Page 40 of A Wicked Business

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.

5th 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.