Lady Forsaken Box Set (Books 1 - 5), page 12
“My pleasure.”
He left the room.
Viola turned to Ruby and knew from the look on her friend’s face that they had much to discuss. “What?” Vi asked.
“Why ever would you send Mr. Cale when I know you wish to see Brock?”
“Because I am not willing to risk everything I have attained in the last eight years for the chance to be in a man’s presence for a few hours. Need I list all the other reasons I cannot travel to London?” Viola held up her open hand, fingers outstretched, and counted off her reasons. “Number one: I gave him a false name. Number two: Not one person in polite society would entertain my return to town, and number three—Rodney.” Vi shut her mouth so quickly she bit her lip.
Ruby’s eyes narrowed. “Rodney . . . Mr. Swiftenberg? Whatever does that dandified man have to do with your decision not to meet Brock in London?”
“Did I say Rodney? I meant—”
“You are a terrible liar.”
Vi sighed and sank into the chair next to the ornately carved fireplace. Curse Ruby for knowing her so well.
“What are you not telling me?” Ruby asked.
“Just as you know Brock, Harold, and Rodney from your childhood, so do I have a history of sorts with Rodney.” She only debated for a moment before deciding to tell Ruby everything. There was no real reason she hadn’t told her the day everything happened; there was certainly no point in holding back now. “Rodney was there that day.”
“Are we talking about the day? You’ve made it clear you never wish to speak of that day.”
It was true, Viola had hoped leaving London and starting a new life would put that dreadful day behind her, but wherever she went, her past was not far behind. She’d spent the last eight years running from what she’d done.
Vi’s silence must have encouraged Ruby to continue her line of questioning. “Did he speak with you the day they came here? That is highly improper.”
“Yes, we spoke privately, but the only improper thing that occurred was him threatening me to stay away from his cousin.”
“He obviously knew you did not seek Brock out, and had no future plans to cultivate your relationship with him.” It was Ruby’s turn to rise from her seat and pace.
“Well, of course that is what I said. We both know the man will hate me if he ever learns my true name. . . If I were him I would hate me, as well.”
“Tis sad, is it not that, people do not believe in the power of change?”
“Some days I wonder what the point of changing was—except I could not have lived long with myself.”
“Do not pity yourself—it’s unbecoming. I do hope you put Rodney in his place.”
“There was no point in it. I hope to never see that insufferable man again.” Viola picked up her needlepoint and set back to work.
Never seeing the man would be too soon, indeed. And she most definitely never planned to see Rodney again, his wrath was not something she’d anticipate experiencing. Connor would do a fine job of representing Foldger’s Foals in London, after all, his livelihood depended on the business’ success just as much, if not more, than Vi’s did.
She’d never truly thought of what Connor would do without his position and salary. Did he have a family home to return to? A savings, even a meager one, to help him get by until he found another position?
Connor must know how important this meeting was to them all.
Chapter 14
Brock watched as his stable hand put the young foal through its paces, starting with a walk and moving into trot, gallop, and eventually a run. There was barely room in the small grassy area at the back of his London townhouse, but they managed. The transitions were smooth, with nary a hitch. The entire crop of young had exceeded his expectations thus far. How the woman gained such acclaim for her stock, he now knew.
“My lord?”
He turned to see a stable lad, envelope in hand, and head bowed.
“Yes, Charles,” Brock said. It had been difficult convincing his staff to be at ease in his presence. He was not a harsh man, which he had learned was a rarity nowadays in society.
“You tol’ ye valet to bring you ye post as soon as it got here.” The boy held out the envelope.
He’d been expecting a reply from Lady Viola for the last several days. For his plan to be executed, he had to get the insufferable woman to town. “Thank you.” Brock broke the seal and removed the letter, written on pale pink parchment.
“Beg’n ye pardon but may I be go’n, my lord?”
“Of course. We would not want the stable master thinking you are tarrying in your duties now, would we?”
Charles straightened in surprise, but when Brock followed his statement with a wink, the boy relaxed and hurried on his way.
Brock returned his attention to the letter in his hand.
As he read, his mood darkened and he couldn’t help the explicit phrase that fought its way out. “Bloody, unbearable woman!”
“What has Lady Viola done to anger you now?” Harold asked behind him. “I cannot think over much, as she is not even in the same shire.”
“I would not be so sure her person cannot cause my foul mood just because she is hours away.” Brock handed the letter to Harold.
“Ah. You are upset because the woman will not rush to London at your beck and call.” He looked up at Brock and handed him back the letter. “She may be the cause behind your family tragedy, but she is no fool. She has successfully kept her identity hidden from everyone she does business with, it is not logical for you to expect her to travel here to meet with new clients.”
“I am sick of your insight into the human mind.” Brock pushed past his friend and headed through the garden, back to the house. Why could things not go as he planned? Life in London was very different from his life as a military man. His men had done what he commanded, in exactly the manner he commanded it done.
Harold hurried after Brock, his footsteps quick to catch up. “What will you do now?”
Brock stopped and Harold almost crashed into him. “Is it not obvious? I have to organize a meeting with potential clients for Mr. Cale to meet with.”
