~~~~~
Two sennights later, Sera regarded the shelves of the storeroom with satisfaction. Neatly laid out, each wrapped in a delicate bag of sheerest muslin, the shelves contained the first 200 favours of their manufacture. Ten girls now worked for her each day, and they were proving most adept at learning the required skills to produce very high quality favours.
The selection of exquisite silk ribbons, fine laces, beads of exotic woods and metals and highest quality paste gems which had been chosen from the warehouses of Morton Empire Imports had proved of perfect suitability to bring the designs that she had envisaged to life. Tomorrow, Raphael… Mr Morton, she sternly corrected herself… intended to send a selection of the best favours to the Prince Regent, and one or two of the ton’s most acknowledged arbiters of fashion.
The thought of it was both immensely satisfying and utterly terrifying – for what if they did not take the fancy of these important people? Then all of this work might be for nought, and, if their venture did not succeed, what would become of her income, or the income that this work now provided for the girls?
Raphael had taken the ones that he had selected to his home, to sit, this evening, and write carefully crafted letters to accompany the gifts. Now, all was quiet. She had sent the girls home, with her enthusiastic thanks for their hard work so far, and was, as she usually did, taking a bit of quiet time to herself, tidying things away, and assuring herself that all was well, and ready for the next day.
She had locked the doors, all but the little one at the rear, and sat, now, appreciating the peace, still astounded at her good fortune, and at how much the last weeks had changed her life. All because one man had chosen to listen to her, had seen the potential in her idea, and, rather than simply stealing it from her, had given her the great gift of treating her as he might another man, and taking her on as a business partner.
He was a remarkable man. She found herself wool-gathering, dreaming of him – his deep dark eyes, his lean elegant face, his strong hard body and his voice that flowed over her like a rich wine. As if that wasn’t enough, he was a good and kind person. So much for the disdain that the ton held for those of the merchant class! Her experience with Mrs Johnson and the other ladies had begun the change in her view of the world, but Mr Raphael Morton had quite totally turned those views upside down.
If she was completely honest with herself, she was half in love with the man. Which was ridiculous – to him, she was a business partner, nothing more. He insisted on treating her with the full deference due to a Lady of Quality, no matter her circumstances. She felt it like a wall between them – no matter how they might speak of the business, and converse freely and happily, it was as if the invisible barrier of the difference in their birth grew stronger over time, not weaker.
It saddened her, yet she supposed it was the way of the world.
~~~~~
Raphael sat back, shaking the sand from the last carefully penned letter. Leaving it aside for the ink to completely dry, he turned to the small stack of boxes on the side table, and began to pack the favours carefully into each, counting them as he did so. After three checks of his count, he huffed a frustrated breath. There was one too few. He had been a fool, and allowed himself to be distracted by watching the afternoon sun draw deep red lights from Sera’s… Lady Serafine’s, he corrected himself… beautiful hair and had miscounted when collecting the favours.
There was nothing for it. This had to be perfect.
He locked the door to his study, collected his hat and coat from the footman on duty at his door and set out to walk the moderate distance back to the manufactory, to select the final required favour.
~~~~~
Some sound brought Sera out of her dreaming, and she flushed, a little embarrassed at having been mooning over a man like a love-struck young girl. Glancing around, she realised that more time had passed than she had thought – the windows showed only the deepening dusk outside - her mother would be expecting her home. It was odd, though – normally Alf would have come to find her by now, keen to drive her home before it got too late and cold. She wondered where he was.
A sound came again, and an odd, reddish light tinted the dusk through the window. Alarmed, she stood, and ran to look. From the window she saw, to her horror, the flickering light of flames – she ran to the rear door, and went to open it, but the heat of the metal door handle nearly burnt her palm, and she backed away in fear. She grabbed for her keys and ran to the front of the building, through the small kitchen.
Her skirt caught on the logs waiting near the kitchen hearth, and she was spun by the tug, the keys flying from her hands and down into the grated drain near the washtub under the small window. She froze, staring at where they had disappeared, terror taking hold deep inside her. She had seen what fire could do to houses, had seen people barely rescued in time from a burning building. At that instant, she saw her death before her.
She could hear the fire now, burning the door, and the window frames – she ran, again.
Perhaps she could force open a window at the front, and attract some passer-by’s attention. But the windows were all secure, with strong bars – they had put great effort into protecting this property, and their new venture. Despairing, she crumpled to the floor against the front door, then shook herself out of the stupor, and pulled a pin from her hair. She had heard tales of hairpins being used to pick locks – this was the time for her to attempt such a feat, if ever.
~~~~~
Three blocks from the manufactory, a rough looking man stepped out of the shadows, and approached the well-dressed young gentleman who stood in the pool of dim light from a nearby street lantern.
“It be done, just like ye wanted. Ye can see the colour from here.” He pointed and, indeed, the red flicker of light from flames was visible on the wall of a tall building some distance away. The rough man held out his hand, and, unspeaking, the young gentleman deposited a heavy purse upon it.
