Provocative in Pearls (33 page)

Of course, Verity would be horrified if he signed such papers. Furious. Her memories, her life, were anchored there, and such a lease would require she sever those ties in ways the current arrangement did not. He could never ask that of her. He did not even want to.

“There is little point in having them write the papers. We will not be leasing.”

Bertram’s disappointment expressed itself as an astonished sneer. “
No?
It is a most handsome offer.”

“No.”

“Let me explain in ways you might understand, milord. Say you have farms leased to sheepherders. You get the rent no matter if the sheep live to be shorn or they die.” He gestured broadly, to emphasize how obvious this was, and how he should not have to point it out. “The finances of the country are such that the works may not produce much wool, as it were. Better to let others take the risk on the sheep’s health. It is the only prudent choice.”

“You imply that I am either imprudent, or stupid. I merely have more faith in English industry than you do. As do the men who made you this oddly generous offer.”

Bertram pulled his reins and pivoted his horse hard. “You know nothing of such things. I am doomed to be tied for life to an idiot.”

“Idiot I may be, but I do not see the benefit of paying fifteen percent to obtain proper management. A good man costs far less. Mr. Travis and others spoke well of a young man named Michael. Better to have him back, to aid Mr. Travis so more special work for machines can be taken on.”

“Damnation, will no one hear me when I say that he is gone? He will not be back. If you insist on putting any faith in that notion, we will all die poor.”

He seemed very sure of that. Thompson knew that Michael’s disappearance was permanent, Hawkeswell felt certain.

“I’ll be having the papers drawn anyway and sent to you. I pray that you will seek counsel from men who are more familiar with such affairs and that they talk sense to you.”

Thompson trotted away. Hawkeswell waited a few minutes, then aimed his own horse in the same direction.

Verity’s cousin could encourage these men in their pursuit of the works all he wanted, but no lease would be signed. Verity deserved better, and Hawkeswell could not bear to see her sorrow and disillusion if he agreed to this.

Nor would he seek the counsel of men more familiar with business. He had already been advised on the matter, by a man who almost always won when he gambled, and whose wealth stood as testimony to his family’s unfailing skill at amassing filthy lucre.

Do not lose control of that works
. Such advice, given while Castleford was at least half-sober, could not be taken lightly.

 

 

“
I
t has been some time since you have called on him I privately, I gather,” Summerhays said as he rode beside Hawkeswell.

“Yes. I also feel stupid making a morning call in the morning. He is sure to burn our ears for this.”

“There is no choice. If we do not want to wait until Tuesday, we must come early, before he starts . . . doing whatever it is he chooses to do.”

“Whoring, you mean.”

“It is more likely that he was whoring last night. There may be women there.”

“Oh, joy. I cannot wait.”

“You are asking a favor, Hawkeswell. It won’t do to be too particular.”

“I am asking for his insights into the darker side of humanity, not a favor. What if he is not even awake yet? Hell, it isn’t even ten o’clock.”

“If he is not awake, we wait.”

Hawkeswell stopped his horse. “
You
can wait.
I
do not wait. He may be Castleford, but I am Hawkeswell. My family counseled kings when his were nothing more than yeomen hoping to better themselves. Hawkeswell waits on royalty, and no one else. Certainly not parvenus like the house of St. Ives.”

“My apologies. I meant to say, if he is not yet awake, you can leave and
come back on Tuesday
.”

They handed their horses to one of three periwigged grooms in front of Castleford’s house. Hawkeswell gazed up the façade. “Look at this monstrosity. It is bigger than Somerset House, and Prussian from its foundations to its cornices. His grandfather knew no restraint. A trait that runs in the family.”

“Rather like indebtedness runs in yours.”

“Thank you, Summerhays, for the reminder that we all have our failings. You cannot know how that improves my humor.”

A butler bedecked in livery and wig put them in a reception hall, took their cards, and departed. Hawkeswell cooled his heels, certain that Summerhays had erred badly in suggesting they come here to see if Tristan’s besotted brain could see a way out of the logjam that had developed in trying to find Michael Bowman.

