Page 14

~April 28~

C hristopher gave a knock at the side door to Powell’s club and was given entry immediately. It was the same door Wickford had brought him through the first evening he’d come to the club. Since then, Christopher had discovered that if he sent a note ahead, a footman would let him in, and his dark corner would be ready and waiting for him. He paid handsomely for the special treatment, but to Christopher it was well worth it.

He’d been sitting there enjoying the quiet rumble of men’s voices when Wickford approached him with another fellow in tow.

“Lord Pennyston, I do hope you’ll forgive the intrusion,” Wickford said. “But I’d like to introduce you to Mr. Archer Fitzwalter, the fellow with the business you said you were interested in.”

Christopher stood up and came forward just enough so Mr. Fitzwalter could see the good side of his face. “How do you do, Mr. Archer? I’m Christopher Pennyston. Lord Colburne and Lord Wickford have both told me a little about this new business you’re putting together, but I’d like to hear more about it from you if you don’t mind.”

“I’d be honored, my lord. But, er, it’s odd that this corner is so dark…” Fitzwalter started.

“No. It is at my request,” Christopher said briefly. “Please, have a seat. Would you care for a drink? I’ve got a bottle of brandy.”

“Well, I’ll leave you two gentlemen,” Lord Wickford said.

“Yes, thank you, Wickford,” Christopher said as he took his seat again. He indicated Fitzwalter take the chair opposite.

“Thank you. I’ve actually got a drink.” The man held up his glass which Christopher could just make out in the dark.

“Ah, yes, very good. Now, tell me about this idea of yours. Colburne gave me only the barest sketch when he told me about it, merely whetting my curiosity. Wickford wasn’t any more forthcoming.”

Fitzwalter gave a polite little laugh. “Of course. Let me start by telling you about what I’ve been doing for the past few years if you don’t mind. It will make the rest more understandable.”

“Very well.”

The man peered into the darkness surrounding Christopher, clearly trying to see him, but the lack of light was making it impossible. “I’ve been in the East India Company army, fighting around the area of Madras,” he explained.

“Really? I’ve heard some about the army in India, but not very much. Is it similar to being in the British Army? I’ve been fighting for our country in Spain and Portugal for the past three years.”

“You’re a lucky man. I only wish my father had bought me a commission in the British Army.”

“Any idea why he may not have?” Christopher asked out of curiosity.

“Honestly? I have a feeling he wanted me as far away as possible. Can’t get much farther than India,” he said with a laugh that held no amusement.

“Or perhaps he hoped to keep you safe? My father had me sent to Malta when I first joined. Not a lick of fighting to be seen there,” Christopher offered.

“No. We saw a good bit of action in Madras. Your father sounds like a clever man. Mine just wanted to be rid of me. Not terribly pleased I’m back either. But I’ll be gone again as soon as I round up the funding I need, and he’ll be happy again.”

Christopher could only shake his head. “Fathers!”

“Difficult, aren’t they?” There was a silent pause as Fitzwalter emphasized his words with a long drink from his glass.

Christopher reached forward and refilled it.

“Thank you. So, the thing is, while I was in India, I couldn’t help but become aware that East India Company was working hard to squeeze every penny from the local farmers. They would buy their goods—spices, cotton, and so on—ship it back here to England, and make a very nice profit off it. With more and more of their efforts going toward empire building, they have slowly moved away from importing some items. My idea is to fill the gap they have created but pay the farmers a more reasonable amount for their goods. It will make the price higher when it’s resold here, but I think if we ensure that the quality is good, people will pay.”

“That sounds remarkably fair,” Christopher commented.

“Unusual, I know,” Fitzwalter said with a true laugh.

“What are you thinking of importing?”

“Spices. There are a great number of spices English households have come to rely upon that are grown in Madras. I think we could do very well with them,” Fitzwalter said.

“And how much are you looking for a share?”

They discussed particulars for some time. By the time the bottle of brandy was finished, Christopher was convinced that this was, indeed, something he wanted to invest in and Fitzwalter someone he wanted to invest with. He liked this man.

