Chapter Eleven
On the Pall Mall, near Charing Cross, the townhouse of the Baron and Baroness Sinclair presided over the affluent neighborhood. The heavy fog which had descended upon London had all but obscured the impeccably tended garden which made passersby pause to enjoy its symmetry and formal landscaping. It seemed to those who had occasion to walk by frequently that the Sinclair garden boasted continually blooming flora regardless of the season. This was mostly due to the efforts and foresight of the Baroness Helen Sinclair herself, who was now tapping her foot impatiently on the library floor and piercing her husband, Baron Charles, with a steely look.
“One would think Tyler would be here to welcome us back to London after our holiday in the country.”
“Perhaps the boy had pressing business at the office and he hasn’t realized the lateness of the hour. Besides, this weather brought traffic almost to a standstill,” Baron Charles said quietly.
The Baroness looked down her long, aristocratic nose and frowned. “When are you going to stop defending Tyler? He’s no longer a boy, but an eligible man. You’ve been too indulgent for too long,” she criticized. “How many times have I warned you that he requires a strong hand.”
“My dear,” the Baron sighed, “on the one hand you tell me he’s no longer a boy and on the other you advise me to take a strong hand with him. Every young man must sow his wild oats before he settles down and it will serve to make him a better husband. I was allowed a few oats in my day and haven’t I made you a good husband?” The Baron winked at her roguishly, hoping to erase the frown from her face.
“Yes, you’ve been wonderful,” the Baroness answered honestly. “But, Charles, a few oats are one thing. The rascal is sowing an entire field! It has to stop; his reputation is beginning to suffer and then where will he be? We must step in and take a firm hand just the way we did when he was smitten with Camilla Langdon. You must admit, Charles, that if we hadn’t stepped in at that time he would have married that snippet.”
“Now, now, Helen, I don’t think Tyler’s reputation will be damaged. You must admit he’s more enterprising than those ridiculous fops who walk the halls of Whitehall hoping to be invited to the King’s Court. Tyler is a respectable businessman, just as I was.”
“True,” the Baroness reluctantly conceded, “he does have that. But you must admit it was only because we insisted upon him doing something with his life that he read for the Law. Just as your father insisted you do. It was a wise move on our part and I thank God for it. But it doesn’t excuse Tyler from his social behavior. You can’t have forgotten how frantic we were when he insisted he wanted to marry that scheming little Camilla!”
“He was immature then. Surely, you can understand his attraction to the young lady. She was and still is a beautiful woman.”
“A poor woman. A poor relation!” the Baroness spit. “And to think I brought her into our home along with that ne’er-do-well father of hers, Stephan Langdon.”
“My dear wife, Camilla’s impoverished state is something she cannot help,” the Baron pointed out kindly.
“I expected you to say that,” Helen sniffed. “Camilla and her father are your relatives. And don’t tell me you haven’t been paying their bills! Why couldn’t you send them away somewhere where they wouldn’t be a constant threat of embarrassment?”
“In truth now, my dear, where could I send them? Camilla would just pine away for London’s society and Stephan would literally die if he were away from his clubs and gaming houses. I can’t take the responsibility for their lives. If all it takes is an occasional loan and I have it to give, where’s the harm? I consider the matter closed.” Charles’ tone indicated this was an old argument which had been worked over time and again between himself and the Baroness, and both stood firmly and intractably in their feelings toward the Langdons.
“Very well,” the Baroness agreed. “But one last thing, Charles. Is it true what I hear about Camilla and that Dutchman keeping serious company with each other? Van der Rhys is his name, I believe. I certainly hope it is. Then I can rest easy knowing that Tyler will have to put her out of his mind once and for all.”
“I heard it said at the club that Stephan himself was boasting of the wealthy Dutchman’s interest in his daughter. Another source close to Camilla said she is already selecting her trousseau.”
The Baroness’ face brightened and her blue eyes sparkled at her husband’s words. She patted her carefully coiffed hair and smiled. “That means Tyler is safe until some other designing female gets her hooks into him. I believe I’ll have a small sip of wine, dear, my throat feels dry. Perhaps it will ease my annoyance over Tyler. We will wait exactly fifteen minutes and if he hasn’t arrived, we’ll dine without him.”
