Upon his arrival, Bella heaved a dramatic sigh. Raphael repressed his amusement, and, instead, asked her casually, “What causes you to sigh so, dear sister?”
“Oh Raphael! I am so bored. For this last sennight, Mr Porter Arbuthnot has not seen fit to invite me for a drive. I may not be entirely sure that I desire his interest, but at least he has provided me with some amusing conversation, and the chance to get out. And now he has abandoned me! Not even a message for days!”
“Perhaps, Bella, he feels that you have not shown any great interest in him, and has decided to not press his attentions if you do not wish him to?”
“But… surely any man who truly cared for me would not be so easily discouraged?”
“Perhaps you have simply confused him, then?”
“You are no help at all!” Bella dropped the book onto the table at her side, with rather more force than was seemly. Watching her, amused, yet sympathetic, he decided to act.
“Bella, if you so wish to go for a drive in the park, I shall take you. For I find myself with some free time this afternoon.” She spun to him, a smile claiming her face.
“Raphael! That is most kind of you. Yes, I would love to go for a drive, please, may we go now?”
Nodding his agreement, he led her from the room.
~~~~~
When the final footman had returned, it was to report his mission a success – he had actually managed to deliver the parcel into the hands of the Prince Regent himself. It seemed that fortune had favoured him, for, as the footman had made his request for audience, he had been overheard by Cecil Carlisle, Baron Setford, who had, at mention of Raphael’s name as the sender, turned back a moment, and whispered something to the Prince Regent. Suddenly, the footman had been waved forward, and given the chance to deliver the elaborately presented favours.
Raphael was elated – for if the favours were a success, orders would follow. He did wonder, in passing, what Setford had said. He had not seen the man since leaving the military, yet he suspected that Setford would be aware of his movements still.
Within the day, the whispers of gossip began to make their way back to him, reported faithfully by his employees and household staff – for many of them had sisters and brothers, or other relatives and friends, working in the houses of the nobility. For a merchant, the gossip was valuable, and allowed him to most effectively supply the desires of his highest paying customers.
But this time, the gossip was newly precious, for it told of the progress of the favours. Being items designed to be given, those he had sent them to were now doing exactly that – giving them to the women they admired. It seemed that Ladies of all stations had received them, from actresses to the daughters of the nobility. And, most pleasing of all, the current most favoured mistress of the Prince Regent.
Although this was what Raphael had intended, it was succeeding faster than he had expected. By the following day, he heard of shopkeepers in Bond Street receiving enquiries from members of the ton, who were seeking to purchase these newly fashionable favours, in time for the coming Saint Valentine’s Day. Raphael, smiling, sent forth messengers again, this time bearing missives to all of the most exclusive shops, offering them the chance to obtain a supply of the favours – for a premium price, of course.
By the end of that day, they were sold out, and had a waiting list.
Serafine’s life became a whirlwind of hiring and training more girls to make the favours, creating new designs, ensuring that everything was made to the best quality, packed and sent to the right addresses, occasionally remembering to eat, and falling into exhausted sleep each night. The success of the venture astounded her, and she was impressed at the cleverness with which Raphael had brought the favours to the attention of the ton.
Each time she saw him, her heart beat harder, her breath came a little short, and the memory of that kiss filled her mind. He was, to her, even more handsome and desirable when tired and somewhat dishevelled; carrying boxes along with his staff, being fully engaged in making sure that their venture was as successful as possible. She could not imagine any other gentleman she had met, of whatever station in Society, willingly doing such work. She certainly did not despise him for it, as convention said she should – indeed, she admired him instead.
After all, Society’s mores said that she should also despise herself, for sullying her hands with work and trade. And that, she had long decided, was ridiculous – to have the funds to live in comfort, she was more than willing to work like this. A year of living in fading genteel poverty had impressed that on her, quite thoroughly.
