Page 4 of A Wicked Business (Wicked Sons #10)

Felix,

Come over tonight. I’m giving a party to celebrate the sale of my last painting. It’s rather a triumph if I do say so. There will be some jolly company and a fine spread. Don’t let me down. 8 pm sharp.

―Excerpt of a letter from the Hon’ble Larkin Weston (son of The Right Hon’ble Solomon ‘Solo’ and Jemima Weston, Baron and Baroness Rothborn) to Mr Felix Knight (son of Mr Gabriel and Lady Helena Knight)

4 th July 1850, Keston House, Grosvenor Square, Mayfair, London.

“Well? Did he scream and run away?” Doris asked hopefully when Belinda returned to her rooms.

“No, he did not. We’re to meet Miss Ludlow at the print shop on Friday, and don’t look so disappointed, drat you,” Belinda replied, closing the door and walking over to where Doris was sitting by the window, making a poor job of mending a tear in a seam. “Oh, give me that. You’re making a pig’s ear of it.”

“Oooh, don’t let your pa hear you talking like that. He’ll turn me off, he will,” Doris said, and then gave a cackle of delighted laughter as she bundled the gown up and thrust it at Belinda. “I’m a bad influence, I am,” she said with a grin.

Belinda snorted, sitting down with the voluminous skirts billowing out on her lap. “Well, you’ll be pleased to hear Mr Knight thinks I’m as dim-witted as you do. He counselled me to think very carefully before printing anything more scandalous than a recipe for scones.”

“Told you he was a clever bloke,” Doris said with a knowing smile. “Though to be fair, I’ve known women come to blows over the right way of making scones.”

Belinda looked up in surprise. “Not really?”

“Oh, yes. I worked in the kitchens at an inn in Shoreditch for a few weeks and the cook there was a right Tartar. Mrs Barry, she was called. Face like a slapped arse, she had. The sort who looks like they’ve swallowed an eel no matter how things are going, if you know what I mean?”

Belinda smothered a laugh and nodded at this delightful illustration. “I do.”

“Well, she was that sort, and when another woman was taken on to help her and produced the lightest fluffiest scones you ever tasted. Well, there was hell to pay, let me tell you. Mrs Barry nearly knocked her out cold with a skillet.” Doris gave a reminiscent sigh. “Oh, them scones were dreamy, though.”

Belinda gave her maid a reproachful glare. “Devil take you! Now I’m famished. Go at once and ask the kitchen to make us some scones for tea.”

“Thought you’d never ask,” Doris said with delight, hurrying for the door.

Belinda gave an exasperated sigh, calling after her. “Was that story even true?”

“Not a word,” Doris said cheerfully. “I just fancied scones.”

“Oh, you wretch!” Belinda exclaimed, laughing as Doris closed the door behind her.

Sighing, she sat back in the chair and looked out of her window. It was a glorious summer’s day, a soft breeze cooling the back of her neck. Belinda smothered a desperate longing to run away to the countryside where she might escape her father’s plans for her future for a few weeks… or at least pretend to.

Fortunately, her room faced the square, and the little island of green in the centre of the city. Suddenly she remembered Mr Knight’s piercing green eyes, and the way his energy had seemed to fill up the room and her too, galvanising her and making her feel strangely alive. The sensation still lingered, a thrum in the back of her mind that turned to a shiver as she thought of him. Lord, but her father would explode with fury if he ever discovered she had invited him to the house. She prayed Kimble was right and no one but he had been aware of Mr Knight’s presence, nor would be. If her papa ever discovered she was going to meet Mr Knight in a grimy print shop in a most undesirable neighbourhood, she would never be allowed out of the house again.

6 th July 1850, Hosier Lane, City of London.

“I still say it’s the daftest thing you’ve ever done, and there’s a good deal of competition,” Doris said, her expression sulky as the carriage rumbled over the cobbled street and they arrived at the print shop in good time. She had decided to come earlier than her appointment with Mr Knight, to give her time to speak to Miss Ludlow, whom she had not yet met in person.

“Yes, yes, so you say, though I do not know why. Who was it who came to me with Miss Ludlow’s plight and begged me to help her?” Belinda asked with a quirk of one eyebrow.

