Listening to Lord Belton speak about Riversbend gave Peggy a new appreciation for what the town had once been and what he clearly envisioned that it could be once more. As he took her on a tour from building to building, describing the tenants and merchants who had once called this place home, Peggy began to imagine the streets as a bustling center of commerce for the surrounding counties. The town hadn’t fallen to ruin but had been split during a time of growth and transition. It was clear to her how much love and care the Baron and his predecessors had for the place and its people. His confidence that it would return to its glory was evident in every word of pride that spilled from his constant stream of explanation. What sort of man was he that he took such pride in his underlings?
Peggy had a picture of the aristocracy gleaned from her father’s words and her own experience both with Adam’s father and the horrid Lady Blackwell, who held her imprisoned in servitude for years. Lord Belton was turning all those presuppositions on end. She could not credit it. Why would he care for these people? They were nothing to him. Was it all an act? But why? What purpose would there be in deceiving her so? She, too, was a nobody. Her opinion did not matter.
Occasionally, Peggy might offer a question, but mostly she just allowed herself to listen and sink into the images that he described. The story took root, and it were as if she had lived here herself, cared for by him, as if she were a part of his extended family.
He told her of the old physician who had no less than twelve children that had followed his father to the new settlement, an old military keep that the Viscount was transitioning into a beautiful estate at Canton Point. He spoke of the family of sheepherders who had split their flock in two between the holdings, and he told of the sheepherder’s eldest daughter and her new husband who were expecting their first child soon and his care that they did not yet have a midwife. He pointed out the mill with its turning wheels that had been rebuilt only a few years prior, and the well that had been dug by his grandfather when his father had been the Baron Whitefall and he, himself, was still in short pants.
She laughed at the thought, and for the first time, perhaps ever, she felt carefree.
He described his plans to have the main road bricked to prevent the rutting that required constant maintenance due to the rains. He laughed and he spoke of his sister’s desire to draw more women to the local households which were, in her words, overpopulated with bothersome males.
“But surely, she will marry,” Peggy interjected.
He shot her a look that said, do you know my sister?
“I mean, she is a lady. Surely, she will leave this area and have her own household for which she will be responsible.”
“Nora insists she will never marry, although Father wants her to have a Season.”
“Of course,” said Peggy noncommittally. A Season, she thought, where Nora like so many women before her would be auctioned off to the highest bidder. Was her own father so different from those fathers among the Ton, she wondered.
“Isn’t that what all women want?” he asked.
“No,” she said sharply, and he lifted an eyebrow as he looked at her. The moment extended into eternity. Heat crackled between them regardless of the coolness of the coming evening.
“Do you not wish to marry one day?” he asked softly, so softly she was not sure she heard him, but she answered, nonetheless.
“No,” she said again with less force this time. “I will not marry.”
“You must have loved very deeply or been hurt very deeply to swear off gentlemen entirely.”
“I have not found a gentleman worth my regard,” she said honestly.
“Perhaps I shall change your mind,” he whispered, leaning close.
She pulled away violently. Did he think he could kiss her, just like that? Just as you please? How like a man to take immediate liberties! Fear and desire bubbled up in equal measure, and she was on the verge of bolting, but his hand on her arm steadied her. He stood like a rock, not expecting anything she was unwilling to give. She felt giddy with the knowledge.
“Nora says she will not marry,” he said bringing the conversation suddenly back on an even keel. “Of course, of late, she has felt the need of female companionship. I hope you will be her friend.”
“I will,” Peggy said gaining her equilibrium again.
“She wants to collect more women for the area, so I warn you not to be surprised if she tries to collect you.” He laughed, a deep sound of merriment that Peggy found she liked to hear. It was natural and unforced. She wanted more laughter in her own life.
Peggy chuffed at the thought but offered no reply. She had no intention of staying here but did not feel the need to state her position, and he went on describing their surroundings without the requirement.
He told her that the local estates had banded together to ensure that the townsfolk had enough meat and produce to eat in plenty for the entire year, even when certain farmers might have a difficult season.
Peggy found herself in awe. When she looked around, she realized that she had seen no hungry children. No homeless and no beggars. Not overt prosperity, but good, hardy lives. Everyone was given a task and a purpose within their means and abilities, and none were left to suffer. It was so unlike Hampshire, and London, and everywhere else that she had been where the rich only got richer and the poor were left in squalor. She questioned him about this strange occurrence here at Riversbend.
“My father taught me that there is a responsibility due to the aristocracy. We are given much, yes, but success multiplies when shared.”
“So, you give to the poor?” she asked, confused. Usually it was the poor who were made to give to the rich.
“Not give so much as open opportunities, like this move my father made,” he said, his eyes alight at the thought. Lord Belton was so vibrant, so handsome. He would have kissed her, she thought, and just as quickly, she shoved away the thought. She had no time for such fancies. “Now there are two towns where people can be employed instead of just one,” he said. “It is not charity which some may not wish to accept. Instead, it is honest work. That is good for all of us.”