“I like your ideas, Fitzwalter,” he said as he emptied the bottle into the man’s glass. “And I want to buy in to your company. I don’t have the ready just now. When would you need a firm commitment?”

The man smiled in a relieved sort of way. “Whenever you can—preferably before the season is over. I don’t have a firm date as to when I’m going to be returning to India, but it will most likely be early in summer.”

“Excellent. I will get back to you as soon as I can. Naturally, I’ve got to speak with my solicitor and see what I can do.”

“Of course. Take your time.”

Christopher tilted his head at the fellow. Perhaps he’d had too much to drink, but he let his thoughts flow from his tongue. “We seem to be quite alike, you and I.”

“Oh?”

“Tell me if I’m wrong, but you seem to have loved the adventure of army life.”

“I did. I have to admit the fighting was not at all appealing, though. I resigned my commission as quickly as I could. Did you do the same?”

“No. I didn’t mind the fighting. I liked the glory of it,” Christopher admitted. “I deliberately petitioned for a transfer to where I knew I’d see some action.”

“And did you?”

“I have the scar to prove it,” Christopher said dryly, knowing full well the man couldn’t see it.

“So what made you return?” Fitzwalter asked. “Or are you simply here for a short time and then going back?”

“I am here for good. I was injured and sent home.” Christopher leaned forward into the light.

“I’m sorry to hear—” Fitzwalter started. Christopher could see the very moment his eyes landed on his face. He stopped speaking but quickly cleared his throat and started again. “Er, was it a saber?”

“Yes.” Christopher leaned back again. Perhaps he hadn’t had enough to drink after all.

“You’re lucky to be alive, I imagine,” Fitzwalter commented.

“I am. Very. A little lower, and it would have sliced open my neck. A little to the left, and I would be missing an eye. And if I hadn’t had immediate medical attention, I would have bled out on the spot.”

Fitzwalter shook his head. “Adventure is wonderful. Exploring new places, meeting different people—all good. A swipe with a saber or a bullet aimed just right can ruin a man’s life.”

“I knew you’d understand. So, you’ll forgive me if I sit in the dark.” Christopher gave a dry chuckle.

“Not at all! Not at all.”

~April 29~

Ellen paced back and forth in her drawing room. She paused to re-read the invitation in her hand and then went back to pacing. She couldn’t do this. She just couldn’t .

But it had been five days. Five entire, long days since she had seen or heard from Lord Pennyston, and she just could not get that man out of her head.

Sergeant Jones was probably comfortably ensconced in His Lordship’s home, well on the mend. It was even possible that he was getting up and hobbling around on his bad leg. It was ever so much better when Lord Pennyston had taken him home.

No, she had absolutely no worries about her former patient. It was his master she was concerned with. He of the sweet nature, generous and kind, and so in need of a gentle hand to help push him beyond the comfortable boundaries he’d erected around himself. He was an outgoing, social person who was forcing himself to be a quiet bystander in his own life. He wouldn’t go out. He wouldn’t be social. He refused to do anything that would put him in front of others who might react to the scar on his face.

Ellen understood that. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t noticed his scar, but she was certain that others would do as she did—ignore it. It was true that it did horrible things to the side of his face, but that didn’t mean he had to hide himself away. If he would only go out into public more, people would get used to it. And truly, it was almost a badge of honor proving he’d fought and gave his all for his country. Oh, all right, perhaps that was taking this a little too far, but honestly, he shouldn’t let it stop him from living his life.

“You’re at it again,” Amelia’s voice came from the doorway.

“What?” Ellen asked, spinning around to face her aunt.

“You’re pacing, and so deep in thought, you haven’t heard anything that is going on around you,” the woman said with a little laugh, coming farther into the room. She made herself comfortable on the sofa across from where Ellen stood, then fiddled with one of the hideous little china pieces Ellen’s mother-in-law loved so dearly.

“Did I miss something?” Ellen asked.

“Nothing important. I simply came in to ask about tea… about ten minutes ago.”