“Oh, that’s right, throw it back in my face. No good deed goes unpunished, eh? Well, how was I to know you’d get a bee in your bonnet about do-gooding and educating women, so they don’t get one in the basket, I ask you?” Doris complained. “I mean, if you stick to recipe books and stories, like those Mr Dickens ones I like, I’m all for it. But writing about bed stuff… it ain’t proper and that’s all there is to it.”

Belinda stared at Doris and shook her head. “You’re a dreadful hypocrite. You’re the one who told me women ought to be educated. I’m doing this for you!”

“I didn’t mean for you to do it yourself, though, you bleedin’ little goose!” Doris exclaimed and, to Belinda’s surprise, her eyes filled with tears. “If you go ruining yourself, it will be all my fault.”

“Stop that at once!” Belinda said, touched by her maid’s concern but also rather incensed. “I’m so tired of everyone treating me like I don’t have a brain. I know what I’m risking. I’ll be ruined, sent to rot in some forgotten corner of the country with an ancient relative where everyone can forget about me. I’ll be the subject of ridicule and scorn, and people will point and whisper, but at least I’ll have done something! And don’t you think I won’t take you to the countryside so you can rot alongside me too, for I shall!” she added tartly.

“Oh, my lady, bless you!” Doris snatched up her hand and held on tight.

Despite herself, Belinda laughed, squeezing Doris’ fingers. Doris returned a wan smile but looked troubled still. “I shall never blame you, Doris, so do not think on it any longer, and if all goes well, no one will ever know.”

“Aye,” Doris said wistfully as she climbed out of the carriage, turning to point up at the sky. “And look there, do you see it?”

Belinda looked where Doris indicated, before she climbed down, puzzled. “No, what?”

“A flying pig.”

“Very droll,” Belinda replied, eyeing Doris, her expression deadpan. “I’m quite overcome with hysteria.”

“Don’t never say I didn’t warn you,” Doris remarked, wagging a finger. “Reckon I’ll start knitting some warm socks ready for our trip to the country so we can rot in comfort.”

“You can’t knit, Doris” Belinda reminded her impatiently, before sweeping past and into the print shop.

“I can learn!” Doris remarked. “It can’t be no harder than sewing.”

“You can’t sew either,” Belinda muttered, holding the door open for Doris, not for the first time, and shaking her head. Really, she was a dreadful servant. Doris walked into the shop, blithely unaware of her faux pas.

“Oh, lud, Doris! You never said Lady Keston was coming ‘ere!”

Belinda turned to regard a small but stocky young woman with ruddy pink cheeks and russet curls that were escaping a somewhat haphazard bun.

“I am addressed as Lady Belinda,” Belinda told the terrified looking woman with a smile. “My mother was Lady Keston, as she was the countess, which I am not. I beg you not to fret. Doris told me of your situation, and I intend to help you.”

“So she told me,” Miss Ludlow said, though she did not look as though she believed it. “But I can’t think why you would.”

“I told you why, Sarah,” Doris said impatiently.

“Aye, but that made no sense to me,” Miss Ludlow replied, folding her arms. “What would an earl’s daughter want with printing pamphlets and books, I ask you?”

“Do you think we might sit down and discuss the matter?” Belinda asked. “Whilst I am in earnest, I do not wish to do anything that you do not approve of. I have plans of my own which I must have your agreement to help me with. Not that I would not help you anyway,” she added hurriedly, realising that sounded a little like blackmail. “Only our arrangement would be different.”

“Well,” Miss Ludlow said, eyeing her sceptically. “If you ain’t afeared of getting that lovely frock mussed up, you can come through to the kitchen and I’ll make some tea. It won’t be what you’re used to, though,” she warned.

“That would be perfect, thank you,” Belinda said, smiling reassuringly.

Miss Ludlow shrugged, clearly thinking Belinda a very odd sort of lady, and showed them the way to the kitchen.

6 th July 1850, Hosier Lane, City of London.

Felix regarded the print shop from across the street for a few minutes. It was well kept, the shop front was in good order, the paint fresh and the windows clean. On closer inspection, several satirical prints were on display, the usual digs at politicians and those in high places, but there were also books and periodicals, all exhibited with a certain flair. It appeared Miss Ludlow took a pride in her work and was not afraid to show it off.