Despite the gentleman’s verve and vigor, there were shops that were empty and houses that had been vacated when the Viscount had made his call to move. The Baron looked so earnest just now. She suddenly wanted to help him to help the town. If those who could support the town did not fill the voids, how long would the good fortune last, she wondered? They could supplement the lack between the two villages for a time, but the travel between would be a hindrance for any long-term arrangement, especially in the winter this far north. Although the Baron seemed certain that his father’s dream would come to fruition, Peggy wondered if it could be done. If he failed, would the village fall to ruin? Would everything that the son and father had known and hoped to achieve be lost? Would good people starve?
Peggy hated that the negative thoughts and worries crept into her mind, but life had proved to her that there was a darkness in the world that often shuttered the light. What Lord Belton described was a dream, and she had seen too many dreams crushed and turned to naught. Still, she held her tongue. Mayhap in this strange little corner of England the good could prevail. Maybe it was a magic land. Who was she to say otherwise?
The gentleman was still speaking with all the excitement of a child who had never known hardship. His eyes were bright as he gestured expansively. For just a moment, she felt the magic of that dream, and she wanted it. She wanted to be a part of something greater than herself, and maybe, for once, build something that didn’t fall to ash.
“This was the haberdashery,” he explained when they came upon the largest of the empty shops. Six sections of large multi-paned windows sat empty and inside she could see the shelves that lined the walls were covered in dust. “Mr. Drake caught ill two winters ago and passed from influenza,” Lord Belton explained with a sigh that indicated a sign of concern.
She did not think she was mistaken. This baron actually cared about his underlings. It was unfathomable. Her heart did a strange little flip, but she ignored it. She liked the man. That was all. Yes. The more she learned about the young lord, the more she liked him, and she could not like him. He was, after all, a member of the aristocracy and completely untrustworthy. And he wanted to kiss her, a traitorous voice whispered, which caused her body to fill with heat and her mind to fill with fluff.
“His wares were taken back to London to cover his brother’s debts,” the Baron said, “and we have yet to be able to fill the position.”
“You haven’t a haberdasher in either village?” Peggy asked, aghast. It was no wonder Nora had complained. If every trinket and bauble, button or ribbon, had to be sent for to London or some other far-off place, the expense and the inconvenience would be enough to drive residents from the area. The haberdashery was the central shopping hub of any community worth note. Even the small town of Halthaven sported a haberdashery.
“A few merchants have considered it, but they have all of them changed their minds when they realized that the shop is entirely empty and it would take months to get a decent supply this far north,” he explained. He sighed, the light of possibility going out of his eyes.
Suddenly, she wanted to put that excitement back. She wanted to give him something about which to smile. She wanted to hear that infectious laugh again.
Peggy was annoyed with her own sudden optimism. Nothing would come of it, she was sure. A new merchant would expect to have something to start with before sinking his fortune into a venture. Many would see the waiting period as a time of loss if the shop had nothing to sell. Those who were looking to start their first shop would not have the means to wait out the dry spell. Peggy knew that a well-seasoned merchant would never bother with a single town which was so small or even pair of towns situated so far to the north. The best money was to be made in the port cities. A greenling might be drawn to such a remote place, but such a person faced the very real risk of failure, both because of his lack of expertise and because of the lack of goods and funds. At the very least, a partially stocked storefront would be a necessity. The initial process would be insurmountable otherwise.
Peggy ran her hand over the window, recalling in her mind’s eye how her father would buy one store after another stock full of goods and then turn it into a desirable enterprise all under the name of Wilhelm’s. It had not been until later in his success that he could open a shop from nothing and fill it from his massive warehouses. Father was an ogre, but he did have a business acumen that was second to none. Mentally, she calculated the probable costs for such a venture. Where to start?
“You haven’t a stationer or mercer,” she observed. “Tea shops are popular these days for the ladies—”
“So, I’m told,” he agreed. “The nearest teashop is in Northwick. They do a brisk business if Brambleton can be believed.”
“Brambleton?” she repeated.
“As in, the duke of,” he said. “We went to school together.”
“Oh,” she said. The mention of a duke brought her suddenly down to earth. He was an aristocrat. He wouldn’t credit her for one moment. He would rather listen to this Duke of Brambleton. One of his cronies, she thought. Another of the aristocracy. Dash them all to hell. Certainly, he would not credit a woman’s opinions.
“Go on,” he urged.
She was not sure she should, but he looked so expectant. She wanted to help him, and her nimble mind was fully in merchant mode now. She spoke her thoughts aloud.
“There are catalogs from which items of interest can be ordered,” she said before she could help herself. “And merchants on the coast that would be willing to cart goods here in a hurry before winter, I would think. For the right price, of course.”