“Always happy to oblige, Mr Porter, if’n ye should need me again.” He sketched a parody of a formal bow, turned, and faded into the shadows.
The young gentleman stood a while longer, watching the colour on the wall, then nodded to himself, turned and was gone.
~~~~~
Raphael took the shorter way to the manufactory, ducking through the lanes to the rear, in a hurry to get the favour and get home, to have all in readiness for the morrow. He turned the last corner and stopped in shock for a second, before launching himself forward at a full run. For the back wall of the manufactory was wreathed in flame, and the yellow and red tendrils of it were licking towards the stable.
Surely Sera and Alf were both safe, for by now Alf should be driving her home, but he would not let all of their work be destroyed – not when they were so close to a great success!
He reached the stables and ran inside, grabbing a horse blanket from the rack and soaking it in the horse trough at the door, then used the wet wool to beat out the flames which were just reaching the stable wall, carried on the few wisps of spilled hay and straw that had not been swept up – he thanked the Lord God that they kept a neatly swept yard at all times. As Raphael turned to thrust the blanket into the trough again, he heard a moan from inside the stable.
He glanced at the door, then at the manufactory building – the flames were gaining strength – he had little time, but… if that was Alf, he needed help. And, if that was Alf, could it be that Sera was still inside? His heart beat harder than it ever had in his life, and horror froze him to the spot. Then his battle reflexes took over, and the judgement honed on the field of war took him into a cold calm space where he assessed his options in an instant, and acted.
As Raphael turned to the stable door, Alf staggered out, unsteady on his feet, and clutching his head. His face, already white, turned ashen when he saw the flames.
Alf pointed, shaking, and croaked in a harsh voice “Lady Serafine….”
In that moment, Raphael was utterly grateful for the
cold calm of battle, for under it, he felt fear greater than ever before – fear of losing a woman that he had come to care for, well beyond the respect a man might have for a skilled business partner. Despite the difference in their stations in Society, she had, in these last few sennights, become central to his life.
Grabbing the soaked horse blanket, he threw himself at the building like a madman, beating at the flames. Moments later, water splashed past him to land at the base of the flames where grass and straw, and a scatter of refuse reeds from the kitchen floor gave the fire enough fuel to keep it hot on the timber of the door. Alf turned and was soon back with another bucket full.
Raphael beat at the higher flames, spending all of his effort to stop it spreading further, working along the wall as best he could, and desperately wishing for more hands to help. He kicked aside the neatly piled stack of logs kept for the kitchen fire, scattering them into the icy slush of the yard, satisfied that they would not burn further there. The blanket began to burn, and he ran back to the water trough to soak it again.
As he did, three young men rushed past him into the yard, buckets in hand, and a small spark of hope filled him. With extra hands, they had a chance. A fraught fifteen minutes later, the fire was out. The rear door and window frame were nearly burnt away, the window broken, and all of the mortaring of the stone of the wall would need redoing, but the building stood.
His elegant clothes charred and blackened with soot, Raphael stood a moment, quickly bowed, and thanked the young men, then threw himself at the door, breaking through what remained of the still smouldering timber. His three young assistants looked at Alf quizzically, as if to ask if the man was mad. Alf shook his head, and again, pointed.
“Lady Serafine.”
Horrified comprehension spread across the faces of the men.
“No… She give me sister a job there, we’d be close to starving without that – we came to help because a’ that. I nivver thought the Lady might be trapped.”
Alf just waited, quietly praying. He had faith in Mr Morton. But what if Lady Serafine was hurt… or worse?
Sera struggled with the hairpin, but the lock was stubborn, and her fingers began to hurt from the effort of trying. At first, apart from the fear, it was not so bad – this far from the back of the building, there was no heat, but she could hear the flames, hear cracks and thumps as the building suffered its assault. But, after a few minutes, there was a loud cracking noise, and a tinkle of falling glass. The kitchen window must have shattered in the heat.
That was enough to start a flow of air into the building – air laden with thick smoke. As the smoke began to fill the rooms, Sera coughed and struggled to breathe, to concentrate on the lock – surely she could manage to pick it! But it stubbornly refused to open. And she began to feel light headed, her vision blurring as the smoke made her eyes shed continuous tears.
It was no good, she thought despairingly. She had tried so hard. That everything she had worked for should end like this, and her with it, was insupportable. But it was happening.
She sagged against the front door, barely able to breathe any more, and wished desperately that she might see her mother to say goodbye, that she might see Raphael, to tell him how she felt about him – whether it be foolish of her or not. But that was a fever dream – the reality was the darkness closing in and the air no longer supporting her breath.
Just as she slipped into the blackness, she thought she heard a resounding crash – surely her exit from this life was not to be announced with a clash of drums? Then there were arms around her, and she was lifted against a hard chest, which was surely real, for she could feel it move as its owner coughed in the smoke filled room.
Moments later, sweet fresh air filled her lungs, and, subtly underlying it, she recognised the pine and leather scent that could only mean that it was Raphael who held her so tightly against him, even as he staggered a little, passing through the burnt doorway and into the yard. It seemed that her prayer had been answered. He staggered as far as the stable, still holding her, and collapsed on the bench just inside.
