“Hello, dear.” His mother greeted him with a smile from her chair before the hearth.
“Enjoying the fire?” he asked as he bent to kiss her cheek.
“It’s a lovely way to end the day, don’t you think? Though it reminds me of your father. We often sat together before the fire to enjoy the warmth and share our days.”
“I remember.” Her remark reminded him of Lillian’s comment about adjusting his expectations of how long grief might last. “Do you like those reminders or do you prefer to avoid them?”
She sighed as she stared into flames. “They were too painful at first, but a few of them bring me comfort now. I suppose it depends on the day.”
“Time eases the edges of pain but doesn’t take away the blow.”
His mother blinked back tears. “That is a poignant truth.” She reached out to squeeze his hand. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“Then it’s a good thing we have each other as I wouldn’t know what to do without you either.”
She smiled as he’d intended.
“Might I bring you an aperitif? Sherry, perhaps?” Though he disliked the idea of offering her a drink, the tradition had been cast long ago, and it was difficult to steer away from it.
“I’d like something a little stronger. Perhaps a glass of Madeira.”
He poured her a small portion of the dry wine, choosing Marsala for himself, and took the chair beside her. “Did you enjoy the tea this afternoon?”
“More than I expected. Gatherings of smaller sizes allow for better conversations, don’t you think?”
They visited about inconsequential things, something they didn’t always take the time to do.
“What do you think of Lady Lillian?” Elijah asked when the silence grew long.
“I find her a delight. It’s refreshing to speak with someone her age who can put more than two words together at a time. I’m surprised you didn’t meet her when you were in the country last autumn. I believe she’s from the area you visited.”
He frowned. “I don’t think I would’ve forgotten her if I had.” That hadn’t been a very pleasant time. He’d visited the area with a friend, attended a few parties, and met far too many people. Between overindulging and his grief, he didn’t remember much of it.
The months following his father’s death had been a time to be endured rather than lived. The social events he’d attended were nothing he was proud of because of his own behavior. The numbness alcohol provided had come at a high cost. He’d sought solace in women as well but hadn’t found it. He’d left his mother alone to deal with her grief. But staying in London had been impossible when everything reminded him of his father.
Thank goodness his mother had sent a message requesting his presence. He’d returned home to find she’d dealt with her grief nearly as poorly as he had. She’d lost weight, avoided contact with friends, and drank far too much.
Lillian was right. It took time to find a new version of what normal life was like. After so many years of having someone in one’s life, their absence left a gaping hole.
“We’re still attending Lord and Lady Patterson’s event tomorrow evening?” he asked.
“The soiree? Yes, I believe so.”
“Why are they calling it a soiree?”
“I have it on good authority that they’re throwing the party to keep up appearances, but their finances are in shambles. Lady Patterson is hoping the smaller gathering suggests exclusivity but costs less.”
“I’m sorry to hear of their troubles.”
“They still have their eye on you for a match with their daughter, Lady Margaret. Perhaps you shouldn’t attend.”
Elijah sighed. “I’m in no rush to marry, and in all honesty, the numerous ladies suddenly interested in me are disturbing.”
“Several have always had their sights aimed your way.”
“It’s far worse now. I fear I’ll make a misstep and be trapped.” He was only half jesting.
“Being a good catch isn’t as enjoyable as one might think.”
“True. I refuse to rush into marriage simply to escape those with their sights set on a title.”
“I don’t think it’s merely the title that has them interested in you, my dear.”
Elijah smiled. “Exactly what a mother would say.”
She chuckled. “I admit to being prejudiced. I appreciate that you’re taking time to make the right decision.”
“I would have a marriage like yours, with someone I respect and admire.”
“You don’t speak of love.”
He couldn’t help but scowl. “Love hurts as I’ve witnessed from you. It’s hard to welcome the possibility of such pain when I’ve yet to recover from the loss of Father.”
“It’s better to have loved—”
“You’re not truly going to quote Tennyson to me, are you?” he interrupted with a smile.
She chuckled again, making him realize how much he’d missed the sound. “No, but it’s true. As much as I miss your father, I wouldn’t have passed the opportunity of marrying him for anything, not even to avoid the heartache of losing him.”
“That is love.” He said the words quietly, with his heart, for he knew they were true.
“Yes. It comes to us imperfectly. We don’t always recognize it until it’s polished and shining, but that takes a little work. And we must accept the good with the bad to fully experience it.”
“All the more reason to wait. I’m not ready for that.”
His mother reached out to pat his arm. “I’m not ready to share you with a young lady quite yet either. But we don’t always get to choose. Sometimes fate chooses for us.”
He scoffed. “Fate will have to wait until I’m good and ready.”
The knowing smile his mother offered was one for which he didn’t care. “We shall see, my dear. We shall see.”
~*~
D.T. Hurley was a man of simple needs—good roasted beef every Sunday, a plump woman to fulfill his needs at least twice a week, and an increase in business of ten percent each year.
His list of wants was much longer, but he was working to fulfill those as well. He considered himself a successful businessman who provided a service to his community. And his business was growing even more than the ten percent on which he’d planned.
