Page 13 of A Wicked Business (Wicked Sons #10)
Dearest Mama,
I know, I know, I am a wicked creature who neglects you horribly and you’ve not seen or heard from me in an age. 'Tis all true, and I most humbly beg your forgiveness. My only excuse is that work is going wonderfully well, and I must remain in town to strike while the iron, or my brushes, are hot! I promise to come as soon as I may and allow you to scold your disreputable son as much as you like.
I am, however, to put your heart at rest, in good health and good spirits. I know I gave you a good deal to worry about, but my drinking is done, I promise. I’m rather happy, actually. Life is good (despite my friends dragging me into their ridiculous dilemmas, which are all entirely of their own making) and I want for nothing. I’ve decided the life of a bachelor suits me very well, and I’m afraid you must wait a good while longer to add to your collection of grandchildren. Grace is doing the job admirably, it seems. For now, I appreciate the ease and peace of my life as I have never done before. Though in truth, the racket going on next door at present would try the patience of a saint and drive the poor devil to drink too. I appear to have new neighbours arrive today and the hullabaloo they are causing moving in is astonishing. Here I am, trying to commune with my muse, and there is their grubby little lad out in the garden, banging on a saucepan! I can only pray that his doting mama is distracted by the trials of the day, and this is not normal behaviour.
―Excerpt of a letter from The Hon’ble Larkin Weston to his mother, The Right Hon’ble Jemima Weston, Lady Rothborn.
5 th August 1850, en route to Keston House, Grosvenor Square, London.
“Do stop looking so Friday faced, Doris,” Belinda said wearily as her father’s carriage bore them back home. She had made Doris remain in the carriage while she visited the earl, uncertain of how Ashburton would react if Doris chose to stick her oar in as she was wont to do. She had taken matters into her own hands, sealing her fate, and now the energy which had sustained her through the interview with Lord Ashburton had entirely vanished.
“I ain’t— I’m not Friday faced, my lady. Only sad and very concerned for one whose happiness is my chief concern.”
Belinda smiled. Doris was making great strides with her grammar and it pleased Belinda no end to see the confidence it gave her as she understood the rules. Doris was not only formidable, but intelligent too, something others often overlooked when they heard her speak.
Belinda reached over and took her hand, squeezing her fingers. “You’re a dear friend to me, Doris, far more than simply my maid, and that you care for me too is a great comfort. But there is no need to worry so. Ashburton is a gentleman and he’ll be generous. We have agreed we may be friends but otherwise live our own lives. So, I shall be safe and free to live as I please. Isn’t that marvellous?”
“If it’s so bleedin’ marvellous, why do you look like a wet weekend at Brighton? That’s what I’d like to know,” Doris said mutinously, her accent slipping as worry overcame her.
“I’m sure I look nothing of the sort,” Belinda retaliated, nettled. “I’m… I’m just a little weary, that’s all.”
“Yes! Because you cried all night over the fellow you ought to be marrying,” Doris said irritably.
“Well, you’ve changed your tune,” Belinda remarked crossly. “Last night you were all for cutting off his—”
“My lady!” Doris glared at Belinda in shock. “I never thought to hear such language from you.”
“I didn’t say anything yet, and I was not about to use a vulgar word in any event,” Belinda retorted, exasperated. “But last night you were discussing how to dispose of his lifeless body, and today you think I ought to be marrying him! That’s a volte-face if ever there was one.”
“Don’t you go using flashy words to bamboozle me, you little minx. I well know what I said, but I had a sleepless night too and I got to thinking. What was you doing throwing a marriage proposal at the poor bloke like that, without no warning? You can’t go frightening young men like that, my lamb. They might look all big and muscly, but their little hearts are fragile, tender things and they need careful handling.”
Belinda looked at Doris sceptically. “Mr Knight is not fragile.”
“Not to look at, no,” Doris said, impatient now and looking like she wanted to give Belinda a shake. “But I reckon you scared the daylights out of him. You hardly know the poor fellow, for all it might feel like he’s your soul mate, which I don’t doubt is what you think.”
“I think no such thing,” Belinda protested, though she knew she wasn’t being entirely honest.
Being in company with Mr Knight brought her a deep sense of familiarity. She thought it might be at least half the reason he irritated her so, because there was none of the constraint she might feel with a stranger. Rather, it seemed as if she were bickering with someone she’d known all her life… and it felt entirely normal.