Sera opened her eyes, to find his only inches away. A magical stillness overcame them both, and everything else but his eyes seemed to fade away. She had never seen anything so wonderful in her life.
“Sera.” His voice was a smoked strained croak, but her name on his lips was sweet nonetheless – for no-one but her mother usually called her Sera, not since James…. And then those lips were upon hers and a sweet heat rushed through her body. She felt alive, intensely so, most especially because, short minutes ago, she had expected death.
After some unfathomable length of time, the kiss stopped, and they found themselves simply gazing at each other.
“Raphael…” her voice was a smoke shattered whisper, but he heard in his heart what she had no voice to say. He pulled her tight against him.
“Alf…”
“Yes, Mr Morton?”
Alf stuck his head around the door, looking pleased when he saw her still in Raphael’s arms, but with her eyes open and obviously not badly hurt.
“Please arrange with the helpful young men outside to have a guard mounted on the building until we can arrange repairs tomorrow. They will be amply rewarded. And then, if the horses are alright, please hitch them up – I think that we will need the carriage to take Lady Serafine home.”
“Yes, Sir!”
Once Sera was safely settled in the carriage, Raphael stepped back.
“One moment – there is one more thing that I must do, before we are on our way.”
He turned and went back into the building, making his way carefully to the storeroom, and selected the one extra favour that he had come for. And a blessing it was that he had miscounted to start with – for had he not, Sera might now be dead, and all their work in ashes. The thought that he might have lost her was a band of agony on his heart.
Climbing into the carriage, and meeting her enquiring expression, he explained, in his roughened voice, just how he had come to be there, to save her.
She was beginning to think that the favours were the signposts of change in her life. What might they bring to her next?
For the first time in a very long while, Raphael was nervous. It was an odd sensation, and not a comfortable one. He had seen the carefully and elegantly wrapped boxes, each containing a number of the Saint Valentine’s Day themed favours, and a carefully penned letter, dispatched for individual delivery by footmen in his employ, each dressed in new and impressive livery. Now there was nothing but waiting – for the men’s return, and then for the reaction of the recipients.
He turned the nervous energy to good effect, and set about arranging the repairs to the building, so that business might go on as before. He had arrived to find that the young men had been true to their word, and diligently guarded the manufactory overnight. He handed each of them a sizeable purse, and sent them off home to rest. They were effusive in their gratitude, but he brushed it aside, assuring them that their efforts in helping him fight the fire, and then as guards, were worth that and more.
As he settled the last of the girls to working, and saw the last of the workmen off to obtain the required repair materials, he was surprised when Sera arrived. He had expected her to spend today recuperating from her experience – but obviously she was made of sterner stuff. He was unreasonably pleased to discover that to be the case.
He was not sure how to approach her – he had kissed her yesterday, and she had most certainly not pushed him aside, yet today, it was as if nothing, and yet everything, had changed between them. Did she regret that kiss now, in the light of a new day? Did she think it presumptuous that he, a merchant, should have kissed a Lady born? He certainly did not regret his actions, and if truth be told, he would happily sweep her into his arms immediately, and kiss her again. But all of his training made him wait to see her reaction, for he was utterly unsure of how she might respond.
So he held himself back, drinking her in with his eyes
, seeing just how beautiful she was, and feeling again that sense of how lucky he was not to have lost her. He bowed, allowing himself to take her hand.
“My Lady, I am surprised, and very glad, to see you looking so well today. I had feared that your terrible experience yesterday might have left you less than well today.”
A brilliant smile lit her face, and she shook her head.
“Oh no Mr Morton, I will not let such a thing prevent me from being here – for we must not let this stop us. This venture must succeed, and I fully intend to be here to do my utmost to ensure that. Even if my voice is frightfully unmelodic at this point.”
It was true that her voice still suffered from the effects of the smoke, but he found the low, slightly roughened tone of it seductive, indeed, almost erotic, rather than unpleasant in any way. She flushed a little, as if suddenly unsure how to go on with him, and turned away, going to each of the girls in turn, to reassure them of their continued employment and to see to their work in progress.
Feeling suddenly unnecessary, Raphael turned away, and took himself home, hoping that his deliveries had, by now, all been made.
~~~~~
All but one of the footmen had returned, and reported that each parcel had been received with curious interest, delivered, as per his instructions, only directly into the hands of the persons he had so carefully selected as his targets. The one who had not yet returned had been tasked to deliver his parcel to the Prince Regent – a challenge which, it was entirely possible, might take him days to achieve.
Raphael could not settle to anything, and found himself prowling the house like a caged tiger, looking for something to distract him from the tension of the waiting. There was no point him going to his offices, for he would only disturb his perfectly efficient shop and warehouse staff, yet simply waiting would drive him quite mad. He entered the parlour, and discovered Bella, curled inelegantly in a chair, a book in her hand – a book it was quite obvious she was not actually reading.
Giving a Heart of Lace: Sweet and Clean Regency Romance (His Majesty's Hounds Book 3) Page 5