Not that he really wanted to find Bowman, damn it. If he ever did, Verity would probably weep with joy and throw herself into the young man’s arms, and maybe even start an affair forthwith. Her father would bless the illicit union from the grave.

“What are you snarling at?” Summerhays asked.

“Fate. Passion. The stupidity of life.”

The butler returned. The duke, they were informed, would receive them in his apartment.

Up the palatial staircase they trod. Into a huge sitting room, then through a dressing room of ridiculous size that sported more gold ormolu than was decent for a man. The butler escorted them right into the bedroom and left them standing beside the massive, silken-draped bed.

Propped up in it on at least twenty pillows, drinking coffee, still naked from the night’s debauch under those sheets, lounged Castleford. Fortunately, no whores were currently with him.

“Good of you to agree to see us,” Summerhays said.

“I almost didn’t. I am exhausted. Be quick with it, will you, so I can get some sleep.”

Hawkeswell peered down at that naked chest and mussed hair. “Do you expect us to stand here in front of your extreme and insulting dishabille like servants, watching you break your fast,
Your Grace
? Bloody hell, put on some clothes at least.”

Castleford looked up lazily. He turned his gaze on Summerhays. “What is wrong with him, to get him all puffed up like he holds a bad wind that needs farting?”

“Fate. Passion. The stupidity of life.”

Castleford drank some coffee. “In other words, he has fallen in love.”

“Summerhays, please leave. I am going to strangle our old friend and do not want any witnesses.”

“Stop being an ass, Hawkeswell. I think it is charming that you are in love with your errant little wife. It is unfashionable, but very touching.” He set aside the tray, and gestured to some chairs. “Now, why have you disturbed me? It had better be an entertaining reason.”

Forcing his annoyance to a low rumble, Hawkeswell grabbed a chair and set it near the damned bed. Summerhays did as well.

“We are wondering if you would turn your mind to nefarious calculations, which is a talent you on occasion exhibited in our distant past,” Hawkeswell said. “Let us assume that men of consequence wanted someone gone. Disappeared and impossible to track. How might they do that?”

Castleford shrugged. “The easiest way is to kill him, of course. The problem with that is the danger of a body being found. More serious is your use of the word
men
. Plural. Murder is best done by one person, so there is no accomplice to sing later and get you hanged, or to blackmail you.”

“Thought about this a bit already, have you?” Summerhays asked.

“In passing.”

“And if, for the reasons you give, murder was not the chosen path?” Hawkeswell asked.

Castleford thought that over. “Ten years ago, I’d have him impressed and shipped to the West Indies. That might not work now. There are too many hands available with the war’s end, and no need for a captain to take on the trouble.”

“Since we are talking postwar, that is probably out.”

“In that case, I would stick him on one of the hulks.”

“There has been no arrest. No trial or conviction.”

“Those ships are full of corruption of the body, soul, and law. The masters and gaolers can be bought. Imagine that you or I brought a boat alongside at night, and told the gaoler we had a convict with us and passed him up, along with a nice purse. Do you think he would be overly particular about the identity of the fellow, or why a peer had sailed him over without any papers?”

“If he were at all particular, it would be a disaster.”

“Fine, be a coward. Then just switch your fellow with a real convict. If he protests he is not the real Tommy Thief, who will listen?”

Summerhays froze. Hawkeswell stared at Castleford, who blandly gazed back. “Can I strangle him now, Summerhays?”

Summerhays sighed. “Tristan, you have misunderstood.
We
are not going to make a man disappear.”

“You said men of consequence. I just assumed—”

“We are looking for a man
others
may have caused to disappear.”

“I see. That is more boring, but not without interest.”

“I am relieved we have not become totally boring in not being criminals, but only somewhat,” Hawkeswell said.

“I still say you should look to the hulks. It isn’t as if anyone wants to know what really goes on there.”

