Chapter 34 Trouble
Trouble
The crisp morning air was heavy with the scent of damp earth and gunpowder as Edgar, Mr. Hargrove, and a select group of gentlemen made their way across the misty fields of the Lancaster estate.
Among the party was Miss Hargrove who had insisted on joining the shooting expedition despite the raised eyebrows of some of the more traditional guests.
As they paused to allow the beaters to flush out a covey of pheasants, Edgar seized the opportunity to broach the subject that had been weighing on his mind.
“I say, Hargrove,” he began, keeping his tone casual, “I’ve been giving some thought to the Royal Mail Company contract. I don’t suppose you might shed some light on how the bidding process is progressing?”
Mr. Hargrove, a portly man with a ruddy complexion who had built his transportation empire from nothing, chuckled. “Ah, Your Grace, business in the midst of sport? Well, if you must know, your group and Thornton’s associates are the frontrunners at present.”
Edgar’s interest was piqued. “Is that so? And who exactly comprises Thornton’s group, if I may ask?”
Hargrove lowered his voice, glancing around to ensure they weren’t overheard. “Well, there’s Lord Bentley, Sir Richard Lamb, and Mr. Simon Kelly, to name a few.”
Edgar’s brow furrowed as he contemplated this intelligence. These gentlemen were all staunch Conservatives, and all rather vocal in their opposition to reform movements.
“However,” Hargrove said with a meaningful look, “Thornton assures me that his associates will share… compatible interests for the sake of this contract, if you take my meaning.”
Edgar nodded carefully. As a self-made man, Hargrove would naturally be wary of aristocrats who looked down upon those of humble origins.
“Indeed, I comprehend you perfectly,” Edgar replied. “What, in your estimation, is the wellspring of Thornton’s associates’ interest in the Royal Mail contract? With the exception of Mr. Thornton himself, none of these gentlemen are wont to involve themselves in commercial ventures.”
Before Mr. Hargrove could respond, his daughter interjected, her keen ears having caught the latter part of their exchange. “Your Grace, surely you do not mean to insinuate that Mr. Thornton’s group harbors ulterior motives?”
Edgar smiled tightly at the woman’s lack of tact, transforming his carefully worded inquiry into a blatant accusation. With practiced ease, he schooled his features into a mask of polite interest.
“My dear Miss Hargrove,” he said smoothly, “I would not presume to impugn the motives of such esteemed gentlemen. I merely seek to understand the landscape of this particular venture more thoroughly.”
Mr. Hargrove cleared his throat, casting a reproving glance at his daughter. “Quite right, Your Grace. In matters of business, one must always consider who one’s partners truly are.”
As they readied their firearms, Edgar’s thoughts remained fixed on the curious alliance between Thornton and those Conservative members of Parliament. The potential ramifications for the reform movement, should Thornton and his associates gain control of the Royal Mail, were deeply troubling.
*
The grand ballroom of Lancaster Hall buzzed with the gentle murmur of conversation and the soft clink of crystal as Edgar oversaw the final preparations for the evening’s entertainment.
The house party had been in full swing for several days, and tonight’s card games promised to be a highlight of the gathering.
As he surveyed the room, his eyes were drawn to the entrance, where he saw a sight that made his blood run cold.
Steven Thornton was entering the ballroom, and on his arm was none other than Elisha.
Edgar felt a surge of fury course through him as he watched her lean against Thornton’s arm, laughing at something he’d said, her hand resting familiarly on his sleeve.
What the devil was she playing at? After their intimate encounter in the garden, after accepting his proposal, how could she be so familiar with another man?
“Edgar, darling,” his mother’s voice cut through his rage, “do try not to look as though you’re about to challenge Mr. Thornton to a duel.”
The duchess had appeared at his side, her keen eyes taking in the scene before them. Edgar forced himself to relax his posture, though his voice remained tight. “Mother, I assure you, I have no such intentions.”
“I should hope not,” she said with a wry smile. “It would be terribly inconvenient to have to explain bloodstains on the new Turkish carpet.”
As Thornton and Elisha approached, Edgar schooled his features into a mask of polite indifference, though his jaw ached from clenching. “Mr. Thornton, Miss von Linde,” he greeted them, his tone carefully neutral despite the jealousy burning in his chest.