“I was unaware you actually have people interested in purchasing foals . . .”
“I do not, but I am fairly certain we can collect a few ‘clients.’”
“We?”
“Of course.” Brock started for the house once more. Again, she’d found a way to elude him. “Mr. Cale should arrive on the morrow. That gives me the next few hours to figure this out,” he called over his shoulder.
“I will get my coat and we will be on our way.”
“Oh, I do not plan to look farther than my own home.” It was not as though he needed to actually find someone willing to spend the money needed to buy foals; Brock only needed to produce a few people who appeared willing.
“This should indeed be interesting.”
“My lord, are you positive we are allowed within White’s?” Buttons, Brock’s butler, spoke for the three men currently ensconced in one of White’s private rooms. They all held tumblers with two fingers of scotch apiece and sat perfectly upright.
This was in complete contrast to Brock, who’d downed two tumblers full in short order. How could he have ever thought this would work? His butler, valet, and stable master masquerading as gentlemen of the ton. He had been so sure of his scheme on the coach ride from Hanover Square.
Brock eyed his servants and noted their obvious discomfort. “It is quite fine. You are in the company of an earl, who would dare question my choice of companions?” He hoped his voice held conviction, because he was unsure of the protocol when bringing guests into his gentlemen’s club. “Do have a drink and relax or we will never pull this off.”
“As you wish, my lord,” Parsons said.
“And please call me Haversham for the duration of the evening.” Brock looked between the three men—his London stable master, Jeffers, Parsons, his valet, and Buttons.
At Brock’s insistence, all three men sipped their scotch and nervously eyed their surroundings. He could imagine their awe at being entrenched in the plush and luxurious inner sanctum that was White’s. Many men only dreamed of attaining an invitation past the front doors. While Brock had given up the finer things in life when he’d traveled with his military group, he had been raised amidst wealth and privilege—no matter how hard he’d tried to forget it.
Booted feet sounded and then two male voices could be heard outside the room.
A soft knock sounded and the door swung open.
“Lord Haversham, I am so glad you and your associates were able to meet with me this evening,” Mr. Cale said.
Brock stood and shook the man’s outstretched hand. “Of course. I am sure you are eager to return to Hampshire.”
“That I am, my lord.”
“Then shall we get started?” When Mr. Cale inclined his head, Brock moved on to introductions. “May I introduce Lord Parsons, Mr. Buttons, and Sir Jeffers. And this, gentlemen, is the representative from Foldger’s Foals.”
The men shook Mr. Cale’s hand in turn and looked to Brock for their next move.
“Let us sit.” Brock and Harold had decided to avoid further confusion on his servants’ parts; they would keep their surnames. This meeting would not be overly long, and added complexity was not needed. As far as he knew, Mr. Cale was not a man of the ton and a few made-up aristocrats would not be noticed.
Thankfully, Mr. Cale had come prepared and navigated the men through the requirements for their respective stables.
Brock had had the foresight to instruct each man on their lineage and estate location, all safely more than a day’s ride from Foldger’s Foals, situated in remote villages unknown to most outside their particular regions.
“Sir Jeffers, what do you foresee yourself needing foal for?” Mr. Cale asked.
Jeffers cleared his throat, glanced at Brock, and took a sip from his tumbler before answering. “I am looking for carriage horses. I travel frequently between London and my properties. The journey is long, and I find my horses do not last as long as one would hope.”
Brock nodded for him to continue.
“My—Lord Haversham has spoken your praise.” Buttons faltered.
“We have the finest stock in all of England, or so Tattersalls is wont to say.” Mr. Cale laughed, not recognizing the slip. “Thank you gentlemen for meeting with me. I would enjoy your visiting Foldger’s Foals if you are ever in our area.”
“Oh, for certain.” Parsons spoke up.
“Well, gentlemen. You have our directions. Please let me know if I can be of any help when the time comes for you to purchase.” Mr. Cale shook each man’s hand in turn and executed a bow in Brock’s direction. “I will leave you to your evening.”
“We are departing as well, we will walk you out.” Brock hoped to look engaged in business as they left in order to discourage any conversation with others in the club. “Right this way.” He stepped in to walk beside Mr. Cale, his men leading the way. “Thank you for traveling to London on such short notice. I believe where business is involved you must strike when the iron is hot, as they say.”
“Lady Posey is very grateful for your recommendation.” Mr. Cale smiled.
Brock was unsure what about the man irked him, but while in Cale’s presence the urge to frown at his overly jovial attitude was overwhelming. It quite possibly had more to do with the woman Mr. Cale worked for. “I enjoy seeing businesses receive what they deserve.” Brock returned the man’s smile.
They traversed the newly crowded main room and made their way to the front. Men lounged, drank, and played cards in the many nooks the club featured. Cigar smoke hung as heavy over the room as the early morning fog was wont to do across the English countryside. A servant swept the front doors open and a familiar voice called to Brock.
“Gentlemen, please hail our coach. I will be right out,” Brock said to his servants, and turned to greet his ever-present cousin. “Good evening, Rodney.”
