A Commercial Enterprise

by Sandra Heath

  An hour or more of this passed, and still nothing had happened, and Caroline began to think they were not planning anything after all, for they were all gathered in the vestibule waiting for their carriages. But then it happened, and Caroline was quite unable to prevent disaster from striking.

  With a sudden squeal of disgust and horror, Marcia pointed a quivering finger toward the shadowy inner hall. “Look! There’s a rat! Oh, Perry, do you see it?” She clutched her brother’s arm fearfully.

  The other ladies gasped and moved closer together, staring in the direction she pointed, but no one could see anything— except Lord Fynehurst, of course. “By Gad, yeth!” he cried. “Yeth, I do thee it!”

  The ladies squeaked a little and everyone else within hearing had suddenly fallen silent. Caroline stared in dismay, for there was no rat, she knew that quite well, but how to convince everyone else that Marcia and her loathsome brother were “mistaken”?

  Lord Fynehurst held a perfumed handkerchief to his nose. “I thay, what a bad show,” he murmured, all but shuddering. “One don’t expect to find vermin in platheth like thith! Jennifer, m’dear, you can’t pothibly still be thinking of marryin’ here! No, ‘pon me thoul, you can’t!”

  Jennifer was at a loss for words, glancing unhappily in Caroline’s direction, but at that moment a smiling Mrs. Hollingsworth emerged from the inner hall, her large gray cat in her arms. “I’m so sorry Tibby startled you, my lady,” she said to a stony-faced Marcia. “The naughty creature slipped past me and he knows that he should not! Large and gray he may be, but he’s certainly no rat, I assure you.” She smiled, stroking the purring cat.

  The ladies relaxed quite visibly, some of them laughing a little, and the gentlemen exchanged knowing glances; how typical of a woman, those glances said, taking to the vapors over an imagined rat!

  Marcia gave the housekeeper a positively poisonous glance. “Do you expect me to believe I mistook that great animal for a rat?”

  “It was only the cat, my lady,” replied Mrs. Hollingsworth. “And from a distance he probably does look a little—”

  “I saw a rat,” repeated Marcia, two specks of high color touching her pale cheeks.

  Lord Fynehurst thought the whole thing was better left.

  “Come now, Marthia,” he murmured uncomfortably. “It wath the wretched cat.”

  Jennifer smiled brightly then. “Of course it was, Marcia, you don’t imagine I could have lived here for some weeks now and failed to notice if the place was infested with rats.”

  Several chuckles greeted this, and Marcia knew that she had lost the moment. Without another word, she took her brother’s arm and swept out of the hotel, but at the door she paused to glance back spitefully at Caroline. The future Lady Seymour had not finished with the Lexham Hotel and its mistress yet.

  Only one thing more happened to mar the day, and it had nothing to do with the Lexham Hotel; it concerned the contents of a specially printed late edition of a newspaper. It seemed that in Paris at the beginning of February, almost a month earlier, there had been another attempt on the life of the Duke of Wellington, several shots being fired at his carriage. The government had decided to keep the whole thing suppressed, and would have had an indiscreet individual not shown a private letter from someone in Paris to an interested London newspaper.

  Jennifer became very pale and upset at the news, although she strove to conceal the fact from everyone, but Caroline realized only too well how Hal’s sister had received the story. Caroline also realized now what lay behind his urgent journey back to London, the journey which had brought him into her life. He had known about the assassination attempt within days.

  Glancing at Jennifer again, Caroline knew that Jennifer had guessed this to be the case as well, his efforts to soothe his sister’s anxieties about the duke’s forthcoming visit to London were now in vain. Catching Caroline’s eyes, Jennifer smiled wanly, but she could not conceal her fears for her brother’s life. Hal had not seen fit to mention this attempt on the duke’s life—what else might he not have seen fit to mention?

  Chapter 20

  The rest of the day passed without incident—and also without the promised visit from Hal, which inevitably led Caroline to wonder if he was engaged upon something connected with the news now revealed.

