But for now, she needed to borrow another gown.
As a ducal carriage took them to Wrexham House, Alex asked, “How do you know Lord Wrexham? And how did you overcome your distaste for his title?”
“I was doing my best to get drunk in a rather low-class establishment in Calcutta. I must have been looking grim about it, because Maxwell invited himself to sit down.” Gavin chuckled at the memory. “I thought Maxwell was his family name, or I might have said no. But he was good company, so when he asked what was wrong, I told him how Elliott House was on the verge of bankruptcy.”
“How did that happen? The company is prospering now, isn’t it?”
“After Helena died, I was fairly useless for months, and at the same time Elliott House hit a run of bad luck—a lost ship, legal persecution in a South American port, misjudgments about some large cargos. We were weakened but would have pulled through, until a British merchant decided to drive me out of business. Then Maxwell appeared. He rather liked the idea of becoming part owner of a trading company, so I sold him a quarter of Elliott House for enough money to weather my financial problems.”
“He’s done well from his investment?”
“We both have. He spent time in Macao and Canton and knows the business, so he’s been useful here in London.” Gavin grinned. “I think it appeals to him to continue active trading. Very antiaristocratic.”
“No wonder you get along well.” Alex’s brows drew together. “The merchant who tried to drive you out of business—is that the man you told Sultan Kasan to avoid? Pierce, I think the name was?”
She was already as perceptive as her mother. “He’s the one. Given the circumstances, I’m surprised you remembered that.”
“It seemed so unlike you to go out of the way to criticize someone. I presume the fellow is quite dreadful.”
“He is.” Gavin hesitated, wondering how much to say. But Alex was part of his life now, and she should know, particularly since there was a chance she’d meet the man here in London. “Barton Pierce is the worst kind of villain—the sort who appears smooth and honest. He can be quite charming, but he’s ruthless when he thinks his interests are threatened—and he is a man who feels easily threatened.”
“What did he do that caused so much trouble?”
“He offered to buy a large amount of tea from me at a price that would keep the company going. The deal was done on a handshake, which made it easy for him to repudiate later. I was left with a lot of tea very late in the season with no chance of getting the price I needed.”
“A nasty but effective tactic. Your word against his, and if you complained publicly, you’d look weak and foolish.”
“Exactly. Later I investigated and found that he’d played similar tricks on other men, and destroyed at least one company that way.” Gavin thought of his despair on the night he’d met Maxwell. He’d lost his family and was about to lose everything else. It would have been easy to throw his life away as well. “Pierce had no reason to ruin me—there was profit enough for both of us. I think he enjoys destruction.”
“Appalling man. Where is he based—Macao?”
“The last I heard, he was planning to return to London so he could settle down and enjoy his fortune.”
Alex’s eyes narrowed. “Is there a connection between his returning to England and your deciding to move here?”
“There’s a connection,” he admitted, “but I have no colorful plans for revenge. Merely a bit of…justice.”
Alex bit her lip. “It isn’t good to pick fights with snakes, Gavin. They are so much better at being venomous. What do you intend to do?”
“I really don’t know. If I have the opportunity to act against Pierce in a lawful way, I’ll take it, but I’m not about to challenge him to a duel.” Gavin smiled. “That’s another aristocratic custom I have no use for.”
“Why do I find your declaration less than comforting?”
Because his wife was entirely too perceptive.
Chapter 21
BEFORE ALEX could pursue the subject of Barton Pierce, they arrived at their destination. The situation disturbed her. Though she had faith in her husband’s competence, unscrupulous men had an advantage when dealing with those who were honest. A merchant who crushed opponents for sport would be a dangerous adversary.
But that was a topic for later. As they were admitted to Wrexham House, a beaming dark-haired man emerged from the drawing room and took Gavin’s hand in a hard clasp. “So you’re really here! I never quite believed you’d make it to London.”
“I ran out of excuses not to come.” Gavin returned the other man’s handshake with equal fervor. “But I was sorry to hear about your father.”
