Richard coughed into the sleeve of his jacket, but Victoria was sure she caught the muffled words, “I bet he is.”
She quickly tore her gaze from the gathering and focused on her coffee cup, praying that Gideon hadn’t overheard his brother’s scandalous remark.
Gideon pressed a kiss to his wife’s cheek. “Considering Serafina spent the first six weeks of our marriage nursing me through the agony of seasickness onboard the ship back to England, it seems only fair to take my wonderful bride on a proper honeymoon. And upon our return, we plan to move to a more private part of this house. Papa is having some rooms on the fourth floor redecorated while we are away.”
While she was relieved to hear she would regain her nighttime peace, a pang of jealousy still nudged at Victoria. Gideon was happily settled with the Italian beauty. Their other sister, Augusta, had also married while she was in Rome, and she and her husband, Earl Bramshaw, were now expecting their first child.
I have only my books, the Thursday restaurant reviews, and the occasional evening out to look forward to. It’s not fair.
Everyone else was getting on with their lives, while she was stuck waiting for her mother to step back fully into society. Until the duchess made a move, Victoria was resigned to having to bribe her siblings to take her out to cafes and restaurants.
Richard stabbed at a piece of salmon with his fork, then added some potato, and finally a spear of asparagus to the growing pile. Her brother never let an empty fork go to waste. “I think my social diary is free this evening if you wish to go tothe Graceful Swan.”
I expect your purse is also free of funds.
He shoved the large stack of food into his mouth, then sat chewing. Victoria glanced furtively at Serafina, whose eyes had gone wide.
“That would be lovely. Of course it will be my treat,” said Victoria.
Richard swallowed down his food in one gulp, and replied, “Of course.”
Seated at the table in his kitchen in Pye Street, Robert stared at the article in the newspaper and frowned. His review ofthe Graceful Swanhadn’t exactly been a ringing endorsement. He’d hurriedly penned the piece one night last week, in between moving stolen crates of spice, and had barely made the publishing deadline. The timetables for pilfering spice and writing restaurant reviews were not always compatible.
But he’d promised the review in exchange for the owner of the tavern moving their spice and herb purchases from the East India Company to him. A favorable piece in a major London newspaper had been the sweetener to seal the deal.
He glanced out the window. The sun had just peeked over the horizon. Any moment now his retinue of daytime servants would be arriving at Tolley House to begin their work.
When he’d first gone into the theft and smuggling business, he had quickly come to appreciate the risk that having full-time staff in his home presented to his illicit operations. He couldn’t very well handle stolen goods while also having a house full of servants. Something had to give.
But the lack of servants during the evening had soon become a benefit, one he greatly enjoyed. It left Robert free to cook in his own kitchen and write his newspaper column without running the risk of anyone discovering that the lofty Duke of Saffron Walden was in fact the restaurant reviewer forthe Morning Herald.
Robert Tolley was a born and bred English nobleman to his boots, but he also knew a great deal about food. Knew his spices. His curries. He possessed an enviable collection of cookbooks, and a near encyclopedic knowledge of what herbs and spices could do to elevate any sort of dish.
Folding up the newspaper and setting it aside, he considered his plans for the day. Moving the barrels of cloves and peppers he and George had stored in the locked cellar would have to wait until later tonight. There were too many prying eyes about town during the daytime, not to mention the staff who would soon be wandering the halls of his London townhouse.
Once his valet arrived and had given him a close shave, he’d dress properly and venture into the city center. He had a list of potential clients he intended to visit today.
A loud rap at the back door of the house roused Robert from his thoughts. His lower back protested as he rose slowly from the long wooden kitchen bench. Lugging crates and barrels was a labor-intensive task.
Glancing out the kitchen window, he gave George who stood outside in the garden a friendly wave. Moving to the door, he unlocked it and ushered his servant inside. “Morning, George.”
George, who was wearing a plain brown suit topped with a long black coat, looked the very picture of a London man of business.
“Good Morning, Your Grace. Thought I’d drop by before the household staff arrives to let you know that we might have a new customer looking to place a regular and sizeable order for spices with us. Unfortunately, he won’t negotiate with me.”
Robert raised an eyebrow at his words. George had full authority to negotiate deals on their behalf. But there were some people who wouldn’t consider a vicar’s son worthy of their time.
This new client must think themselves too important to talk to someone they consider a lackey.
Some customers were irredeemable snobs; they simply couldn’t find it within themselves to talk business with men from lower social ranks. The structure of English society had them bound from birth. And that was where Robert came in. His job was to deal with the self-important assholes.
“Is this potential customer someone who would think themselves a person of rank?” asked Robert. He phrased the question carefully. Was this person a noble whom he might possibly know and trust, or was this someone whom they should thoroughly investigate before deciding whether they were worth the risk? The future of their entire spice business hinged on making smart choices.
The East India had its own people who moved within the upper echelons of London society. It would be the greatest of follies for him to begin business negotiations with someone who may turn out to be connected to the company whose spice they had stolen.
George cleared his throat. “They have a title, and thus don’t wish to speak to me. But I am still undertaking a little more research about their background. Perhaps you could meet them at a party, and then let me know your thoughts, Your Grace.”
It paid to be overly cautious. And then some.
