by Sophia James
Cameron was leaning over as though in pain, his right arm held to his chest.
‘What hurts?’
‘My...pride.’ As he straightened Daniel saw the grimace on his face.
‘Did you know them?’
The older man nodded. ‘They have been demanding money from me.’
‘Why?’
‘My business is lucrative and they want a slice. One of their number also used to work for me in the warehouse until I fired him for stealing and I suspect he holds a grudge.’ He dabbed at his nose with his dislodged shirt tails. ‘If you had not come...’
‘I will take you home if you give me your direction.’
As Cameron was about to argue Daniel called his driver down from the high seat to give a hand and ten minutes later they were pulling up in front of a large town house in Grosvenor Square.
No little fortune here then, Daniel thought, as he helped Cameron out. He noticed blood had left a stain on the leather seat at about the same time as the other did.
‘If you wait, I will find coinage to cover the cost of the cleaning.’
‘It is of no significance.’
Cameron was now leaning on him heavily and he could feel the shaking of fright beginning to settle. As they came to the front door the sound of running feet was heard.
‘Are you hurt?’ Worry coated the voice of the woman who came into view, the same woman he had seen in the carriage, anger on her face creasing it badly. Cameron’s daughter by his own admission, though she looked nothing at all like him.
‘What on earth happened?’ She reached his side and all but pulled her father out of Daniel’s grasp, the sharp edge of a fingernail carving skin away from his wrist. If she noticed, she did not show it, merely helping her father backwards to a sofa that was perched to one side of the wide lobby.
‘Sit down. You look blue around the mouth.’ Her own mouth was a tight line of consternation, her dark eyes flashing up at Daniel in question. ‘Who did this?’
‘A group of blackguards waylaid him not far from Tattersall’s.’
‘You did not wait for the carriage, Papa. You said to send it at two, did you not?’ As if on cue the big clock in another corner struck the half hour of one-thirty.
‘I h-had done all I needed to at the auction house.’
‘You sold the horses?’ A new tone entered her voice, one of censure and irritation. Lord, the girl was a harpy and with no introduction Daniel was hard pressed to say anything.
Robert Cameron was shaking his head and looking worse by the moment. ‘The Earl of Montcliffe here helped me and brought me home. Lord Montcliffe, may I present my daughter, Amethyst Amelia Cameron, to you.’
Amethyst? His jewel? She did not suit such a name at all with her dark eyes and angry mouth. Her hair was a strange lustreless brown pulled back into a bun that was fashioned in the most unflattering of styles.
As if she could read his mind her expression tightened and she barely acknowledged the introduction. The clothes she wore were serviceable homespun without embellishment. The sort of dress one might wear to a dowdy funeral, the cloth of black showing up her skin as sallow and underlining the smudged circles beneath her eyes as dark bruises.
She was not a beauty, but she was not plain either. Beneath the downcast glance he caught a flash of anger, abrupt and sudden.
Tipping his head at her, he was surprised when she flushed a bright beet red, though she looked away, ringing for the butler to fetch a physician immediately.
Efficient and calm now, save for the remaining stain of red on her cheeks which made her look vulnerable. He wanted to lay his hand upon her arm and tell her...what? He shook the thought away and concentrated on her father, whose eyes were glued to his daughter, a speculative glance within them.
‘I hope you will recover without any ill effects, sir,’ Daniel said. ‘If you wish to take such an assault further with the law and need verification of exactly what I saw, you may call on me.’
Extracting his card from a thin leather holder in his pocket, he handed it over.
‘Thank you for your help, Lord Montcliffe, I have appreciated it greatly.’
Acknowledging the gratitude, Daniel turned to leave, though the daughter, after fumbling in a drawer to one side of the room, came forth with a wad of bank notes.
‘I hope this might help in the way of thanks.’ Her voice was no longer shrill, but the insult of payment was all Daniel could think of.
