A Rogue No More (The Rogue Chronicles Book 3)

by Lana Williams

  “No need to pretend on my account.” Stanton ordered them both drinks when the waiter arrived despite the fact that Thomas’s glass was still full. “I can’t think of anything more tiresome than reading the hopeful meanderings of some writer who wishes to see their name in print.”

  Thomas bit back a defense of the work, aware that trying to explain it would only encourage Stanton to deride it further. “It has its moments. Tell me, did you decide to buy that pair of bays you found at Tattersalls?” Changing the topic to horses was his best course if he wanted the lord to leave him in peace.

  The conversation continued and other friends joined them, making for a lively discussion. Lord Buxton was several years older than Thomas and Stanton, but he was in no hurry to take a wife. Thomas tended to think that even when Buxton did marry, it wouldn’t change his penchant for gambling or women. The man took great pleasure in both.

  Thomas’s breath caught as Cummings, the second son of a viscount and a few years younger than Thomas, also joined them. His name was on the list, and if Thomas remembered correctly, the man’s father was an officer of the East India Company in addition to holding significant shares. Cummings had been friends with Joseph Smead as well. His good humor made him popular with many. Now he need only wait for the opportunity to speak with him alone for a moment.

  Stanton had his eye on some actress and endured good-natured ribbing about his obsession.

  “Raybourne, I won’t be introducing you to her,” Stanton said. “You might lure her away before I get a taste.”

  Thomas bit back a sigh. How had he never realized how poorly the viscount treated ladies? A woman wasn’t an object to be fought over but rather a person with a mind of her own.

  He frowned at his thoughts, trying to pin down the moment when his own opinion had shifted. Only a month ago, he would’ve found a way to be introduced to the actress just to give Stanton a challenge. Yet now he had no desire to meet her. The realization had him shifting in his chair.

  “Already plotting how to steal her, Raybourne?” Buxton asked, causing laughter to break out at the table.

  Thomas smiled even as he wondered how quickly he could speak with Cummings and then leave. The reason he had enjoyed spending time at the club seemed to have vanished. Instead, he only wanted to further investigate the murder and clear the path for the publication of Annabelle’s next book.

  When Cummings rose to speak to someone, Thomas stood as well, hoping for a moment alone with him. Though Thomas knew the chance was slim, it wouldn’t hurt to prod the man for information.

  “Did you hear of Joseph Smead’s murder?” Thomas asked when Cummings was alone.

  “Terrible, isn’t it? What is the world coming to?” Cummings shook his head. “They haven’t yet caught whoever did it from what I heard.”

  “One has to hope they will soon.” Thomas certainly did. “How’s the trading business these days?”

  “Lucrative, as always. Especially for the East India Company. Care to make an investment?” Cummings asked with a smile.

  “Not at the moment. It sounds as if the Company continues to expand.”

  “Indeed. East Indiamen, their fleet of ships, grow in size and number. Antiquities continue to be all the rage, shipped to England by the cases. Spices, silk, and tea are still being traded, of course.” Cummings held his gaze for a long moment. “The opium trade is also paying well I hear.”

  “I can’t say I’m happy to hear that.”

  “Nor am I. But the Company has to have some way to finance the tea trade. China refuses to buy British products and will only sell their goods for silver. I suppose we can’t have all our silver being sent out of the country.”

  “It’s difficult to believe some other method can’t be found.” Could Smead have stumbled on something about the opium business that resulted in his murder? “I hear the Company is trying to gain control of more docks along the Thames.” Thomas didn’t know if that was true but thought it worth mentioning to see if the statement garnered a reaction.

  “They’ve had their eye on several they’d like to buy.”

  “Do you happen to know which ones?”

  Cummings’ eyes narrowed with curiosity as he looked at Thomas. “Why would those details interest you?”

  “I realize it’s unlikely,” Thomas began with a casual smile. “But the Earl of Arlingwood mentioned that Smead often visited the dock, and I wondered if there could be a connection.”

