At last, he spotted the black crepe of his mother’s gown a short distance from the dance floor. She visited with several ladies he knew, one also a widow. He watched for a moment, trying to decide the reason behind her jovial manner—drink or the conversation?
Her gaze lifted as she caught sight of him. “Elijah, my dear.” She stepped forward to offer him her cheek.
Hating himself, he couldn’t help sniffing to see if the scent of spirits lingered on her breath. Relief filled him when he didn’t smell anything untoward.
“Haven’t had a drop thus far this evening,” she whispered, smiling up at him as though aware of what he was thinking.
He responded with a broad smile, pleased by her words. “You are enjoying yourself?”
“We’re having a delightful time, are we not?” She glanced back to her companions who greeted him.
“What’s delightful is visiting with the duchess again,” one of the ladies offered. “We have missed her presence dreadfully this past year.”
“Indeed,” the other lady added. “We’re pleased she’s returned to social events.”
A shadow passed over his mother’s expression at the reminder. He held his breath, wondering how she’d react.
Then she lifted her chin. “I’m pleased to be back as well.” She forced a smile, her effort making Elijah hope she might truly be recovering.
Elijah visited for a few more minutes until he was certain she was making it through this moment and the evening with success. When it became clear she didn’t require his presence, he made his excuses and stepped away.
Once again, he could feel the longing gazes of debutantes hold onto him. He didn’t want to raise the hopes of any who looked at him as a potential husband. Despite his growing feelings for Lillian, marriage was a long way down the road. One successful night for his mother was wonderful but didn’t mean the battle had been won.
He picked a woman to dance with whom he hoped wouldn’t think too much of it. Though not certain whether she did or not based on the looks she cast his way, he returned her to her mother’s side. Luckily for him, Violet Fairchild stood nearby.
“So kind of you, your grace,” she said in answer to his request for a dance.
No coy looks from under her lashes, no flirtatious glances as they began the dance. The more he was around Violet, the more he liked her.
As the dance progressed, he caught her smiling broadly, her blue eyes sparkling. “What is it?” he asked.
“Only that I must thank you. You’ve improved my status with one dance.”
He followed her gaze to note several ladies watching them closely. Uncertain how to respond, he only raised a brow.
“Oh, please have no fear. I’ve seen how you look at Lillian and know well enough you don’t see me in the same light. That is fine with me.”
Nonplussed, he could only stare at her.
“I mean no offense. Physical attraction is either there or it’s not, wouldn’t you agree?” At his expression of surprise, she had the grace to blush. “Forgive me, your grace. Words often escape before I properly consider them, much to my mother’s dismay.”
He chuckled. “That isn’t a bad thing on most occasions, though I’m still uncertain if I should be insulted at your lack of interest.”
She tilted her head back to laugh. “No, you should not. Because of this dance, my mother will not berate me the entire way home for not having gained your notice. One evening free of that is a true gift.”
The dance was soon over, and he escorted her back to her mother’s side, slipping away from Mrs. Fairchild’s efforts to engage in further conversation.
A glance to where his own mother stood showed her still enjoying herself. Gratitude filled him as he watched.
Then to his surprise and delight, Lillian entered the ballroom. His chest tightened at the sight, and he couldn’t help but make his way slowly in her direction.
She dipped into a graceful curtsy when he reached her. “Your grace.”
“I didn’t think you were coming.” He bowed over her gloved hand, though what he really wanted to do was pull off her glove and kiss her bare knuckles. He could imagine the crowd’s response, but he truly wanted to see her reaction.
“Julia’s father retired early to read the new book Oliver presented to him, so we decided to come after all. Julia insisted that anyone who was someone should make at least a brief appearance. I don’t know that Oliver agreed with her, but he’s here nonetheless.”
“I, for one, am pleased.”
“Has it been an exciting ball thus far?”
He raised a brow. “Surely you jest. Have you attended any exciting ones?”
“I believe you’re correct,” she said with a smile. “I found the balloon ascent last evening much more exciting than this.”
“Which part?” Unable to resist, he held her gaze, thinking of the kiss they’d shared, wondering if she felt the same.
The heat that filled her cheeks suggested she knew exactly what he was thinking and felt as he did.
The warm sensation around his heart pleased him. He released the worry over what it meant and focused on enjoying the moment. “Would you do me the honor of the next dance?”
“I should like that very much.”
As the quartet ended one song and began the next, they reached the dance floor. He’d never been so grateful for a waltz before as it gave him the excuse of holding her. Then all else fell away as they moved in time to the music. The other dances he’d had earlier paled in comparison. Lillian felt so right in his arms. They moved through the sweeping moves as though they’d danced together for years.
“Have I mentioned that you’re an excellent dancer?” she asked.
“I was thinking the same of you. You look lovely this evening.” Though he hadn’t noticed the pale green of the silk gown until now. He’d only seen her eyes.
“Julia and I did some shopping. I’m pleased you like it.”
He decided against telling her that if she wore nothing, he’d be even more pleased. With a silent oath, he realized he shouldn’t have allowed the thought as now he couldn’t think of anything else.