Doris sighed, her voice softening. “Look, lovey, he’s a handsome young fellow, plump in the pocket, and with his whole life ahead of him. What’s he thinking about, hmm? He’s thinking about kicking up larks, how to make more money, and when he can tumble the next pretty lass into his bed. Marriage ain’t in his mind. Not until you put it there, any rate. If you’d just have got him to kiss you like I told you, we’d not be in this fix.”
“He did kiss me, drat you, and we are not in a fix, Doris. One day I’ll be the Marchioness of Montagu.”
“Ha! And will that fancy title keep you warm on a cold night, I ask you?” Doris folded her arms, returning a knowing look. “And how did you like it when Mr Knight kissed you?”
Belinda flushed and looked away. “I refuse to discuss it a moment longer. Mr Knight has made his feelings perfectly clear and, even if I was mistaken, he must hate me now after the way I insulted him.”
“Oh, my lamb, things that people say in the heat of the moment are not to be regarded. He hurt and embarrassed you and you retaliated. Human nature, that is, and I reckon he’s smart enough to know that too.”
“No, Doris. It’s too late. I’ve agreed to marry Lord Ashburton. How would it look if I turned around now and changed my mind? He’ll never take me seriously again and when this… this nonsense with Mr Knight was proven once again to be nothing, I’ll have lost my chance. I beg you will not mention his name to me again.”
“But—”
“Never again!” Belinda said, with such force even Doris was forced to close her mouth.
They returned to Keston House with Doris’ sullen silence making it clear she thought Belinda was an idiot. Belinda didn’t care. She thought she was an idiot too, but at least now she had some certainty in her life. She would have a home, her own money, and a life she could shape as she wished. Perhaps in time, Ashburton’s daughter would come to like her, and they really could be friends. Perhaps she’d have children of her own one day.
The thought somewhat belatedly dawned on her that Ashburton’s necessary heir and a spare would need to be created by the two of them. The idea of the coldly beautiful lord touching her so made her feel suddenly panic-struck. He always seemed so remote to her, so in control and tightly wound that she viewed the idea he might be tender and loving with some scepticism. She pushed the thought away. Women had to endure such intimacy to gain the benefits marriage offered, she understood that as all women of wealth and breeding understood it. Marriage for her kind was a bargain with all the rights belonging to the husband. At least in Belinda’s case, she would have their agreement in writing and the law on her side.
Kimble opened the door for them, his concerned face studying Belinda.
“A gentleman called for you this morning, my lady,” he said, his words making Belinda’s heart leap. “A Mr Larkin Weston. He left his card.”
Belinda told herself she was beyond foolish and frowned at the card. She remembered Mr Weston. He was a handsome fellow, and she had liked him on the few occasions they had crossed paths.
“Was it simply a social call or did he want something, do you think?” she asked Kimble.
“I could not say, my lady. He did not grant me any further information, though I venture to suggest he was greatly disappointed to discover you were not at home. When I told him I expected you home in the next couple of hours, I got the impression he might call again, though he did not say so.”
Belinda shrugged. She had no time for Mr Weston today. She must return to see Ashburton later and look over the papers he’d drawn up, and before that she needed to visit Miss Ludlow.
Copies of His Grace and Disfavour were everywhere she looked, and she had even overheard her father’s servants discussing the story and worrying over poor Georgette’s fate. After much discussion with Miss Ludlow, she had decided to get the first three chapters out within the first week, and then to stagger the others. Belinda wanted to be certain Miss Ludlow was ready with chapter four, for she believed they may have underestimated the furore the story would create. It would be foolish to miss the opportunity to feed a market hungry for the next chapter.
Having had a light repast sent up to her room, Belinda changed and readied herself to go out again. Doris still wasn’t speaking to her. Frustrated by the sudden turnabout in her loyal friend’s opinion of what was best for her future, she decided they both needed a rest and a little time to cool their tempers.
“Doris, I am going out to visit Miss Ludlow. I ought to be back by four, and then I intend to return to Montagu House. If you would be so good as to be ready to accompany me.”
“What about going to the print shop?” Doris asked in confusion. “You can’t go there alone.”
“Yes, I can, and I intend to. Please don’t fuss. I will see you later.”
With that, she went out before Doris could voice any further objections. She was relieved to discover a footman and not Kimble in the hall and asked him to fetch a hackney cab for her. Kimble would never have let her out alone in such a conveyance, but the footman was too in awe of her to protest and did as she asked without demurring.
Belinda sat down with relief in the somewhat rackety carriage and gave into the indulgence of feeling sorry for herself with no one to interrupt her thoughts.
5 th August 1850, Berwick Street, Soho, London.
Larkin left his house for the second time that day and almost fell headlong over a large crate left right outside his front door. As it was, he barked his shin and let out an oath.