Without another word he turned and walked from the room, the butler hurrying to show him the way out.
* * *
‘Perhaps I insulted him, Papa, by offering him reimbursement for his trouble?’ Amethyst looked down at the substantial sum in her hands. Every other member of her acquaintance would have taken it and with the thankfulness that was intended, but not the Earl of Montcliffe.
She was irritated with herself for allowing such an awkward meeting, but she had been more than surprised to see the man outside the Tattersall’s auction rooms right here in their town house. She knew Lord Montcliffe had noticed her embarrassment and she chastised herself for even thinking of giving him reimbursement for a deed of honour.
Such a reward belittled the act, she supposed, by reducing it to terms of cold hard cash. She had heard that the ton rarely even carried money, the tarnish of trade and commerce resting instead with their accompanying helpers and sycophants.
Traders and merchants. Even with a princely sum made from hard work, good luck and risky ventures, the Camerons would not be accepted into any of the higher echelons of society.
Well, she could not care. No doubt Lord Montcliffe would be mulling over his encounter with them on the carriage ride home before sharing the story of her clumsy attempt at recompense with his peers at some exclusive ‘members only’ club in the nicer areas of the city. She was so very glad he was gone.
‘You need to inform the constabulary of this assault, Papa. You cannot keep pretending that this matter will simply disappear.’
‘You think I should pay them?’ For the first time ever Amethyst heard a tone in her father’s voice that suggested complete uncertainty and she did not like it at all.
‘No, of course not. Pay once and they will haunt us indefinitely. These people need to be cut off at the roots.’
Her father laughed. ‘Sometimes, Amethyst, you are so like your mother that it brings tears to my eyes.’ He took in a breath. ‘But if Susannah were here I think she would be scolding me for involving you so much in the business that you have forgotten about living.’ The handkerchief pressed to his nose still showed blood appearing through the thickness of the layers of cotton and Amethyst hoped that the physician might hurry. ‘A man like Montcliffe would make you smile again.’
‘I am quite happy as I am, Papa, and as Montcliffe must have every single woman’s heart in London a-racing he would hardly be interested in mine.’
The strange glint in his eyes was worrying for Amethyst knew her father well enough to know just what that meant.
* * *
She wandered across to the mews behind the house after her father had retired. Robert had bought in this particular area in London because of the proximity of the stables that held enough room to house livestock.
The stablemaster, Ralph Moore, was just finishing brushing down Midnight, a large black stallion her father had acquired in the past year.
‘It is a sad day when the cream of our livestock is left to languish in the Tattersall’s stable on view for sale, Miss Cameron. I know it is not my place to criticise anything your father does and he has been a kind and mindful master, but with a bit of patience and some good luck the greys could be the start of a line of horses England has not seen the likes of before. I have spoken of it with him, but he does not want to even consider such a proposition any longer.’
Such words made Amethyst wary. Why would her father suddenly not want the pleasure of breeding his Arabian pair, something he had always spoken of with much anticipation an
d delight?
Tonight she felt restless and uncertain and the dangerous beauty of Lord Montcliffe came to mind. She wished she had not blushed so ridiculously when he had looked across at her or seen the returning humour in his eyes. The heat of shame made her scalp itch and, reaching up, she snatched the offending wig from her head and shook out the short curls beneath it, enjoying the freedom.
It was finally getting longer. Almost six inches now. Curlier than it had ever been and a much lighter colour. Soon she would be able to dispense with the hairpiece altogether.
If she had been at Dunstan, she would have saddled up one of the horses and raced towards the far hills behind the house. Here in London the moon was high and full, tugging at her patience, stretching the limit of her city manners, making her feel housebound and edgy.
A noise had her turning.
‘When I could not find you I knew you would be here.’
Her father joined her at the side of Midnight’s stall, Ralph Moore’s departure a few moments prior to his room upstairs allowing them privacy. Her father’s left eye was darkened and his nose swollen.
