© 2020
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I
The tension in the room was so thick it could be cut with a knife as the two men in the office stared at each other. Paul Sherman watched the tall man warily. His colleagues had cautioned him about taking Gordon McAllister as a client, warning him that the man was an ill-tempered brute. He had seen that notorious temper on display numerous times in the past four months.
“Are you implying that I’m bankrupt?”
Paul cleared his throat uneasily. “Yes.”
“What does that mean for me?”
Paul frowned. As one of the largest cotton contributors in the area, the man should have the financial know-how as well as a clear idea of what a lack of monetary resources would mean for him.
“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re asking of me?”
The man slammed his hands on the desk, making Paul stiffen. He surged to his feet and pushed his glasses up his nose. “Unless you compose yourself, Mr McAllister, I’ll be forced to ask you to leave my office and never return again.”
The man’s face turned ruddy with rage. “You dare threaten me?”
Paul skirted the desk, keeping a good distance between him and the irate man, as he made his way to the door and held it open. “You’re not welcome here any longer.”
The man shook his head as he stood with his hands on his hips, his arrogance written clearly on his handsome face.
“You think you can get rid of me that easily, Sherman?” He came closer to tower over Paul’s modest five-foot six frame. “Think again. I’ll be back after my luncheon meeting and you better have a viable solution for me then.” He stormed from the office, leaving the waiting clientele staring after him in open-mouth astonishment. Paul gave them an apologetic smile and quickly made his way to his desk where he scribbled a note.
He needed advice and there was only one other person he trusted enough to come to his aid. “Mr Waverly.” His assistant answered to his call straight away. “Could you see to it that the note is delivered to Mr Jeremiah Mortimer’s office?”
“Right away, sir. Shall I send in your next appointment?”
“Yes, but first give me a few minutes.”
“Yes, sir.”
***
The knock on the door caused the couple to quickly move apart, wiping at their lips.
“Enter.”
The secretary’s arms were full of ledgers. “You asked for these, sir. They were delivered a few moments ago.”
“Thank you, Roger. Put them anywhere.” When the assistant had left, pulling the door closed behind him, Jeremiah turned to Abigail. He reached for her. “How am I going to survive for three days without you?”
Abigail grinned. “You’ll work and drink brandy until my return,” she teased.
He shouldn’t have confided that little titbit, but when he was caught in her sensual embrace, there was very little he wouldn’t confess to. He stroked her derriere and squeezed gently.
“I could do that, but I would rather wallow in self-pity until you return to me.”
She kissed his chin as her hand skimmed down the front of his trousers. “Three days without you will be difficult, but I’ll be back before you even know it.”
Jeremiah didn’t look happy. “Are you sure that the woman couldn’t bring her samples here?”
“No, darling. I have to go to London to see what she has to offer.”
“Well, at least Jane’s accompanying you.”
“You know, talking about Jane, I can’t help but think that something’s bothering her.”
Oh no! Hirsh had promised that Jane would be well taken care of. “What do you mean?”
“Maybe I’m only imagining things.”
Jeremiah wished he could agree with her, but Abigail was very perceptive and if she said she noticed something, then there was something brewing. Maybe he should stop by the Graves Estate later this afternoon. Jane and Abigail were leaving for London the day after tomorrow.
“I will drop by later.”
Jeremiah kissed her. “Have a good day, my love.”
As he walked her to the door, there was a knock. He opened it and Roger held out a note. “This came for you, sir.”
Abigail smiled at Jeremiah. “Thank you for the advice, Mr Mortimer.” She nodded at Roger and Jeremiah struggled not to follow the woman with his eyes.
“Thank you, Roger.”
He broke the seal on the note and scanned it quickly. His jaw was clenched by the time he finished reading.
Oh, how he abhorred bullies. He nodded at Roger and walked to his desk to pen a reply to his old friend. A few minutes later he handed another note to Roger.
“Please, see that this reaches Mr Sherman.”
“Right away, sir. Is there anything else you need from me?”
“That’ll be all, Roger. Thanks.”