He was watching her with interest, but she was not paying attention. Years of training that she thought that she had forgotten took over as she did the mental calculations in her head, recalling names of prominent tradesmen and listing them off for the Baron. The right merchant with the right contacts could see the stores stocked, she informed him.
“Perhaps rather than several individual stores, you might use this building as a combined front, at least until some other shopkeepers offer to make their stay. Then, they could specialize. This space is certainly large enough,” she offered pacing the distance and imagining filled shelves. Then she shrugged, finding her place again. “It’s really all the same. The purchase of goods and then sale. So long as you are not providing the service, only the supplies, is does not much matter if you sell a mismatch of items. Common folk won’t be so discriminating. You might even draw a dressmaker or milliner more readily if they can browse the catalogs or pick through on hand items. With the right negotiations and guaranteed sales, you could secure a decent price for regular deliveries to the area. After all, you are not far off of the North Road. There is always traffic to and from London.”
She found herself pacing in front of the windows and chewing on her bottom lip as she was wont to do when she was deep in thought. All this village really needed was a strong merchant supply chain to find its feet once more. “Your cobbler had to mail order a button for your sister’s shoe,” she added as an aside. “The man ought to have been able to pop into a shop and get what he needed without delaying for days on end for such a small item. Your overall productivity would increase substantially across the entire village with access to one simple shop of… say… miscellaneous goods.”
She came to a grinding halt at the corner of the building and stopped herself from saying anything further. She had forgotten that she could get carried away when it came to matters of business, and she had too late realized that it was not her place to give the Baron instruction.
Lord Belton had stopped several paces behind her, and she clenched her eyes shut, regretting having gone off on her tangent. Such was not the thing that a woman was expected to do, nor was it proper. Had her father not often told her to keep her mind for business behind closed doors and let the men think they were handling things, even if she might be the one pulling the strings from behind the curtain? That is what your husband will do, he had said. A man should handle business, although would an aristocrat dirty his hands with such things? I will train you to support your husband, her father had said. But it is men who make the deals. No man wants to shake hands with a woman, so keep your mouth shut.
Oh, how her father would have loved for Peggy to have been a son, but his infant son died at his mother’s breast before he even took his first steps. Her father was left with the poor pickings of a daughter who could not even manage to get herself married properly before she had a child.
She released the breath that she had been holding and spun on her toe, a grimace on her face.
“I apologize,” she offered, contrite. “It was not my place.”
“No…” He stared in her direction as if she were as mystical as a snowy white stag. “You are exactly right. Go on. Please.”
Peggy’s mouth opened in shock, but she felt none of the pride that he must have expected. Rather, she felt sheer panic and shame. She had known better and yet had been unable to help herself. She clapped a hand over her mouth and shook her head, unable to speak.
“Please,” he pressed, “I would love to hear more about how this works. It is not something in which I am well versed, and it is clear you have experience.”
“I don’t,” she spat before she could help herself.
“Nonsense.” He offered a half grin as if to say that she was perfectly safe within his confidence, but she felt like an idiot for having mentioned a single thing. “You’ve spoken more words, and with more passion, in the last few minutes than I have heard since I met you.” Peggy cursed herself for the slip. Her old life was gone, and what did she care about the commerce of Riversbend anyway? It was not her business.
“Goodnight,” she said without preamble. Aside, from being a man, he was a lord, and she had forgot her place. She was a fool. This man, this handsome man, made her a fool, and he was looking at her as if she had grown a second head.
Peggy dipped herself into a sharp curtsy befitting a maid before a Baron, and then, before he could process what she had said, and without a proper disengagement, she turned and raced down the street toward the inn. She did not look back or give Lord Belton a chance to ask her why she had reacted in such a strange manner. Twice this day he must have thought her the oddest being that he had ever encountered, and yet she cared not. Instead, she hastened to the inn and up the staircase to her room where she locked herself within the safety of the simple four walls. When she flung herself upon the bed, she grabbed a feathered pillow and allowed herself one moment of weakness wherein she gave a single sharp scream into its muffled form.
Then, she rolled over onto her back and stared up at the ceiling, wondering what would have transpired if she had allowed him to kiss her. “Idiot,” she hissed, before giving herself over to what promised to be a fitful night of sleep.
Nash stood for a long moment staring after the enchanting creature who had taken the reins to his life and given him direction. He had acknowledged to himself that she was beautiful, with a maturity and womanliness that filled him with desire, but until this moment, he had not seen her completely. He had wanted to take her in his arms. He had wanted to kiss her, but he sensed she had been hurt. She froze like a frightened deer at his very touch, and then she surprised him. She had stepped into that place beside him as he could expect no silly debutante to do. She had put herself beside him, not just as a pretty face, but as a helpmate. She was everything he needed, but she did not need him at all. She did not want him.