Romancing The Rogue (The Rogue Chronicles Book 1) Page 10

  “I’ll check the other rooms for it.” Though her offer was akin to lying, she was willing to do nearly anything to diffuse the situation. She’d try to tell him the truth again when he’d calmed.

  “That’s one of my favorite paintings. You shouldn’t have removed it without my permission.” He was like a dog with a bone, refusing to let go.

  “We discussed it several days ago, but we’ll talk about it again after the earl’s visit.” She glanced at Richard, wondering what he must be thinking of this awkward conversation. Had he realized the depth of her father’s confusion?

  As though sensing her distress, he smiled. “I was just telling your father that I think the seascape is impressive as well. Nothing like the fresh air of the sea. Very invigorating.”

  Her father frowned, staring at the painting with eyes narrowed.

  “The roll of the surf, the spray of the water, the horizon stretching as far as the eye can see are not to be missed. It clears one’s mind.”

  Her father slowly nodded, his frown easing as a faraway look crossed his face as though he remembered the sensation.

  Caroline sighed with relief, grateful for Richard’s thoughtful words that calmed her father.

  “I wasn’t expecting you to call,” she said quietly, hoping to see him to the door as quickly as possible, in case her father had one of the rapid shifts in behavior that seemed to occur more frequently.

  “I came to see if we could select a date for the wedding.”

  “Oh?” A well of panic filled her, threatening her ability to breathe.

  Despite what her mother had said, Caroline still couldn’t believe this was happening. She’d been so certain she was meant to wed the Duke of Wayfair, that his wealth and connections would secure her family’s future.

  Yet as she looked into Richard’s eyes, she could no longer remember the duke’s face, nor the color of his eyes. All she could see was Richard.

  “Four weeks?” His whispered words startled her. Or was it setting a wedding day that did so?

  She swallowed hard. “Four?”

  But of course. He wouldn’t be able to afford a special license to allow them to marry sooner. A common one would have to do. She was surprised he hadn’t wanted to simply have the Banns read in each of their parishes. That would’ve saved him the cost of any license and taken the same length of time as he’d just suggested.

  “That would provide time if you’d like to write to anyone you’d like to invite.”

  The idea of doing so gave her heart palpitations. “I was thinking of just our immediate families attending.”

  “Very well.”

  No. It wasn’t “very well.” She had to make the best of the situation yet help her family. How could she possibly accomplish both?

  “Are there any other details you’d like to discuss while I’m here?” Richard glanced at her father, but he was reading some correspondence, ignoring the pair of them completely.

  “My mother would like to have breakfast here after the ceremony. If you could let us know how many guests you’ll have attending, that would be helpful.”

  “I believe it will just be my brother and me.”

  Caroline was relieved to hear he wasn’t inviting a large group. That made the meal much more manageable—and less expensive.

  As of this moment, it was the only thing manageable about their upcoming wedding.

  ~*~

  Caroline had never grown used to the stench associated with the shipyards and her father’s dock. The mud and filth were permanent fixtures, along with the clamor. He’d built the Brunswick Dock over two decades ago, one of a series of dock systems on the Thames, each with a high wall surrounding it to protect cargoes from river piracy.

  Keeping the dock functioning and active was one more way of possibly regaining some of the wealth her father had lost.

  This weekly visit with him to the dock and the office he’d once occupied each and every day was her attempt to make a statement, proving to everyone that Sir Reginald was alive and well and in command of his small empire.

  Her heart hurt terribly at the knowledge it was nothing but a farce, a pretense they kept up with the hope that the East India Company would keep its distance. That hope grew more fleeting each week.

  The Company’s first offer to buy her father’s dock six months ago had been low, far too low for serious consideration. But each month, they came back with a new one, even lower than the previous. While she was well aware the value of the dock had dropped because of lower profitability over the past year, she refused to accept their pitiful bid. Her father would’ve closed the dock before allowing them to take control.

  Besides, in the right hands, with a modest influx of funds, the dock could regain its previous prosperity.

  Unfortunately, those skills eluded Caroline and apparently, her father’s second-in-command as well. Mr. Morris might have been brilliant at following her father’s orders, but he failed at having the business acumen needed to regain the ground her father had lost.

  Caroline had no doubt the East India Company had a hand in encouraging her father to make those bad decisions—one poor investment after another. Someone in the Company most likely knew of her father’s failing health and felt no qualms about exploiting it, thereby reducing their competition and providing an opportunity for them to expand their hold over the docks in London.

  But she felt completely out of her depth to act on her suspicions. All she could do was continue this charade and hope business would improve.

  The chaos here always felt unsettling. So much movement, so many people, all in a hurry. Timber from the Baltic, foodstuffs from Canada, and all other manner of goods passed through the dock.

  Timber ponds held the lumber until “deal porters”, dockhands wearing special protection for their heads who hauled the rough timber over their shoulders, moved it to the buyers’ wagons.

  Multi-story warehouses held the other goods, where they were sorted, bundled, and loaded onto various conveyances for buyers.