“I never would have guessed how much I’d miss the old devil. But his last years were good ones, and he died quietly in his sleep. We’re all grateful for that. Now, please introduce me to your wife.” Wrexham turned to Alex, and his brows rose. “Actually, we know each other already. Aren’t you Miss Melbourne, Ashburton’s niece?”
She offered her hand with a laugh. “I was a dozen years ago. We danced together several times, as I recall. You were dreadfully serious.” He’d been stiff and rather intimidating, actually, the kind of rich young man she’d had no interest in marrying. She barely recognized him in this relaxed man with the warm smile.
“I was bored beyond belief, and plotting how to escape to see the world. Succeeding at that did wonders for my disposition.”
Alex rummaged through her memory. “Don’t you have a twin brother? I once mistook him for you. He was rather offended at the mistake, I think.”
Wrexham laughed. “We hated being confused with each other then, but we’ve mended fences since. Please come and meet my wife.”
As they entered the drawing room, a slender woman rose. To Alex’s surprise, she was Chinese. No, Eurasian. As tall as Alex, Lady Wrexham was stunning, stylish, and as exotic as a tropical orchid. Laughing, she gave Gavin a hug. “Honorable Elliott! It has been far too long.”
“Jin Kang, just look at you!” Gavin hugged her with the warmth of long friendship. “Or should I call you Mei-Lian?”
“Troth will do.”
Alex was intrigued to hear that the other woman had a faint, charming Scottish accent rather like Gavin’s. London seemed much more interesting than it had been a dozen years earlier.
Gavin said, “Troth, allow me to present my wife, Alexandra Elliott.”
“I am pleased to meet you, Mrs. Elliott.” Troth’s calm face showed recognition of the fact that not everyone would approve of a Eurasian countess.
Thinking this was a woman she wanted to know better, Alex said, “I gather you know Gavin from Macao? I do hope you can tell me wicked stories about his past.”
Troth’s brown eyes danced. “I shall be delighted to do so.”
The men looked at each other. “It was a grave error to get them together,” Gavin said soberly.
“Disastrous,” Wrexham said with equal gravity. “Let us hope that dinner will prevent them from plotting mischief.”
The meal did delay plotting, as well as giving Alex the chance to learn more about the Chinese past the others shared. She liked discovering pieces of Gavin’s history. The excellent food included rice and several Chinese dishes in addition to the usual English fare. The countess’s graceful hand also showed elsewhere, in furnishings and arrangements that added a dash of elegant East to luxurious West.
As dinner ended, Gavin said, “I’ve never been fond of the custom of men lingering over the port, but Maxwell—sorry, Wrexham—and I have business to discuss. Will you ladies excuse us if we promise not to talk too long?”
“Of course.” The countess rose and collected Alex with a glance. “Mrs. Elliott, would you by any chance like to meet my little boy?”
“How did you know the exact entertainment that would please me most?” Alex exclaimed as they left the room.
“I didn’t. Selfishly, I wanted to visit him.”
�
��What could be more natural? I have a nine-year-old daughter.” She smiled. “I never knew how thoroughly one falls in love with one’s child.”
“How can a woman know before she becomes a mother?”
The women shared a glance of perfect understanding as they headed upstairs together. By the time they reached the nursery, they were on a first-name basis.
When they entered, a very small boy looked up from his toy blocks, then ran to his mother with open arms. “Mama!”
“Dominic, my darling!” Troth scooped the child up, making nonsense sounds as she cradled him. No, not nonsense, she was speaking Chinese. Alex couldn’t understand a word, but the intonation was unmistakable.
After Troth and her son finished their greeting, the countess asked, “Would you like to hold Dominic? My small viscount is very sociable.”
“I’d love to.” Alex took the warm little body into her arms.
He blinked up at her for a moment, then planted a smacking kiss on her chin. “Pretty.”
Alex laughed as the boy latched onto her necklace. “I think he approves of me.”
