathetic to the predicament of the many soldiers flooding the city looking for work, Claresta gave him the grim picture. Douglas had been one of those soldiers arriving without sixpence in his pocket for food or shelter. The conversation led to Edwin asking the American gentleman if he’d ever served in the military.
"Not officially."
"Ho, ho!" Thurmond expostulated. "Not officially. What does that mean?"
"Simply that I volunteered to go up to Ft. McHenry in the summer of ‘14, but by the time I got there things were pretty much settled."
"Delayed by weather, what? Blasted foul storms along the American coastline in the summertime," Thurmond said blotting his lips with the monogrammed linen.
"Wasn’t the weather. Had several fields of wheat at Oakcrest to harvest before I could leave."
"Oakcrest?" Claresta asked.
"My brother’s plantation."
Even if his brother did own a plantation, Drake Lockwood was obviously quite poor. It also explained his refined manners. Claresta couldn’t fault the man for wanting to better himself, but he should learn to do it more honestly than laying claim to a gentleman’s title.
Before the others realized he’d as much as admitted he was only a notch above a field hand, she stood, bringing dinner to an end. The men agreed to forego the port and cigars in favor of accompanying Claresta to the music room where she offered to play the pianoforte and sing.
Her American guest chose a ballad from among her variety of sheet music and offered to turn the pages for her. Her voice lilted softly as she sang "Greensleeves." Remembering that it was a favorite of her father’s put her in a melancholy mood. Lockwood’s arm brushed her shoulder as he reached over to turn the page, and she blundered. She received a pleasant surprise when his deep baritone voice picked up the chorus and covered her momentary lapse.
After they finished the lovely ballad together, Edwin took his leave as he’d promised to meet some friends at his club. Before he left he glanced at Drake, wondering again at the mysterious look in the American’s eyes when he’d mentioned the Black Eagle earlier. The gentleman seemed vaguely familiar and Edwin figured Lockwood, if the nondescript pauper Claresta thought him to be, must have been one of the crew members he’d seen aboard. Poor chap must have worked for his passage.
Nan served tea in the library where Claresta and Thurmond took her prospective bridegroom to make her proposal. Before they could get down to business however, a loud disturbance came from the front entrance. Douglas appeared and nearly toppled off his feet when Lord Westhaven brushed past him.
Claresta rose to her feet and demanded, "Reginald, what is the meaning of this?"
"My dear, I’m so sorry for the intrusion. When this wantwit answered the door instead of Shipley, I thought him to be unaware that you never keep family standing around in the foyer to be announced. Of course, the lout did not tell me you were entertaining guests. It is a rather urgent matter or I would not have insisted upon speaking with you, I assure you."
Had Shipley answered the door, Claresta thought, her cousin would likely have been left waiting on the front steps instead. If Reggie’s urgent business was to wheedle for another advance, she’d be tempted to box his ears. "What brings you into The Strand at this hour?"
"In due time, cousin, in due time. It would be quite rude of me not to first allow you to introduce me to your guest."
Claresta could not help noticing the American staring at Lord Westhaven’s saffron knee smalls and a burnt orange waistcoat with green hummingbirds embroidered. Reggie returned the April gawk and she quickly made the introductions, hoping her cousin did not create a scene in front of Lockwood.
"Now, tell me what is so urgent that it could not wait until tomorrow," Claresta commanded impatiently.
"Ah, ‘tis Maman. She is suddenly taken ill and wishes to see you right away."
"Aunt Ester? Ill? But, she is always so . . . so robust," Claresta said.
"True, true, that is why when she requested your presence, I did not hesitate a moment to come for you."
"Well, of course, I shall go to her," she paused, glancing at Drake and Mr. Thurmond, then added, "later."
"Right you are. You must consider your guests," Reggie said with a condescending glare at Drake.
"I should be going anyway, ma’am," Lockwood said. "My new valet strikes me as the sort who takes his duties rather seriously. It would be pretty shabby of me to keep him waiting up too late."
Claresta thought his worry for Shipley an endearing but telling character flaw for one trying to claim he was a member of the realm. No member of that peerage would put a servant’s comfort before his own. But what was she to do? He was leaving before she even had a chance to present her proposal. "Being new to London, perhaps you would allow me to introduce you to the sights?"
"I hate to keep imposing on your hospitality, ma’am."
"Perhaps the gentleman would rather see the city from a man’s perspective. I would be happy to accommodate you on a tour, sir, anytime you say," Reggie offered.
"Well now," Drake said with a hint of condescension, "that’s mighty kind of you, Westhaven, but I’d be a fool to turn down the escort of a beautiful lady."
"But," Westhaven sputtered, "My cousin is a very busy lady."
"Not that busy, cousin." Claresta hoped Reginald knew better than to flaunt her endeavors. Her aunt
would have something to say about it, if he did. And tired of her cousin’s careless mouth, she’d make certain Lady Westhaven found out about any more of Reggie’s shenanigans. Aunt Ester didn’t like anything that reflected badly on the family. She had deceived herself into believing there were still a few circles where Claresta’s activities were not well known. And in others, Lady Westhaven had been able to attest to her second son’s efforts to mediate in business matters on Claresta’s behalf, saving the family from total ridicule. It was much more acceptable for a second son to be involved in trade than a female relative. She did not know how her aunt was handling the latest on-dit started by Lady Chelsworth.
Lord Westhaven said, "As you wish, but if you should change your mind, my offer still stands."
Claresta sighed inwardly with relief. Her cousin wasn’t going to make a scene, and she’d have another turn at Lockwood. Perhaps she should become more acquainted with the gentlemen before making her offer, anyway. But not too acquainted, she thought, wondering how he’d react once he found out she personally ran one of the most successful import businesses in London. She’d best get Thurmond working on that marriage agreement. "Don’t forget the little matter you promised to take care of for me, Mr. Thurmond."
"Huh? Oh, yes indeed. Would you like me to go over the details with--"
"Just take care of the preliminaries if you will. I’m sure we can go over the particulars with the other party at a later date." Realizing that she sounded too businesslike, she added, "I mean, you do think that would be best, don’t you? Goodness me, Mr. Thurmond, I do so rely on your expertise in these matters that are so complicated for one to comprehend." She clamped her hand over her left eyelid when it kicked into it’s own blinking rhythm again.
Thurmond scratched the bald spot on his head, puzzled at first because Claresta had a better handle on the legalities of matters sometimes than he did. Eventually, he caught on to her ploy. "Oh, gads, yes. Get on it right away, I will?"