“The hour isn’t that late, dear. Tell me, have you heard anything more about this van der Rhys. I know the ladies are forever gossiping behind their hands when an acceptable man comes to town. Every mother within miles will be trying to rid herself of her marriageable daughters.”
“We have spoken on the subject,” the Baroness remarked coyly. “Actually, there is not much to discuss. He’s a handsome brute and seems to be making success in his importing-exporting enterprise. I’m given to believe he’s quite wealthy and is considered very, very eligible. Lady Constance told me, when she came to call, that he was received socially and has been invited to every social function that was held while we were away on holiday. She said the men hold him in respect and the women fawn over him.”
The Baroness turned her attention to her round-faced husband. It was true what he had said. He did make a good husband and he was an excellent father, even if somewhat indulgent. Of late, however, he was becoming forgetful, and he could ramble on for hours of things that had happened in the past She reached over and patted his hand affectionately.
“I think I hear Tyler now,” the Baron said smiling. He rose from his chair to greet his exuberant son and clasped him firmly on the shoulder.
“Welcome home, Mother,” Tyler said, leaning to kiss her powdered cheek. “I had some pressing details at the office, else I would have been home earlier. ”Señorita Córdez arrived yesterday. I’ll be dining with her tomorrow to go over business affairs. Now tell me, how was your holiday?”
“We missed you,” the Baroness sniffed elaborately. “One would think you could have driven out to see us at least once.”
Tyler winked at his father. “Mother, I toiled in my offices from sunup to sundown and came home to fall exhausted into bed only to start over again the next day. The Córdez affairs have taken so much of my time I’ve done little else. And, Father, there is something I’d like to discuss with you after dinner.”
“Does it concern the Señorita Córdez?”
“Yes, her affairs are in fine shape and there’s an abundance of capital which must be invested. That is what I’d like to discuss.”
“Tyler, did the Señorita approve of the house and the furnishings?” the Baroness asked inquisitively.
“She was effusive in her praise, Mother. She asked me to tell you she would call as soon as possible to thank you herself. She’s quite a remarkable woman.”
“In what way,” Baroness Helen asked.
“Well, for one thing, she’s beautiful. She is every inch a lady and, as you already know, extremely wealthy. She is intelligent, forthright and I think, Mother, you will grow fond of Sirena.”
“Oh, Sirena, is it?” the Baron chuckled.
Tyler correctly interpreted his mother’s look and immediately reassured her. “Mother, have no fear. I have no plans of marriage for the present or in the near future. In fact, I’ll go one step further and assure you that I’ll never marry.”
“That is a rash statement, Tyler,” his father said, frowning.
“You can’t mean it,” the Baroness gasped.
Tyler laughed, a low, husky sound which pleased his mother. “I have no desire to marry. And why should I? I have quite a choice among London’s most desirable young women. It would be a pleasure to give each and every lady the benefit of knowing me and appreciating my charms. Rest easy, Mother,” Tyler amended, “I’ll be careful not to tarnish my reputation beyond redemption.”
“If what you said is true, Tyler, then I have no hope of grandchildren to daddle on my knee and fuss over.”
“Somehow you do not strike me as the grandmotherly type. However, I can always change my mind.”
The Baroness sent her son a slanted look and told him not to be too hasty in his decisions. “Perhaps one day the right girl will come along and you’ll know what to do.”
Tyler laughed and linked his arm through her’s as he led the way into the dining room, winking again at the Baron.
At that moment the Baron would have given up his entire fortune to be Tyler’s age again, with London’s society at his feet.
After dinner, Tyler followed his father into the leather-furnished library and settled himself with a glass of port. His eyes scanned the massive shelves as he slouched into the deepness of the chair. The Baron held out a fragrant cigar and, after both men lit up, Tyler spoke. “Father, what do you think of my investing some of Sirena’s capital in Ireland? I’m told there is a great demand for linens and laces. I was thinking of taking a trip there to investigate the business. Perhaps Sirena would like to go and observe first hand what her money would be vested in. I plan to broach the matter with her tomorrow. If my calculations are correct, she could double her investment in a year’s time. Providing we can import according to schedule.”