“He knows welcoming arms when he meets them.”
There was a hint of the Orient around Dominic’s eyes. Alex thought of the almond-eyed child she might have had, and had to blink back tears. “He’s beautiful.”
“Thank you.” Troth hesitated. “I’m sorry—is something wrong?”
“I had a miscarriage on the voyage home. Seeing this little fellow makes me feel the loss.” Alex detached her necklace from the child’s fist and returned him to his mother.
“I’m so sorry,” Troth said with compassion. “I also had one several months ago. The physician assures me there is no reason to suppose it will happen next time, but that does not cure the sadness for what might have been.”
It was another strand of understanding in what Alex hoped was the beginning of a real friendship. Troth kissed her son and handed him to the indulgent nursemaid. As they left, Alex asked, “You’re teaching Dominic Chinese?”
“Yes. With luck, he’ll pick it up painlessly. If he goes to the East, it will come in handy.” Troth hesitated, then said, “I also want my children to have some sense of Chinese culture.”
“Of course. It would be a sad loss if they were raised in ignorance of such an important part of their heritage.”
“I’m glad you understand. Not everyone does.” Troth made a rueful face. “Particularly not the elderly Renbourne cousins and aunts. But they’ve become used to my ways. The old earl ordered them to accept me or else, and they didn’t dare find out what ‘or else’ meant.”
Alex laughed. “I’m sure you’re bringing strong new blood into the Renbourne line, and about time. Many of these old families have been marrying each other for too many generations. My uncle was pleased to learn I’d married a Yankee, and disappointed when he found out Gavin is British by birth.”
“Ah, but you can do no better than Gavin Elliott for a husband.” Troth’s smile was mischievous. “Shall we take tea in the conservatory while I tell you more about him? Though you may be disappointed. I worked for him as a translator on and off for years, and never saw a single example of wickedness or dishonesty.”
“I’d be surprised if you had.” They stepped into the conservatory, and Alex gasped. “How beautiful this is! Like a tropical garden.”
“It was Kyle’s gift to me when Dominic was born.” Troth bent her head to inhale the perfume of a gorgeous pink-and-white lily. “We have a larger conservatory at Dornleigh, the Renbourne family seat, but this is special because one needs the beauty so much more in London. My sister-in-law is a great gardener, so we designed the conservatory together. Meriel can make anything grow.”
Alex wandered down the curving path, touching flowers and leaves in wonder. Scattered among the greenery were small statues, both Chinese and European, and a fountain sang gently nearby. “What a wonderful piece of the East to find in London.” And also a gift of love from a husband who truly understood his wife. The conservatory was a living testament to how people could build a bridge between very different worlds.
The path ended in a sizable area that was floored with warm Spanish tile. A small table and several chairs were set there so one could enjoy both the conservatory and the conventional garden on the other side of the glass. “Do you take meals here often?”
“Whenever Kyle and I dine alone together.” Troth bent to scratch the head of a tabby cat that emerged from under a low palm to twine around her ankles. “Since you’ve lived in the East, you know how buildings blend indoors and outdoors. Kyle and I both liked that, so we’ve created a cold-climate version.”
A footman appeared with a tea tray and left it on the table. Troth poured for them both as the cat tucked its paws and watched with sleepy interest. “Is Suryo Indarto still with your husband?”
“Yes, he’s in London now.”
“Excellent. I hope to see Tuan Suryo soon. We often worked together at Elliott House. When business was slow, I taught him Chinese. In return he taught me Malay and pentjak silat.”
Alex put down her tea cup in amazement. “You know Indies fighting?”
“A little. I’m surprised you know what it is.”
“I’ve seen Gavin use pentjak silat. He’s very, very good.”
“Tuan Suryo must have taught him.” Troth took a sip of tea. “I learned some moves and holds from Tuan Suryo, but I’m not an expert. My principal training is in wing chun, one of many forms of Chinese fighting. They say wing chun was developed by Buddhist nuns, and it is particularly well suited to females.”