Picturing her in his bed was too easy to imagine. A glance about to remind himself where they were didn’t help in the least.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Only that I wish for a few minutes of privacy with you.”
She smiled. “Perhaps we will meet on a morning ride again one of these days.”
He could’ve kissed her right then. Why hadn’t he thought of that? “Let us not leave such a possibility to chance. How about the morning after tomorrow? Near the same place as we last met.”
Her eyes filled with warmth. “I look forward to it.”
“As will I.” The dance drew to a close all too soon, and he escorted her to Lady Frost’s side.
Lingering would only cause people to talk, and he had no intention of exposing her to that, so he checked on his mother one last time, then took his leave.
The ride in the park couldn’t come soon enough.
~*~
D.T. glanced up warily from his desk as Roberts stomped into his office and closed the door, something that had been a reoccurring event in the past few days.
“I don’t like this one bit,” Roberts said. He gestured toward the work area. “Strange men in our place. We don’t know if they’re doin’ what we said.”
“What else would they be doin’?” D.T. asked. He sat back in his chair as though his nerves weren’t frayed from recent events. “If McCarthy says they’re capable, then I’m inclined to believe him.”
“He’s brought us bad luck, I’m tellin’ ye,” Roberts argued. “Runnin’ two shifts of workers? We can’t watch them all the time. What if they’re not measurin’ correctly? The additive is nothin’ with which to be trifled.”
“What would you suggest?” D.T. asked. “We have an order to fill by tomorrow evenin’. Without the workers and McCarthy’s assistance, we w
ouldn’t have been able to take the contract.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t have.” Roberts turned to stare out the window to the workroom. “This is too much too fast.”
D.T. didn’t know how to respond. Not when he’d been up half the night thinking the same. Had he allowed his determination to grow the business to override his good sense? The situation felt beyond his control as if someone else were running his business. He didn’t care for the sensation.
But the idea of calling upon McCarthy to tell him the deal was off, to take his workers, the contract, along with the new supplier of alcohol, and be gone made his stomach pitch.
He’d weighed the advantages and disadvantages with care, even made a list of them before all this started. But talking about something and doing it were two different things.
Damn.
He refused to go back on his word to McCarthy. That was what it boiled down to. He’d started down a path and couldn’t go back without risking McCarthy’s wrath.
“Things are goin’ along well enough,” he told Roberts at last, wishing he believed it. “McCarthy has done us several favors, and we need to repay him in kind by fulfillin’ the order.”
Roberts shook his head, obviously unconvinced. “If ye say so, but I’m tellin’ ye I don’t like it.”
“We’ll see this job through and take another look at things,” he said. He didn’t want Roberts to up and quit over this. He needed the man more than ever. “If things go well, there’ll be a bonus in it for both of us.”
Roberts turned to stare at him. “I’ll work the shift tonight, but no more nights. I didn’t hire on for those sort of hours. My wife don’t care for it.”
“It’s temporary. I’ll tell McCarthy that we can’t do any more large jobs with such short notice.”
“All right.” Roberts nodded. “Another day and a half and we’ll be done with this mess.”
The sound of breaking glass echoed from the workroom.
“Damn me!” Roberts jerked open the door. “Now what?”
D.T. closed his eyes for a moment, hoping it hadn’t been anything serious, but in his line of business, breaking glass was never good. He rose to his feet to follow Roberts. Before he’d done more than take a step around his desk, Roberts stood in the doorway. “What is it?” D.T. asked.
“The supply of wormwood that we were addin’ to the liquor. The clumsy oaf dropped the entire case of it.” Roberts’ face was pale as he delivered the terrible news.
D.T.’s stomach dropped. Mayhap Roberts was right—McCarthy was bad luck. They’d certainly had nothing but that since D.T. had shaken hands with him.
Selling a large supply to the nobility had been his goal, but this wasn’t how he’d imagined it.
“What are we goin’ to do now?” Roberts asked.
Few places carried wormwood in the quantities they needed. D.T. normally placed orders weeks in advance, which also gained them a better price.
“I’ll see if I can buy more. How much did we lose?”
“Nearly all. There’s only two bottles that weren’t broken.”
“Damn.” A glance at the man’s hopeless expression had D.T. placing a hand on Robert’s shoulder. “No need for panic. I’ll take care of it. See the mess is cleaned up and do what you can to keep the men busy until I return.”
He strode out of his office, glaring at the men standing in the workroom. The guilty party was easy enough to spot by his fearful expression. One of McCarthy’s men. No doubt he was accustomed to dire consequences for making mistakes. He’d leave Roberts to deal with him.
D.T. sighed as he hailed a hansom cab. He already knew how unlikely it was that he’d be able to purchase wormwood from his normal supplier in the quantity needed. But he had to try. His luck might change.
But twenty minutes later, he had his answer. One bottle. That was all he’d been able to buy. However, the man had given him the name of an apothecary who sometimes carried the item.
He had no better success there. The apothecary couldn’t supply anything more than the name of another possible seller near the docks. Panic was setting in as he hurried to catch a hansom cab to visit the shop. If he failed to complete the first order McCarthy had arranged...