“Oh dear! I am so sorry,” Ellen said, immediately starting toward the door to find a maid or footman.

“It’s all right. I’ve ordered it,” Amelia said, stopping her.

“Oh. Thank you.”

“What’s that you’ve got there? Is it what’s got you in such a tizzy?” Amelia asked, nodding to the invitation in Ellen’s hand.

“What?” She looked down at the card. “Oh, no. Well, sort of. Yes, actually.”

Amelia just laughed. “Have you decided? Is it yes or no?”

“Yes. It’s mostly yes,” Ellen answered, smiling at her own silliness.

“Go on and explain. Maybe I can help,” Amelia offered.

“Oh, I doubt… well…” Ellen took in a deep breath. Maybe Amelia could help, and it certainly couldn’t hurt to talk it out. “This is an invitation to Lady Mortensen’s ball next Tuesday,” she explained.

Amelia nodded. “And you’re planning on going?”

“Yes, I’d like to go, but I don’t have anyone to escort me. I could just go with Mrs. Perbury, my companion, but it would be so much nicer to go with a gentleman.”

“Naturally. But in order to do that, you need one to invite you.” Amelia pointed out the obvious.

“Yes. On the other hand, Lord Pennyston said he would escort me to Lady Ayres’ soirée, but he changed his mind at the last minute.”

“So he owes you an escort, is that it?” Amelia said, her smile growing wider.

“Well… yes.”

“And you were just wondering how to get the man to offer,” Amelia nodded her understanding.

“Actually, I was thinking of writing to him and asking him directly if he would escort me to the ball. That’s too bold, isn’t it?” Ellen realized the moment the words were out of her mouth that she was asking the wrong person. Aunt Amelia was the most bold, outrageous woman Ellen had ever met.

As expected, Amelia laughed and literally applauded her. “Brava! Do it! You should absolutely write to him. I fully encourage this.”

“Of course you do,” Ellen said, dropping onto the chair. If Amelia thought she should do it, she most certainly should not .

“Oh, come now. The man owes you this. It’s an IOU, and you are cashing in, that’s all. He promised to escort you to a party, and you are giving him the opportunity to make good on his promise.”

“Well, yes, but I rather talked him into agreeing to escort me to the first party,” Ellen admitted.

“Good! You know what you want, and you go after it. You are a strong, independent woman. I like that,” Amelia said.

“But will Lord Pennyston?”

“If he doesn’t, he’s not the man for you,” Amelia said conclusively. “Now you write that letter, and I’m going to see where that—”

There was a knock on the door followed by the maid coming in, carrying the tea tray.

“Ah! Excellent. I’m starved,” Amelia said, sitting forward. “I do hope you brought something more substantial than biscuits.”

“Yes, ma’am. You requested a light luncheon with your tea, so I brought some cold meat and cheese,” the maid said.

“Did you not eat anything this afternoon?” Ellen asked, looking at the tray filled with food.

“No, I forgot. Sherman and I were out riding, and I completely missed the mid-day meal,” Amelia said, digging in.

“Mr. Sherman? You were out with him again? Didn’t you see him just yesterday?” Ellen asked, watching her.

Amelia smiled as she filled her plate. “Yesterday it was the museum, and today we rode to Hampstead Heath and back.”

“Why would you go—”

“Just to get out of the city for a short time,” Amelia answered. “It’s a lovely day. While you were inside fretting and pacing, I was out having a wonderful time, enjoying the sunshine with a very lovely companion.”

As she began to eat, Ellen realized Amelia was going to say no more on the subject. She supposed it was all right, though. It wasn’t as though Amelia was a young debutant. She was a widow and an older woman. Ellen supposed she could see Mr. Sherman as often as she liked. It was curious, however.

“You going to sit there and watch me eat? Either join me or write your invitation to Lord Pennyston,” Amelia said, cutting into Ellen’s thoughts.

“Oh! Right. Yes, right.” Ellen got up and left to go to the library where there was pen and paper. She would do this. It would be awkward, but she would .