The young man nodded and grabbed his coat on the way out of the door. Jeremiah returned to his office, leaving the door to this office open so that he could attend to clients who stopped by in the absence of his assistant.
He opened the file he was reviewing before Abigail’s visit. The simple thought of the woman, made him smile. Jeremiah had no idea how he would survive without his fiancée when she left for London. They had grown even closer in the past few days after Abigail declared her love for him. He didn’t even think it could be possible, but he was falling more in love with Abigail every day. The date of the wedding couldn’t come soon enough.
“Mr Mortimer?”
Jeremiah glanced up to find a tall, attractive woman standing in the door. He rose and offered a smile.
“Good day, ma’am.” He skirted the desk to hold out a hand. “Jeremiah Mortimer, at your service.” Up close, the woman was older, maybe the same age as him. She was also startlingly attractive for a woman in her forties. Her dark hair was lightly streaked with grey at the temples and rich, hypnotic amber eyes studied him closely from a beautiful heart-shaped face. Her hand felt thin and delicate in his.
The woman nodded slowly. “Florence Hampton. It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.”
Jeremiah kept his face blank, but curiosity was eating away at him. What would the elusive Lady Hampton, Viscountess of Clarence want with him? He knew a bit about Florence Hampton, an American heiress, who a decade ago married Lord Charles Fraser Hampton, the sixth Viscount of Clarence. Their marriage had been short-lived when the newly-weds were involved in a carriage accident on their honeymoon in Paris, which resulted in the Viscount succumbing to his injuries. The distraught Lady Hampton returned to America to recuperate where she remained for eight years before her return to English shores about two years ago.
“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Hampton. Please, come in.”
He noticed that she moved with a heavy limp as she made her way over to the visitor’s chair. Her face was unreadable as she took a seat and waited for him to follow suit. Jeremiah’s practised eye noticed the small tell-tale signs that the woman was embarrassed by her disability. He wished he could’ve reassured her, having gone through the same experience. Instead, he folded his hands on his desk and leaned forward.
“How can I be of service, Lady Hampton?”
The golden gaze frosted over. “I need a restriction order against my neighbour, Gordon McAllister.”
That man again, Jeremiah thought; a sour taste in his mouth.
***
Hirsh wiped her hands on the rag hanging from her pocket and stood back to inspect her handiwork. It had taken her close to an hour to remove the two wheels of the carriage and grease the hubs. She needed to overhaul the whole carriage, but she would do it for her own peace of mind. Jane was leaving for London in two days and she wanted the carriage in near-perfect condition for the trip. It would kill her if something were to happen to Jane because she neglected her duties. Even though Jane was avoiding her like the plaque now, the blonde was still foremost on Hirsh’s mind.
Hirsh took a long drink of the cool water her aunt had sent over with the new serving girl. It had been Jane’s idea that they keep Lucy on while Hirsh took the time to fully recover from her illness. Hirsh liked the idea since, in the absence of Egerton, there were fewer secrets to protect.
If Jane kept on avoiding her, Hirsh was sure there wouldn’t be any more secrets to keep on the Graves Estate. Happy with her accomplishment, she rounded the vehicle and slid underneath to inspect the rest of the undercarriage. She could make out footsteps and turned her head to see a set of feet stopping next to her.
“We need to talk.”
At the sound of Jane’s voice, she jerked upright and hit her head. With a muffled oath, she crawled out from under the carriage to find Jane staring down at her with concern.
“Are you hurt?”
Hirsh rubbed her head. It was wonderful to have Jane speaking to her again. “It’s just a small bump, ma’am. You said you wanted to talk.”
Jane studied her for a moment longer before she nodded. “It’s about my trip to London.” Her gaze slid away from Hirsh’s. “I’ll be taking Jeremy with me.”
The pain that lanced through her at hearing that, was paralysing, but Hirsh kept her expression neutral. She had hoped that Jane would ask her to drive them to London.
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll make sure that the carriage is ready before then.”
Jane’s eyes darkened slightly before she nodded. “Thank you.” She turned and left, unaware of the anguish she was leaving in the wake of her departure.