“It sounds like a wise selection to me. I’ve looked into it myself, as a matter of fact. Perhaps you could make a few investments for me while you are there. At any rate, you seem to have worked it out, although possibly the woman may not want to make the voyage to Ireland.”
“It’s only a matter of a week’s sailing, winds prevailing. What concerns me is her husband, pardon, ex-husband. The animosity between those two is so thick you could slice it with a knife. My guts tell me he’s not a man to be pushed or coerced and that’s exactly what this arrangement he made with Señor Arroya is doing.”
“And the other investments? How are they faring?” the Baron asked, blowing a fragrant, blue-gray cloud of smoke into the center of the room.
“Much better than I expected. However, there is a problem. Her affairs take every moment of my time. I’ll have to find an associate. I’ve already asked about for referrals. All I can do for the time being is wait and see.”
“You still haven’t told me your opinion of this Spanish señorita,” Charles noted shrewdly.
“She’s a woman held in tight control, but her emotions are not far under the surface. I sensed this almost at once. Sirena is a most gracious lady, and I’m certain I’ll enjoy getting to know her better. I believe she is still in love with her former husband, but I’m just as certain she would deny it vehemently.”
“Your mother told me that Lady Constance informed her that Camilla Langdon is on the verge of betrothal with van der Rhys. Have you heard this, Tyler?”
Tyler’s dark eyes held no answer for his father. “Yes,” he said quietly. “I knew they were seeing a great deal of one another. Don’t concern yourself, Father. To Camilla, wealth is all important, and van der Rhys is far from being impoverished.”
“You’ve had dealings with the man. If his former wife is still enamored of him as you suspect, what are his feelings for her?”
“I’ve no idea, actually. If he does become betrothed to Camilla, I can only assume that he does not share Sirena’s feelings. I really don’t know why they divorced. Sirena is one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen. Whatever the reason, it must have been quite serious, van der Rhys is a bitter man.”
“And, you, Tyler, what’s to become of you? You’re a constant cause for your mother’s concern. When are you going to settle down and raise a family. You’ve a brilliant mind, don’t waste it. Curtail this wild, reckless life you seem determined to live and give the ladies in London a rest. I’ll wager there are few you haven’t bedded. And, mark my words, someday one of their husbands will thirst for your blood.”
Tyler chucked. “Father, I’ve slept with my share. When I take a bride, I certainly hope she isn’t a virgin. I find them tiresome. There’s nothing I like less than dealing with false modesty and the chore of teaching a foolish, giddy young girl the ways of the bedroom is too time-consuming. By the time she’s learned her lessons, you’ve gotten bored with her and she is free to give some other man the benefits of her education. Don’t you agree?”
Baron Charles tried to look urbane and sophisticated. It was difficult when he had only bedded one woman in his entire lifetime. And at times the Baroness left much to be desired. All the stories of his wild and willful youth were simply that, stories. “Yes, yes, quite right, son, virgins are tiresome indeed.”
“And if one of my wild oats should suddenly take sprout, then I’ll deliberate the consequences. For now, I’m content with things as they are.”
Baron Sinclair looked at his son and thought he saw a sadness in the depths of his brown eyes. Yes, it was definitely there. Charles sighed inaudibly. So, it still pained Tyler to think of what might have been with Camilla.
Sirena had dressed and was ready for Tyler Payne Sinclair’s arrival for dinner. The topaz gown she wore complemented her ivory skin and deepened the color of her eyes. She had arranged her hair in a thick coil at each side of her head and a pearl shell comb took on a special lustre against the gleaming black locks. She knew she looked attractive and knew that Tyler would appreciate her toilette this evening. A man is a man, she thought smugly. A pretty face, a show of flesh and they fall at a woman’s feet.
She smiled as she recalled her interview with the noted dressmaker, Mrs. Wittcomb, earlier that day. The small birdlike woman had arrived at Sirena’s invitation and proceeded to measure lengths of pattern muslin. Mrs. Wittcomb, her mouth full of pins, had stood back to survey a hem and thought she had never seen a better model for her expertise with the needle. The Spanish woman was slim and lithe yet well fleshed in important areas. The smooth ivory tones of her skin could complement almost every color of the spectrum and her dark hair was a relief against her cool, incredibly green, dark-fringed eyes.