“Brock, was that—” Rodney tried to look over Brock’s shoulder to get a glimpse of the men departing with Mr. Cale.
Brock quickly shifted to the left to block Rodney’s view. “You are correct. Mr. Cale traveled to London to meet with a few potential clients.”
“No, I thought I saw someone else I recognized.” Eyebrows raised in suspicion, Rodney relaxed his posture. “I do hope you have not invited her to London.”
They both knew the her to whom Rodney referred.
“I would not dream of that.” Brock hadn’t paused long enough to dream about inviting her to town, but had hurriedly posted the letter to her—the one resulting in Mr. Cale’s presence. “I must be going. Ladies to meet and balls to attend.”
He’d never tire of rubbing it in Rodney’s face that he, Brock, held the fate of the Earldom in his hands. If he chose to marry and have children, then Rodney’s grasp on the title would slip further and further away.
“Good day, cousin.” Brock took the coat a servant held out to him and exited his club, the doors closing silently behind him.
Chapter 15
Connor exited White’s with the gentlemen Lord Haversham had introduced him to, pausing on the walk outside. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Lord Parsons, Mr. Buttons, and Sir Jeffers.” Connor looked at each man in turn. “I do hope to conduct business in the future.”
Even as he said it, Connor kept envisioning the scene he had stumbled upon at Foldger’s Foals just a few short days before: Lord Haversham and Lady Vi, wrapped tightly in each other’s embrace in the pasture. Haversham had had no right to kiss her—she was meant for him! Even her father had expressed his agreement to their union.
“Good day,” the men chimed, stiffly.
Odd, the men didn’t act as most men of the ton did. In his not-too-distant past, men of the upper class had taken pleasure in emphasizing his lower station in life, always finding the opportunity to showcase their superiority.
“Please, give Lord Haversham my regards. I must be off to another meeting before I return to the country.”
“Of course. Do enjoy your time.” Lord Parsons looked around nervously.
Had he forgotten how to hail their carriage? It was not his concern either way. Connor turned on his heel and headed down the street. When he arrived at the corner, he turned left, following the walk. His partner waited in his coach to take himself and Connor to their next meeting.
Connor entered the carriage and took the seat facing the rear.
Hamp sat deep in the seat facing forward, his face covered in the shadows of early evening. “That was a fairly short meeting. All well?”
“It went well, although I am unsure if the men are truly interested.”
“What makes you think they are not?” the man asked.
He couldn’t pinpoint the exact reason for his thinking. “They seemed to be uneasy, as if the expenditure of coin was out of their norm.”
Hamp sat forward, his hard jawline no longer covered in shadows. “But you were able to pass one of them the card I gave you?”
“I am not an ignoramus or incompetent, Hamp.” They had known each other for years, Connor thought irritably, and still the man thought he was inferior and unable to fulfill his part in their business arrangement.
Rather than respond, Hamp sat back in the shadows and rapped the side of the carriage with his cane, signaling the driver to depart.
“Thank you for providing me with transportation while I am in town,” Connor said to ease the tension.
“Do you have the money you promised?”
He should have known the man had an ulterior motive for taxiing Connor between meetings. It seemed everything always boiled down to money. “As I told you, there is not much money left to be had—”
“Not much, but some . . .” The man cut in.
“Hand it over!” Hamp’s voice verged on a whine.
He wondered how much Hamp had drunk so far that evening. From the smell inside the coach, he’d started early and continued nonstop until recently.
“You realize you are stealing food from children’s mouth by taking this money, correct?” Connor kept the envelope tucked close and out of Hamp’s reach.
His friend laughed. “In all the time you have known me, do you think I give one fuck about children and if they are well-fed?”
Doubt hit Connor hard. It took all his will not to tuck the envelope back into his coat pocket and exit the moving coach. He’d spent years certain that Lady Viola deserved all that would eventually befall her. She’d toyed with him for years, but he’d never been prepared for his vengeance to spill over on innocent children. This would be the last time Hamp would benefit from him taking money that rightly belonged to the orphanage.
Connor pulled the envelope Lady Viola had asked him to deliver from his pocket and handed it over. “This is all. Any other money, we will have to earn from selling our own stock.”
“By ‘we’—” The man raised an eyebrow in question. “—you mean ‘you,’ correct?”
Chapter 16
Brock jumped into the coach before someone had the opportunity to follow him out of White’s or hail him on the street. He took the forward-facing seat, the anxious visages of his servants staring back at him. The scene was a bit comical, with all three men crammed on the one velveteen bench. The evening attire they wore would certainly be wrinkled beyond repair. The three were stacked into the tight spot, their wide eyes gazing about uneasily. Sardines ready for the tin.
The coach shifted and they pulled onto the busy street, bound for Brock’s townhouse. “Wonderful job, gentlemen,” Brock said by way of greeting to the men.
Buttons, his butler, craned his neck to look at Parsons before speaking. “My lord—may we refer to you as ‘my lord’ now?”
“That is preferable.”
“Well, my lord,” Buttons started again, “will this be an ongoing occurrence? Not that I am complaining about the fine clothes and night away from my duties, but…” His voice trailed off as uncertainty crossed his face.