‘I imagined you would have gone up to bed early after such a dreadful day,’ she said.
‘Slumber is harder to find as the years march on.’ His glance rose to her hair. ‘It is nice to see you without the ugly wig, my love, for your skin appears a much better colour without it.’
Shaking her head, Amethyst looked down at the limp brown hairpiece in her hands. ‘I should have a new one ordered, I suppose, but it seems so frivolous for the small amount of time I still have need of it.’
‘Well, it is good to see you happier, my dear. Perhaps the exchange with Lord Montcliffe has given you some vitality? He is a good man and strong. Mr Tattersall spoke of him highly as a lord who can be relied upon.’
‘Relied on to do what?’
‘To look after you. I shall not be around for ever and...’
His sentiments petered away as she began to laugh out loud. ‘I hardly think that was what Mr Tattersall was referring to. Besides, an exalted lord of the realm would have no mind to mingle with a woman from trade.’
‘But if he did, my love, would you have the inclination to consider him as a husband?’
‘Husband?’ Now all humour fled. ‘My God, Papa, you cannot be serious for he would never marry me. Not for all the gold in England. Men like Lord Montcliffe marry women exactly like them. Rich. Beautiful. Young. Well connected. Debutantes who have a world of possibilities at their feet.’
Her father shook his head. ‘I disagree with you. Your mother taught me that those things are not the most important qualities to ensure the success of a union. She said that a partner with an alert and interested mind is worth much more than one of little thought or originality. Besides, we have accrued enough money to lure even the loftiest of the lords of the ton.’
His words seeped into her astonishment. ‘Why are you saying these things, Papa? Why would you be even thinking of them? I am a widow and I am almost twenty-seven years old. My chances of such marital bliss are long since passed and I have accepted that they are.’
In the moonlight her father’s face looked older and infinitely sadder. As he leant forward to take her hand Amethyst felt her heart lurch in worry, the certainty of what he was about to tell her etched into fright.
Midnight’s breath in the moonlight, the call of an owl far off in the greenness of the park, a carriage wending its way home along Upper Brook Street at the end of another busy night. The sounds of a normal and ordinary late evening, everything in place, settling in and waiting for the dawn, allowing all that had happened through the day to be assimilated by a gentle darkness.
The far edge of happiness is here, Amethyst thought. Here, before the crack of change opens up to swallow it. She knew what he would say for she could see it in his eyes.
‘I am seriously unwell, my dear. The doctor does not expect my heart to last out the year in the shape it is in. He advised me to settle my affairs and make certain everything is in order.’
Worse than a crack. An abyss unending and deep. Her hands closed about his, the chill in his thin fingers underlying everything. She could not even negate all he said and the reply she was about to give him was driven into silence by fear.
‘My one and only prayer is that the Lord Above in His Infinite Wisdom might grant me the promise of knowing you are safe, Amethyst. Safe and married to a man who would not forsake you. Lord Montcliffe is the first man I have seen you look at since Gerald Whitely. He is well regarded by everyone who knows him and it is rumoured that his financial position is somewhat shaky. We could help him.’
Stop, she should have said. Stop all this nonsense now. But in the shafts of light she registered something in her father’s eyes that she had not seen in a long, long time. Hope, if she could name it; hope of a future for her, even if he was not in it.
The gift of a place and a family, that was what he was trying to give her. There was no thought of greed or power or station. No inkling of a crazed want to surge up the social ladder, either. It was only his love that fostered such thoughts.
‘Would you listen with your intellect to what I have to ask you, my love, and perhaps your heart as well?’ he asked.
As much as she wanted to shake her head and tell him to stop, she found herself acquiescing.
‘There is only us now, the last of the Camerons, and the world is not an easy place to be left alone. I want you to be guarded and cared for by an honourable man, a man who would ward away danger. I want this more than I have ever wanted anything in my life before, Amethyst. If I knew you were safe, it would mean I could enjoy what is left of my life in peace. If I could go to your mother in Heaven and know that I had done my very best to keep you protected, then I would be a happy man. Susannah instructed me to see you lived well in her last breath of life and if it is the final thing that I can do for her then, by God, I am willing to try.’