There was no doubt that a well-run print shop could do good business if the owner was careful about the style and quality of what was produced.

Felix stood for a moment, massaging his temples and regretting the amount he’d drunk celebrating with Larkin the previous night. The last thing he needed now was a meeting with two females who had never negotiated a contract before. He only hoped they could come to an agreement before the end of the day, for he had far more pressing work that needed his attention.

Though he still thought her plans would bring her nothing but trouble, Felix had to admit Lady Belinda’s desire to do some good in the world impressed him. He had many female friends who were involved in such charitable affairs, they came from families of a type who encouraged their children, both male and female, to take an interest in the world and in how they might play their part in improving it. Felix did not doubt for a moment that Lady Belinda had been brought up, like many of their class, with the idea that they were superior to everyone else and those living in poverty did so either because they liked it, or because they were too lazy or stupid to do better. The idea that her father had instilled notions of philanthropy in his only daughter was ludicrous. He suspected Lord Keston was the kind to still expect small children to climb his chimneys despite the laws that forbade employing anyone younger than fourteen to do so. No doubt he was simply blind to the suffering of those who did not exist in his sphere.

Felix crossed the road and entered the print shop, immediately enveloped by the astringent scent of ink that lingered in the air. The bell above the door jangled, and he waited until a flustered looking young woman hurried into the shop. She gave him an assessing once over.

“You Mr Knight?”

“I am,” he agreed. “And you are Miss Ludlow.”

She nodded. “Well, I’ve never had so many fine people in my kitchen before, but if you ain’t too fancy for it, Lady Belinda is already there.”

Felix’s eyebrows rose, amused by the woman’s obvious chagrin, and he followed her down a gloomy, narrow corridor. It was so dark he felt a little disorientated and somewhat like a mole as he finally emerged into a small but far brighter kitchen to discover Lady Belinda and another woman he presumed to be her maid sitting at the table. Felix paused for a moment, understanding why Miss Ludlow had looked so bewildered. Seeing Lady Belinda in such surroundings was a little like viewing the crown jewels in a shop in Cheapside. They simply ought not to be there.

He suspected she had taken pains to dress down for the occasion. Her gown was in a rather drab green with no frills or fussiness, yet it had obviously been cut by a masterful hand for it hugged her splendid figure in all the best places and displayed her to marvellous advantage. There was no hiding its quality, or hers. A surge of pleasure raced through him upon seeing her again, the force of it taking him by surprise. To his dismay, he realised he had been looking forward to this moment far more than he ought.

Felix bowed. “Lady Belinda, Miss…?”

“Call me Doris, everyone does,” the tall lady sitting beside Belinda said, in between bites of a large, iced bun.

Lady Belinda cast the woman an amused, if slightly reproachful gaze before explaining. “My maid, Miss Doris Bodrott.”

He inclined his head, rather surprised by the woman who made her mistress look dainty in comparison. A fancy French dresser and a snooty maid would have been what he’d imagined for Lady Belinda, if he had troubled himself to consider the question.

“A pleasure, Miss Bodrott,” he said politely, glad at least that Lady Belinda had some protection when coming to such a neighbourhood. Miss Bodrott looked like she had a strong right arm and would not be afraid to employ it. He wondered how on earth she had gained the position and how the earl had been made to accept to it.

Doris made a sound that might have been her agreement that it was a pleasure to meet him too, but her mouth was full of bun, so it was difficult to be certain. He suppressed a smile and sat down at the table.

“Well, ladies, my lawyer will be here in half an hour to write up the details, but I thought it prudent to be certain you were all in agreement before he arrived.”

“We are,” Lady Belinda said with a nod. “You will buy the shop for me, by creating a business of some kind, I suppose, so it is not obviously mine?” she said, putting it as a question as she frowned at him.

“We will disguise your ownership,” Felix agreed. “I shall leave that to Mr Sampson to arrange, but it shall be done.”

Belinda nodded. “Then it is very simple. Sarah here will be my manageress and live here rent free and collect a wage each month—I need guidance about that, for she tells me I am being foolish with my money, and I say she is penny pinching at entirely the wrong moment when her livelihood is at stake,” she remarked with a touch of impatience.

