Chapter Six
Benjamin had had little time, lately, to consider Duncan’s suggestions, for the week after John Bellingham had been found guilty and was executed for his “sin,” the Marquis of Honfleur and his niece had arrived in London. The daughter had been delayed for a reason no one could name.
Thankfully for Benjamin, Marksman had volunteered to join Beaufort in “courting” the ladies to assist in learning more of this marquis’s true reason to travel to London. Naturally, Theodora was not happy with Marksman’s abandonment, and Lady Emma reportedly meant to assist her new friend.
“Speaks of chaos,” Benjamin told Graham when they had dined together.
“I can speak from experience,” Graham confided, “Lady Emma is a force of nature when she makes up her mind to act. Marksman may find himself without his true love, for Lady Emma will find Theodora a new beau.”
“Do you believe in true love?” Benjamin asked before he could reword or reject his question.
“My parents assuredly did not love each other,” Graham admitted.
“Lust was the emotion that best described them. Well, perhaps I should say that best described my father. I really cannot say much about my mother beyond what you already know. I sometimes permit her the moniker of ‘selfish’ or ‘pathetic.’ I am not confident which it should be.”
“I think my mother loved my father more than he loved her. He was very fond of her and always loyal to her needs, but I never observed him looking upon her in the manner in which she looked upon him,” Benjamin admitted.
“Perhaps no one had ever taught him how to show affection,” he continued with a shrug of embarrassment.
“I watched Duncan and Lady Elsbeth for several years before I came to live with them, though I would admit the family who initially took me in were very loving. At least, they did not walk away from their bargain with my mother, though they had wanted a child who could assist in the fields and the like.”
Benjamin knew Graham’s story: That first family had been tenants on Duncan’s home estate.
Aaran’s mother was from the minor gentry, a daughter of a landholder, but a poor one.
Some said the 10th Lord Graham had wanted to thwart the girl’s marriage to Duncan’s older brother, Angus.
Some sort of Scottish feud, but no one could or ever had spoken to the specifics.
When the 10th Earl Graham refused to marry the girl, her family turned to Lord Angus.
He also refused, and so they hoped Macdonald Duncan would take care of the deed, but he refused also, leaving Aaran’s mother alone and with child.
After Aaran had been born, she chose to leave for America, offering, or selling, her child to one of Duncan’s tenants so she would have passage and money upon which to start over, so to speak.
The story that was often repeated was Aaran was squirming in her unwelcoming arms, fearing to be left with strangers, and Miss Maude Belle dropped him, accidentally or not, no one could say, maiming his leg and leaving a scar on his cheek from a deep cut.
To keep the Graham earldom from falling in the hands of a weaker line of the family tree, after the passing of both Graham’s father and Duncan’s older brother, Lord Macdonald Duncan had “found” a dozen witnesses that swore before a Scottish court that the 10th Earl Graham had stood in a full tavern of patrons and claimed Miss Belle was his lawful wife.
In Scotland, such marriages were legal, but not in the Protestant churches.
Aaran Graham, the 11th Earl Graham and named after his father, had come to live with Duncan and Lady Elsbeth until he was of age to inherit his father’s estate.
Duncan taught Aaran his duties to the title and the tenants.
Aaran Graham had become one of the richest and most powerful men in all of Scotland, but he still thought of himself as a ‘cripple,’ which Benjamin knew would be hard for his brother to shake off when it came to marriage.
Aaran would require a woman who would, in some ways, be stronger than him.
“As you well know, Richard has been quite fascinated by the idea of marrying Lady Emma for some time,” Graham said, “but I believe she cares equally as much for him. They have decided to wait for their marriage so as to hush any rumors that they anticipated their vows. I know others might think that does not matter, but Orson is hoping one day to be Prime Minister or part of the King’s inner council.
Reputation matters with such aspirations. ”
“Orson would do well in either role.” Benjamin paused before saying, “My hopes are simpler.” Though he did not elaborate on them as an image of Miss Whitchurch rushed forward. “What of you, Aaran?” he asked.