  The far building housed the offices. With a glance at her father, who appeared befuddled by this place that he’d once known like the back of his hand, she walked toward his office with a tight hold on his arm. She hoped few noticed his expression, which looked more like that of a frightened toddler than a knight of the realm.

  The thought had her lifting her chin. She was determined to act as though nothing was amiss. In short order, they reached the building and climbed the stairs to her father’s office on the upper floor. He’d always enjoyed looking out his window over the hustle and bustle of the yard. He’d said the activity felt like progress and that meant improvements would be forthcoming.

  “Why are we here, Caroline? Do you have an appointment?” he asked in a whisper.

  She turned to look at him, shocked at the question. He’d always recognized the place, even if he’d been confused by it. Her heart twisted, wondering how much longer she’d have until the day when he wouldn’t recognize her.

  She swallowed her fear and forced a smile. “This is your office, Father. Remember? This is where you used to work every day.”

  He glanced about. “Oh, yes. Of course.” But no sign of recognition lit his eyes.

  “Come along.” She guided him up the rest of the stairs, hoping the interior of his office would be more familiar. She knocked on the door and waited.

  “Why did you knock if it’s my office?” he asked.

  Her smile eased into a genuine one. “Excellent question,” she said as she opened the door.

  “Sir Reginald. Miss Gold. How lovely to see you both.” Mr. Morris rose from behind the desk to hurry forward to greet them. “I’m so pleased you’ve paid a visit.”

  “Good to see you, Mr. Morris.” Caroline glanced at her father, hoping that by saying the man’s name, she’d helped her father remember.

  “Morris, how is business?” The expression that came over his face was no-nonsense, as though he had little time for nic
eties. Caroline breathed a sigh of relief.

  Morris leaned back on his heels, removing his spectacles as he withdrew a handkerchief to polish the lenses. “Quite well.”

  Her father waved a hand. “Specifics, my good man. I need details.” He moved closer to the desk, looking over the papers lying there.

  “Of course.” Morris quickly put on his spectacles and hurried to the other side of the desk to retrieve some papers. “You can see by this report that timber imports are up.”

  Caroline watched the men for a few minutes to make certain her father didn’t give himself away before she turned to the window, pretending she had no interest in their conversation. Morris didn’t appreciate her comments, so she was careful to pose them as though her father had mentioned them to her and she merely reminded him of what he wanted to tell Morris.

  “But, sir, if we signed a contract with this new company for timber, our profits would increase by nearly thirty percent.”

  The shortage of lumber in England made imported wood from America and other countries profitable. However, the wars had made shipping an even riskier venture than previously. Between blockades and poor weather, the risks had proven greater than the reward of late.

  “I’ll consider it, but we’ve done business with the other company for years. If their costs lower, they’ll pass the savings on to us.”

  “While signing the other contract might be costly at first, we’d regain the difference in only three months.”

  “I said I’d think on it. That’s all I can offer.” Her father turned to her, his expression softening as his confusion crept back.

  “I’ll make certain he sends you a message in the next few days,” Caroline offered, well aware of Morris’s frustration.

  Though he knew of her father’s poor physical health, he had yet to become aware of the extent of his failing mental state. The less who knew the truth, the better. She wasn’t certain who to trust, including Morris.

  Caroline knew they couldn’t keep it quiet forever, but if they could delay the East India Company from finding out for a time, she’d be thrilled. Somehow, she had to find a different buyer who might give them a fair price.

  “We should be going, Father.”

  “Yes. I suppose we should.” Her father looked about the office as though uncertain how to do so.

  Before he revealed too much, she held his arm and led him to the door. “Thank you for your time, Mister Morris.”

  They took their leave, walking back across the muddy yard.

  “Nod at the man staring at us,” she told him.

  He glanced over and gave a brisk nod, not so different than he might’ve a year ago. “Who is he, Caroline?”

  “He’s worked for you for a long time.”

  “Oh.” He frowned, and she could see he searched his mental files for a match with no success.

  As they stepped into the carriage for the ride home, Caroline considered whether to raise the subject of the new timber contract again. The idea of improving profit margins when money was so desperately tight was appealing. But she knew business decisions should never be made out of desperation.

  Though Morris seemed in favor of it, his advice hadn’t always proved the best for the business. If only she could ask the previous version of her father what to do.

  “Father, what did you think of Morris’s suggestion about signing a new contract for timber?”

  “The flowers are pretty, aren’t they?” He pointed to where an old woman sold flowers from a cart on the corner of the street.

  “They are quite pretty.” She sighed, fearing she’d already lost him. “But about the timber—”

  “I want some for my desk. Can we stop and buy a bouquet?”

  “Why don’t we cut some from the garden at home? That way you can select exactly what you want.” She had no doubt he’d forget all about it once they arrived home, but she’d put a fresh bouquet on his desk all the same.

  He watched the flower lady until she was completely out of sight, much like a child denied a toy who continued to stare at it.

  She gave up discussing the timber contract for now. Slowly, she was learning when to press him and when to let go.

  The image of Richard filled her mind, and the clever way he’d managed to distract her father about the painting. How she wished she could confide in him about her father and seek his opinion on the timber issue. She shook her head at her silly thoughts. He was a rogue. No doubt he knew nothing of business and wouldn’t be of any assistance.