Crack. Crack crack. Like ice on a winter lake, Amethyst’s heart was breaking piece by piece as he spoke.
Chapter Two
‘There is someone to see you, Lord Montcliffe. A tradesman by the name of Mr Robert Cameron and he is most insistent that he be allowed to come inside.’
‘Send him in.’
‘Through the front door, my lord?’ His butler’s tone was censorious.
‘Indeed.’
‘Very well, my lord.’
It had been a couple of weeks since the contretemps at Hyde Park Corner and Daniel wondered what on earth Cameron might want from him. The Arabian greys had been pulled from auction the day after they had last spoken and the small bit of investigation he had commissioned on the character of the man had been most informative.
Mr Robert Cameron was a London merchant who was well heeled and wily. He owned most of the shares in a shipping line trading timber between England and the Americas, his move into importing taking place across the past eight or so years, and he was doing more than well.
However, when the door opened again and Cameron came through, Daniel was shocked.
The man of a little over a fortnight ago was thinner and more pallid, the bruising around his eyes darker.
‘Thank you for seeing me, Lord Montcliffe.’ Cameron waited as the servant departed the room, peering about to see no others lingered in the background of the substantial library. ‘Might I speak very frankly to you and in complete confidence, my lord?’
Interest flickered. ‘You may, but please take a seat.’ He gestured to the leather wingchair nearby for Cameron looked more than unsteady on his feet.
‘No. I would rather stand, my lord. There are words I need to say that require fortitude, if you will, and a sitting position may lessen my resolve.’
Daniel nodded and waited as the other collected himself. He could think of no reason whatsoever for the furtive secrecy or the tense manner of the man.
‘What I am about to offer, Lord Montcliffe, must not leave the confines of this room,
no matter what you might think of it. Will you give me your word as a gentleman on that whether you accept my proposal or not?’
‘It isn’t outside of the law?’
‘No, my lord.’
‘Then you have my word.’
‘Might I ask for a drink before I begin?’
‘Certainly. Brandy?’
‘Thank you.’
Pouring two generous glasses, Daniel passed one over, waiting as the older man readied himself to speak.
‘My health is not as it was, my lord. In fact, I think it fair to say that I am not long for this world.’ He held up his hand as Daniel went to interrupt. ‘It is not condolences I am after, my lord. I only tell you this because the lack of months left to me owe a good part to what I propose to relate to you next.’
Taking a deep swallow of his brandy, Cameron wiped his mouth with his hands. Labourers hands with wide calluses and small healed injuries. The hands of someone used to many long hours of manual work.
‘I want to bequeath the pair of greys to you, my lord. I know you will love them in the same manner as I do and that they will not be sold on, so to speak, for a quick financial profit. Mick and Maisie need a home that will nurture them and I have no doubts you shall do just that. I would also prefer their names to stay just as they are as the Grecian ones suggested by Mr Tattersall didn’t appeal to me at all.’
‘I could not accept such an offer, Mr Cameron, and have not the means to buy them from you at this moment. Besides, it is unheard of to give a complete stranger such a valuable thing,’ Daniel replied, taken aback.
For the first time Cameron smiled. ‘But you see, my lord, I can do just as I will. Great wealth produces a sense of egocentricity and allows a freedom that is undeniable. I can bequeath anything I like to anybody I want and I wish for you to have my greys.’
Daniel tried to ignore the flare of excitement that started building inside him. With such horses he could begin to slowly recoup a little of the family fortune by running a breeding programme at Montcliffe Manor that would be the envy of society. But he stopped himself. There had to be a catch here somewhere, for by all accounts Cameron was a shrewd businessman and a successful one at that.