  It was past midnight before the last of the guests had departed, and for the Lexham Hotel at least the day had been an unmitigated triumph. Even to Caroline’s cautious heart it seemed that the enterprise must go from strength to strength, for not only could it now boast Jennifer’s wedding, it could also boast reservations for several anniversary dinners and a large reunion of officers who had served under Nelson. A number of rooms and two apartments had been reserved, and apart from the sabotage attempt by Marcia and her brother, not a single word of criticism had been uttered against the hotel throughout the day.

  But then, as Caroline realized only too well, not a great many people were aware yet that the Lexham could not offer French cuisine; that discovery might put a different complexion upon the whole venture. Somehow she must find another chef; she and Mrs. Hollingsworth would redouble their efforts in the morning and keep their fingers crossed.

  As the clocks struck half past midnight, Caroline sat at the escritoire in her private apartment, going over the arrangements for the wedding. Gunter’s was to provide the cake, the whole of the feast, and was to send a man known as a glacier to carve decorations from the solid block of ice reposing in the cellar. Among these decorations would be vases of the flowers and ferns ordered from the flower market at Covent Garden. From the same ice would come the nests for the butter, and the sorbets and cream ices which would be made by Gunter’s main cook and his eight attendants.

  The wedding over, the bride and her new husband would go away in a white, flower-garlanded landau, drawn by four cream horses with rosettes and white satin bows on their harness, driven by a postilion clad entirely in white. This magical departure for distant Venice would be the perfect ending to a fairytale day—but for Caroline at least, it would be spoiled if she could not provide for Jennifer the same sort of magnificent feast Gaspard Duvall would have prepared for her at the Oxenford.

  Pushing the papers away, Caroline leaned back in her chair. Jennifer had gone out of her way to try to reassure her that it did not matter that Gunter’s was to do the catering, but Caroline still felt that it did matter. There was no point in regretting it, though, for the wedding must go ahead. Thinking about Jennifer brought Caroline to ponder the day’s news again. She hoped that Hal had managed to charm his way around his worried sister with whom he was dining at Lord Fynehurst’s.

  Getting wearily to her feet, Caroline decided that she had pored over lists and figures from Messieurs Coutts, the bankers, for long enough. It had been a long and tiring day, and it was now well past time to retire to her bed. Even as the thought entered her head, however, she heard a loud noise from the vestibule. Someone was shouting! Her eyes widened as she heard steps approaching her door, then the porter called out in warning, “Miss Lexham! Miss Lexham! He’s coming in, I can’t stop him!”

  At this the door opened, and Dominic pushed his way in. His face was flushed, he was a little unsteady, and she perceived immediately that he was the worse for drink. “Good evening, cousin,” he said, sweeping a scornful bow.

  The anxious porter appeared in the doorway behind him. “I tried to prevent him, Miss Lexham—”

  “It will be all right, you may go,” she said, still looking warily at her cousin.

  “Very well, Miss Lexham, but I’ll be within hearing if you need me.”

  “Thank you.”

  The porter went out, being careful to leave the door open. Dominic gave her a contemptuous glance. “My, my, aren’t we the fine lady now?”

  “Did you have something of importance to say to me, sir?”

  “Oh, yes, sweetheart, a great deal.”

  “Please say it, and then leave.”

  “You seem to f
orget, my dear, that you were the one who was supposed to leave—but you are still here, aren’t you?”

  “I see no reason to do your bidding, my lord earl, or to bow to your wicked plots against me.”

  His eyes darkened. “Guard your tongue!”

  “Nor do I have to stand here and listen to your abuse, sir. You obviously have nothing of consequence to say, so I ask you to leave.”

  He gave a cold laugh. “Leave my own house?”

  “It isn’t your house, sirrah, not yet.”

  “You’ve been very clever, haven’t you? Somehow you’ve dreamed up this way of complying with my father’s will—but have you done so legally, eh? That is the question.”

  “What do you mean?”

