The Rakehell Regency Romance Series Boxed Set 5

by MacMurrough, Sorcha

  At least there was her writing. Between her work as an essayist and her histories Juliet could support herself, she was sure. But she needed books, papers, a library…. A decent place to live.

  Well, if Lawrence was just going to abandon her in the country, she would have plenty of opportunity for that. He evidently didn't think much of her domestic skills. Indeed, he seemed utterly indifferent to worldly comforts. He rarely ate, didn't seem to care about heat or clothes or a good bed. Joyless. That was what he was. Utterly joyless.

  But why? In fact, he almost reproached himself for pleasure. He had enjoyed himself with her, she was sure of it. Yet the more they shared, the more he seemed to reprove her and punish himself. Take on more work than before, she thought as he ploughed through his papers with a determined air.

  Her new husband was a puzzle, but not one she was going to be able to solve at once. She had to be patient. She had been warned by her family that one day she might meet a man who was her match. He was not intellectually, certainly, but rather in terms of force of personality. And thus far she had been bested every time.

  But then, Juliet had allowed herself to be bested. She had to pick her battles. She couldn't go toe to toe with him on every last thing. In truth, she didn't want to. She wanted the magic back of that first wonderful night they had been together when he had been witty, charming, and they had had such fun. Had experienced such pleasure, untinged by regret or anger.

  To Juliet's relief, they arrived at the inn where they were to stop the night. He strode out of the carriage without a backward glance, and she heard him order two rooms.

  "I'll have a bath, good fire and hot meal sent up to mine, please. Can you call us at six in the morning?"

  "Very good, sir. And the lady?"

  He shrugged. "That's no lady, that's a stray bitch in heat I found in the road."

  The landlord, to his credit, blushed and looked shamefaced. "But you want a room for her?"

  "Yes, I just said so."

  "Yes, sir. Will there be anything else?"

  "No, I've told you what I need."

  He stormed up the stairs after the maid who said she would show him the way, leaving the landlord looking at the woebegone girl with the most enormous eyes he had ever seen.

  "Have you any luggage, miss?"

  "Just a small bundle, thank you. My husband's things are in the coach, though. I'll just get my own luggage and you can give me a tiny room."

  "He's not said anything about food or owt."

  "I haven't any money. And I don't think I could manage a bite in any case."

  "I'll fetch you some bread and cheese and a ewer of hot water. It's the best I can do. I'm sorry."

  "It's more than I have a right to expect."

  "Has he, well, abducted you, forced you to elope or something? I can send for the authorities," he whispered.

  "No, nothing like that. He is well and truly married to me. I agreed to it. My family was there."

  His pitying look spoke volumes.

  She ran to get the bundle from the boot of the carriage and her clothes, and followed him up to the tiny room he had given her at the back of the inn.

  Once there she availed herself of the hot water and dressed herself in both chemises, all of her petticoats, her wrapper and a clean pair of drawers. She put on both pairs of stockings over her freezing feet and got into bed. She knew she was going to be in trouble if he decided to seek her out later that night, but with no fire in the room and no hot food, there was little else she could do to stay warm. The landlord did however bring her a warming pan and a pair of hot water bottles. When her husband was finished eating she was given the cold remains of the meal on a tray.

  "It isn't much, but better than nothing. I can bring up the scrapings of the pot if there is anything left after all the other guests have dined."

  "No, you've already been more than kind, have put yourself out for me more than I have the right to expect. Thank you."

  "Just leave the tray there. Someone will fetch it later."

  "Thank you. But now that you've brought the bottles and pan I might as well get in and just go to bed."

  "Yes, Miss. Good night, Miss."

  She got into the bed with a heavy heart, and prayed for a good night's sleep and a better day tomorrow.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  It seemed as if Juliet had only been a sleep for a second when she was being shaken awake. "Come, Miss, your husband be just about ready to leave," the landlord whispered.

  "Pardon? What time is it? He said to knock us up at six!"

  "He changed his mind, woke us all at five for hot water and breakfast. He didn't say nowt about you, and now he's striding into the coach."

  "Drat. Can you hold him off for five minutes while I use the chamberpot and take off my clothes?"

  "Take off?" he echoed in confusion.

  But she was already stripping away her wrapper and stockings. He left a hot roll on her table and told her he would stall for time with Lawrence's luggage.

  She bundled her clothes into two piles, one to take with her in the coach, the rest to conceal in the boot, and managed to slip out the back door of the inn and around to the rear. She put the larger of the two bundles in, before moving around to the side of the coach, where her husband was gruffly thanking the landlord and settling up the bill.

  He frowned at the change he was being given. It seemed a most inexpensive inn to him for accommodation and all the extras for two people.