“I’ll take this and this and this,” Sirena said quietly. “And you mentioned a particular bolt of fabric. May I see it now?”
Mrs. Wittcomb reverently unwrapped a length of cloth from its protective layer of rice paper and held up a shimmering length of serpentine green silk that seemed to light up the room. Sirena drew in her breath and handled a corner of the fabric. “Perfect, Mrs. Wittcomb. Now, this is the way I would like you to fashion the gown.”
The tiny woman’s mouth dropped open as she listened. “Can you do it?” Sirena asked, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
The seamstress nodded, her eyes perplexed. “Madame, I feel I should tell you that such fashions have not been worn in London.”
Sirena shrugged. “That is no concern of mine. Stitch this gown first, exactly as I described it to you. How soon do you think I can have it?”
“A fortnight?” Mrs. Wittcomb answered hesitantly. This would be an important account for her and she was grateful to have been chosen on the suggestion of Mrs. Wilks, Sirena’s cook. Once the merchants and vendors learned there was a rich woman new to England, the Spanish lady would be besieged and she, Mrs. Wittcomb, would have little chance for her trade. “Madame, you’re certain...”
Sirena’s bottle-green eyes flashed but her voice was quiet and controlled. “Very sure.”
Mrs. Wittcomb lowered her head and pursed her mouth. Such a lovely woman, yet with this particular gown she would be an overnight scandal. Well, she was paid to sew and not to speculate on the morals or choices of wealthy ladies.
Sirena smiled again as she remembered how Mrs. Wittcomb had bustled out of the house, burdened with her bolts of fabric and a scandalized expression pinching her features.
A calculating gleam shone in Sirena’s eyes. The gown would be a sensation and she could almost predict Tyler’s reaction to it. There was no denying he was an attractive man. If she were careful and shrewd, she could pit him against Regan and see if jealousy was the answer. It was a shame to use Tyler this way, yet desperation called for desperate measures. The difference between men and women was not so great. If she could feel jealousy because Regan planned to marry again, Regan could easily find himself eaten with jealousy over her relationship with Tyler. Sirena frowned, her delicate, arched brows puckering low over her blazing eyes. If Regan ever should marry, she knew she would be like a wild jungle animal. But Regan wasn’t married ... yet.
Shaking off thoughts of impending doom, Sirena straightened her shoulders and glanced about the opulently handsome drawing room. Everything boasted the sheen of newness and was obviously designed for comfort. The crimson settee and the matching armchairs were placed intimately near the open hearth. Rich, vibrant oil paintings adorned the paneled walls, adding warmth and color. Heavy draperies shot through with thread the color of recently minted gold hung at the windows and long paned doors leading to the side yards. In the center of the Italian marble mantle a large, trailing fern rested in a silver bowl. The fronds were tapered, long and graceful, and glistened like uncut emeralds. It was a pleasing room and Sirena was comfortable in it. The subdued lamplight glanced off a nearby cherrywood table bearing a silver tray with a decanter of ruby red wine. For a brief moment she felt guilty using Tyler the way she intended. Pushing away the uneasiness, she decided she would make it all up to him when she and Regan were together again.
While she waited for Tyler, she allowed thoughts of Caleb to creep into her mind. She wondered how he was faring and realized again how she had hurt him with her rejection. Even when he said he understood her feelings, she wondered if he really did or if he had said it to allow her to save face.
Sirena was jarred from her thoughts as Frau Holtz ushered Tyler Sinclair into the room. The old housekeeper watched as the gallant knight brought Sirena’s hand to his lips, then gazed deeply into her eyes. Harrumph! she snorted as she backed from the room, closing the carved mahogany doors with a loud bang.
Tyler looked at Sirena and smiled approvingly. “Allow me to say how lovely you are this evening.”
“You may,” Sirena laughed and the formality was shattered. “Please, sit down and let us get this bothersome business done with so we can enjoy dinner.”
