The Complete Regency Surrender Collection

Chapter Twenty-One

‘Lord Fanworth.’ Mrs Sims poked her head into the salon, where Stephen was reading. Her normally placid expression was replaced with worry. ‘A girl is here, from the shop. There has been some sort of trouble.’

He set aside his book with a smile. ‘What sort of trouble? Has someone lost an earring?’ His smile faded, when he saw the girl, a petite brunette, her starched de Bryun’s pinafore rumpled and her face stained with tears.

‘Tell me all.’

But the girl, Susan, could barely get out a sentence around her tears. ‘A madman came into the shop. Everything is broken.’

Stephen seized her arm. ‘Lady Fanworth. Was she hurt?’

‘I do not think so.’

The girl was useless, if she could not reassure him. ‘The carriage. How soon can it be ready, Mrs Sims?’ Any delay would be too long. It took him only a moment to decide that the girl should wait for it and guide it back, with the driver and two stout grooms. He would set out on foot.

Without the bother of a vehicle, it took only a few minutes to cross the Circus and run down George Street to Milsom. But when he reached the shop, he found the shades pulled, the sign turned to ‘Closed’ and the door tightly locked against him.

Damn it to hell. Why had he not asked her for a key? At a moment such as this, he should not have to be left pounding on the doorframe.

The door opened a crack and a girl who he had not seen before whispered, ‘We are closed, sir.’

‘Not for me.’ Had it really been so long since he had been here that the staff did not know him? He forced his boot into the crack in the door before she could shut it again.

‘Lord Fanworth.’ The ginger with the ears appeared from behind her and opened hurriedly. ‘Of course. Come in.’

‘Where is my wife?’

‘Safe, my lord. But shaken.’

The room was in chaos, the floor littered with broken glass and scattered jewellery. It was silent other than the clank and tinkle of the cleaning in progress and the quiet weeping of one of the younger shop girls. The boy led him through the midst of it, to the private salon where Margot sat on the white-velvet couch, twisting a handkerchief in her hands.

‘What has happened here?’

‘Nothing,’ Margot stared towards the wrecked front room, dry eyed and impassive.

‘A robbery?’ If that was the case, he should never have allowed this to continue. Or at least he could have posted a man to keep her safe.

She was shaking her head. ‘An accident. Nothing more.’

‘An accident.’ It looked as if a whirlwind had got in through the front door and jumbled the contents of the room.

‘Nothing of importance,’ she said hurriedly. ‘But we will be closing the shop after all. If I must replace all of this...’ She swept her hand about the room and gave a light and very false smile. ‘It hardly seems worth the bother.’

‘Closing?’ Had they not just agreed that closing was not necessary? He turned his attention to the new manager, hovering at his wife’s side. ‘Enough of this. What really happened?’

Jasper, the ginger, wet his lips for a moment, as though weighing the punishment he might get for speaking against the one he was sure to get if he did not. And then, he said, ‘His Grace the Duke of Larchmont wishes the shop closed immediately.’ He glanced around him. ‘He was most adamant.’

‘Thank you for your honesty.’

He turned back to his poor, shattered wife and sat down beside her on the soft white velvet of the sofa. ‘This was not the first visit, was it?’

She shook her head.

‘The night you came home with the cut finger.’

‘He cracked the glass of the showcase with his cane.’

‘And why did you not tell me, then?’

‘I thought you agreed with him,’ she said. ‘And then I did not want to make more trouble between the two of you. After what happened when I met your brother...I wanted to do better this time.’

‘My father is not like Arthur,’ he replied. But she had learned that through bitter experience. ‘And you do not need to be better. None of this was your fault.’ It was his. He had known what his family was like. He should have protected her.

‘I thought our plan for a manager and leaving at the end of the season would be a reasonable compromise. I assumed, when I told him... I was wrong,’ she said, looking at the mess around her. ‘Perhaps if I had not provoked him...’

How often had he thought that when growing up? It would do no good to explain to her that she provoked him by her very existence, much as Stephen did, himself. ‘You did not provoke him. There was nothing you could have done,’ he said.

‘Perhaps the shop was a mistake, after all. I should have known better. Everyone told me not to take this job upon myself. But I was so sure I could manage. And now, look at it.’ Her voice was almost too calm, as though she still did not, could not, truly understand what had just happened.

He remained calm as well. It would not do to frighten her again, while she was still recovering from Larchmont. But inside, his blood boiled at the years of injustice. He had felt as she did now, when faced with his father’s random displays of temper. He’d choked on the fear and anger, letting it muzzle him.

No longer.

‘It is over,’ he agreed. ‘You will never be treated this way again. Wait for me here. I will return shortly, with the carriage.’

He strode into the main room, glaring at the frightened clerks. Jasper, the ginger, had opened the cash box and was paying off the staff before releasing them. ‘Do not dare!’ he barked.

Jasper slammed the box shut and jumped away from it, as though afraid that Larchmont’s violence ran in the family.

‘Clean up the mess. Find someone to repair the mirrors. We will open tomorrow, as usual. Nothing has changed.’ He added a second glare to show that it hadn’t. ‘And find Lady Fanworth a cup of tea.’ Then he unlocked the door and went out into the street.

* * *

When in Bath, the Duke of Larchmont always let the same house in the Royal Crescent. Woe be unto any who dared take it ahead of him. The landlord would gladly put another tenant out into the street to avoid angering the peer. It was just one more example of the duke’s disregard for the needs of others and the terror he evoked in those that had to deal with him.