He watched closely near the doorway of his warehouse location as men carefully unloaded small wooden crates from a wagon and hauled them inside.
“Watch your step, eh?” D.T. demanded as one of the workers bungled a crate. “That’s valuable cargo you’re carrin’.” The crates contained bottles of a particular ingredient that would cost dearly if lost.
The man readjusted his grip as he nodded.
Twilight was the perfect time to unload the cargo. Enough light to make the task easy but not enough to make it obvious to any curious passersby. The street had quieted after the busyness of the daylight hours as well.
D.T. studied the front of the warehouse, considering the idea of hanging a sign above the door. D.T. Hurley & Sons, Purveyors of Finely Distilled Spirits. The problem was that all of it would be a lie. He had no sons, wasn’t even married, and didn’t exactly operate on the proper side of the law.
He preferred to think of it as the left side—not terribly wrong as he wasn’t hurting anyone with his actions. Not truly. Licensing was an option he chose to avoid.
The spirits he created were unique. He took a certain pride in that fact. A little foxglove here, some harts-horn shavings there, and even some opium he’d acquired from Turkey. Those ingredients added in the proper amount to the right liquor—diluted, of course—created a drink that cost the purchaser much less but lasted longer and had more intoxicating effects. Wasn’t that the true reason people drank alcohol? The taste was secondary. The result was what counted.
After all, port was merely wine with brandy added. Why not mix in a few other ingredients to keep things interesting and to allow those with fewer funds to partake as well?
Wine only kept for so long. Adding additional ingredients kept it from souring. He was doing the public a favor, in truth. A much-needed service.
He’d started off his business by supplying modified beer but had soon expanded into gin. Other types depended on availability and price of both the alcohol as well as the ingredients he added. His contacts in the apothecary business had proved to be quite helpful from an educational standpoint as well as supplying him with some of the more unique items. Buying in quantity kept his costs down.
D.T. followed the last crate into the warehouse, pleased to see them stacked only two high along the wall. Any higher and the risk of breakage increased. The size of his operation was relatively small, but that allowed for tighter control.
“How’s the beer comin’?” he asked Jonathan Roberts, his right-hand man.
“Well enough. We’ll be able to fill the order as promised if you got more of the Indian berry?”
The bitter, black fruit that grew off the coast of Malabar, India increased the intoxicating properties of beer. However, as the fruit also had a poisonous quality, the trick was to add it in the proper quantity to avoid ill effects.
That was true with many of the additives he used. He liked to think of himself as a bit of a chemist. A little of this and a little of that until the taste was palatable and the effects impressive.
It had taken some work to convince individual barkeeps not to re-brew beer or modify gin themselves. But once they realized it was less expensive and less work if they simply bought alcohol from him, many had jumped to place orders.
The one thing he hadn’t anticipated was the word-of-mouth advertising that had grown his business over the past three years. He got a bit of a thrill with each new client.
“We should receive it within the hour.” The Indian berry was something new to him, but one of his apothecary contacts had praised its qualities. However, he needed to test the mix himself to make certain they added the proper quantity. The last thing he wanted was for a customer to complain. That would be bad for business, which would never do.
“D.T. Hurley?”
“Yes?” D.T. turned at the sound of a lad’s voice at the doorway.
“Message for ye.” An oversize cap nearly hid the boy’s face as he thrust a crumpled piece of paper toward D.T.
The delivery of a message was not unusual. If a tavern owner needed more of an item before the normal delivery date, they sent word. D.T. flipped the boy a coin then opened the message.
He had to read it three times before the words sank in. A smile spread across his face.
“What is it?” Roberts asked with eyes narrowed.
D.T. paused, allowing the thrill to sink in before he responded. “A nobleman has placed an order.”
“Truly?” Roberts’ incredulity matched D.T.’s.
“Imagine that. A member of the hoity-toity ton drinkin’ something of ours.” D.T. read the message again. The short timeframe made him hesitate but not for long. He found it highly amusing to think that a member of the nobility wanted to save money and use some of his blends.
How could he resist the idea of an earl or a duke sipping one of his concoctions? Business was exceeding his expectations and then some. A swell of satisfaction passed through him, and his smile turned into a grin.
Chapter Five
“As to the substances used by various wine-doctors for flavouring wine, there seems to be no end of them. Vegetation has been exhausted, and the bowels of the earth ransacked, to supply trash for this quackery.”
~The Seven Curses of London
Lillian smoothed a hand against her lilac silk gown, turning this way and that in her dressing table mirror. The gown had a modest bustle with a ribbon-trimmed overskirt that was straight in the front. The underskirt visible beneath the bustle cascaded in folds in the back. But the real question was whether it was attractive enough to catch a duke’s eye. Whether she was enough to do so.
With a groan, she turned away from her reflection. All she saw when she looked in the mirror were her flaws. Even without her mother’s gently phrased reminders, she could list them—her mouth a bit too wide, her hair a shade too red, her hips a little too broad, her laugh a bit too loud.