  But that didn’t stop her from longing for it, not so differently from her father, wishing for things that couldn’t be.

  Chapter Ten

  Richard entered the exclusive gentlemen’s club on St. James Street late that afternoon. Brooks’s was a popular establishment for lords, including the Prince Regent.

  The man for whom Richard searched was the third of the suspects he’d been watching who could possibly be Le Sournois. He had many relatives in France, several of whom made no secret of their support of Bonaparte.

  Lord Ruthford had plenty of funds but didn’t spend them outrageously. He travelled back and forth from France often, and many of his meetings there had been with known spies, but those men also had other interests in common with Ruthford.

  In other words, Richard had no proof.

  He intended to take a straightforward approach with Ruthford. He was going to buy the man a drink and talk to him.

  Richard came upon the lord before he'd even passed through the first room of the club. He didn’t know whether that was a positive omen or a bad one. “Lord Ruthford, hope the day finds you well.”

  “Indeed. And you, eh, Aberland?” The lord rose to greet him, reaching out to shake his hand. Ruthford had passed forty years and already had a head full of grey hair.

  The firm grip and general pleasure on his face at seeing Richard dulled his suspicions, but he wasn’t about to forget those meetings Ruthford had attended.

  “Mind if I join you?” Richard asked.

  “Not at all. I understand congratulations are in order.”

  “Yes. Word spreads quickly of such things.”

  Ruthford chuckled as Richard signaled a waiter to get them drinks. “I find it fascinating just how quickly.”

  “Haven’t seen you much of late,” Richard commented after the waiter returned, and they’d discussed the mandatory topic of the weather. Fog and rain had settled over London the past two days and, although the weather was typical for this time of year, no one was pleased with it. “Been travelling?”

  “Just returned from France three days ago.”

  Richard could hardly believe his luck. Ruthford’s response provided the perfect opening. “That’s still a dangerous place to visit.”

  “It’s easier for those of us with family there. I’m familiar with the area and know which places to avoid. I often stay with my uncle when I go.”

  “Your trip was for pleasure?”

  “My uncle has been ill. They didn’t expect him to live, so I hurried over only to find him on the mend. Don’t think the old man will ever die. That French food causes him problems. All those meals covered in sauce.” He waved a hand. “Too rich for my digestion.”

  “It’s not so bad if you have a fine wine with which to wash it down.”

  “They have plenty of those.”

  “And plenty of pretty women as well.” Richard introduced the subject to see how Ruthford reacted. He had no doubt that Maria’s position in Le Sournois’s life had been replaced. He used women like most men used horses. They served a purpose toward a larger goal.

  Ruthford snorted. “French women are nothing but trouble. I learned that long ago. There was this one woman, Eloise.” He shook his head. “Trouble from start to end, especially when the wife found out.”

  “Sounds complicated.”

  “Terribly. Mistresses are often not worth the effort.” Ruthford leaned forward, as if to share a confidence. “Life is much better when y
our wife is your mistress, if you know what I mean.”

  Caroline filled Richard’s mind, soft and warm, clever and bright—filled with unexpected passion. He’d have no need for a mistress with Caroline in his bed. Even the thought of her and those damned intriguing green eyes had his blood heating.

  “Ah,” Ruthford said with a smile. “I believe you know exactly what I mean.”

  He didn’t answer. As Ruthford suggested, things were complicated—in every aspect of both their real and pretend relationship.

  Richard had thought Caroline a cool and reserved individual at first, but now he was convinced her demeanor had more to do with a cautious nature and a certain amount of shyness.

  The difficulty he had controlling his feelings when she was near concerned him. Especially when thoughts of her distracted him from his mission. It seemed as if each day his memory of Dumond’s face became less clear.

  Guilt seeped through him. With renewed determination, he turned to Ruthford for answers.

  ~*~

  Caroline searched the crowd at Lord and Lady Ponroy’s ball the following evening, hoping to see Richard. Then again, if she waited patiently, he would eventually find her. He seemed to have an uncanny knack for locating her at these functions regardless of the size of the crowd. The thought put a little smile on her face that she couldn’t suppress.

  “Do stop craning your neck, Caroline,” her mother berated. “For whom are you searching?”

  “Aberland, of course,” Annabelle replied on her behalf with a knowing look at Caroline. “I believe she’s becoming quite enamored with him.”

  “He said he’d be here.” Caroline couldn’t explain the restlessness that filled her this evening. She was convinced she’d feel better once Richard appeared.

  “Then I’m sure he will,” her mother reassured her. “Despite his reputation as a rogue, I have no doubt that he’s a man of his word.”

  Caroline looked at her in surprise. “Truly?”

  “Of course.”

  Hearing her mother confirm her own opinion of him confused Caroline all the more. He pretended to be nothing more than a cynical rogue, yet his admirable traits outweighed his reputation. She’d spent much of the previous day analyzing her feelings, certain that if she could label them, understanding would follow, and surely that meant she’d be better able to control them.