  Cummings shook his head. “I can’t believe that’s possible.”

  “I’m certain you are right. It just crossed my mind after speaking with Arlingwood.” He didn’t know Cummings well, but the man seemed visibly concerned at the idea. Thomas wanted to know why, but his instincts told him now wasn’t the time to press for details.

  Perhaps he would return to the club the next evening or two to see if he could learn anything more. Or rather, if Cummings had learned anything more.

  Chapter Nine

  Two days later, Thomas looked up from his desk to see Bing escorting Cummings into his office. Surprised, Thomas stood to greet him. “What brings you here today? Have a book you’d like to publish?”

  Based on the man’s grim expression, Thomas had the feeling something else was on his mind. Cummings hadn’t been at the club the previous evening, much to Thomas’s disappointment. But his presence here suggested something was afoot.

  “I just overheard a conversation I thought you’d want to know about.” Cummings glanced over his shoulder to make certain Bing had left the room. “There might very well be a connection between Smead’s murder and the Company.”

  “How do you mean?” Thomas stilled even as his heartbeat pounded in his ears.

  “I assume you can keep my name out of this.” Cummings lowered his voice, looking at the door again as if to see if it remained closed. He appeared more nervous than Thomas had ever seen him, his normal good humor absent.

  “Of course.”

  “According to what I overheard at the East India Office earlier today, there are two docks they’re determined to take over by whatever means necessary.”

  Thomas waited as Cummings hesitated, half-afraid the man wouldn’t share more.

  “The ones owned by Arlingwood and Sir Reginald Gold.”

  He stared at Cummings in disbelief as a chill crept along his flesh. “Truly?”

  Cummings nodded. “East India intends to buy them both for next to nothing. Then they’ll control an even larger section of the docks along the Thames.”

  Thomas’s thoughts raced. This was too much of a coincidence not to be related. The logical part of his mind suggested there could be a connection. The suspicious part leapt to the conclusion that someone within the Company knew Annabelle had written A Murder Most Unusual and intended to use it. Did they plan on suggesting Sir Reginald was somehow involved in the murder? “Did you hear any other details?”

  “That’s all I know.” Cummings shook his head. “I can’t imagine who at the Company is directing this, nor do I have proof of anything. Smead was a friend. I can’t believe he was murdered for greed.”

  “Nor can I.”

  “I’ll advise you if I come across anything else.” Cummings held his gaze. “If you intend to get involved, take care. Whoever is behind this will apparently stop at nothing.” He took his leave, unaware Thomas was directly on his heels.

  He needed to warn Annabelle to make certain her entire family took care.

  ~*~

  “Oh dear.” Annabelle’s mother frowned as she read the contents of a message that had just arrived.

  “What is it?” Annabelle looked up from her chair in the drawing room where she sat reading.

  “Aberland won’t be able to accompany your father to the docks today. Something’s arisen to keep him away.”

  “Is Father intent on going?” There were times when her father didn’t remember what day it was, let alone what he’d planned. But other times, he became focused on his schedule. Any
change to his plans—if he remembered them—was extremely upsetting.

  “Yes, I’m afraid so.”

  “I would be happy to accompany him,” Annabelle offered as she marked her page in the book and set it on a nearby table.

  “Are you certain?”

  “Of course.” Annabelle had gone with him on several occasions, all of which had proven uneventful.

  Although Sir Reginald made few decisions regarding the business since Aberland had begun assisting him, her father liked to visit the docks. No doubt part of him remembered doing so in the past.

  “I’ll see if he still intends to go.” Annabelle rose alongside her mother, aware Lady Gold didn’t like visiting the office. She insisted she didn’t know enough about the business to be helpful if the manager asked Sir Reginald’s opinion on things.

  Annabelle struggled with that as well, but Caroline and Aberland had given her some basic instructions that eased her worry.

