Chapter 15 #2
It was all very well to think of bearing a bastard child abroad and giving it to foster parents to raise, but she would want to raise her child herself. She would want to feed it at her breast, rock it in the night, coax its first steps and words, and applaud its every little achievement.
She’d think a father would want that closeness, too. He had mentioned those two children he knew of, and that he had provided for them and kept an eye on their welfare.
Surely he’d want to do as much for a child of Elf’s.
Elf knew she wanted more. She wanted them married and enjoying a child together.
What if she bore a son? He would be Fort’s heir, but only if they married before the birth.
If she demanded it, her brothers would force Fort into marrying her, but she could imagine nothing worse than to tie a man for life against his will.
Oh, Lud, Chastity was right. Why fight a battle that might never arrive?
One matter could not be put aside, however.
At the time, Fort’s threat to make a public scandal had been serious.
She’d put off telling her brothers for fear of what they would do, and now Fort was injured, perhaps he couldn’t do anything.
But it would be folly not to take steps to prevent disaster.
Elf rang for Chantal to wash her hair, then while it dried, she drank coffee and ate a slightly more substantial meal. Despite her long fast, however, her stomach felt too uneasy to accept much.
She hoped that wasn’t an early sign of pregnancy. She thought it mainly came from anxiety about Fort. Despite Chastity’s assurances, she desperately wanted to race over to see for herself that he wasn’t at death’s door. She wanted to wipe his brow and feed him nourishing broth.
He’d probably spit it right back in her face.
There had been that moment about shooting the bridge, though, when he might have been concerned for her.
She grimaced. It was so easy to delude oneself about such things. Now her hair was dry she must face more immediate problems.
She summoned Chantal to perform her usual magic, and soon Lady Elfled Malloren was ready to face the world, hair shining and neatly arranged under a lace cap, dressed in corset and hoops under cream lawn sprigged with forget-me-nots, and discreetly adorned with pearls.
A glance in the mirror told her that no outward trace of wanton Lisette survived.
Then she realized she was dressed exactly as she had been when she’d waved good-bye to Cyn and the madness had all begun. Yet now, this suitable appearance felt like a costume, a costume even more absurd than Lisette’s scarlet domino.
Who was Elf Malloren now? Perhaps she had better venture out and answer that question.
From a footman, she learned that Cyn and Chastity were in the garden while Bryght and Rothgar were in the office.
After a moment’s thought, she headed for the latter, entering by the private side door that bypassed the busy clerks.
Rothgar and Bryght were working at the same desk, poring over papers that seemed unlikely to have anything to do with her adventures. So soon did the ripples of the explosion fade.
Both looked up and rose, showing no sign of anger or condemnation. She knew her cheeks were red, however, and just hoped they weren’t flaming.
“I hope I’m not interrupting.”
“Nothing important,” said Rothgar, taking her hand and leading her to a chair. “You look much improved.”
“Thank you. I gather I’ve slept the clock around.”
“I think you needed it. Though we had to fight to stop Cyn sending for every doctor in town.”
“Considering the worry I’ve felt over him for years, it’s only fair that he fret over me at least once.”
“My sentiment entirely. So, are you completely recovered?”
Elf knew she had turned a deeper red. A broken maidenhead did not mend. “I think so. Some bruises and scrapes, that’s all. Chastity told me some of the events. Have the Scots all been rounded up?”
“As best we can tell.” Rothgar resumed his seat behind the ornate desk. Bryght, more restlessly, perched on the edge.
“Murray died on the lighter,” Rothgar continued.
“You did well there, by the way. And one of his men was shot on the wharf. We think another was the dead man left at Walgrave’s.
A fourth corpse was found at the Peahen Inn clutching a declaration of loyalty to the Stuart cause.
We assume he committed suicide when he realized the game was up.
They seemed to be the only four deep in the plot, though they hired others as needed.
The men who took the toy to Windsor, for example, were dupes.
They believed they had truly been hired by me to deliver the gift.
Since the king wants the whole affair kept quiet, they are not even aware of the true nature of their act. ”
“And Fort’s part in it? Does the king understand that?”
