Lady Forsaken Box Set (Books 1 - 5), page 30
“I know that you know people who have unlimited funds.”
Ah, so there was the hitch. “And who might those people be?”
“Why, Lord Haversham, of course. I know you advise him sometimes on his business dealings and transactions.”
“That is true, although I have no notion of how you know this.”
“Again, that’s neither here nor there.” William redirected the conversation. “If you could only put in a good word with him about me to a few of his business associates, it would help greatly.”
“How can Brock’s business contacts help you if you haven’t the coin?”
“That was the next matter I wished to discuss with you.”
“Well, go on.” Harold needed to hear the whole of William’s plan before he could talk his brother out of it.
William cleared his throat before continuing. “Brock has more funds than any man knows what to do with. It would not burden him overly if you were to—say—borrow a bit to invest with me. The sum would be trivial to a man such as him.”
“Borrow?” Harold was not in the habit of asking Brock for any more than he’d already given—especially not coin. Once a friend became indebted financially to another, the dynamic of that friendship shifted forever. It was a line Harold never intended to cross.
“Yes, borrow, because—” William stood a little straighter, gaining confidence in the conversation. “—we will likely have the money to repay him within a month. And within several months, I will have the funds needed to repay Sir Jenkins’ debt and open a new shop.”
“I do not see how I benefit in this business transaction.”
“Oh, that is quite simple,” William said with growing enthusiasm. “You’ll continue to manage the business, which would give you the means to continue living in London, unassisted by Lord Haversham.”
His brother was playing on Harold’s need to escape his family responsibility, giving him the means for an out; the ability to tell Brock to find another family to take over the vicarage at the Haversham estate. It was all he’d ever wanted. Harold suspected his brother hoped he’d jump at the chance.
But with Harold’s smarts also came the ability to discern when something was too good to be true—and this moment was reeking of just that. Harold would not ask Brock for financial assistance, but that didn’t mean Harold couldn’t invest a bit of his own coin in the venture. William didn’t need to know the money came straight from Harold’s pocket.
“I’m intrigued. What do you need from me?” Harold asked.
“Only a meeting with a man within the shipping trade, preferably someone who manages the incoming and outgoing ships at the dock.”
The request was actually quite simple, and much less than he’d expected. He and Brock had traveled to London before the season started to conduct a few business transactions. Brock had recently invested in several ships traveling to the New World with supplies, and had gladly introduced Harold to several men in the trade. Now, Brock stood to gain a hefty sum when the ships returned with goods not available in England.
“Am I correct in assuming this is a shipping venture?”
“Of the sort, yes.”
“I will see what I can do,” Harold said. “For now, do you have a suitable place to stay?”
“Please, do not let the clothes fool you. I’m not sleeping on the streets just yet.”
It wasn’t the clothes that led Harold to the conclusion that William was completely without funds, it was his appearance: the gaunt body and sunken cheeks, the dirt encrusted under his fingernails, his long, lank hair. But Harold knew better than to point these things out to William, who would only take offense. William had always been the most resourceful of the Jakeston boys, finding a place for them to stay on nights when their father’s temper had taken a particularly nasty turn.
“You know where I am if you have need of anything,” Harold said. “How shall I contact you?”
“For now, I have a room at the Carriage and Spirits House a few blocks over. If that changes, I will send word.”
They stood side by side, neither fully turning to address the other. It said much about their relationship that Harold didn’t have the time or the need to address, but he took the first step to rectify it all when he quickly hugged his brother again, pulling him tight. “It is good to see you, brother. I do hope we do not go long between visits again.”
William stood stiff in his embrace, neither wrapping his own arms around Harold nor leaning into him, which was acceptable. Harold did not imagine they could mend all their differences over one talk about a business transaction and the sharing of a single confidence.
“We will be in touch, I have no doubt.” William extricated himself. “I’m sure you have pressing matters to attend to, I’ll not keep you any longer.”
Harold thought the complete opposite. He should return to the townhouse, keep a close eye on Ruby, but instead he found himself inviting William to share a meal with him. When William politely declined, insisting he also had matters to attend to, they parted ways with the pledge to meet again within the fortnight.
Chapter 8
The room was stiflingly hot and the stale air settled heavily on her shoulders, making it difficult to breathe. Women dressed in exquisite gowns and overly accessorized hair pieces hung off the arms of every eligible man in attendance. The men appeared positively bored to the core, it being too early to retire to the card room for port and after-dinner cigars.
In true London style, chandeliers hung with glowing candles and fine-cut crystal from every ceiling. Their host had selected the ever-popular cream and blue hues for tonight’s festivities, introducing their youngest daughter to the ton. Arrangements of cream and baby blue roses adorned every available surface and yards of gossamer cloth draped the walls of the ballroom.
Ruby glanced at her evening gown, happy she’d borrowed Vi’s intricately beaded, soft sapphire-colored dress. It paired well with her deep brown hair and green eyes, or so Vi’s maid, Sarah, had insisted when she’d delivered it to Ruby’s room earlier. Besides which, Sarah lamented, Vi would be unable to wear the dress for long due to her expanding waistline.