They never touched, beyond the brief moment when he would gallantly greet her by bowing over her hand. She wished for more, but knew no way to breach the gulf that seemed to have opened between them. That kiss almost might not have been real, so distant, so unreachable did he seem now.
She had little time to think of it, however, except in the drifting moments before sleep took her each night, but it left her with a permanent little ache of sadness in her, nonetheless. Perhaps she had dreamed some of it – perhaps her smoke hazed brain had imagined the care in his voice when he had spoken her name, or the tenderness in his eyes when he had kissed her. She no longer knew what was real, beyond his presence every day, and the chaos of attempting to produce as many favours as the ton wished to buy.
~~~~~
Raphael ached. Somehow, he was fitting everything into the days – the running of Morton Empire Imports, the coordination of the distribution of the favours, making sure that Serafine was safe, that the building was repaired and guarded, and that everything that should happen, did happen, and nothing else.
He fell into bed each night, slept for not enough hours, and did it all again. He had not slept this little, and felt this worn, since Spain. Yet, at the same time, he revelled in it. For he was not bored, he was much too busy to feel trapped, as he had before, and everything that he did was succeeding, beyond his expectations.
There was, he had to admit, one thing that he was unhappy about. Serafine haunted his dreams, all golden eyes, pale skin and rich dark hair, soft in his arms, and pressing into his kiss. Over and over, he relived that moment in the stable – but only in dreams. He wished, with startling intensity, to make it more than dreams, but saw no way to do so. She was a Lady born, no matter that she chose now to engage herself in trade. He was not of her station. He might do business with her, but he could not expect to ever have her attentions in any other way.
Her family had suffered enough scandal – she did not need it added to, by an association with a merchant, beyond that of an astute investment in business. He would not do that to her. He was not certain, anyway, if she had truly, in any sense welcomed that kiss, or if her reaction at the time had only been the natural relief at finding herself alive, when she must have thought that her death was imminent.
So he watched her, his eyes drinking her in, his mind finding joy in her kindness and cleverness as she worked with the girls in the manufactory, transforming their lives, even as she transformed her own, his body aching to touch her, beyond that single touch he allowed himself each day – the torture of the moment when he greeted her and bowed over her hand.
He would never press his attentions on a woman who did not wish them – he had seen too much of the worst of that at war, so he suffered, not knowing if she even noticed him, beyond his existence as a business partner, and threw himself into the work to dull the pain.
And then, somehow, sennights had passed since the fire, and Saint Valentine’s Day was upon them.
~~~~~
The last boxes were settled into the cart, and his delivery man drove off, keen to get them delivered and be done for the day. Raphael turned, wiping a hand across his brow, and stepped back into the building. Sera sat at the little kitchen table, her hands around a mug of slowly cooling tea.
They had sent all of the girls home, with a bonus payment each, and declared that the manufactory would be closed tomorrow. The day afte
r that was Saint Valentine’s Day – there was no more time to make and deliver favours for that day’s benefit. What they made hereafter would be for other occasions.
Raphael sank into a chair opposite her, a sigh escaping his lips, to echo softly in the empty room. The silence, after so many days of busy work and voices, seemed wrong, deafening in its own way. Their eyes met, and time slowed. They sat, as the afternoon light faded into evening, simply drinking each other in, with no words said. It was a companionship of effort shared, and of words that neither dared speak.
In the end, it was Raphael who broke the spell. He stood, stretching a little, with the same grace and strength that a cat does, and held out his hand.
“Come Lady Serafine, let me drive you home. Your mother will be glad to see you, and the dark circles under your eyes tell me just how much you need to rest.”
“Why Mr Morton,” she smiled, “how every ungallant. A gentleman should never indicate that a Lady looks anything less than radiantly beautiful.” That she had the energy left for even mild repartee after the last month astounded him, and yet was typical of her tenacious character.
But she took his hand, the first true touch they had shared since the kiss after the fire, and rose from the table to accompany him out the door. And he thought, as she did so, that to him, dark circles or no, she would always look radiantly beautiful.