  His smile was chilling. “How have you financed this little enterprise? Has Seymour filled your purse? And if he has, what manner of payment did he receive? Has he enjoyed your favors, my dear coz?”

  She was shaking with fury. “Get out of here, sirrah!”

  “You haven’t answered my question,” he said, coming closer.

  “Nor do I intend to. Leave this house immediately, my lord, or I will have you thrown out.”

  “I think not,” he murmured softly, his eyes glittering in the candlelight.

  A third voice broke into the silence. “On the contrary, Lexham, I think your ejection from these premises is imminent.” It was Hal, who not for the first time had arrived at a very opportune moment.

  Dominic whirled about with an oath. “Seymour! Am I to presume that you have carte blanche to enter these private apartments?”

  Toying with the frill protruding from his cuff, Hal came a little nearer, his hazel eyes very cold. “Keep a civil tongue in your fool head, Lexham, for I am not in the best of moods and I can be very touchy when slurs are cast upon the characters of ladies.”

  Dominic swallowed but held his ground. “By what right do you play the master in this house, Seymour?”

  “I merely act upon the wishes of the mistress of the house.”

  “Mistress?” Dominic gave a laugh which was almost a sneer. “Perhaps that is the perfect word to describe my fair cousin!”

  With a swiftness that left Dominic breathless, Hal seized him by the lapels and then thrust him disdainfully away. “I will spare you this time, my maraschino lordling, but only because you are in drink. However, be warned that if you cause Miss Lexham one more moment of distress, you will answer to me. Is that quite clear?”

  Dominic clutched at a table to steady himself. “You will regret this, Seymour!”

  “I doubt that very much,” replied Hal coolly. “Now, get out.”

  For a moment Dominic considered defying this command, but then discretion had the better part of valor, and he strode from the room with as much dignity as he could muster, pushing between the porter and the footmen who waited there.

  The door closed, and Hal turned to Caroline. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes,” she replied, but her voice was a little shaky.

  “Come and sit down,” he said quickly, leading her to a chair by the fire.

  She smiled. “It seems to be my lot in life to be continually indebted to you, Sir Henry.”

  “Maybe it is my good fortune to be so often able to come to your rescue,” he replied.

  “Why did you come here?”

  “I was under the impression that you expected me.”

  “At this hour?”

  He smiled. “I would have come earlier, but—er, something came up.”

  “Sir Henry, it came up in Paris at the beginning of last month.”

  “So it did,” he murmured, lounging back on the sofa opposite her. A half smile touched his fine lips as he surveyed her. “Very well, I will be honest with you. I called here at this hour because a little bird whispered to me at Fynehurst’s that Lexham was in his cups at Watier’s and threatening to call upon you. I deemed it the honorable thing for me to once again become St. George and dash to the rescue of the fair damsel who was undoubtedly about to become distressed.”

  She smiled a little. “I am truly grateful, Sir Henry, and I am very sorry that my affairs have interfered with your enjoyment of your dinner.”

  “Say rather that your affairs saved me from that dinner, which was far from being up to Duvall’s standards,”

  “Shall you dine at the Oxenford instead then?”

  “I begin to think you believe me to be operated entirely by the moods of my stomach, Miss Lexham.”

  “Oh, I did not mean—”

  He smiled again. “I know. However, I must forgo Duvall’s genius as well, for he is most unwell tonight—or so I am told.”

  “I trust it is nothing serious.”

  His tone was bland. “No, nothing serious. A headache, I believe. I understand that there are times when he is prey to such indispositions.”

  “I am sorry to hear that, for he is such a charming man.”

  His eyes were half closed as he looked at her. “Charming, but disconcertingly attached to the Oxenford. Jennifer told me what happened.”

  She didn’t reply, for she was thinking suddenly that Gaspard Duvall was not the only man who was disconcertingly attached to the Oxenford. The thought made her feel suddenly uncomfortable, for it reminded her of what Marcia had said—of what Hal had said to his future wife about the woman he had conveyed so kindly to London in his carriage. Nervously she stood. “I will not detain you any longer, Sir Henry, for I am sure you have much to do—”

  He seemed amused. “First Lexham is ejected, and now it is my turn?”