After an hour, Tyler gathered his papers together and placed them carefully in a smart leather case. “As you can see, you’re a very wealthy woman, Sirena. Are you satisfied with the way I’m handling your investments?”
“Quite satisfied. You mentioned prospects in Ireland. Are you certain my investment will be recouped by the end of the year?”
“Oh yes, but I would like you to make an inspection and see for yourself. My thoughts were to leave as soon as possible, but I looked into the sailing schedules and the only ships leaving port for Waterford are those of Regan van der Rhys. We’ll have to wait till the first of the month to see what opens.”
“I’ll have to think about it, Tyler. I’ll let you know,” Sirena said quietly, her mind racing. Why did she have to book passage on another ship when her own sat in the harbor? If she were careful, she might be able to manage something. She smiled slightly. Everything was working out just as she planned, in fact better. “There is one other matter I’d like to discuss with you before dinner is announced. I went to see my ... I saw Regan yesterday and I’m sorry to say we didn’t part on the happiest of terms. I told him I was taking advantage of my prerogative for shares in his company in lieu of cash exchange.”
Tyler laughed, “Very clever, Sirena. Would you care to join me in my practice? I can use a helping hand.”
“No, I have no head for business,” Sirena smiled. “Tell me about your practice, Tyler. Do you enjoy it?”
“Yes and no. If I were as rich as you are, I think I’d be a scoundrel living off my income. My father, the Baron, turned over the business to me several years ago. It’s a sort of tradition in my family. It is thought to be the cure for keeping first-born sons from becoming outright reprobates,” he laughed.
Sirena liked the sound of his low, lusty laughter. “In time you’ll require a son of your own to take over the tradition. Tell me, is there a lady somewhere in your affections?”
Tyler sobered at her words. “One day perhaps. For now, I enjoy my position as a bachelor. I must admit,” he grinned, “at times it gets to be a bit of a bore dodging matrimony-minded females. As I said, I’d like to be a scoundrel, a dashing rake without conscience, who loves a woman and leaves her without a backward glance.”
“But, Tyler, Tio Esteban warned me that you already enjoy that reputation,” she giggled.
“Ah! balm for my soul! What I actually meant was I’d like to be a highwayman, something wicked and unlawful, a rogue. I think everyone dreams of an exciting life. When I was a boy I wanted to be a notorious pirate with a patch over my eye. Unfortunately, I learned that to legitimately wear one I should have to lose my eye. As I grew older, I had a desire to rob from rich and beautiful women while I kissed them scandalously, leaving them breathless with only warm affection in their hearts for me. However, when I approached maturity I had no desire to hang by my neck, so I relegated my dreams to oblivion and began to practice law.”
“I can understand how dry it must be after your exciting dreams,” Sirena cooed. “Ah, there is Frau Holtz; come, dinner is ready.”
Sirena enjoyed the elaborate dinner of roast duckling as Tyler regaled her with tales of his many near trips to the altar. Frau Holtz was beside herself as Sirena laughed and complimented the dashing Tyler Sinclair. She became alarmed as Sirena’s eyes took on a sparkle and her wit became pronounced.
When the dinner was over, the housekeeper was in a state bordering shock when Sirena offered to play her guitar for the Englishman. Quietly, she withdrew from sight and listened as Sirena softly strummed the strings, testing the chords. Her audience of one sat in rapt attention as she began the opening strains. Frau Holtz knew immediately that Sirena was going to play a flamenco. “Poor man,” the Frau muttered to herself, shaking her head, “he hasn’t a chance.”
When Tyler first heard the tone, he thought it was the guitar. The sound blossomed and poured forth, spilling into the hushed corners of the room with perfection and clarity of pitch. Sirena’s voice.
She sang the flamenco with inspiration and her audience of one was caught up in the music’s passion. It was Frau Holtz, standing outside the door, who understood the sweetness and the poignancy behind the notes. Sirena might be looking at the Englishman, but she was singing for the Mynheer, wherever he was.