***
Florence watched the scenery pass by the window of the carriage, her thoughts on the meeting she had just left. Jeremiah Mortimer was a true gentleman. He was professional and attentive, both characteristics she appreciated enormously. Even when he found out who she was, he hadn’t gushed or tried to impress her.
Although she had been impressed. He was handsome, intelligent and compassionate. Not that she was in any way considering a personal liaison with the man. A man such as Jeremiah, she was sure, was already claimed. There was also the fact that she was at present being harassed by another man.
Bloody Gordon McAllister.
No matter how blunt she was in her rejection of his attentions and proposals, the man persisted. He started coming around in the second month of her arrival in Coventry. A month spent in London, had depressed her. The dreariness and stench of the city had quickly become unbearable, especially after the wide-open spaces of America. She had packed up her London townhouse and moved to her estate in the countryside. Gordon, as her closest neighbour, had been one of the first people to welcome her back.
The only problem was that he didn’t leave it at a friendly neighbourly visit. Suddenly, she was inundated with social calls by the man and awkward hours spent fielding his meddling questions and crude innuendos.
The carriage rolled through the gates of Hampton Hall and up the driveway to stop before the house. The door opened and she was slightly unsettled to find her dark, brooding steward standing before her. His fathomless dark eyes watched her closely.
“Ma’am.”
“Chester,” she greeted him evenly, although she was anything but calm. For some reason, her body reacted strangely in the presence of Chester Vaughn. The man was difficult to read and very pleasing to look at. His brooding good looks and mysterious aura had the girls in the village fighting to attract his attention. From the snippets of gossip she heard in the corridors of the house, the serving girls were convinced that a few of the village girls’ attempts had not been entirely in vain. Chester was virile and unmarried. What man would deny himself the pleasure of a beautiful young body when it was offered willingly?
A strong, calloused hand was held out and Florence took a steadying breath. It was usually her driver who helped her out and he knew the trick to get her down without aggravating her impaired leg. She refused to make a fool of herself in front of her steward by falling on her face.
“Arthur will help me down.”
The man’s eyes narrowed slightly before he nodded and stepped back to allow Arthur to help her down. Chester stood quietly to the side, but Florence was acutely aware of his presence. When Arthur was done helping her out of the carriage, she glanced at Chester.
“Could I have a moment of your time, ma’am. There’s something I need to discuss with you.”
She nodded. “Follow me.” Too late she realized that was probably not such a good idea. The accident had left her with a pronounced limp and from behind, she waddled like a duck. It was the most unattractive sight. Embarrassment made her react more brusquely than she had wanted to. “Next time, I would appreciate it if you don’t ambush me like that again,” she snapped.
“Yes, ma’am.”
She entered the study and took a seat behind the desk. Chester closed the door behind him and came to stand before the desk. She frowned as she pointed to the chair. They always had their meetings in here and he usually took a seat. What was so different about…? Or was he only reacting to her having pulled rank over him?
“What do you want to discuss?” She needed to get this over with so she could get away from him before she made an even bigger fool of herself.
“We’re missing ten ewes from the eastern pasture. Simon is sure that he saw Mr McAllister’s men in the area earlier in the day.”
He sounded calm, but there was a biting edge to his words. Florence would like nothing more than to allow her steward to pay McAllister a visit and assuage some of his frustrations on the man. She wished they were back in America. Over there, men had a very effective way of dealing with their frustrations. But she couldn’t allow that. Especially not when it meant that it would lead to Chester being hanged for laying a finger on that brute.
“What do you suggest we do?”
“With your permission, ma’am, I would like to send James and Thomas over to Craddock Hall to enquire about our missing sheep.”
She blinked. “Ok. What if they lie about it?”
The black eyes hardened slightly, although the handsome face remained impassive. “Then we can report the theft to the authorities and let them do an investigation. The fact that we paid a visit to Craddock Hall to enquire about our missing animals, should generate some suspicion with the constabulary.”
Clever. Devious, but clever. She was glad that Chester was on her side. No one else seemed more capable of taking on McAllister than her steward.
“In that case, I give you my permission.”
He stood and nodded. “Ma’am.” He was at the door when she spoke again.