  “I did not mean to sound as if I were ejecting you, Sir Henry,” she replied quickly.

  “I sincerely hope not, especially as I was expecting to share a bottle of champagne with you. Or had you forgotten?”

  She stared at him. “N-no, of course I hadn’t forgotten.”

  “Excellent, then you had best send someone to bring it, had you not?”

  Not knowing quite what to make of him, she picked up the little bell, and in a moment one of the footmen appeared. She instructed him to bring champagne and two glasses.

  Hal leaned back. “Congratulations are in order I believe, Miss Lexham.”

  “Congratulations?” Her heart sank.

  “Why yes. I must congratulate you upon the success of your grand opening, and you must congratulate me upon the success of my horse.”

  She could only look at him, quite taken aback. “Your horse?”

  “Foxleaze. Come now, Miss Lexham, you surely recall Foxleaze! As I remember, you asked me about the wretched nag during our journey from Devon. I heard a whisper yesterday that the beast had won a famous victory in America, and today I had that news officially confirmed in a letter.”

  “Oh!” She could not help the way her eyes brightened. “Why, of course I congratulate you, Sir Henry.”

  “What did you think I was going to refer to, Miss Lexham?”

  She colored a little. “I don’t really know, Sir Henry.”

  The footman returned with the champagne, and when he had gone Hal poured out two glasses, pushing one into her hand and then raising his own. “To the success of the Lexham Hotel—and to the continuing success of my nag.”

  “To the success of both.”

  He nodded appreciatively at the champagne. “One thing old Lexham could be counted on for was his excellent taste in things alcoholic, especially champagne. Jennifer told me that things went decidedly well today, with many a rosy glow imparted by this same beverage.”

  “I hope things went well because this hotel deserved its praise too, Sir Henry.”

  “No doubt that was mostly the case,” he replied, smiling at her. “All the effort you went to deserved to be rewarded.”

  “How is Jennifer tonight?”

  He lowered his glass. “Why do you ask?”

  “I think you know why, Sir Henry.”

  “Are you on the point of quizzing me, Caro Lexham?”

  “Yes, Sir Henry, I do believ
e I am.”

  “You can be most disconcerting at times.”

  “Don’t try to avoid the subject.”

  He smiled. “How tenacious you are. Very well, I do know why you ask, and Jennifer is now quite at ease again. Will that do for an answer?”

  “Partly.”

  “And what does that mean?”

  “It means that I am still concerned for Jennifer. She worries a great deal about you, Sir Henry, and I want you to tell me that her fears are unjustified.”

  His hazel eyes were almost lazy as they studied her. “And if I decline to answer?”

  “That will be answer enough in itself, Sir Henry.”

  He laughed a little. “So it will.”

  “I don’t wish to be disagreeable or difficult, Sir Henry, but I regard your sister as my dearest friend, and if there is anything I can do to help her, to make things easier for her, then I will do it gladly. Forgive me if I speak out of turn, but you are on your own admission involved in the welfare of the Duke of Wellington, and I believe that you were in full possession of the facts concerning this latest attempt on his life almost as soon as it happened. She realizes that as well as I do, and it is only natural now that she should be concerned about what might happen when the duke visits London soon. Is she right to be so concerned?”

  “I will say this. There is no reason to suppose that this forthcoming visit will offer any danger to me. Will that suffice?”

  “It is no more or less than you said before, Sir Henry. You, sir, should be a politician, for you are certainly master of the art of appearing to say something important when in actual fact you have said nothing at all.”

  “What a waspish tongue you have at times, Miss Lexham.”

  “It is no more than your answer deserves.”

  He smiled. “Very well, I will try again. What makes you think there will be any danger? This is London, not Brussels or Paris, and it is on the other side of the Channel that the wicked Bonapartists lie.”