The song over, Sirena lifted her eyes and felt a sharp jab of disappointment that it was not Regan who was sitting across from her. It should have been Regan with his sheaf of white-blond hair falling low on his forehead, his agate eyes loving her, devouring her. In-steady, she looked into dark eyes filled with admiration and interest. Sirena was flattered; Tyler was a most attractive man. Handsome actually, and if she weren’t still in love with Regan, she would have found it very easy to be attracted to him.
She smiled coyly, refusing to play again. Tyler’s praise was genuine and enthusiastic. Sirena rose, indicating the evening was over. Graciously, she extended her hand and, as always, Tyler touched his lips to it.
“Thank you for a most enjoyable evening, Sirena. We must repeat it someday soon. I’ll be in touch with you in a day or so. Good night, Sirena.” His lips touched her hand again and lingered there a moment longer than necessary. Sirena felt the current of emotions run between them. How easy it would be to fall into his arms, offer her mouth for his kisses. She was lonely, so lonely, and she knew somehow that Tyler was also looking for a relief from the same thing. There was a bit too much bravado in his voice when he said he had no plans for marriage. Sirena suspected that Tyler was in love with someone who did not return his affections. How easy it would be to console one another, to reach out for the warmth of another, the tenderness, the affection. But where would it lead to? She had nothing to give him. Her heart was Regan’s. And if her instincts were correct, Tyler was floundering in the same lonely sea.
Their eyes met. “Good night, Tyler. Sleep well,” she said softly.
Dockside, at the Owl and Boar, Caleb was talking to an aristocratic gentleman by the name of Lord Farrington. The interminable fog was still hampering trade, so Caleb had taken to whiling away the hours at the inn, enjoying the brew and the company of a particular serving wench the boisterous patrons called Sally.
Over the period of days since Caleb had met at the inn with Regan, Lord Farrington had conscientiously engineered a continuing acquaintance with him. The stylish, older gentlemen had watched with interest whenever Caleb carelessly tossed a generous handful of uncounted coins on the stained table to pay for his meal and ale. To the nobleman’s eye it seemed that several fierce-looking thugs, who were regular patrons of the Owl and Boar, also had more than a cursory interest in Caleb’s overflowing pockets.
“Have you been waiting long, love?” asked Sally as she ambled seductively over to Caleb, swinging her ample hips and greeting him with a slow smile.
Caleb, who was well into his cups, reached for her and swung her down onto his lap, burying his face in the soft skin of her throat.
“Tush now, sir!” Sally pretended indignance. “How you men do handle a poor girl. By a Jew’s eye, I’d swear it’d been years since you had a tumble instead of last night. Here, here,” Sally laughed, disentangling herself from Caleb’s arms, “let me show you the new ribbons I bought at the Change with the coin ya gave me.” Sally brought her fingers to her bosom and leaned over to show Caleb the bright, pink ribbon she had woven into the laces of her soiled and dingy chemise. “Now, don’t that do somethin’ to ya, love?” she asked, noting the way Caleb’s attention was focused upon the swell of her breasts. He was a handsome devil, and any wench on the wharf would be glad to have him put his shoes under her bed.
“It does something, all right,” Caleb groaned, holding Sally tighter and reaching inside her bodice, making her squeal.
Lord Farrington’s attention was again brought to the two thugs who now were lingering near the stairs. Sally seemed to notice them too and a silent look passed between them. Turning to Lord Farrington, Sally giggled, “Surely you won’t be missing myself and the young lord here for a few minutes, will you? Heave to, sailor,” she said to Caleb, rising from his lap and pulling him to his feet. “You and me go upstairs and Sally will take you to the moon. Heave to, now.”
Dizzy-headed, Caleb stood and lurched after Sally as she tossed her red curls and called out greetings to a familiar face.
Caleb was in a stupor, there was no doubt about it. How could any man who drank a bottle of rum expect to do a woman justice when the prospect of sleep was more attractive? Farrington realized he should have warned young Caleb about flashing around the coins he carried and the small pouch of gemstones which hung from his belt. It was clear that Caleb had hardly any knowledge of the evils of the city. It was not unheard of for a doxie and thieves to conspire together and to roll a man while he was engaged in romantic pursuit. And now, for the past hour, Lord Farrington had noticed the two ruffians eyeing Caleb and watching his every move. And when Sally had given her silent signal before leading Caleb up the stairs to the bedroom, Farrington knew without doubt what the end results would be.
