Chapter 14 #2
If he’d only known about Moreham’s involvement in trade before!
If only Anne had known. She would have been appalled.
She never would have considered marriage with a man who had lowered himself in such a manner.
The withdrawal of Moreham’s suit would have been a matter of relief, not of revenge.
For his part, he felt a growing admiration for the man.
He wished it were possible to get to know the earl better—and his sister, too, he admitted.
To call him friend, or perhaps something closer.
He traced the ridge of his scar. None of that was possible now.
Moreham had called him a dishonorable cur for seducing his sister.
After today’s meeting, he would add blackmailer and spy to his list of epithets.
“Do you wish us to follow after you?” Marcus asked.
James shook his head. He needed to convince the earl to cooperate, and he needed to do it swiftly. This was no longer about what had passed between the Dinsmores and the Harcrests. Every day in hiding brought the danger of discovery closer to their fugitive.
“In case you find yourself in need of some assistance?” David added.
“We’d be most discreet,” Andre said.
He had delayed this meeting long enough; surely it couldn’t be any more painful than their last encounter. “I need you to make certain that everything is ready for our departure immediately upon my return.”
“Already done,” Andre said.
“So you’d like us to come along, then…” Marcus began gathering up his papers as if the matter had been settled.
“Not if the earl sends out the entire staff of Moreham Hall to beat me to a bloody pulp,” James said firmly.
“That’s precisely why we were offering,” David said softly.
“James Dinsmore? On his way here? As sure as a skunk on a rubbish pile, the fellow’s up to no good.
You want me to gather up some of the stable lads, lie in wait for him, and finish the job you started?
” Jervis Jones leaned across the massive mahogany desk in the Earl of Moreham’s study and drew a finger dramatically across his throat.
Rafe noticed that his manservant’s stock was soiled. He shook his head. “As pleasing as the thought might be, you aren’t to lay a hand or a stick on him.”
Jervis frowned.
“I’ll have your word on it or I’ll have you whipped.”
Jones sighed with disappointment and dropped into a chair. Rafe didn’t bother to remind him that a properly trained servant would never dream of sitting in the earl’s presence unless first given permission. But Jones wasn’t a properly trained servant and never would be.
“Would you be wanting me to follow him, then?” Jones tried another tack. “See what he’s about?”
“That won’t be necessary. I know precisely what he’s about.”
“Is it Elizabeth?” Jones fingered the sleeve where he kept a thin blade.
“He’s been sent by the Foreign Ministry, Lord Grenville’s orders. He wishes to discuss textiles.”
“Textiles?” The word hung in the air like the odor of an onion gone off. “What does Dinsmore have to do with the government? What do you think he knows? Do you think it’s some filthy scheme for blackmail?”
“I don’t know, which is why I agreed to the appointment.
” Rafe leaned back in his chair and frowned.
His fingers drummed the polished surface of the desk, disturbing the piles of paper that were neatly arranged on its surface.
He straightened them. “It’s possible that he is seeking financial remuneration in return for not exposing my disreputable involvement in trade to the ton. ”
“You should have cut the bastard’s throat when you had the chance.”
Rafe didn’t respond. He’d been through a great deal with Jones and was remarkably free with the man.
Still, some subjects were not open to discussion.
He wasn’t entirely sure why he hadn’t killed James Dinsmore.
There were times, looking at the shadowed circles beneath his sister’s eyes, when he wished he had.
“His coming here’s wrong and you know it. You’ve done a respectable thing, rebuilding your family’s fortune through trade with France. No selling off the land, no cheating folks at cards, like some people of your class been known to do…no offense, my lord.”
Rafe nodded, a glimmer of amusement in his hazel eyes.
“No gambling on futures…just hard, honest, decent work. Ridiculous the ways we got to sneak about like we’re doing something disreputable. Middlemen, cover companies, moving money around all those banks…so many accounts only you can keep them straight…and all for some bolts of cloth and lace.”
“The finest silks, brocades, and laces. Very difficult to acquire with the French in the midst of a revolution, which makes them increasingly desirable to the ton and even more profitable.”
“It’s not as though you need the blunt anymore.”
“Indeed, as you so colorfully put it, I no longer need the blunt. But do not forget that many of those factory owners, middlemen, cover companies, shipping clerks, and ship owners are our friends. They’ve come to depend on us for work.
And in these difficult times, I will not contribute to their misfortunes by leaving them to their own devices. ”
“The whole thing makes my head hurt.” Jervis Jones touched his cheek gingerly and winced.
“I believe that would be your rotten teeth. You really ought to see a barber before the only thing they’re good for is chewing soup.”
“You’re trying to put me off the subject, but I know you too well.” Jervis tapped his long nose. “Besides, I’ve got some remedies I want to try first, before I let that fellow go poking and prodding about my mouth.”
“Wish you’d some concoction that would cure what ails Elizabeth,” Rafe said softly, the humor leaving his eyes. “You have been keeping an eye on her…? And you haven’t let her know she’s being followed?”
“You know me, Captain, wilier than a fox sneaking towards the coop when I want to be, like an owl winging his way through the night, like a hawk…”
Rafe held up his hand. “I believe I have sufficient understanding of your skills. Tell me, Jones, is she still…” He let the words trail off, as unwilling to voice what he knew his sister had been doing as he was uncertain how he might put a stop to it.
“Aye, Captain, she’s still at it.”
“I suppose I might order her to remain in the house…”
But they both knew he wouldn’t; Elizabeth already seemed so much a prisoner of the estate.
She didn’t ride out. She no longer went to the village.
She sent few letters and received fewer still.
Perhaps he ought to invite her friend to visit.
What was the little brown-haired chit’s name—Arabella Norcroft?
It would be good for Elizabeth—that is, if the girl’s mother allowed her to come.
Damn James Dinsmore!
He should have killed him. He might still. If his family was destined to be completely disgraced, he might as well find some satisfaction in it.