The thought didn’t bear completion. He’d heard enough about the criminal to know excuses weren’t permitted, and consequences were severe. More than one man who’d crossed McCarthy had been discovered belly up in the Thames with his throat slit.
He couldn’t help but tug at his shirt collar at the idea.
Had Roberts given up and sent the men home? No matter. He’d hire more if necessary. Anything to avoid having to tell McCarthy that he couldn’t deliver as promised.
D.T. paid the hansom cab driver to wait and stepped down, wondering if he had the right place. The sign hanging above the narrow door told him he’d reached his destination, Ryker’s Apothecary. The filthy glass panes of the front window hid the interior, making it appear as if the place had closed months ago.
He tried the doorknob, surprised when it turned beneath his hand. The shop smelled worse than any D.T. had ever visited, a terrible mix of stale and sour that burned his nose. Unrecognizable objects in jars that looked as if they’d been untouched for years sat on shelves.
“How may I assist you?” the man behind the counter asked, spectacles gleaming in the dim light.
D.T. did his best to act casual rather than desperate. It would never do to have the shopkeeper realize how dearly he would pay for the additive. “I was told you might carry wormwood.”
“Hmm. I believe I have some on hand.” The thin man slowly turned toward the shelves behind him and retrieved a dusty bottle.
D.T. studied the shelf but didn’t see any other bottles. Damn. “I’m in need of a dozen.”
“Hmm.” The man glanced at the one in his hand.
His method of speaking slowly made D.T. want to throttle him. Did he not realize time was money?
“I don’t have any more at this time. What are you using it for?”
“Why?” Though it was on the tip of his tongue to say it was none of his business, D.T. held back.
“If I knew the reason, I could perhaps suggest an alternative ingredient.”
D.T. highly doubted that. He had studied potential additives at length. Then again, he was desperate. Hopefully, the apothecary wasn’t opposed to his endeavors. “I add it to alcohol.”
“Hmm.”
Did the man realize how annoying that phrase was quickly becoming?
“I can sell you this bottle, or I can sell you an entire case of henbane for the same price.”
Now he had D.T.’s attention. “I’ve never used henbane.”
“The plant can be poisonous, but when dried and crushed into powder and mixed properly with oil of vitriol, it can cause effects similar to opium in liquor.”
“What does the oil do?” D.T. asked, wary of having to add more than one ingredient.
“It increases the heating quality, which is something often lost when liquor is diluted, as I’m sure you’re aware.”
It sounded almost too good to be true. That was a problem D.T. had to guard against. “Do you know the proper ratio when usin’ these to avoid...problems?”
“Hmm. My supplier advised me that a few drops can replace up to thirty percent of the alcohol in a normal bottle. But when using any ingredients, testing is recommended.”
D.T. couldn’t have agreed more. He’d never fulfilled orders using new ingredients without testing the intoxicating effect. But he had no time for testing, other than a quick taste. Nor could he run all over London trying to find wormwood. Where did that leave him?
“I’ll take both the oil of vitriol and the henbane. If it works as promised, I’ll need more. Are you able to procure it on a regular basis?”
“That’s one of the advantages of being located so close to the docks. I have a variety of suppliers from distant shores.”
D.T. paid for all the items with cash. Hopefully
doing so rather than putting it on an account would hold the apothecary’s interest in fulfilling his future needs.
“Shall I have these delivered?” the man offered.
“I’ll take them with me now and save you the bother.” The less the man knew about D.T. and the details of his operation, the better.
“As you wish.”
D.T. couldn’t help but smile as he carried the wooden box of items out the door with a lightness in his step that hadn’t been there upon his arrival. His luck had just changed again for the better. No doubt Roberts would be thrilled when he returned with the items. He could only hope the workers were still there, he thought as he whistled for a hansom cab.
Chapter Twelve
“The facts they [abstinence advocates] give us, like the drunkard’s grog, are generally ‘hot and strong,’ though with very, very little of the sugar of forbearance.”
~The Seven Curses of London
Elijah waited at his club the following afternoon eager to share what he’d learned with Viscount Rutland. He’d managed to discover where the champagne for the soiree had been purchased by having Dobbins, his butler, make inquiries of Lord Patterson’s butler. Elijah had an address but thought it best to request Rutland’s expertise before proceeding.
Within a few moments, Rutland arrived, strolling in as though in no hurry. He greeted several people before coming to Elijah’s table.
“Afternoon, Burbridge. Mind if I join you for a drink?” His casual performance made Elijah wonder who else worked for the Intelligence Office that he didn’t know about.
Elijah smiled, enjoying the game. “That would be my pleasure.”
After Rutland sank into the nearby chair and ordered a gin and tonic, Elijah leaned forward. “Is our meeting secret?”
“All meetings are,” he said with a return smile. “The less others know of anything, the better.”
“I obviously have much to learn then. So little remains unknown in this city.”
“All the more reason to act casually. If anyone thinks you have something to hide, they become far too interested in revealing it.”
Daring the Duke (The Seven Curses of London Book 7) Page 14