Aubrey Farrington drained his tankard, pushed his chair back from the rough table and stood up as he reached for his walking stick. I think I’d best get a bead on this situation, he thought to himself. Fluffing the frou-frou of ruffles at his neck and brushing an imaginary speck from his impeccable shirtfront, he drew himself up to his full height and made as if to leave the establishment When he was about to step out into the thick fog, he turned to see the move he was anticipating. The burly thugs were making their way to the second floor.
It was no gallant gesture of the samaritan which propelled Lord Farrington back across the crowded room to the bottom of the stairway. It was more a protection of his own interests. Caleb had been very generous with his company and his pocket, buying food and drinks for him. The stylish aristocrat was loath to see this come to an end, as it certainly would if the young man put up a fight and the two crooks spilled his brains out.
His walking stick securely in hand, he made his way to the upper level. Carefully, in the dimness of the corridor, he extracted the concealed rapier from its sheath. He paused in a small alcove and smiled to himself as he listened to the lusty sounds coming through the door. Ah, to be young again and know what I know now, he sighed.
Suddenly, he was aware of soft footfalls approaching. The same moment he heard the door being thrust open he followed the thugs into the room and shouted to Caleb, “Move, boy, they want your money and your life!”
Caleb’s brain was fogged with rum and his eyes had difficulty focusing on the quick events. Sally’s mouth was open in horror and she visibly shrank beneath Caleb’s weight.
“Move, boy!” Farrington shouted again. “Do you mean to tell me a roll with a bawd is more important than your life?” he demanded, as he flourished his rapier in a wicked slash at one of the scoundrels.
“I’ll be damned, who is he?” shouted the other thug as he attempted to pull Caleb from atop Sally, meanwhile brandishing a cudgel. “You said you’d take care of things,” he yelled accusingly at the horrified serving wench.
“Out! Out!” Aubrey Farrington yelled. “Or I’ll have the watch on you.” With a last flourish of his weapon he drove the defenseless men through the door and down the stairs. A few minutes later Sally followed them, hastily pulling on her chemise and dragging her stained skirts behind her. The throng of patrons in the taproom howled their approval as the thugs grabbed hold of Sally and tore from the inn, swearing oaths at her and each other.
Lord Farrington climbed the stairs again and entered the room where Caleb lay stretched on the bed, deep snores of oblivion coming from his mouth. Looking at Caleb’s lean, muscular body, Aubrey Farrington again longed for his youth. There was something aside from Caleb’s generosity which appealed to him. He was about to toss a dirty quilt over the man’s prone form when Aubrey thought differently. With a mighty shove, he rolled Caleb’s inebriated body over the side of the bed onto the floor. Then he gently took the quilt and covered Caleb’s lower regions. Carefully removing his own doublet and waistcoat, Lord Farrington smoothed the covers on the bedstead and lay down, placing his walking stick, which held the concealed rapier, at his side.
As the impoverished lord had nowhere else to sleep this night, due to an unkind landlady who had given him boot for nonpayment of his rent, this was as good a place as any. When the young man woke, he would tell him how he had single-handedly saved his life and fortune. A born gambler, Lord Farrington was certain of the outcome. He made himself comfortable and dozed as he waited for Caleb to waken.
It was dawn when Caleb muttered in his sleep and rolled over. At his first sound, Lord Farrington was awake and smiled expectantly to himself.
Caleb sat up and scratched his head. His tongue licked at his dry lips. He seemed surprised to see he had spent the night on the hard floor. Before Caleb even noticed his presence, Lord Farrington spoke. “Dear boy, how good to see you are awake and well.”
Caleb’s eyes focused questioningly on the gentleman. Rubbing his eyes and stretching to relieve the aches from a long night on the hard boards, Caleb stood up reaching for his clothes. “What, may I ask, are you doing here? And how did I leave my bed for the floor?”
Lord Farrington informed Caleb of the night’s happenings, eyeing him suspiciously. Only the dried spots of blood from the wound the aristocrat’s rapier had dealt to the thief’s arm convinced him that the lord spoke the truth.