“Good work, Chester.”
“It’s my duty, ma’am.”
***
Chester was fuming as she entered the small office that she used for her position as estate manager. James and Thomas were already waiting for her. They watched her with wide eyes as she entered.
“Go over there and without showing any suspicions, asked about the sheep and return here.”
“But shouldn’t we look around or ask them to take us to see their flock?”
She shook her head. “No, James. Come right back here.”
“Yes, boss. We’ll come back straight away.”
When the men had left, she rolled herself a cigarette and lit it. Gordon McAllister was beginning to test her patience. A bully, who hid behind his station as a member of the gentry, was no competition for her. She could pay him a visit in the dead of night and cut his throat with no one the wiser. That outcome seemed more likely the longer McAllister continued to pester her employer. She had experienced an array of emotions the first time she had laid eyes on the Lady of the House, the aloof and composed Viscountess Florence Hampton. Pity wasn’t one of them. The woman’s prominent limp had been the last thing she had noticed about her. What drew her attention at first glance, was that she was beautiful. A strong face, aristocratic nose and the most beguiling golden eyes. She was probably the most beautiful woman Chester had seen in a very long time. Older women had always appealed to her. It was only when the woman stood and moved around the desk to shake her hand that Chester noticed the limp. Aware that she had noticed the limp, the lady’s eyes had grown cool and her face blank as she had shaken her hand. For Chester, it was sad to see that the woman was unaware of her appeal even with her disability. She had made a mental vow to ignore the limp from that day on, which she had done until Florence brought it up again today with her self-conscious reaction.
“You look serious.”
She was startled by the unexpected voice behind her, but years of living with a target on her back had taught her to hide her emotions well.
“And you’re not supposed to be here.”
A soft giggle sounded. “What now? Are you going to punish me for breaking the rules?”
Chester turned around. Elodie Martin was the Viscountess’ lady’s maid. It was considered highly commendable to have a French lady’s maid nowadays, but the Viscountess was not a woman who bothered much with societal norms. Elodie’s service had been a wedding gift from the late Viscount to his wife. Lady Florence had given Elodie the choice to return to France, but the woman had wanted to stay and Lady Florence had taken her with her to America for the eight years she had resided there. Chester could tell that the two women were close. The tenderness that came over Elodie’s face whenever she spoke about their employer, said it all. That had made her wonder if, since she and Elodie were occasional lovers, the two women weren’t perhaps lovers, too. When she brought it up once while they were in bed together, Elodie had chuckled.
“Not that I would mind much. Florence is a true beauty; inside and out. But no. She’s not ready for any emotional entanglements.” The woman’s green eyes had turned sad. “I think that she believes her disability had spoiled her chances at finding happiness.”
Chester had suppressed the urge to vehemently disagree with that but had held her tongue. She had been with enough women to know that it was poor taste to comment about a woman’s attributes whilst in bed with another.
If only her heart would stop racing every time she laid eyes on the lovely Lady Florence Miriam Hampton. Elodie’s hand on her chest made her frown at the petite French woman. Elodie was gorgeous, funny and kind, but still, Chester couldn’t get herself to foster a deeper connection with the woman. Maybe because Elodie, just like her, was not looking for something permanent. She wasn’t sure, but Chester could tell that something had happened in America that had left the maid hankering for something or someone.
“Fraternising amongst staff during working hours is not encouraged”
Elodie’s eyes flashed with lust. “I just stopped by to bring your shirt; the one I ripped off you the other night.”
It came reluctantly, but it was there. Her arousal. The woman knew how to excite her. The night in question had been a memorable one. They had gotten drunk together and it had resulted in the maid walking with some difficulty the next morning. Chester quickly pushed the thoughts and accompanying images to the back of her mind and reached for her shirt.
“Thank you. I’m expected to enforce the rules and I intend to do so, Elodie.”
The woman gave her a sensual smile. “Of course, Mr Vaughn, sir.”
Chester watched as the woman sashayed out of the office. She had thought about visiting with Hirsh tonight, but Elodie had stirred her loins, so to speak. As an alternative, she’d stop by the maid’s room later tonight to make her pay for having ruined her nicely planned afternoon.