Sarah folded her arms, glowering. “I ain’t no charity case. I can pay rent, and you just give me a fair day’s pay for a fair day’s work and that’s good enough for me.”

Belinda shrugged and gave Felix a you see what I’m dealing with expression he found entirely too charming. Forcing his gaze away from her, he looked down at the notes he’d been taking instead as he listened to her continue.

“Then each year we will look at the accounts and I shall give Sarah the opportunity to buy back a percentage of her business while using any profits I have made to upkeep and grow our enterprise as I see fit. After five years, assuming the place is profitable, this agreement may be renegotiated.”

“Well, it seems as if we have the outlines of a contract,” Felix said, relieved that they appeared to have reached an accord and admitting to himself he might be guilty of having underestimated them.

“We do,” Sarah said, setting a cup of tea and an iced bun in front of him. “But if it’s all the same to you I’d like you all gone before twelve thirty, for my brother is coming and if he sees you all here, he’ll want to know why. I don’t want him knowing about any of you, for he’ll try to tap me for a loan, thinking I’ve got friends in high places,” she said in disgust.

“He’s got a bleedin’ nerve, spending all his days drinking and whoring and pissing all your hard work up the wall,” Doris said in disgust.

Sarah shrugged but did not disagree, but Felix stared at Lady Belinda, never having heard a lady’s maid speak so frankly, with such dreadful language, and in the hearing of her mistress. But Lady Belinda seemed neither shocked nor surprised and her lips quirked at Felix’s obvious surprise.

“Doris is a woman of strong opinions, Mr Knight,” she said sweetly, before taking off her gloves and picking up her own sticky bun, which had so far been left untouched.

She took a large bite. The sight of Lady Belinda doing something so terribly unladylike, and so strangely enticing, seemed to melt his brain and he could do nothing but stare. She chewed with relish, her tongue darting out to lick off traces of icing from her lips, and Felix was suddenly aware of every inch of his skin, of the feel of his collar being at once too tight, of a familiar sensation he was well acquainted with and really did not need surging though his veins. Though it pained him to do so, he dragged his gaze away from Lady Belinda and found he was being closely scrutinised by Doris. She had a cat that got the cream smile he found exceedingly unnerving.

Much to his relief, Mr Sampson arrived in good time and was as efficient as Felix had come to expect, taking down the notes of what they wanted, and advising where was required. He assured all concerned that everything would be done within the next two days. Once they had bade Mr Sampson goodbye and thanked Miss Ludlow for her hospitality, Felix escorted Lady Belinda outside.

“Where is your carriage?” he asked in concern, praying she hadn’t been so foolish as to travel in a hackney with only her maid, though the woman looked strong and capable enough to take on most assailants he had to admit.

“Just around the corner, I believe,” she said, gesturing down the street.

“May I escort you?” he asked, offering his arm.

She smiled at him. “You may, for it will give me the chance to thank you, Mr Knight. I never expected everything to go so very smoothly. You have exceeded my expectations.”

“I am happy to have been of assistance to you,” Felix replied, too aware of the sway of her hips as she walked, the soft rustle of her skirts as they brushed his legs. He glanced at her as she spoke, noting the perfection of her skin. The urgent desire to take off his gloves and touch a finger to her cheek, to discover if it truly was as silken as it looked, caught him off guard, the strength of his need to do so unnerving. He looked away and tried to consider her objectively, to figure out what so enticed him. For he had been around beautiful women before, his mistress at this moment was stunning, but her nearness did not make him feel so… so agitated, so strangely certain that this woman was important for reasons he did not wish to investigate. He liked his world just as it was. His bachelor life suited him, giving him the freedom to work all hours if he chose and party hard when the work was done. Why on earth would he wish to give up such fun? Her laughter at his words caught his attention again.

It was a delightful sound that made him glance down at her, finding to his amusement that she had a dimple in her left cheek he had not noticed before. There was no twin in the right cheek which he found ridiculously charming.

“No, you’re not happy,” she said in reply to his words, her blue eyes dancing. “Not in the least. You’re only relieved it’s over so you can be rid of me.”