“A fighting art specially for women?” Alex leaned forward eagerly. “Can you teach me? Please?”
“You wish to learn?” The other woman looked startled. “It takes years of training. I began studying wing chun as a child and have practiced my whole life. It would take a very long time for you to master.”
“I understand that I would never be an adept, but can you teach me basic skills of self defense? A woman needs to be able to protect herself.” Hearing the vehemence in her voice, Alex said more quietly, “I don’t ever want to be helpless again.”
“I see.”
Troth’s shrewd gaze saw far more than Alex had said, but the thought was not distressing. There had been an immediate sense of connection between them that was creating more honesty than was usual with new acquaintances. Was it because Alex had seen some of the world Troth had grown up in? Whatever the reason, she was glad.
“Eastern fighting arts are as much a matter of mind as body,” the other woman said pensively. “They require thought, discipline, and reflection. Basic moves can be taught. The problem is that few women have the minds of warriors. One must have the will to fight as well as the knowledge.”
Alex thought of her vain, furious struggles in slavery. “I can and will fight. What I want is to know how to fight well.”
Troth’s mouth curved into a smile. “I warn you, even simple lessons can create many bruises.”
“No matter. Can you give me a demonstration?”
“Now? We are not dressed for sparring.” She indicated her stylish, full-sleeved gown disparagingly. “A tunic and loose trousers are best.”
“Perhaps a very, very small lesson?” Alex wasn’t sure herself why this was so important to her, only that she desperately wanted to learn. “If I ever need to defend myself, I’ll probably be dressed much as I am now.”
“True. Very well, if you wish it, and don’t mind a hard floor.” Troth stood and pushed the table and chairs to one side of the tiled space. As soon as her chair was relocated, the cat jumped into it, curling up to absorb the warmth left by her mistress.
Troth moved to the center of the open space and took a relaxed, balanced posture on the balls of her feet. “Attack me.”
Feeling suddenly absurd, Alex moved forward to throw an uneasy fist at the other woman’s shoulder. Troth caught her wrist effortlessly, twisting it just enough to make further advance painfu
l. “Remember what I said about women not knowing how to fight? Try again as if you mean it.”
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You won’t. But remember that to be a warrior, you must want to do harm. Think of me as the worst enemy you ever had. Someone you hate.”
Alex stepped back and stared at Troth while imagining Bhudy’s vicious cruelty. The bastard. She stepped forward and swung her right fist hard at her target’s jaw.
She was preparing to follow up with her left fist when she found herself on the floor. Troth had caught her with a firm, inexorable grip, tilting Alex off balance and forcing her down to the tile. For a slender woman, she was remarkably strong.
“Better.” Troth offered her hand to help her opponent rise. “But are you sure you want to do this?”
“Yes!” Alex bounced to her feet, excitement buzzing through her. “I appreciate that you were careful with me, but you needn’t worry that I’ll break. Can you show me how you did that?”
Troth gave a long, slow smile. “I think, Alexandra, that we will have a most unusual friendship.”
“I do hope so. Now…where did you place your hands?” Alex didn’t care how many bruises she acquired. What mattered was to be strong.
Never to be a victim again.
Chapter 22
“THE EARL’S Blend tea is selling like a bonfire. It is going to make us very rich.” Wrexham accompanied his comment with a sheet summarizing the last six months of income and expenses. “Or rather, even richer than we are already.”
Gavin whistled at the figures. “Inventing that blend was the best day’s work you ever did for Elliott House, Maxwell.” He caught himself and shook his head in irritation. “Sorry, I’ll get that right eventually. I keep thinking of Wrexham as your father.”
“Perhaps you should call me Kyle—that name hasn’t changed.”
“Thank you. It might be easier to remember.” Knowing how formal Englishmen were about using first names, Gavin felt honored. Setting aside the financial statement, he asked, “Is Barton Pierce in London?”
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