“And so you see,” Aubrey Farrington explained, “when I came back in here to stay guard over you through the night, I found you there on the floor. I’m afraid, dear boy, your weight was too much for me, so I made you as comfortable as possible; and, since the bed was not being used, I did not think you’d mind if I availed myself of it.”
Caleb touched the pouch of gems at his belt and dug in his pocket till his fingers came in contact with his coins. All seemed to be as it should.
“I hope she was worth it,” Lord Farrington said smugly.
“She was,” Caleb grinned, vaguely remembering an expanse of smooth, white skin and full, ripe breasts.
“Why don’t we order a bit of breakfast and talk. I have several things I’d like to discuss with you.”
“Anything to get this taste out of my mouth,” Caleb muttered, as he glanced down to his jerkin and the stains that marred its front.
“Only a raffian drinks rum from the bottle,” Aubrey said distastefully. “That is one of the things I must discuss with you. However, I find I am temporarily indisposed. I left my purse at home and I must impose upon you for my meal.”
Caleb nodded; he would agree to anything just to get out of this stinking room and get a drink of something in his mouth.
Settled downstairs in the taproom of the Owl and Boar, Caleb waited for the lord to broach whatever was on his mind. The moment Aubrey finished with his breakfast, he daintily pulled his immaculate handkerchief from his sleeve and dabbed at his mouth.
“Young man, I see you are in need of a small amount of guidance. I recall last eve you told me of a ship, a frigate, I believe you referred to her. As I told you then, but you have no doubt forgotten, I have been thinking of how you could put this ship of yours to good use and make a fortune.”
Caleb turned to signal the barkeep to pay his bill, obviously not interested in any schemes this elderly, but dubious, gentleman had to offer.
“If you are amenable, that is,” Lord Farrington pressed. “Hear me out. Not long ago I heard of a ship that was berthed in Marseilles, France.” Aubrey Farrington lowered his voice to a bare whisper. “It was a gambling ship. The French call it a ‘folly’ and it is frequented by the richest and most fashionable of society. The ship’s owner made a killing,” the lord said winking at Caleb. “Now my proposition is this. At the moment I find myself with very little capital. I may as well tell you the truth. My landlady, and a dastardly woman she is, had literally tossed me out on the street with nothing save what is on my back and my reliable walking stick. I have lived my life by my wits and the generosity of ... er, friends. If we could manage, somehow to get enough together to buy gaming equipment and refurbish your ship with trimmings to give it atmosphere, we too could prosper. I have my title, which is by the way, legitimate. And I do know anyone who is anybody. I can offer you my expertise and inherent good taste which would insure the success of the endeavor. Well, what do you think?”
When Caleb didn’t answer immediately, Aubrey threw in another morsel. “It’s known that women of breeding frequent these ‘follies.’ Not only do they spend their money freely, they give of their favors just as generously. For a healthy young man like yourself, what better business to go into? That clap-ridden wench you bedded last night is good enough for a common man, but not for two such as ourselves.”
Caleb pretended thought. It might be a good idea and he would be available to keep his eye on his father and Sirena, who was bound to show up in England sooner or later. No matter what, Sirena couldn’t stay away from Regan when she learned where he was.
“And how would the profits be divided?” Caleb asked craftily.
Lord Farrington took the plunge and hoped for the best. “Half, what else?”
“The ship is mine. The money is mine. I will be giving you a home. No, fifty percent is not satisfactory.”
Aubrey Farrington gulped again. He had underestimated this cocky, young provincial. Seeming to give in with good grace, he said, “Very well. A quarter to me, seventy-five to you.”
Caleb shook his head. “You will be receiving the food I provide and will no doubt play against the house. You are a gambler, are you not? I think ten percent as your share is more than fair. Take it or leave it.”
Lord Farrington’s face split into a wide grin. “I’ll take it!” The young rascal should only know I would have settled gladly for two, Farrington thought. They shook hands and the bargain was sealed. Caleb van der Rhys and Lord Aubrey Farrington would open a gambling ship to entertain the bored rich of London.