“Damn it to hell,” echoed a small voice somewhere in the vicinity of another sizeable packing box to his right.
“Giddy!”
This exclamation came from the front door, to where Larkin’s gaze was drawn. A woman was standing in the opening, her blonde hair a mass of tumbled curls. Larkin took her in with the practised eye of an artist, alert to the beauty he saw before him. Her eyes were wide and candid and an unusual shade of aquamarine, her nose was a shade too long but elegant, and her wide mouth was lush and made for smiling. It was not smiling now, however. The beautiful eyes glared at him.
“I will thank you for not using such language in front of impressionable children,” she said sharply.
“Then I shall thank you for not leaving packing cases outside my front door where I can fall over them,” Larkin replied coolly.
“I did no such—” She glanced over at the box which was still outside his door. “Oh,” she said with a sigh, putting a hand to her temple.
“Damn it to hell?” the boy asked her curiously.
Larkin could not repress the smile that twitched at his lips and the woman sighed again as she caught sight of it. “I’m afraid I owe you an apology, Mr—?”
“Weston. Larkin Weston, your neighbour,” he said, and gave her a small bow. “Think nothing of it. I do not believe it was a mortal wound.”
The woman stepped out from her front door and offered him a conciliatory smile. “I am pleased to meet you, Mr Weston, and I am sorry. I’m afraid things are rather chaotic. I am Mrs Finchley, and this is my son, Gideon. I would introduce you to my sister, Miss Merrivale, and my Aunt Constance, but I’m afraid they are knee-deep in packing cases on the top floor and my aunt finds the stairs rather a trial and—”
“Please do not worry, nor let me disturb you further. I can see you are having a wearying day.”
“We are rather, it’s just we could not find any servants at such short notice,” she continued, looking distracted and rather as if she wished to tear her hair out. “It’s all been rather difficult.”
“No servants?” Larkin asked, looking at the heavy packing cases littering the pavement. “Good heavens. Now I understand the disorder. Look, I have an appointment I must keep, but I can carry those cases in for you.”
“Oh, no, sir, I could not impose,” Mrs Finchley said in shock, looking appalled that she might have guilted him into helping her.
“You aren’t imposing, I offered.” Larkin gave her a swift smile and hurried back to his house, opening the front door and hollering for Barnes. When his faithful valet appeared, he introduced him to Mrs Finchley. “This is Barnes. He’ll help you find some servants, won’t you, Barnes? He’s the fount of all knowledge, Mrs Finchley, I assure you.”
With this, Larkin and Barnes cleared the pavement of the packing cases, depositing them at intervals around the house. Aware of time passing and the pressing nature of his engagement, Larkin then made his goodbyes, hoped Mrs Finchley and her family would be happy in their new abode, and hurried out again.
To his frustration, Larkin was too late when he arrived at Grosvenor Square, for Lady Belinda had gone out again. Cursing his rotten luck, Larkin turned away from the house once more and began walking home when he heard an odd noise.
“Psst!”
Larkin frowned, looking around but seeing nothing. The noise returned as he continued walking.
“Psst!”
He stopped and looked around, somewhat startled to discover a very tall woman standing just out of sight, half hidden by a parked carriage.
She nodded and gestured eagerly to him.
Intrigued, Larkin walked over to her.
“Can I help you, miss?”
“Miss Bodrott, sir. Doris Bodrott, I’m Lady Belinda’s maid.”
“Good day to you, Miss Bodrott. I was hoping to speak to your mistress today.”
“I know, sir, and I beg your pardon for my impertinence, but you are Mr Weston? The Mr Weston from the Sons of Hades?”
Larkin’s eyebrows rose, but he nodded, agreeing that he was indeed that Mr Weston.
“And you’re a friend of Mr Felix Knight?”
“I am, indeed. In fact, that’s why I’m here. Mr Knight did not believe the earl would allow him to set foot in the house so I’m here on his behalf.”
The woman looked suddenly triumphant and reached out, clapping his arm with a surprisingly powerful slap. “I knew it!” she said, grinning. “Doris, I said, that young buck is bound to be friends with Mr Knight, for I’ve read your name and his often enough when that wicked club is in the papers.”
Larkin smiled, rather charmed by Miss Bodrott. “Well, you were right. Am I to take it that our interest might be aligned, in the matter of Mr Knight and Lady Belinda?”
Doris gave him a penetrating look. “If you mean do I think the two of them ought to stop messing about and admit they like each other, yes, we’re aligned all right.”