Surely she hadn’t imagined the moment in the foyer when she and Elijah had experienced a connection. Yet doubt lingered, making her goal seem impossible again. Drawing his attention while alone with him was one thing but doing so in a roomful of attractive women was another. Nothing about her was special or unique. The one time he’d complimented her, she’d forgotten herself and spoken her mind. Her mother would’ve tsked-tsked at her behavior.
Well, she could do nothing to modify her appearance, and what had happened previously couldn’t be undone. She’d have to settle with focusing on this evening. She had dressed with care and hoped it would be enough.
Unwilling to spend more time judging her reflection, she retrieved her gloves and a cloak then descended the stairs to find Oliver, Julia, and her father, the earl, visiting in the drawing room.
She hesitated in the doorway, not wanting to interrupt their conversation. But when Oliver noted her presence and smiled, she deemed herself welcome and joined them.
“You look wonderful,” Julia said as she rose from her seat to cross the room and hug her.
Oliver and the earl rose as well.
“Thank you.” Lillian had yet to become accustomed to the easy affection Julia showed. No wonder she’d managed to overcome Oliver’s natural reserve. As Lillian pulled back from the embrace, she held Julia’s arms. “Thank you for everything. You’re lovely inside and out.” She looked at her brother. “I hope Oliver tells you that often.”
“You are a darling for saying so.” Julia glanced over her shoulder at her husband and smiled. “And, yes, he does.”
“I try.” Oliver’s slow grin brought a hint of rose to Julia’s cheeks.
The heated look the couple shared made Lillian sigh. “The two of you are very lucky to have found each other.”
“Where were you when we first met, because I believe we both found the other impossible,” Oliver said, sharing a smile with Julia as he moved closer.
Julia chuckled and stepped into his arms. “We had our moments, did we not?”
“I believe it was more than a few moments, was it not?” the earl asked with a chuckle.
“Persistence is an underrated trait,” Oliver said.
His words reminded Lillian of her goal—to hurt Elijah the way he’d destroyed Helena. Persistence. That was what she needed to keep in mind. Regardless of her flaws and doubts, she had to keep trying.
“I’ll bid you good evening,” the earl said. “I’m most anxious to read the book on vengeance you found.”
“Then you’ll be asleep in short order,” Lillian said.
Julia smiled. “Lillian didn’t care for it. I’ll be interested to hear what you think.”
They departed in the carriage, arriving when most of the guests were already at the soiree. As promised, the party had a more intimate feel with a smaller group of people in attendance than a typical ball. A pianist performed, but the dancing wouldn’t start for an hour or more.
She breathed a sigh of relief when she didn’t immediately see the duke. Perhaps that would give her time to better bolster her courage.
“Good evening,” Violet said as she reached Lillian’s side.
“And to you.” She smiled with sincerity. Not only did she truly like Violet, she enjoyed having a friend with whom to speak. Julia and Oliver knew many people and were often pulled away. Standing by herself made Lillian uncomfortable.
“That is a lovely gown,” Lillian said as she admired the delicate pale blue gown with a darker trim and white underskirt that Violet wore.
“Why, thank you. I would say the same of yours.”
“This should be an interesting party,” Violet offered as she surveyed the guests.
“What makes you say that?”
“This is a rather odd
mix of people. Most have deemed it unwise to invite several of them to the same gathering.” Violet moved closer to whisper in her ear. “Do you see the two older ladies both dressed in scarlet? They are sworn enemies.”
“How funny that their gowns are a similar color.”
“Knowing Lady Albane, who is a notorious gossip, she’ll feel compelled to accuse Lady Vedeva of copying her.” Violet tipped her head toward each one to identify them for Lillian. “Of course, she’d only do it behind her back. I have no idea what our hostess was thinking to invite them both.”
“Is she hoping to provide a unique form of entertainment for her party?”
Violet chuckled. “Perhaps. Added to that is Lady Patterson’s daughter, Lady Margaret.” She glanced at an attractive young lady not far from them with a hard edge to her mouth. “I’d advise you to keep your distance from her.”
“Oh?”
“An unpleasant individual who has the added pressure of needing to make a good match.” Violet shook her head. “She casts barbs toward anyone she considers to be her competition.”
Lillian realized how grateful she was that she didn’t have any pressure to marry immediately or for money. That freedom gave her the opportunity to make certain Helena’s death was avenged.
Violet turned to touch Lillian’s arm lightly. “I’m so pleased you came to London. It’s been rather lonely since Dalia and Rutland joined forces.”
“They seem to be very much in love.”
“Indeed. Which you’d find quite amusing if you knew how much they detested each other in their youth.”
“Truly?” Lillian couldn’t help but think of what Oliver had said. “Persistence.”
“Pardon me?”
“Nothing. Merely talking to myself.”
“Don’t do that around Lady Vedeva. She’ll suspect you of something. She’s a suspicious sort.”
Lillian chuckled. “I’ll be certain to take care. Shall we wander a bit to see who else is here?”
Daring the Duke (The Seven Curses of London Book 7) Page 6