Felix smiled despite himself, for it was true enough. He wanted to get as far from her as he could, even though he knew the desire to see her again would plague him. She was too dangerous to be in company with, for he felt sure he would do something he ought not. “I should never be so ungentlemanly,” he replied gravely.

“You may be too much the gentleman to say it out loud, but you’re thinking it all the same,” she countered, holding out her hand to him as they arrived at her carriage.

She held his gaze, and he felt the oddest desire to keep hold of her hand, to not let her return to her life or him to his. The moment stretched on, the desire to ask to see her again burning inside him. He dropped her hand before he could do or say anything idiotic.

“Mr Knight. I am in your debt. Thank you for everything. If ever I may be of assistance to you, I beg you will tell me so.”

A very ungentlemanly thought entered his mind at her words and images of the kind of things he would enjoy getting her assistance with and he slammed the door on the unsettling thoughts with all speed. Lady Belinda was trouble, he reminded himself, and he was going to avoid it, and her, at all costs. He was not fool enough to get mixed up with a woman who would bring him more complications than he knew what to do with.

“There is no debt,” he assured her instead, before giving her a polite bow, bidding goodbye to the redoubtable Miss Bodrott, and taking his leave.

6 th July 1850, Hosier Lane, City of London.

“Now there’s a fine-looking man,” Doris said with a sigh, making no bones about ogling Mr Knight as he walked away.

“Doris!” Belinda exclaimed, tugging at the dreadful woman’s arm. “Stop gawking at him and get in the carriage before people see us.”

Doris pulled a face but did as she was told. “Well, there ain’t no harm in lookin’ is there?”

“There is if anyone recognises me here,” Belinda replied, though her tone softened as Doris looked immediately contrite.

“Beg your pardon, my lady. I didn’t think. Still, he copped a good eyeful of you, did you notice?”

“No? Whatever do you mean?” Belinda asked, deciphering this to understand that Mr Knight had been staring at her. The thought made her feel oddly galvanised, her heart fluttering.

“I mean, when you was tucking into that sticky willy.”

“Doris!”

“What? That’s what they’re called,” Doris protested, throwing up her hands. “Well, anyway. He was gazing at you like a starving man staring at a bit of cheese.”

Belinda pulled a face. “Could you not have said a piece of cake? I dislike being compared to dairy products. It’s not in the least flattering.”

“Fine, he was staring at you like you was a cream éclair.”

“Better,” Belinda agreed with a nod, rather pleased with this notion, as foolish as it was.

To know Mr Knight looked at her with admiration seemed rather extraordinary. She felt sure he wished to disapprove of her because of her father and the antagonism between their families. Knowing that he admired her despite his better judgement was somehow rather thrilling. Still, finding her attractive and wanting to have the least thing to do with her were rather different things.

“I’m sure you must be mistaken, he can’t stand the sight of me. Surely, you’ve realised that. Mr Knight cannot wait to be out of my company, and he makes no bones about showing it.”

Doris snorted and shook her head. “You are the daftest creature. Sometimes I forget how innocent you are with all that book learnin’ you have and the clever things you say, but you’ve not the slightest idea about men, have you? Poor little love,” she said with fond exasperation.

Belinda frowned at this, disliking feeling ignorant, though she knew Doris was likely right. She had not the least experience with men outside of the socially sanctioned polite interactions acceptable at balls and her father’s dull dinner parties. “Well, what am I missing then, o great oracle?” she demanded.

“Here, there’s no need to be rude,” Doris objected, crossing her arms across her impressive bosom.

“No, it wasn’t an insult, the Oracle was the High Priestess of Delphi and… oh, never mind that. Tell me!” Belinda exclaimed in impatience.

Doris just rolled her eyes. “There’s nothing to tell, except for the fact that man fancies you. You’ve got under his skin, I reckon. He’ll have an itch he can’t scratch now, and it’ll drive him half mad if I don’t miss my guess.”

Belinda stared at her in surprise and then felt her lips tug upwards, a delightful warm sensation flooding her veins. “Really?” she asked, a little shyly.

“Yes, really, and he looks like just the sort of fellow a girl could have a good bit of fun with,” Doris said with a grin. “If I were in your position, I’d make it my business to find out if that were true.”

Belinda stared at her maid for a long moment, and then the two of them burst out laughing.