“He has a point,” Summerhays said. “It may be worth a try. I can have a barrister go to the King’s Bench and obtain a writ to allow us to search the hulks and—”

“Such tedious legalities,” Castleford said with a groan of impatience. “Hawkeswell and I will just
do it
. None of these men will stand against an earl and a duke and ask for writs. You can come too, if you promise not to act too much like the member of the Commons that you are.” He grinned with delight at Hawkeswell. “We must be sure to bring our swords.”

Hawkeswell was dumbfounded by Castleford’s assumption that he would join them. Summerhays was too, for a moment.

“Regrettably, Castleford, this cannot wait for next Tuesday,” Summerhays said.

“He is correct,” Hawkeswell agreed. “I must go two days hence, and trust your advice was wise. I will bring my sword as you suggest, however, and brandish it a bit in your honor.”

“Two days hence?”

“Early morning.”

“Eight, I think,” Summerhays said. “No, actually, seven would be best.” He stood. “You have been very helpful. We will leave now, so you can return to your sleep.”

They almost made good their escape, but Castleford’s voice caught them at the door.

“Seven will be a hellish time, but I expect you will need my yacht. I’ll be damned if I am going to provide both the plan and the yacht and miss the fun. I will see you at the docks.”

H
awkeswell’s mood remained surly the rest of the day and most of the next. He almost wrote to Summerhays and Castleford to call off the adventure at the hulks.

While his mind built excuses having to do with those tedious legalities Castleford hated, the thickness in his chest, so similar to what he felt when anticipating bad news, told the truth of it. No matter what Verity claimed, he did not believe that a reunion between her and this girlhood friend would be a small thing.

As his mood darkened, his imagination did too. He parsed through everything Verity had ever said about Oldbury, about Katy, about Bowman, and even about her reasons for running away.

He saw his willingness to believe she had been so bold because of her anger at being hoodwinked, and concluded that he had been an optimistic, dimwitted fool. His initial suspicions were more likely, that she had run off to elope with another man. He remembered his certainty that Katy Bowman had assumed that as well.

Well, Verity could not do that now. That path was closed. And yet, her emotions could never be constrained by law. That was the heart of it, he admitted dismally the afternoon before visiting the hulks. Right now he could forget the suspicion most of the time, and know some joy with her. If he had proof that another man had her heart, he did not think that would continue.

He was accommodating that miserable notion, thoroughly distracted by it, when he almost walked past Summerhays in Brooks’s without seeing him. Only the sound of his own name brought him out of his reverie to find his friend right by his side.

“Has someone died? You look like it,” Summerhays said, kicking out a chair in welcome.

He sat, and refused the offer to call for some brandy. “I am thinking about the morning.”

“I do not believe it is concern with the vague authority you will wield that distracts you.”

“Hardly.”

Summerhays scrutinized him long and hard. Then he smiled a smile that often tamed the world to his command. “Early in my marriage, you gave me some advice. Should I now return the favor?”

“Early in your marriage, I was ignorant of marriage. That was my only excuse for not being more considerate of your jealousy.”

“And yet, for a marriage that was not a love match, it was good advice, was it not? That affairs were inevitable, and I would be an ass to expect otherwise.”

“Yes, good advice. I am so damned wise I can’t stand myself.”

He stared at nothing while he found some small solace in that wisdom. It lessened the restless ill ease, but that thickness remained, dull now, and preparing for the worst.

“I suppose I won’t kill him if I am right,” he said.

“That is good of you. Her past with him does not signify now, and you have no way of knowing the future.”

Except the past did signify, and would affect the future. He was sure of it. What Verity chose to do with her body was the least of it too.

The dullness pervaded him the rest of the day. That night it made the pleasure he experienced poignant. He made love to her slowly, carefully, and thoroughly, savoring each taste, urging her to find release after release in a long series of ecstasies. Only at the end did fury at his powerlessness join his gentler emotions.