  “It’s important to the employees that Sir Reginald be seen walking through the area,” Aberland had explained. “Encourage him to greet people, even if he doesn’t remember their names. If anyone has specific questions, tell them you’ll look into the matter. Then let me know and I’ll see what I can do.”

  Aberland had his own interests to look after in addition to her father’s, so Annabelle was happy to help in any way she could. She didn’t know much about the business but liked to think she was intelligent—and creative—enough to decide how to proceed if the need arose.

  Annabelle knocked on the library door before opening it to find her father pacing the room.

  He turned to look at her. “It’s time for me to go to the office? I don’t want to be late.” He pulled a gold pocket watch from his waistcoat and checked the time.

  “I thought I’d come with you, Father.”

  He gave a one-shouldered shrug. “If you wish.”

  Before long, she and her father were riding in the carriage Aberland had sent for their use, headed toward the shipyard.

  “Do you have something specific you wish to do at the office today?” Annabelle asked her father.

  His green eyes, so like Caroline’s, shifted to her. “Work, of course. What else would I do there?” He frowned as he looked at her as if aware something wasn’t quite right. “Why are you accompanying me?”

  “I haven’t been there in some time. I thought it might be nice for us to have a few hours together.”

  Her father shook his head as if puzzled by her answer. “Women shouldn’t go to the docks.” He had old-fashioned ideas on women and their place, including his daughters.

  “It’s a nice day for a carriage ride, don’t you think?” Annabelle looked out the window, hoping to change the subject before he argued.

  Spending time with her father was both pleasure and pain, depending on his mood, which could change as quick as lightning. But she liked to think she’d improved her skills in keeping him calm since Caroline married.

  “I suppose.” He followed her gaze out the window. “Perhaps the rain will hold off until this evening.”

  Soon the carriage drew to a halt at the dock entrance, and they alighted. Annabelle requested the driver to wait.

  Her father had built the Brunswick Dock over two decades ago, one of a series of docks along the River Thames. A high wall surrounded it to protect the cargo from river piracy. With Aberland’s guidance, the business had regained some of its previous prosperity.

  The stench of brine, sewage, and fish had Annabelle’s nose twitching. Then there was the mud and clamor and chaos. How did one ever grow accustomed to it all? Workers hurried along—always hurrying.

  Timber arrived from America and the Baltic. Foodstuffs from Canada. But with the East India Company’s grip on trade from both India and the Far East, the variety of goods on this dock was somewhat limited. Warehouses held the items, where they were sorted, packed, and loaded onto carts and wagons or ships, depending on their destination.

  The far building housed the offices and Annabelle held onto her father’s arm as they walked toward it. She knew a few of the workers’ names and whispered them to her father if they greeted him or waved from afar. Many had specialized skills and had worked there for years.

  Sir Reginald seemed to realize his memory was failing him at times like this as if he recognized faces and sensed he should know the person but couldn’t understand why he didn’t. The helpless look that sometimes came over his face squeezed her heart. But rather than give in to the emotions that threatened, she aided him when she could, doing her best to act as if nothing was amiss.

  As his gaze swept over the bustling docks, a look of pride filled his expression. “Business appears to be good,” he said with a nod.

  His obvious happiness had Annabelle smiling, pleased she’d accompanied him.

  They made their way up the stairs of the building to the office where he’d spent so many of his days. The manager, Mr. Morris, was accustomed to these visits and prepared reports to review with both Sir Reginald and Aberland. The man had been apprised of the situation by Aberland and genuinely tried to be both helpful and respectful. Though organized and efficient, the manager lacked the business acumen necessary to handle additional responsibility.

  How much of the reports her father understood wasn’t always clear, but for now, this seemed like the best way to deal with the circumstances.

  “Good day, Mr. Morris,” Annabelle said as the stout man with a ruddy complexion and a receding hairline rose from his desk with a smile.

  “Miss Gold, what a pleasure. Sir Reginald.” He bowed. “I hope the day finds you well.”

