Page 26 of A Wicked Business

Chapter 8

The little girl, no more than ten years of age, stared up at the Duke of Graftonly. So, this fat old man with the red face was her grandfather. He belched, brandy fumes gusting from his mouth as he stared down at her with eyes that reminded her of a goldfish she’d once won at a country fair. Her heart contracted as the truth revealed itself to her foolish child’s heart. This man was not the loving grandparent she had dreamt of. The wistful dream of finding a place where she belonged, where she was welcomed and loved, when her own parents cared not a button for her, vanished like smoke disappearing up a chimney and out into the cold night never to be seen again.

―Excerpt taken from ‘His Grace and Disfavour’, by an anonymous author.

15th July 1850, Keston House, Grosvenor Square, London.

“Lawks!” Doris spluttered, setting down the last page of the manuscript Miss Ludlow had sent over to them earlier that week. “That’s going to set the cat among the pigeons. You’ll be clapped up if you publish that, my lady.”

Belinda laughed, her eyes dancing. “No, I won’t. I’ve spoken with Mr Sampson, and he assures me that as the names have all been changed and the stories altered somewhat, that there is no basis for libel. Indeed, anyone suing would have to admit that they recognised the story, and that is almost an admission of guilt. Do you think he would want people to know how ill he treated his poor granddaughter? It’s common knowledge that his own children loathe him as it is. Besides, if the man at the centre of this story was even halfway decent, I would never dream of publishing such a thing, but he’s not. The Duke of Sefton is a wicked old goat, and everyone knows it. He loves to cause misery by spreading malicious gossip. Why not give him a taste of his own medicine?”

“Seems risky though, my lady. What if they discover who printed it? Will Miss Ludlow suffer?”

“Miss Ludlow assures me she can handle anything, and she has the support of some good friends of her late father’s, men who will protect the print shop should anything untoward happen. Indeed, she is the one all eagerness to publish. She wants a bestseller so she can rub it in the faces of all those men who turned her down, telling her she didn’t know what she was talking about. They’ll be green with envy soon enough, for any fool can see this will fly off the shelves. Everyone loves a scurrilous tale, whether it’s true or no, and it’s written with such a deft combination of pathos and comedic flair that it’s vastly entertaining too.”

Doris nodded, gathering the sheets back together. “So, it’s ready, then?”

“Not quite. There are a few corrections and minor changes I need to get the author’s approval on.”

“Who is the author?” Doris asked.

“I do not know. She wishes to remain anonymous. The correspondence takes a circuitous route to get to her, so none of us have a clue.”

“So, you’re still thinking of publishing weekly?” Doris asked, handing the precious copy back to Belinda.

“Yes, Mr Dickens has proven the efficacy of selling in smaller, more affordable sections,” Belinda said, having spent a good amount of time studying the options open to her and reflecting on the success of Charles Dickens, whom she greatly admired. “Many people wish to read his work but have not the money to buy a lovely, leather-bound edition. Even the three decker novels are pricey for most people. But Mr Dickens published one instalment a month for a shilling, the final instalment costing two shillings. I believe the nature of this publication, however, will cause such excitement we ought to strike whilst the iron is hot and get them out quickly.”

Doris nodded her understanding, looking up at her mistress with blatant admiration. “I only hope all this cleverness don’t land you in the basket, my girl. Sefton and your pa are thick as thieves, you might remember. The old devil will be around here complaining and carrying on the moment he gets wind of what’s afoot.”

“I know,” Belinda said, delighted by the idea.

Sefton was a ghastly man, older even than her own father, yet he was not above squeezing her waist and leering at her cleavage if he got the chance. She always gave the female servants leave to stay below stairs when he was in the house. For all her father’s unpleasant ways, at least he had never importuned the staff. He was far too top lofty to lower himself in such a way.

“Lord love you, but you won’t be satisfied until you’ve got your fingers burned,” Doris said sadly.

Belinda frowned, staring at Doris in consternation. “That’s not true, Doris! I… I’m just so bored. Papa will have me marrying one of those dreadful men if I can’t find a way to put him off a bit longer. Do you think I could put it about that I’m consumptive?” she asked, having considered this as an option.

Doris snorted. “No, I don’t, you daft creature. You could set your cap for Mr Knight, though. He’s obviously smitten with you, little does he realise it.”

“Whatever do you mean?” Belinda asked, bewildered. “How can he be smitten with me and not realise it?”

“Oh, you’re such an innocent,” Doris lamented. “Because a fellow often can’t tell the difference between the longing in his heart and the one in his britches.”

“Doris!” Belinda exclaimed, covering her mouth to smother a bark of laughter. “Oh, you are dreadful. Whatever shall I do with you?”

“Heed me, if you’ve an ounce of sense,” her redoubtable maid said frankly. “That there is a fine man, handsome as they come, swimming in lard, and the kind what could manage you without clipping your wings, I reckon. He’s running scared because of your pa loathing him, I expect, and no doubt because he thinks you’ll bring him no end of trouble—which you will, undoubtedly,” she said with a placid smile.

“You’re all about in your head, Doris. We can’t be in each other’s company for above five minutes without snapping each other’s heads off.”

Doris gave an exasperated sigh. “I know! Haven’t you listened to a word I’ve said? That’s because of the fire burning in his—”

“Doris!”

“—heart,” Doris finished smugly.

Belinda let out a breath. She wanted to believe Doris’ words, more than she liked to admit. It did seem to her sometimes that Mr Knight admired her, but the next it seemed he despised her. Could Doris be right, however?

She supposed only time would tell—assuming that she managed to see him again.