Page 13 of The Secret Word (Twist Upon a Regency Tale #10)

“B illy,” Chris said, when he had reported on Wright’s response to Clem’s sudden popularity, “I do not know anything about the coal mining business, and I have slightly more than a day to find out.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” said Billy. “Christopher, for the next little while, you are going to be spending most of your time wooing either Miss Wright or her father. I have found someone else for your position as my bookkeeper. You can continue in your current accommodation until the Wright situation is resolved.”

Chris felt as if he’d suddenly run into a wall when expecting a door. Yes, it was true he had been wondering how he was going carry out his responsibilities to Billy. It was, after all, a full-time job.

And so was winning Clem as his wife. He had not only to acquire the gentlemanly skills that had not yet come his way, but also learn how to be a coal mining industrialist. Plus, he needed to spend time with Clem and satisfy her father that he was worth teaching.

Failing was not an option. Somewhere between taking her hand as they ran from the Brown’s gang and delivering her back to her father, he had tumbled head over heels in love, and each day only deepened his feelings.

But if he did not have his paycheck from O’Hara’s bookkeeping, how was he to live? His savings were rapidly disappearing.

“What if it is not resolved in my favor?” he asked. “I am almost certain that Clem feels as I do, but I cannot know which way Wright will decide.” And I shall need money to run away with her if he decides against me , he thought, but did not say.

“Wright needs someone he can control,” Billy said. “He knows that most of the other men who might offer for Miss Wright have influential families who care about them, and who will help them keep Wright at bay if he becomes troublesome.”

Billy looked into the middle distance, as if at some memory that pleased him.

“He thinks you are alone, Christopher, and that is of benefit to him. He has been trying to work out how I feel about you, since he has more sense than to knowingly set himself in opposition to me. I, too, am a self-made man.”

He allowed what Chris considered to be his most shark-like grin to spread across his face. “I have made it known that you are nothing to me, and that I am displeased with your failure to put your duty to me first, and am thinking of dismissing you.”

Chris saw the point of the strategy, but had to know. “Are you displeased, sir?”

“Of course not, Christopher. I have reasons of my own for promoting this match. Have no fear. If everything fails, I will find you some sort of a job. But it will not fail. Just continue charming Miss Wright and her father, and we shall see you married within a few weeks.”

“What are those reasons, Billy? What is the benefit to you?”

But Billy merely smiled, and told him to be about his business.

“You’ll need to be up early in the morning to prepare to hand over the accounts to someone else, and then to meet with whomever I find to give you a quick lesson on coal mining.

And I dare say you are romancing Miss Wright this evening. A visit to the opera, is it?”

Bagshaw had managed to produce an invitation to view the opera from a box owned by a duke whose son Bagshaw had known at school. Clem had declared herself thrilled. “I have never been to the theater,” she had told Chris, “and I have always wondered what it is like.”

Bagshaw and Mrs. Bellowes would be there, of course, as would Lord Thornstead, the duke’s son, and his lady wife, so it was not as if Chris would have Clem to himself.

On the other hand, he was not going to have to settle for two dances and spending the rest of the evening watching Clem dance with other men.

So it would be an entire evening sitting next to Clem. Chris was looking forward to it.

*

Clem was enjoying her first visit to the opera, though she thought she might enjoy it even more if not for the audience.

Aristocrats were rude, she decided. Not to one another, of course, but to everyone else, and especially to the players, who were largely ignored in favor of conversation, visiting between boxes, and preening in front of their peers.

She shut them out as best she could, and concentrated on the performance with such success that, when the curtain came down, she emerged as if in a daze.

“How are you enjoying yourself?” Chris asked.

“Wonderfully. But I thought he would win the fair Arianna,” she said. The poor heroine had been carried off by her father, to be married to a very villainous character. Clem could not help but sympathize with her whole heart.

“He will,” Lord Thornstead told her, kindly. “But there are two more acts, my dear. This is the intermission, to allow the players to change and the audience to refresh themselves.”

Clem could not help herself. She gave a wriggle of delight. “Oh, I am so pleased. Have you seen the performance before, my lord?”

“Not with this group of singers, Miss Wright, but yes. I have seen it several times. It is something of a favorite with my dear wife.”