***
Jane was struggling to swallow the mouthful of Shepard’s Pie, acutely aware of Hirsh standing in the corner of the room. They both actively avoided looking at each other. Hirsh’s disclosure of her true identity had been an immense shock. Everyone had heard of the pirate, Cutthroat Beau. His reputation as a merciless beast, who skinned his enemies alive and drenched them in the seawater, was well-known. Jane remembered how, when she was still unmarried, she would visit her aunt and listen to her male cousins regale them with news and tales of the infamous swashbuckler. At hearing all the cruel things that the man was capable of, it had boggled Jane’s mind that such evil could exist in only one man.
To find herself in love with that very same person had been a tremendous shock. The idea that the very hands that had taken so many innocent lives in the cruellest ways possible, had touched her, made her stomach churn. That night, after she had asked Hirsh to leave her bedroom, she had lain awake for hours afterwards, crying and vomiting into the chamber pot.
Fear and revulsion had made her curl up on the floor as she had contemplated her actions. Only one thing came to mind. Why was it that she attracted brutal, damaged creatures? What did it say about her?
Finally, after having made her decision, she had sat up. She was going to put a stop to this and then she would go on a long trip. Maybe go visit her plantation in America for a few years.
So, when Abigail had informed her about her trip to London, Jane had jumped at the chance of accompanying her, for it fell right in with her plans.
“Would you prefer something else, ma’am?”
She jerked in shock at finding Hirsh standing next to her. Hirsh’s eyes were hooded as she looked at her. Jane glanced at her nearly untouched plate. She hadn’t even been aware that she had stopped eating. She needed to do something, to get Hirsh to move away. The woman’s presence terrified, as well as excited her. The latter made her want to retch in self-disgust.
“No…no, thanks. I’m just not hungry.”
Hirsh nodded and taking her plate, returned to the kitchen. She was back with Jane’s dessert. Jane looked down at the apple pudding with dismay. She adored apple pudding. However, there was no way she could do the treat any justice with Hirsh standing a few feet away. Nor did she want to eat it only to violently expel it later and forever have a negative association with the dish. Not able to think of an adequate excuse, she just got up and left the dining room. Her heart was racing like mad when she closed the study door behind her. She took a shuddering breath.
Just two more days before she left here. She turned the key in the lock and went to sit behind the desk.
She desperately needed her father’s counsel at this moment. She closed her eyes. Her heart was so raw. But that was the outcome when one’s heart had been broken.
***
Lizzy looked up in surprise from her sewing to the untouched plate and then to Hirsh.
“What happened? She didn’t like it?”
Hirsh couldn’t speak, her throat was swollen shut with the effort to keep herself from crying. All she could do was to shake her head and march out of the kitchen. She needed privacy, but just as she stepped out of the kitchen one of the new maids ambushed her.
“There is a fight at the tavern and Mr Dawson has sent for you, Mr Miller.”
Why now? She was in no mood for people. She nodded at the girl. There would be time to be alone later. She followed the short path down to the village centre and entered the tavern. She made a quick sweep of the tavern. The place was a mess and two Graves Estate tenants lay motionless, hopefully not dead, on the floor amongst the broken tables and chairs. A small group of male tenants stood to the side; their gazes focused on the three strangers at the bar. Hirsh walked to the nearest man.
“What happened here?”
The young man, Peter Bowls, pointed at the three patrons. “They came in here insisting to sit in on our private Friday card game, but when we rejected their offer, they turned on us. Jacob and Elias tried to fight back, but they ganged up on them.”
Hirsh’s nostrils flared a little at hearing that. She hated bullies. The men on the floor stirred. “Get them to the doctor. I’ll see to the rest.”
“Yes, Mr Miller.” He whispered to the man next to them and the two of them moved to where Elias and Jacob lay.
“Leave them where they lay,” one of the newcomers, a large bearded fellow, ordered as he drank from his tankard.