“I would wish to spend a single day where an enchantress preferred me over my half-brother—a day when my scars were not seen or whispered about.” Aaran shrugged in apparent embarrassment for speaking his thoughts aloud.
“That will never happen, so I must settle for a woman who will overlook my scars because she and our children will want for nothing.”
Time progressed, but it did not prevent Benjamin from studying the women outside of his coach’s window as he went about his days, but none of them were Miss Whitchurch.
He could have come up with an excuse to call on Sustar’s shop.
After all, Benjamin’s man of business had hired Sustar to provide drapes and other linen goods for an attached terrace house Benjamin had recently purchased.
He owned fifteen such buildings in the area known as “Cheapside.” Whether the haut ton wished to admit it or not, Cheapside Street was one of the most important streets in London.
It had been so for many years. It ran east to west between the Grand Conduit at the foot of Old Jewry to the Little Conduit by St. Paul’s churchyard.
“I promised Sustar additional employment depending on the quality of the work his staff provided,” Mr. Froschele told him.
“I am confident that the quality will continue. Sustar holds an exemplary reputation,” Benjamin assured.
“I fear I must go. I am to be at Lord Duncan’s soon.
” With that, Benjamin made his way to his coach.
He had provided Miss Whitchurch continued employment.
“That is all the lady is willing to accept and so it must be enough,” he thought as he climbed into his coach.
“Duncan Place,” he instructed his footman.
“Yes, my lord.”
A half hour later, he was sitting in Duncan’s study, along with several of his brothers and Marksman’s long-time friend, Lionel Carter.
Carter had been following one of those reportedly associating regularly with the Marquis of Honfleur, a man they now suspected to be passing forged bank notes among London’s elite.
“Anything significant?” Alexander asked.
Carter shrugged as he always did when he was called upon to report before all of them.
“Only thing of note be she,” meaning Lady Caroline Moreau, “stopped and picked up a piece of folded-over paper from the ground, near a tree, not on the main path. Stuffed it in her pocket. Then the chit returned home. Did’nae notice me, for she can’t be seeing those below her.
” There was a hint of anger in Lionel’s voice.
He and Marksman had once been living in London’s rookeries.
Now, Lionel held a respectable position on Marksman’s properties and associated with “quality” on a regular basis, but, like the rest of them, escaping their humble beginnings and their history was easier said than done.
“I suppose we do not know what the paper held,” Marksman surmised.
“Know who dropped it,” Carter said evenly.
Marksman sighed heavily. “You are quite maddening, you realize that, do you not?”
Carter grinned widely. “Could be I have.”
Though both Marksman and Lionel had known a rough life before Duncan pulled both of them out of poverty, Benjamin wished he had such a friend growing up—someone with whom he could have shared his hopes for a future.
“Out with it, man!” Marksman insisted. “Who, pray tell?”
Carter continued his tale, stretching out the importance of the moment.
“I waits in the park after the gel left. Wouldn’t be the thing to turn and follow her right away.
So I waited on a bench nearby, pretending to enjoy the day by readin’ the penny press that I carried with me.
Soon a woman walks out from behind a stand of trees. A woman me and Xander know.”
“Someone we know?” Marksman asked. “A servant or a shop girl from somewhere nearby? Or someone from the streets? Not society?”
“Not society,” Carter supplied.
Marksman prompted, “Someone from our past?”
“Seen her before. Some time back. With a man who appeared to be passing off a fake bank note. I think it be Erwin Albans, but I couldn’t be confident. They spotted me and turned away.”
“Who was the woman?” Marksman pleaded.
“Margaret Childers.”
“You think this has to do with the convertible value of Bank of England notes?” Duncan asked. “Such was not what we expected.”
“Why not?” Marksman asked. “We originally thought Honfleur meant to swindle members of society with his tales of a French marquisate in which they could invest. Flooding London’s streets with fake bank notes could spell a true disaster for the British economy.”