  She scrambled into the coach like a skittish hare and cowered into the corner, clutching her clothes under her cloak. She tried to swallow the last of the roll she had jammed in her cheek without him looking.

  Silence reigned as they got underway. She hardly dared look at him, but as the sun rose she could see he looked unkempt, as if he hadn't slept. In fact, he appeared a damned sight worse than she did, she decided, having caught sight of herself in a small pierglass on the way downstairs. And looked dreadful despite the fact that he had had every comfort at his disposal, a hot meal, a fire.

  "Did you sleep well?" he asked gruffly.

  "Yes, thank you."

  "Did you have all you needed last night?"

  She thought the question deliberately cruel and sarcastic so she nodded. "Yes, thank you. I have no intention of being a burden to you if I can help it."

  The sooner she started earning money the better. But that was going to take some thought and planning. She wished she could do fancy needlework like her sister.

  Since it was too dark for him to resume working on his papers, she suggested, "If you've a mind, I'd still like to hear about the history of tea."

  "Do you recall where I left off?" he asked, his tone surly.

  "We had got to the point where the coffee houses were thriving in London but were no place for women because they were too bawdy, and places where men congregated to do important business."

  "Ah yes, just so." He gave her a long look, shrugged, and took up the thread of the story. "Tea drinking for people with social pretensions became an occasion of great ceremony. It was so expensive, the precious tea leaves were kept in a locked caddy, for which there was only ever one key. Once or twice a week, the lady of the house would unlock the caddy to serve tea as a family treat, or to impress an important guest. The word comes from Cantonese, 'catty,' by the way.

  "The fine porcelain in which the tea was served emphasised the family's wealth, while adding to the sense of ceremony. It was an opportunity for a refined woman to show off her pale skin and delicate bone structure against the translucent purity of the Chinese porcelain. The porcelain too was very expensive, having had to be transported half way around the world without being smashed. The people of the Orient have all sorts of elaborate tea rituals. We've started to develop our own with afternoon tea.

  "In any event, since the fashionable women could not possible go into the coffee houses to buy the tea themselves, they had to send a footman. Inevitably they began to demand better servic
e, and so the better establishments bloomed, whilst others went out of business. The more successful owners bought up the adjoining properties or opened chains of establishments as a result. The better coffee houses became exclusive clubs. The rest were home to the rough and unsavoury elements of city life.

  "But some canny men diversified, and converted the raucous atmosphere of the coffeehouse to a place ladies would like to be seen. Social life in the first half of the eighteenth century became more sophisticated as coffee houses gave way to tea gardens. The tea gardens came in like a vision of paradise: tree-lined avenues, lantern-lit walks, music, dancing, fireworks, and good food accompanied by a fine cup of tea.

  "Tea gardens weren’t just fun, they were a social melting pot. Within these exotic landscapes, royalty and the masses could promenade together. The most famous and long lasting of the eighteenth-century tea gardens are the Vauxhall Gardens. On warm summer evenings, the music of Handel could be heard among the pavilions, arcades, and supper rooms. Vauxhall's rival, Ranelagh Gardens has a boating canal, a so-called Chinese pavilion, and a central, domed rotunda. In 1765, the nine-year-old Mozart actually performed there."

  "Imagine. I've not been to either place myself. They sound like fun."

  He ignored what seemed to be a hint to take her some time. "So England's thirst for tea in the eighteenth-century was growing steadily and there were fortunes to be made, but it could be a bloodthirsty and cutthroat business."

  "Because of the taxes, cost and competition?"

  He nodded. "Untold lives have been lost to the tea trade, including my two cousins in the Far East, which was how my uncle came to send for me to become his heir. People think of tea as a thing of gentility, but the trade is just as rugged as the men on the south coast moonraking.

  "Exorbitant tea duties led to smuggling. High costs encouraged adulteration. And of course, there are the dangers of sailing with the cargoes half way around the world, with monsoons, typhoons, and all sorts of other hazards. Trying to break the monopoly in China also meant inviting a great deal of trouble into my home."

  "Oh dear. I had no idea it was so dangerous, Lawrence."

  He nodded. "Over the years we've lost men to illness, shipwreck, being press-ganged into the Royal Navy. And of course there are captains who might prove untrustworthy, sell the cargo in another port and report it lost or pirated.

  "So we would let the captains engage in so-called private trade. Instead of just a flat wage, we would give them other goods which they could buy and sell on their own behalf. The goods had to be non-perishable because they were stowed in the lower parts of the ship, below the level where it was safe to store tea.

  "So most officers extracted maximum value from their private trade allowance by importing fine Chinese porcelain because it was so expensive, in such high demand, and would resist sea water. But the smuggling was so lucrative it could never be stamped out. I know my men, but I'm sure we've lost quite a few tea chests this way."

  "Really? How do they do it so easily?" she asked, fascinated by all he was telling her.