“I give the orders around here,” Hirsh said calmly and saw the men straighten as they turned their attention on her. They were all large men; hard and brutal, by the looks of them. They used force and intimidation to get their way and that was exactly what Hirsh was going to use to deal with this situation. Fight fire with fire.
“Oh, and who are you?” The second man approached her, his eyes blazing with violent intent. He wanted to make an example of her and quickly. If he succeeded in doing that, then the three of them would be set up for a while. They would scare the tenants into catering to their every whim and keep them docile enough to not report them to the authorities or the owner of the estate.
Hirsh wasn’t having any of that. She approached the man purposefully and felled him with a powerful right hook. The silence in the tavern deepened as everyone looked on in shock. The man’s two mates finally shook off their shock. The bearded fellow roared as he stormed her. Hirsh gave a mental head shake. Anger was the absolute wrong emotion to bring into a physical fight. One was bound to make mistakes. When the man was almost upon her, she sidestepped and tripped him. He landed with a loud thud and with practised precision, she kicked him in the jaw and watched as he joined his fallen friend in oblivion.
Her head exploded with pain and the smell of gin wafted up from her clothes. She turned and found the third man standing with a broken bottle in his hand. He stabbed at her with the sharp bottleneck and she ignored the first jab, luring him closer. He tried again, this time stepping closer. Hirsh's hand shot out and she punched him hard on the nose, feeling the cartilage give under her knuckles. The man’s eyes rolled back and he was out cold before he hit the floor.
The tenants jumped into action, cheering and slapping her on the back. Hirsh gingerly touched the wound at the back of her head. The bottle had broken skin and as with head wounds, it was bleeding profusely.
The tavern owner immediately jumped in. “Peter get the Doc and, Gregory, you get some rope to tie up these fools.” He pushed a tankard into Hirsh’s hand. “Drink this, Hirsh. You deserve it.”
Hirsh took a deep, long drink and sighed. Coming here had been much more rewarding than wrecking the carriage house.
***
Florence looked up when her lady’s maid entered the room with an armful of dresses.
“These just arrived from the washerwomen. I’ll put them in the closet for you.”
“Thank you, Elodie.”
She returned her attention to the book she was reading. It was a seduction novel and followed the same trend as many others she had read in the genre. Women, whose foray into sexual freedom, ends up with them abandoned, ostracized and dead. She closed the book with a loud slap and caught Elodie’s eye.
“Same old?”
“Yep. I can’t fathom why I keep on reading this nonsense.” She threw the book on the bed. “I’m a devotee of the rights of women and yet I assault my brain and psyche with this…this drivel.”
Elodie closed the closet and came to sit on the bed next to her. It was an act unheard off in noble households, but it was encouraged in Florence’s home. After Charles’ death, she had felt like everything was caving in on her. She had defied her family by marrying Charles before her father could marry her off to the son of a business rival. They had completely shunned her as she laid bedridden for two years after the carriage accident. She would’ve been alone on Charles’ cotton plantation, had it not been for the new maid Charles had hired for her. Elodie’s support had been incalculable. Despite the twelve years age gap between them and their social ranks, they had become good friends. Florence trusted the girl with her life and she knew the same could be said for Elodie.
“If you hate them so much, then why do you still read them?”
Florence shrugged. “Because I like the first half of the story. The part where these women upend their lives of societal servitude and throw caution to the wind; all for love.”
The maid grinned. “Sounds like you.”
Florence blushed. She wished she could have been as daring as the protagonists in these books. They took fearless leaps in their quest for love. She had kept herself hidden in her family home, rebuffing numerous proposals. When her father’s threats turned more serious, she had taken a coward’s way out by marrying a good man under false pretences.
“No. They were braver.”
Elodie stood. “Just like you.” She left the room before Florence could say anything further. She lay back against the pillows and closed her eyes. She wondered how her life would’ve played out had she been one of Susanna Rowson’s characters. Would she have been courageous enough to tell her father that she wasn’t interested in getting married? That she was happy being by herself unless she could find her perfect mate?
No, she doubted she would’ve made a great Susanna Rowson character. She should’ve done all that when she was younger. At age forty-one, she was too old now.
And a cripple.
COMING SOON… Book 3
