Chapter 1 #2
“What has your investigation found me?” Pierce demanded, flicking his damp hair back from his brow.
“A lady,” Rivers declared as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
“I don’t need a lady. I don’t need amorous distraction,” he countered, disappointed. He’d hoped for an actual solution. Not the sort of solace that so many used to plaster over their problems.
Rivers rolled his eyes and blew out an exasperated breath. “Not that kind of lady. By God, man. What do you think I am? A bawd?” he demanded.
“Not at all,” Pierce began.
But Rivers was having none of it and thundered on. “I am not the sort who waits by coaches to pick up young girls and put them to work.”
“Glad to hear it,” Pierce said. “Then what exactly is it that you’re insinuating?”
Rivers waggled his brows. “There is a young lady who was born a lady, who had a good fortune, but it was all taken because her mother could not produce a male heir. And the father did not provide any sort of extra coin for them. And she has taken up employment in organizing other people’s homes.”
Pierce blinked. “And you think she could be of help to me? It is a great deal of work.”
Rivers all but beamed. “She loves to put things to rights, as far as I understand, and is quite good at it. She has not yet had the opportunity to work with someone as influential as yourself, but from everything that I have been led to believe, she’s excellent and understanding.”
A beat of hope hit him. He had not known how he was going to address all his father’s things.
For whenever he tried, waves of sorrow so intense that he feared he would never come up for air covered him.
He’d never been a man to avoid challenges, but this was different.
This was like being haunted by his father.
It was like being caught in quicksand, and he could not face it. Try as he might.
“I’m willing to try anything,” Pierce confessed.
“I can’t imagine how heavenly it would be.
No more running about London, desperately trying to get away from my father’s stacks of things,” he whispered.
Pain spiked in his heart as he said quietly, “I can’t keep doing it.
It must be taken care of. And if you have someone who will help me, I won’t say no. ”
His friends were quiet. They did not try to convince him that his feelings were false or that he should face this dilemma like a man.
No, they stood in silent solidarity and looked to Rivers for the answer.
In fact, just about everyone always looked to Rivers for the answer.
“Marvelous,” Rivers said, clapping his hands together. “Shall I send her a note? Or will you?”
Pierce swallowed “You better do it. I can’t bear to think of the wording that I would use to explain my father.”
“No one can really explain your father,” Rivers agreed, but without condemnation.
“Exactly,” he said, relieved Rivers understood when so many might not.
And just as he did so, Rivers managed to gleefully pop him again.
“Stop doing that! Three times,” he yelped, grabbing his offended bone. “My God, man, have you no sympathy?”
Rivers arched a brow. “No. Not really,” he said.
“What a cold-hearted soul you are,” Windborne drawled, though he knew there wasn’t a moment’s truth in it. Some people might think Rivers was a bit odd or cold, but he wasn’t. He was a good friend. He cared about people, and that was very evident in all his actions.
And suddenly, like the sun which comes back after the moon’s reign, Pierce felt his heart lighten.
If Rivers said the young woman would organize the town house, then she would. And for the first time in months, he found himself drawing in a long breath of relief.
If she did a good job with the townhome, he would happily employ her for years. He would send her from estate to estate and urge her to get rid of everything that was not needed.
At last, he would be freed from all that might bog him down or force him to remember the strange confusion of being a young man with a father who was surrounded by things that seemed to push everyone he loved away.
“Right,” Pierce said, lowering his fists, “let’s go get pork pie and champagne. I feel like life is about to take a turn, and I dearly love a good turn.”
Fennyman strode across the now almost empty boxing gymnasium and clapped Rivers on the back. “Well, that went well.”
“Were you spying?” Rivers asked, knowing he needed to follow Windbourne and the rest swiftly or draw suspicion. After all, he was supposed to be headed out to partake of pie.
“I’m always spying,” Fennyman said with a shrug as he leaned casually against the rope. Fennyman didn’t box. He didn’t need to. He knew how to slit a man’s throat while he was sleeping or bring him down with a broken bottle.
Rivers was very aware of how dangerous the man was, but he’d never used that danger to hurt anyone weaker than himself. In fact, Fennyman, who appeared like he might knife you in an alley, was likely the kindest man Rivers knew.
“Do you spy on me?” Rivers asked.
Fennyman rolled his eyes. “Of course I do.”
Harlowe, Rivers’ remarkably capable butler, popped in through the side door with a mug of coffee in hand, the aroma wafting towards them. “Delightful stuff this.”
“When did you start drinking coffee, Harlowe?” Rivers asked, arching a brow, suddenly wishing he had a cup.
“Oh,” Harlowe replied, closing his eyes and drinking in the scent as if it was manna from the gods. “I don’t know. It’s just slipped up on me. Now, I can’t imagine life without it.”
“Yes, like many other things,” Rivers observed. And the more time he spent with Harlowe, the more certain he was beginning to feel that he should be more than a butler.
Harlowe was an excellent butler, and Rivers didn’t know what he’d do without him, but he rather thought the world could use Harlowe in a grander capacity.
Yes, he had an idea there, but it wasn’t time yet to implement it.
Besides, he was rather afraid that Harlowe would hate it, and so he had to wait until it was solid to make it happen.
“So, we’re going to send for her?” Fennyman asked.
“Oh yes,” Rivers said. “It’s time.”
“And you think she’ll take the position?” Fennyman queried, always the skeptic.
“I believe so.”
“Oh, she will,” Harlowe said before he took a dignified sip of his coffee. “She needs the money. And it was very clear at her last place of employment that she wasn’t paid very well. As a matter of fact, I think they tried to cheat her of a few pounds.”
Rivers growled. “Ridiculous,” he said. “How dare they? I shall have to track her last employer down and pummel them.”
“Well,” Harlowe said, smiling over his cup. “I confess I already did something of the kind. I ensured that at the last dinner party the punch was…terrible.”
“Did they fire their cook?” Rivers demanded, shocked Harlowe would put a servant in jeopardy.
“How can you ask, Your Grace? Of course they didn’t fire their cook,” Harlowe defended. “I put a recently, dearly departed mouse in it.”
“Before people drank it or after?” Rivers asked, stunned.
“Oh, the guest of honor spotted it well before anyone could drink,” Harlowe said merrily, “but the hubbub was delightful.”
Rivers blinked, amazed anew, but this time at the bold vengeance of his butler. “Harlowe, I had no idea that you could cause so much trouble.”
Harlowe waggled his brows. “Neither did I.”
And Rivers had a rather strong feeling that this was only the beginning.