  He shrugged. "Good organisation. The same as with wine or any other goods coming into England the government has put a high duty on. Landing a boatload of tea on some deserted shoreline is an easy way to make a quick profit. So easy that whole communities became involved in the trade, especially in Holland and Portugal.

  "From here it is a quick trip to the Bay of Biscay or across the North Sea, and a small fortune can be made, enough to share around everyone involved. And there would be even more profit once the product was diluted. You think you know tea, but I'd say most of what you've had has been adulterated in one way or another. Perhaps even a few times depending on how many sets of hands it's passed through."

  "Adulterated?" she asked curiously, settling in her seat more snugly. "How?"

  "Canny tea merchants exploit customers’ ignorance by diluting the product with either inferior teas, or with something altogether less palatable, twigs and dried leaves being the most obvious. But I've even heard of powdered sheep droppings being used. Richard Twining, one of the most famous tea traders here in England, published an entire book on the subject in about 1780. In it he claimed there was a certain village near London almost entirely devoted to the production of material for adulterating tea, and that they produced twenty tonnes of the stuff each year. But just think of the rewards. That's why I pre-package all of my tea, which is sealed with a special wax seal. All the packages are counted. And need to match the tallies. I don't want an adulterated product with my name on it."

  "I see. That's very wise of you."

  He nodded. "Wise, and principled. I've not had an easy life, but I've never cheated anyone to get a better one."

  "I'm sure not," she said quietly, knowing he was thinking of her brother as he spoke.

  He looked so angry she wondered if she should continue the conversation, but anything was better than his glowering silence.

  "So tell me more about your ships. Do they just trade with England, or other places? And what is it like to travel so far, for so many months at sea?"

  "It's about a two-year round trip to China and back. The weather, hunger and scurvy and other horrid diseases caused by indifferent food and water are unpredictable foes. Even more dangerous than the weather is the nefariousness of man. I know my ships can always put in to St. Helena, a British-run colony, but anyone who's ever travelled the high seas can tell you Madagascar is nothing more than a lawless haven for pirates."

  "Really? Have you lost any ships to them?"

  "Not me. My uncle when he was in charge. My cousin's ship was lost that way. My ships are well-supplied with decent food and water, my men are well armed, and they all travel in convoy for safety."

  "So all of your organisation and astuteness has paid off. That's how you've come to be so successful."

  "That and the fact that the East India Company is a lot more loose than it used to be, so their officials can be bought off to look the other way, and the fact that the government, for reasons known only to themselves, have not imposed any duty on Indian tea. In any case they lost their monopoly on Indian trade in 1813, so I've been free to do as I like ever since."

  "Oh my! You must be vastly wealthy, then."

  "I'm working on it," he said with a small smile.

  "I would say you've already succeeded. But you don't seem to have had a very easy time of it. Between outwitting the Chinese and setting up your own plantations and harvesting the Assam tea, I think you called it, you must work eighteen or twenty hours a day."

  "More at times. But I do have Nash to help. He takes just as much of an active interest as I do."

  "And do you let him have some to trade himself?"

  He nodded. "A bit. But it's Howard tea, and I want to advance the family's name. If we could get royal patronage it would make me even more prominent than Twinings."

  She gave her honest opinion then, despite her nervousness around this stranger who had so suddenly become her husband. "You sound as though you're going about it in the right way. Being honest and scrupulous and offering a high-quality product. Now all you would need would be an appropriate parlour for people to sample all of your different teas, a place both men and women could be pleased to visit. And you could make up little sample bags of muslin or some such other fabric, with a little drawstring, for your salespeople to take around."

  "Hmm." He pondered her suggestions for a moment in silence, staring out at the landscape as it flew by. "But I'm a long way away from setting up the tea rooms yet, let alone having a large sale force at my disposal."

  "Well, there are many people who I am sure would like to try your tea, who might not otherwise take the trouble to call. You know, habits become ingrained and so on. You can get them to try the tea by passing it through the doors in the better neighbourhoods and making sure each little bag has a card attached which gives the name of the shop.

  "You can get some handy women interested in extra money to ma
ke them up for you. You can certainly take out some inexpensive advertisements in the Times, but tasting is believing. As with wine," she added, wondering if he might think better of her and her suggestions if he knew of her own commercial experience.

  He frowned at her now. "I'm sure. Though decent women in our society don't usually know all about wine. But then, you're not exactly decent, are you? I'm sure you've had enough men sample your wares."

  "Back to the scurrilous insults again?" she said wearily. "And what is wrong with knowing about wine any more than about tea? I should like to think I'm intelligent enough to learn about both."

  "Why bother?" he said dismissively. "You're nothing more than a possession, an ornament in my household now. I have no use for you as anything other than that."