Rothgar’s eyes were all too understanding. “I think so. When I left, George was annoyed with Grenville for keeping him in the dark, and becoming a little suspicious of Bute. Not of his loyalty, but of his wisdom and judgment. That is as well.”
Elf frowned at her brother. “You don’t have political ambitions, do you?”
“Why the horror? Is it not the pathway paved with gold? But no,” he said with a smile, “I have not. I have enough to do managing my tumultuous family. But I will not stand by and watch my country in the hands of fools. George is sound enough, but not under Bute’s guidance.
I suspect Grenville will take his place, and I reserve judgment.
Of course, if Cyn had followed the path I laid down for him, he might one day have led the country. ”
“Heaven forbid!” declared Elf, knowing her brother was teasing, though that could well have been his plan once. She glanced at her other brother, the one chiefly responsible for the financial management of the family’s affairs. “Now Bryght, perhaps. He might enjoy being First Lord of the Treasury.”
“Oh no,” Bryght said raising a hand. “Government finances are far too chaotic for me. I’d be in Bedlam in a month. Speaking of which, we wondered if you’d care to take some of the burden off me—”
“Speaking of Bedlam or business?” Rothgar queried.
Bryght gave him a look. “Business.” He turned back to Elf. “I admit to finding it hard to keep track of everything now that I want to spend more time down at Candleford. The silk trade, for example, could probably benefit from your expertise.”
After a second, Elf’s vision blurred, and a prickling ache all around her face warned of tears. Not only were her brothers not reproaching her for her wanton behavior, but they had detected part of the cause of her restlessness and were trying to help.
Bryght cleared his throat uneasily. “Of course, if it’s too much for you . . .”
Rothgar just watched her.
“You are the best brothers in the world.” She pulled a handkerchief out of her pocket and blew her nose. “I would love to try. But—”
“But?” asked Rothgar.
“What if I were to marry?”
The silence carried for a few heartbeats, but then he said, “Bryght has married. And though it has definitely affected the amount of time and attention he seems willing to apply to our aggrandizement, it has not proved ruinous yet.”
Elf hesitantly asked, “What if I married Fort?”
“Whomever you marry, we would ensure that your marriage contract safeguarded your property and economic freedom.”
Typically, her brother gave no indication of his true feelings on the matter.
It was an unlikely prospect anyway, and a weakness in her to have mentioned it.
It reminded her of other problems, however, ones that had made her seek this interview.
“He threatened to make a scandal, Bey. To tell the world about us. He’s capable of it.
Articles in the news sheets. Pictures in the print shops . . .”
Rothgar did not seem alarmed. “Words spoken in extremis, I think, but we have people in his house who will alert us to any such actions.”
“That doesn’t seem right.”
“But very practical. At the moment, of course, he is too ill to carry out any plan of revenge.”
That swung Elf back to her major concern and brought her to her feet. “Oh dear. I wish—”
“No,” said both brothers in unison.
“Elf,” said Bryght, “it really would not help his recovery for you to try to nurse him. Trust us.”
She glared at both of them. “Men are impossible!”
Rothgar said, “We are merely suggesting that you give him a few days to recover his strength before assaulting him again. It’s only fair play, my dear.”
“I have never assaulted him!” But there were mental as well as physical attacks, so perhaps her words weren’t true.
She sat down, settling her pale, flowery skirts. “Very well, I will take your advice. But as soon as the battle will be fair, I intend to discuss this all with him. I will not let him be foolish.”
Bryght looked skeptical, but just pushed a couple of ledgers over to the edge of the desk closest to her. “Let us distract you with silk. One of the main centers for silk weaving here is Spitalfields . . .”
Elf emerged from the office an hour later, head positively spinning with information and new ideas. From a life of fashion, and from experience running Rothgar’s houses, she already knew about types of silk, the durability of different weaves, and possible trends in taste.
Now she had some idea of the state of change in the fabric industry and the money to be won or lost on decisions made about it.
After running through the family’s existing involvement in the trade, she’d suggested that her role be expanded to include the management of other materials.
Nowadays, there were so many cottons and cotton blends, so many new methods of printing and pattern weaving, that the whole industry could change.