Lady Thornstead joined in the conversation. “I think this Arianna is very good,” she declared. “And Count Balsario! Did it not make your skin crawl when he laughed over his wicked plan to make her his own?”

“Oh, it did!” Clem agreed, and enjoyed a delightful discussion about the entire first act, while the gentlemen vacated the box to fetch drinks for the ladies.

Mrs. Bellowes made a comment about seeking out the lady’s retiring chamber, and also went, leaving Clem and Lady Thornstead to their conversation.

None of others had returned when the box received a visitor, a lady who was edging elegantly into old age, still upright and vigorous, and richly dressed in the latest fashion.

“Lady Thornstead?” she said. “May I come in?”

“Lady Fernvale. Yes, please do. Here, come and sit next to me. Have you met Miss Wright? No? Let me make her known to you. Miss Wright, this is Lady Fernvale.”

Lady Fernvale smiled somewhat absently at Clem, and commented, “Are you making your debut, my dear? I must be becoming more absent-minded than I thought, for I do not believe I have seen you.”

“Indeed I am, my lady,” Clem replied. Chris was correct again. The Season was as ruled by hierarchy as everything else the ton did, and Clem had only had access to the lower levels of events.

“She and her escort are friends of John Bagshaw, Lady Fernvale,” said her hostess. “And very amiable people, I have found them. Miss Wright quite agrees with me that tonight’s Count Balsario is the scariest either of us has ever seen.”

Clem did not point out that her life total of Counts Balsario was the one present tonight. It would be rude, and was beside the point, besides.

“He is deliciously evil, is he not?” Lady Fernvale agreed. “Your escort, Miss Wright. What is his name, my dear?”

There was something curiously intent about her as she asked the question, and for a moment Clem toyed with refusing to answer. But of course, their host and hostess knew the name, and Lady Fernvale would find it out soon enough. “Christopher Satterthwaite, my lady,” she replied.

“I knew it!” Lady Fernvale leaned forward in her chair. “The son of Reginald and Christabel Satterthwaite.” It was a statement, but the lady’s raised eyebrow made it a question.

“I do not know his mother’s name, my lady, but his father’s name was Reginald.”

“My mother’s name was Christabel,” said Chris, who had entered the box unobserved, just ahead of Bagshaw and Lord Thornstead.

“Christopher Satterthwaite,” said Lady Fernvale, standing up so she could study Chris as intently as she had been looking at Clem. “My dear Christopher, and I may call you that, my dear, for I knew you when you were a babe in clouts. I do not suppose you recognize me?”

She sounded so hopeful that Clem hoped Chris could answer in the affirmative. He didn’t, quite, but he took another look at the lady and looked thoughtful. “I think… I am sorry, my lady. You seem familiar, but I cannot imagine where I might have met you. Did you know my parents?”

The lady looked around at the rest of the company, smiling even as tears welled in her eyes.

“You must think I have lost my mind. Please forgive me. Mr. Satterthwaite is the son of a very dear friend—my closest friend of my girlhood. Chrissie Thurgood died far too young, and I have not seen Mr. Satterthwaite since her death, even though I am his godmother. Indeed, until this evening, I believed you to be dead, Christopher. Or, I should say, at first, I thought you had gone overseas with your grandfather after your father died. But you did not, did you? For he returned six months ago, and you were not with him.”

Her emotions overflowed, and she took both of Chris’s hands, clung to them, and looked up at Chris though her tears. “But here you are, alive, my dear, and looking magnificent. Did you go with your grandfather after all? Wherever it was he went?”

Chris was shaking his head. He looked dazed, as if he had received a blow to the head.

He needed a rescue, so Clem gave him one. “Lady Fernvale, may Mr. Satterthwaite call on you tomorrow? This has been a shock to him, as it has been to you, I am certain.”

“Yes,” said Lady Fernvale eagerly. “Will you call on me, Christopher?”

Chris felt inside his coat and pulled out a stub of pencil and a small notebook. “Tomorrow afternoon, my lady? Shortly after two?”

“That will be wonderful,” said Lady Fernvale. “Oh, Christopher. I do not know whether I am on my head or my heels. I am so happy! Excuse me, Lady Thornstead, for intruding. Good evening, Miss Wright, Lord Thornstead, Mr. Bagshaw. Tomorrow, Christopher. I shall be looking forward to it!”