“Indeed we are, Your Grace,” Thornton replied smoothly, his possessive hand at Elisha’s waist making Edgar’s vision darken. “Miss von Linde has been regaling me with the most fascinating tales of her recent interviews.”
Elisha, her cheeks slightly flushed and her movements just a touch unsteady, spoke with more animation than Edgar had ever seen from her. “Oh, yes! I was just telling Mr. Thornton about my meeting with Lord Kelly. You know, the one who’s so vehemently opposed to reform?”
Edgar felt his heart sink. Was she about to reveal more than she ought? But as Elisha continued, he began to detect something deliberate in her manner—the way her voice carried just far enough, the calculated stumble over a word.
“It was the most extraordinary thing,” she said, her voice pitched slightly louder than usual, as though she’d had perhaps one glass of champagne too many.
“There I was, expecting to encounter this fearsome opponent of progress, and instead I found the most charming gentleman! He made me quite rethink my position on several matters.”
Edgar watched, fascination replacing jealousy, as Elisha continued her performance. She was brilliant—playing the slightly inebriated Society lady to perfection while subtly guiding the conversation. To what end, he couldn’t tell.
The duchess raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Did he indeed, my dear? How fascinating. Perhaps you’d care to elaborate as we make our way to the card tables?”
As they moved across the room, Elisha maintained her act, punctuating her tale with little laughs and theatrical gestures that gave the impression of a woman whose tongue had been loosened by wine.
She continued to lean against Thornton, touching his arm frequently, and Edgar could see how the man preened under her apparent attention.
“You see,” she continued, swaying slightly as they walked, “Lord Kelly had the most compelling arguments about the potential consequences of hasty reform. Did you know, he once had a footman who taught himself to read, and the poor man became so disillusioned with his station that he ran off to America?”
Edgar, listening intently, began to admire the subtlety of Elisha’s maneuvering. She was drawing out the opposition’s arguments while appearing to be swayed by them.
“Of course,” she added with a conspiratorial wink at Thornton that made Edgar’s hands clench despite understanding her strategy, “I’m sure Mr. Thornton and his associates have much more practical concerns when it comes to matters of business and politics.
After all, one can hardly run a successful enterprise if one’s workforce is constantly agitating for change, can one? ”
As they reached the card tables, Edgar found himself torn between admiration for Elisha’s clever performance and the primitive urge to tear her away from Thornton’s side.
“Well then,” the duchess said, settling into her chair with a rustle of silk, “shall we begin? I, for one, am most eager to see how the cards fall this evening.”
As the evening progressed and the cards were dealt, Edgar watched Elisha carefully guide the conversation, drawing information from her fellow players with seemingly innocent questions and observations.
She made sure to keep Thornton’s glass filled, laughing at his stories, touching his arm in apparent admiration.
Edgar had to admit her performance was masterful, even as it made his blood boil to watch.
It was during a lull in the game, as Mr. Hargrove reshuffled the deck, that Edgar noticed Thornton’s guard beginning to slip. Elisha had just finished recounting an amusing anecdote about a reformist pamphleteer she’d supposedly interviewed, when Thornton’s expression darkened.
“You know,” Thornton began, his words slightly slurred, his voice low and bitter, “there was a time when my family understood the importance of maintaining the natural order of things.”
Edgar felt the tension at the table shift as all eyes turned to Thornton. Even his mother seemed taken aback by the sudden change in tone.
Elisha leaned closer to Thornton with apparent curiosity. “Oh, do tell us more, Steven. Your family sounds fascinating.”
Thornton took a long sip of his brandy before continuing, the alcohol having clearly loosened his tongue. “My father was a baron, did you know? He had estates, influence, everything a family could want.”
“What happened?” Mr. Hargrove asked, his voice gentle.
Thornton’s laugh was bitter, his usual polished demeanor cracking before Edgar’s eyes.
“What always happens when men of breeding forget their place and start entertaining dangerous ideas. He fell in love with reform, with the notion that commoners could better themselves, that birth shouldn’t determine one’s station in life. ”
Edgar felt a chill as he watched the man’s true nature emerge. He caught Elisha’s eye briefly, seeing a flash of understanding pass between them.
“Before long,” Thornton continued, oblivious to the effect his words were having around the table, “he was using our family’s resources to fund radical causes. Supporting the very people who should have been grateful for their station rather than grasping for more.”