  They exchanged a few pleasantries before Mr. Morris adjusted his spectacles. “I have updates on the latest activity if you’d like to review them.”

  “Excellent.” Sir Reginald studied the papers Mr. Morris handed him, nodding as the manager explained various items in the neatly penned columns.

  Annabelle listened with interest as well. Though not all of it made sense to her, the knowledge that Aberland would review the information was reassuring.

  “What of the East India Company?” her father asked. “Have any of their representatives come by of late?”

  Annabelle tightened her lips at the reminder of the pressure the Company continued to place on her father to sell for a low price. Could they truly be tied to Mr. Smead’s murder? The notion was unsettling, but rumors swirled at how ruthless the Company could be.

  “At least once a week.” Mr. Morris shook his head. “They don’t want to take no for an answer.”

  “Tell them we are not interested in their paltry offer.” Her father’s anger had Annabelle drawing closer. Strong emotions often rattled him. But this was one topic he rarely forgot, nor did he change his answer.

  “I will, sir.”

  Her father stepped to the window that overlooked the dock, his gaze seeming to take it in. “I didn’t build this only to have them steal it from me.”

  “Business has been brisk. As long as that continues, there’s no need to consider selling.”

  “Selling?” Her father spun on his heel to glare at Mr. Morris, his expression fierce. “We’re not selling.”

  Annabelle reached for his arm, hoping to calm him. “No, we’re not.” She raised a brow at the manager. “Isn’t that right, Mr. Morris?”

  “Quite right.” The manager appeared taken aback by her father’s reaction.

  “We should be on our way, Father,” she said. “Mother will wonder what is taking us so long.” Never mind that they’d only been there a few minutes.

  He blinked several times as if trying to gather his thoughts. Annabelle waited a moment then gestured toward the door.

  “Thank you for your time, Mr. Morris. My father will return soon.”

  “Always a pleasure to have you here, sir.”

  Her father nodded as he allowed Annabelle to guide him to the exit.

  “Good day,” Annabelle said, but her father said nothing as th
ey left then made their way down the stairs and out the building.

  He paused when they stood outside and looked about with interest. “This is a busy place. What business do we have here, Annabelle?”

  Her breath caught as she studied him, the blank look in his eyes suggesting he truly didn’t know. “We were speaking with that nice man upstairs, Mr. Morris. But it’s time to go home now. Mother is waiting.” The sooner they were in the carriage the better before any of the men who’d worked for him for years realized something was wrong.

  He smiled and patted her hand which held his arm. “You have a wonderful mother, and I have a wonderful wife.”

  The tightness in her chest eased. At least he remembered that much.

  ~*~

  Thomas arrived at the shipyard and hopped out of the hackney, noting a black carriage waiting nearby along with a driver and footman. Of all times for Annabelle to have accompanied her father to the shipyard, why did it have to be today, before he’d had the chance to tell her of the possible danger?

  When the Gold’s butler had advised him that both Sir Reginald and Annabelle were here, his stomach had pitched. Though from what little he knew, there was no imminent threat, unease gripped him. He didn’t want to upset either of them, but he needed to tell Annabelle what he’d learned and warn her to take care.

  A glance inside the carriage showed it to be empty. The driver, who waited along with a footman, raised a brow at Thomas. “Can I help you, sir?”

  “Sir Reginald and his daughter are still at the dock?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Thomas hurried toward the entrance, not bothering to explain his purpose to the servants.

  He searched the busy scene for Annabelle, relieved to see nothing that alarmed him. Workers were going on about their business as crates and barrels piled high on carts were moved about. Long lengths of timber were loaded on wagons by men working in pairs.

  Thomas caught sight of Annabelle in the distance, walking with a well-dressed, older gentleman who he knew to be her father. The tenseness in his body loosened to see them unharmed and moving in his direction. No one seemed to pay them any mind other than a few who offered friendly waves.