He delivered her to her door, and accompanied her in, greeting Lady Galwood with genuine pleasure, seeing before him a changed woman, a woman restored to her rightful state of health and comfort. A woman who might not say so in words, but whose expression told him just as clearly how much she appreciated what her daughter, and Raphael, had done to transform her circumstances.
“Good Evening Lady Galwood. I fear that Lady Serafine has quite exhausted herself, and needs a day of rest. We have agreed to close the manufactory for tomorrow, so that all can rest after the hard work that has been done.”
Lady Galwood nodded approvingly.
“I would like to invite you, Lady Galwood, and Lady Serafine, to a dinner at my home, tomorrow evening, in celebration of our most successful business venture. Will you do me the honour of attending?”
Lady Galwood inclined her head regally, and smiled, drawing Sera to her side.
“We shall be delighted Mr Morton.”
“Excellent – I will send Alf to collect you at seven.”
He took Sera’s hand, and bent to kiss it, his lips lingering longer than usual, as he breathed in the unique scent of her, clean and fresh and touched with something faintly exotic.
“Until then.”
“Thank you – for everything, Mr Morton.” Sera’s voice was soft, thready with exhaustion, rich with sincerity. He wondered if that ‘everything’ included the kiss.
Sera stood in the foyer with her mother, awaiting Alf’s arrival. She smoothed the soft wool fabric of her dress, and settled the silk shawl around her shoulders, her fur pelisse close to hand for when they must step out the door. New clothes, which she might once have barely regarded, were now a thing to treasure and appreciate – a year of poverty had taught her that. The wealth that had come with her business venture had given them back comfort, and dignity – she would never let herself forget the lessons of the last year.
It felt most odd to dress as a Lady for a dinner party, after so long. She wondered what Raphael’s family would be like, and if her dress was appropriate. Her mother, it seemed, had no such doubts or questions, she simply stood, elegant as always, and waited, watching her daughter fidget with a fond smile.
There was a tap at the door, and Alf was there, ushering them to the carriage cheerfully, surrounded by a faint but pleasant scent of hay and warm horses.
It was not far, yet she was most glad of the carriage, for the chill of late winter was still sharp as the day closed in. Her fingers closed around the strings of her reticule, reassuring herself that its contents were still secure. Perhaps she was a fool, but perhaps this was the right decision. She would see.
~~~~~
They drew up outside a most impressive residence, considerably larger than their respectable but unfashionable dwelling. The sheer size of it made her nervous, but she pushed that aside. The doors opened onto a marble tiled hall, and a respectful footman took their outer garments. Another ushered them into a parlour.
It was a beautiful room, part panelled in rich inlaid timbers, part papered with a delicate Chinoiserie pattern of birds and bamboo, all in delicate gold tones, with tiny highlights of red. The chaises were covered in gold toned brocades, and a magnificent painting hung above the mantle. It resembled paintings by the Flemish masters, with late afternoon light on golden hills and fields, all under a sky of dramatic storm clouds with just a trace of blue. It was, she suspected, worth a fortune.
The door opened behind her, and she spun, somewhat embarrassed to have been caught gawking at her surroundings like someone who had never seen an elegant room before. Raphael was followed into the room by his mother, sister and brother, but, at first, she did not even see them. He looked as she had never seen him before.
In evening wear of the highest quality, of a cut that was both elegant, and yet displayed his form to perfection, he looked more the gentleman than any man of the ton she had ever met. Her lips parted in a little gasp of admiration, and her eyes locked with his, their dark depths drawing her in, the warmth of his gaze unmistakable. He hesitated a moment, then, blinking, looked away.
The rest of the room, and the people with him, came rushing back into focus. His mother was most definitely Italian, and age had in no way diminished her beauty. Sera could see immediately that Raphael’s face echoed the elegant lines of hers.