Larkin gave a bark of laughter and offered Miss Bodrott his arm. “In that case, I shall take you directly to Mr Knight, who is a sorry piece of work this day, I assure you.”
“You best had, and with no time to lose, for that silly chit has just persuaded Lord Ashburton to marry her.”
“Ashburton?” Larkin gaped at her. “You’re not serious?”
Doris nodded despondently. “She got herself in such a silly state, so what must the dreadful girl do but go off and get herself betrothed to a fellow what likes her no more than she likes him. Trouble is, everything is happening too fast because of her wretched pa, but I reckon her and Mr Knight would deal nicely together, but what with her being a mite too forceful and him being a bit too easily scared off, well, they’ve made a mull of it.”
“Miss Bodrott, I could not have said it better myself, but what is to be done? If she is betrothed already—”
“Oh, call me Doris, dear. Everyone does, and don’t you fret, I reckon we can deal with this right enough if we put our heads together.”
“Doris,” Larkin said with a smile. “Thank you, Doris. Well, I’m game if you are. Come along then, let us see if we can untangle this wretched mess before they ruin everything, and we’re stuck with the lot of them lamenting their misfortune.”
“Lead on, Mr Weston,” Doris said cheerfully, and followed Larkin where he led.
5 th August 1850, Berwick Street, Soho, London.
Felix stared gloomily out of the window of Larkin’s front parlour before turning away and recommencing his pacing. Barnes had told him Larkin had gone out a few minutes before Felix had arrived but had been happy enough for Felix to wait until his master returned home. Felix sat down and poured himself a glass of ale from the jug Barnes had left him, drained half of it and then got up again, too agitated to sit still.
The sound of the front door opening had surging to his feet. “Bloody hell, Larkin, where have you been? I’ve been—” Felix stopped in surprise as his gaze fell upon Miss Bodrott. For a moment, his heart leapt as he looked around for her mistress, believing that Larkin had been successful in his mission. His hopes crashed to the floor as he realised Belinda was not with her maid. “Miss Bodrott, how good to see you again,” he said politely, trying to gather his wits.
“Never mind all that. You and my mistress have got yourself in a right pickle, and now we’ve got to get you out again.”
“Whatever do you mean?” Felix said in alarm. “Lady Belinda is well? Nothing has happened to her?”
“Oh, keep your hair on. She’s well enough, just miserable, and making stupid decisions she’s going to regret if you don’t pull your finger out,” Doris said frankly.
“Why don’t we all sit down?” Larkin suggested before the conversation could continue any further before his curious valet. “There’s much to discuss and we can’t do it in the hallway. Barnes? Refreshments, if you please,” he instructed his man, who nodded and hurried away as Larkin corralled them all into the parlour.
“What exactly is going on?” Felix asked, irritated. “All I asked was that Lady Belinda be so good as to meet with me. I must apologise to her for my behaviour. I’m afraid I see now that I was rather—’
“Yes, you was rather,” Miss Bodrott said fiercely. “What are you like? You can’t go kissing a lady like that and then telling her it was a mistake. You’re a man of the world and, despite her boldness, she’s as innocent as a lamb and never even been kissed, let alone handled so roughly before.”
“Told you so,” Larkin muttered smugly.
Felix glowered at him. He felt terrible enough as it was without the two of them rubbing it in. “I know. I know that,” he said, running a hand through his hair in agitation. “And that’s why I must see her, must explain—”
“I know. I told her she was in the wrong too. I don’t know what she was thinking of asking you to marry her like she did and I’m afraid she was very rude to you too, sir. I hope you know she did not mean a word of it. Cried herself to sleep last night she did, thinking you must hate her for it.”
“Oh, the poor darling,” Felix said, feeling utterly wretched now. “I cannot bear to think of her so unhappy. I must admit her words did strike rather hard, but Larkin made me see I had insulted and hurt her and that she was returning the compliment. Truth be told, she was in the right, as you have been so kind to point out. I did not act like a gentleman. My mother would have a thing or two to say if she knew, let me tell you,” he added ruefully. “Please, Miss Bodrott, you must arrange for me to see her so I can make amends for my wretched behaviour.”
“Well, that’s all right and fine and I can do just that,” Miss Bodrott said, but the look in her eyes told Felix that it would not be quite that simple. “But there’s a bit of a complication. What you might call a fly in the ointment.”
“Oh?” Felix said, an odd twisting sensation in his guts. “What sort of fly?”
“A big handsome blond one with a fancy title,” Miss Bodrott replied with a sigh. “She’s gone and persuaded Lord Ashburton to marry her.”