Her mother despised her acceptance of Viola’s gifts. Part of Ruby wished she had the means to support herself, as well—but she knew the reason for her friend’s generosity, and it wasn’t charity or pity. They were both only children, never gifted with a sibling to dote upon. And up until recently, neither expected to marry nor have children, which drew them closer still.
Part of her envied Vi’s new life: the chance at a family, a home of her own, security as she grew older. Most of all, she coveted the security a husband would bring. No woman envied living off the generosity of a distant cousin.
The scent of sandalwood cut through her thoughts, and she recognized Harold’s presence before he spoke. “May I have this dance?”
The request sent a flood of warmth up her neck. It had been quite a while since she’d been asked to dance—if she’d ever truly been asked. “I fear my skills on the dance floor would embarrass us both, but thank you all the same,” she said as she turned.
Her next words stuck in her throat. He was dressed simply in cloth of the richest black, a blue handkerchief the only spot of color. She found it suspect that it matched the shade of her dress perfectly. His hair, short with a slight wave and newly trimmed, fell perfectly above his collar. Her fingers longed to run through his hair to his broad shoulders.
His eyes also traveled the length of her, his smile signaling his appreciation of the view. “Then perhaps a spot of sherry and a turn about the room?”
She’d planned to find the largest palm in the room and hide until Vi and Brock called her to depart. Currently, the pair swirled around the dance floor, Lord Haversham’s smile lighting the room while Vi laughed at something he’d just whispered in her ear. They were still the object of much gossip and odd looks after their public spectacle the season before, but they took the attention in stride.
“Cat got your tongue again?” he asked.
“Mr. Jakes—” she started.
“We agreed on Harold, did we not?”
“Of course,” Ruby said. “Harold, as I’ve said before, our continued acquaintance benefits neither you nor me. You are in search of a wife—”
He raised a brow. “That is presumptuous of you to say.”
“—be that as it may, you are in need of a wife, and my reasons for being in London could not be further from finding an acceptable mate.”
“And what is your reason for being in London, precisely?”
“You miss no opportunity to badger me. You are worse than the gossipmongers.”
“You wound me, Miss.” Harold held his hand over his heart. “If you find it in yourself to confide in me, I would not tell a soul your deepest secrets. You have my word.”
Ruby had spent far too much time out in the open. Her continued stay in London depended on her ability to outmaneuver her mother. Standing at the center of the grand ballroom was the epitome of foolishness. She looked about the room. The refreshment table stood in a secluded alcove not far from the terrace doors.
“I believe I would enjoy a cool glass of sherry,” she agreed. Then, she could extricate herself from the ballroom and seek refuge in the garden.
Harold, always the gentleman, held out his arm.
She slipped her hand into the crook of his arm and they made their way to the refreshment table. The track, which was the only way to describe it, was slow going as they fought their way through the hordes of people. While she didn’t want to admit it, Ruby felt comfortable with him. He led without overtaking her, something she attributed to their shared childhood.
“Lovely evening, is it not?” he asked.
“Undoubtedly so, sir.” She longed to question him about that afternoon. Had he read her papers? When she’d finally made it back to the room everything looked as it had when she’d left, but one could never be too certain. “The colors are divine, and Lord Spires’ daughter is exquisite.”
Harold laughed. “Exquisitely naive? Exquisitely annoying? Or exquisitely dull?”
“Possibly all three.” They had no place mocking their hosts’ daughter, she scolded herself. The pressure on London’s youth was overwhelming, as Ruby herself knew, and she’d never been made the center of attention.
“She’s been attached to Lord David most of the evening thus far,” Harold said. “If he isn’t careful, he’ll be forced to make an offer for her hand before midnight.”
She’d never understood the strict guidelines of the ton. If a woman danced more than twice with a gentleman in one evening they were practically betrothed. And heaven help the young man who danced with the same partner for two sets in a row. A midnight meeting in the girl’s father’s study would follow.
The advantages of being of a mature age and impoverished did not strike Ruby as such a terrible thing at the moment. No one expected her to dress to the height of fashion. She’d been able to move through the ton without anyone taking notice of her—except Harold, but he didn’t count. He was likely in the same category as herself. The third son of a country vicar with nary a shilling to his name would not be hounded by the marriage-minded mommas of the ton. No girl sought to incite a compromising incident with a non-titled gentleman, no matter how powerfully connected he was. That his dearest friend was an elite member of society meant naught.
She caught a glimpse of him from the corner of her eye, stunned at the noble set of his chin. He was every inch the gentleman, even without the honor of a title.
“Do I have something on my face?” he asked, catching her.
She quickly moved her line of sight to the refreshment table. “Not at all. I was only pondering our similar circumstances.” She knew the subject was a touchy one, but was at a loss for another suitable topic that did not include the weather.