“Mother, may I present the Dowager Lady Galwood, and her daughter, Lady Serafine Parkington.”
Sera chose to honour Mrs Morton with a curtsey, although their respective ranks did not demand it. Raphael’s eyes glowed with appreciation at her gesture.
“And Lady Galwood, Lady Serafine, may I present my mother, Mrs Sophia Morton, my sister, Miss Isabella Morton, and my brother, Mr Gabriel Morton.”
Isabella performed a curtsey to match Sera’s, and Gabriel managed a creditable, if slightly wobbly, bow. Gabriel showed all the signs of equalling Raphael’s handsomeness in a few years’ time, and Isabella was already a beauty – had she been a daughter of the ton, she would have quite been the toast of this Season.
There was a moment of silence, into which Lady Galwood smoothly inserted a gracious thanks for their invitation.
Mrs Morton swept forward to capture Lady Galwood’s hands, and spoke, the lilt of Italy still in her voice, even after all the years that she had spent in England.
“I am delighted to meet you at last. My son has been full of extravagant praise for your daughter, and I must add my gratitude to you both. For Raphael was quite blue-devilled at first, upon his return to us – feeling the loss of his father, and readjusting to civilian life – this business venture has completely cured him of that state. Now, come, pray be seated, let us be comfortable together.”
Sera blinked in some surprise at her words. Extravagant praise? For her? It was a startling concept. She found herself liking this forthright woman – very much. Raphael had, on hearing his mother’s words, actually blushed – something she had not thought it possible to see. Perhaps, after all, she had made the right decision – her fingers unconsciously patted gently at her reticule, reassuring herself that its contents were safe.
They fell into comfortable conversation with ease, with Isabella excited to learn about how she had come to have the ideas for such beautiful designs, Gabriel asking slightly wistful questions about how young men of the ton spent their time and Mrs Morton setting them completely at ease, with witty and intelligent discussion on an astonishingly wide range of topics, including some rather tart, but accurate commentary on members of the ton.
It was a great insight for Sera, into how the merchant class saw the nobility, and on just how much they
knew about the lives of the upper ten thousand, just from the goods sold to them.
It was, in fact, rather humbling. The courtesy and good cheer in this house quite outshone that of those of the Quality who had been her supposed friends… before… As dinner was announced, and they rose to proceed to the dining room, Sera came to a realisation which left her shaken to the core.
These people knew so much of the life and the gossip of the ton, it was impossible that Mrs Morton, at least, was unaware of their family scandal. Yet she had received them with sincere pleasure and grace, and seemed truly happy in their company. The kindness of soul demonstrated here nearly brought her to tears on the instant. For surely, if Italian, it was quite possible that Mrs Morton was of the papist church – who held taking one’s own life as an even greater sin than did most. That she could look past that terrible blemish upon their family, and receive them with genuine warmth was a great gift.
As the dinner proceeded, Sera found herself relaxed and enjoying herself, engaged in discussions that ranged from the business plans for the next year to the comparative virtues of different fabrics, or the qualities required in a superior cologne or perfume, to Isabella’s wistful desire to attend society Balls, even knowing that she would be looked down on. Although, as had often been commented in Society drawing rooms, sotto voce, a merchant’s daughter with a very large dowry to accompany her beauty might often be forgiven her birth and seen as a suitable bride for a Lord in need of funds.
Raphael relaxed as the evening went on – he had, at least a little, been concerned that his family might not take to Sera – which would have made him most unhappy – although he did not inspect his reasons for that too closely.
The last course was removed, and the ladies retired to the parlour. As an acknowledgement of his growing maturity, Raphael retired to the library with Gabriel, and provided him with a glass of port. The boy’s eyes lit up at being treated as an adult, and they sat for a while, talking of horses and vehicles, of boxing and fencing and other ‘gentlemanly’ topics, and only a little of business.
Giving a Heart of Lace: Sweet and Clean Regency Romance (His Majesty's Hounds Book 3) Page 6