“And what, pray tell, is our mutual circumstance?”
Ruby did not want to phrase things indelicately and insult him. “It is only that you and I are much the same. We—”
“…both have sterling personalities?” he cut in.
Startled at this comment, Ruby lost her train of thought. “Well…ummm…of course. I guess that is correct.” Perhaps discussing the weather wasn’t such a terrible idea after all.
“We both are blessed with understanding and supportive friends.”
“Another true statement.”
“Let me see, we are both—”
“What I mean is that we are both untitled, on the fringes of society, and with not a shilling to our names. Many must think we leech off of Vi and Brock.”
“Most do not give us the time of day to notice we even exist.” He laughed. “And how do you know I am without funding?”
His laugh and continued banter put her at ease. It was difficult to find a person she could not only relate to, but with whom she could be completely honest. “You think a woman cannot tell the signs of a less-than-rich man? It is fairly obvious even to someone like myself, who is not searching.”
He eyed her as he waited for a servant to hand them refreshments. “Please instruct me on how I can appear more attractive to the fairer sex.”
“Your attractiveness is not in question.” She wanted to take the words back as soon as they left her mouth; the unintended compliment took their conversation to a new level. A level neither of them wanted, least of all herself. “What I mean to say is your physical attractiveness is not what gives you away.”
“Go on.” He took two glasses, handed one to Ruby, and steered them toward the terrace doors. “I find this conversation rather stimulating.”
“Well, you are wearing last season’s fashion.”
“All right, yes, I did have this suit jacket tailored to fit last year,” he confessed. “But your dress does not appear out of date.”
Ruby looked down at her borrowed dress. “Oh, no. Not this dress. You are correct. This one is new, but I fear not mine to claim. This is compliments of Lady Haversham…and possibly her pity.”
“Come now,” he said. “Lady Haversham in no way pities you, her dearest friend.”
“Then explain why her maid appeared at my door one hour before we departed with this dress and matching ribbon?”
“She believed the color would match your complex—”
“Exactly her reasoning, and why I know it is with feelings of pity that she loaned it.” She’d told herself all evening this was not true. And she’d almost tricked herself into believing it.
“Be that as it may, you truly do look stunning.”
“Thank you.” Her face felt flushed at his continued attention. “Also, you arrived in a hired hack this evening.”
“Very observant. I dare hope not every member of the ton is as watchful as yourself, yet I am flattered that you see fit to keep such a close eye on my comings and goings.”
“As you said, most do not acknowledge our existence. That is, until one of their children takes a liking to us. Then they become as sharp-eyed as a hawk looking for his next meal.”
“Are you proposing that my pleasing looks and stellar personality are not enough to distract a fair maiden from the fact that we must walk to a ball because I am unable to afford a conveyance suitable for her—or any conveyance at all?” he asked with an utterly straight face.
Ruby was unsure if he jested, but the image it brought to mind had her smiling.
“What?” he asked with a startled expression. “You would not appreciate the exercise of walking about town? I promise I would carry all your shopping packages—that is, if either of us had the extra coin to purchase something. I fear you would have to cut and sew our clothes before long.”
The conversation immediately conjured unwelcome thoughts. She pictured herself living with Harold at the vicarage not far from where she’d grown up. The image surprised her—in it she appeared content and happy. “Oh, but we would be unable to attend city life living so far from town. And I dare say I would be mending the neighboring lord’s knickers to put food upon the table.”
“No wife of mine will handle the knickers of another man—and especially not for money.” He sounded affronted, and again she wanted to laugh at the absurdity of their conversation.
“Then I fear we will both starve, and the children will be off to some dreadful orphanage.”
He stopped in his tracks, a few steps from the terrace doors. “Children? I have not asked you properly to marry me and you are already envisioning our children?”
She knew now that he jested, but could not help but sober as they eyed each other.
“Does the notion truly sound so dreadful?” he asked, more softly now.
“It is not that—”
“Then what?”
She broke eye contact and moved toward the doors and blessed fresh air, Harold close behind her. “It’s not something I’ve planned for myself. It has nothing to do with you.”
“Oh, what every woman says. ‘It isn’t you, it is myself.’” His voice rose to mimic the light, whiny voice of a woman.
She stepped outside, the warm night air washing over her. “Is that how I sound? And when has a woman ever told you that?”
Harold again grasped her elbow, angling her toward the steps leading in to the garden and away from the crowd milling the terrace. “There have been too many to name.”
His words took her by surprise. What woman would turn him away? If he were pursuing her—and she could accept said wooing—she would count herself lucky.
But he wasn’t pursuing her.
And she was not open to being wooed, now or ever.
Therefore, luck had no place in her life. In fact, luck had been working against her since she’d discovered her dubious parentage. It was time she refocused on her search. While she enjoyed Harold’s company, it was not something she could fall into the habit of seeking. Their time together did not move her closer to her goal. Harold only put her in danger of discovery, which she could not afford.
“There really have not been that many.”
“What?”