And today it would end.

Stephen rapped once upon the door, then opened it himself, not waiting for the startled servant reaching for the handle on the other side.

‘I wish to see Larchmont.’ The footman quailed in front of him, clearly used to the tempers of the family.

Without waiting for an escort, Stephen walked down the hall to the small salon and paced in front of the fireplace. It would not do to lose a single drop of the rage he carried.

‘What is the meaning of this?’ His father stood in the doorway.

‘You know damn well,’ Stephen said.

‘Do not use that language with me, whelp.’

Larchmont hated blasphemy almost as much as stuttering. Stephen grinned. ‘I bloody well will. Now, let us discuss your damned visit to my wife.’

His father was smiling. Stephen had come to dread that expression as a warning of disasters to come. ‘You do not wish me to become acquainted with my new daughter?’

‘Until you can behave like a bloody gentleman and not some drunkard, I forbid you from visiting her.’

There was actually a pause before he could respond to this, as Larchmont tried to decide which made him angrier, the insult or the command. Then, he laughed. ‘You? Forbid me? You have no authority over the family, boy. And less than none over me. It is clear you cannot control your tongue, or your wife. Someone must step in and protect our honour.’

‘My wife needs no controlling.’

‘In my opinion...’ his father began to speak, brandishing his cane.

‘No one has asked for it, you lick-fingered old fool.’ Stephen reached out and snatched the stick from the old man’s hand.

There was a moment of absolute silence. And then his father staggered from the loss of the stick. ‘How dare you.’

Stephen sneered back at him. ‘Do not think to feign weakness where none bloody well exists.’

‘I have the gout,’ his father shouted back at him.

‘Damn your gouty leg to hell and back. You can stand well enough when you are using this to strike people and break things, you miserable bugger.’

The older man watched the stick in his hands as though waiting for the blow that had been years in the making. When it did not come, he smiled again, still thinking he could regain control of the situation. ‘I am strong enough to deal with that fishwife you married. And you. You are a full-grown man and still quail before me.’

‘Do not confuse silence with fear,’ Stephen said.

For a moment, Larchmont himself was silent, as if he had finally recognised the threat right in front of him. Then he said, ‘What I did was necessary, for the good of the family—’

‘Not my family,’ Stephen interrupted.

‘Something had to be done,’ Larchmont argued. ‘The future Duchess of Larchmont cannot be allowed to associate with half the people that come into that place, much less wait upon them like a menial.’

‘The only one she cannot associate with is you,’ Stephen said, looking at the stick in his hands.

Larchmont watched it as well and smiled. ‘Since you do not have the nerve to strike me, I fail to see how you will stop me.’

Stephen twirled the stick in his hand. ‘I will damned well tell Bellston that you are as mad as King George. When he hears that you threatened a member of his family...’

‘A distant link, at best,’ Larchmont argued.

‘He is closer to her than to you,’ Stephen replied.

‘We sit together in Parliament.’

‘Because he is forced to,’ Stephen said. ‘There is not a man in England who would sit with you by choice, you miserable cod.’

Larchmont scoffed. ‘I do not need friends.’

‘It is better to have them than enemies,’ Stephen said. ‘And you have one of those, right here in the damned room.’

‘You are not allowed to say such things. You are my son.’

‘D-D-Did I not speak clearly, you old tyrant?’ For once, Stephen enjoyed his stutter. ‘I am your enemy. What in bloody hell did you think I would become when you raised a hand against the woman I love?’

‘Her useless shop, only,’ his father corrected. And for the first time in his life, Stephen felt the man give ground in an argument.

‘Her shop is as much a part of her as her head or her heart. Threaten it again and I will walk the streets of Bath in a coronet, selling snuff boxes.’

‘It is a blot on the family.’

‘Not as sodding big as the mess I will make, if you annoy me,’ Stephen said, smiling his father’s smile back at him. ‘I will introduce Margot to the Regent. Have you seen her? One look, and he won’t give a tinker’s curse who her father was. She will tell the story of your irrational violence...’ Stephen smiled, imagining the scene. ‘Prinny’s had experience with difficult fathers. He’ll bleeding sympathise.’

‘You wouldn’t dare.’

‘Should I go to the tattle sheets instead?’ The thought made him grin. He spread his hands in the air to picture the words, ‘Mad Larchmont runs amuck in Bath!’

‘I am not mad!’

‘You cannot prove it by your behaviour, you bum-legged Bedlamite.’

‘If you try such a thing, I will...I will...’ Without even realising it, Larchmont was searching for the cane Stephen still held.

He held it out towards his father, giving him the barest moment of hope before snatching it back and snapping it over his knee. Then he tossed the pieces in the fireplace. ‘Now what will you do? I think you are too old to hit me with your bare hands. But if you wish to try, I will defend myself.’ The words were sweet, like honey, and he had no trouble speaking them.

‘You would strike an old man?’ Suddenly his father was doing his best to look feeble.

‘If the only way to get through your thick skull is to crack it,’ Stephen said. What he felt was not exactly pity. But it was different from the anger he’d felt so long when thinking of Larchmont. ‘Or I will humiliate you, just as you always said I would. You fear for the family reputation? I will happily destroy it, if you force me to.’

‘You have done that already, by marrying that...that woman with her infernal shop.’

‘If that is all it takes to ruin us, then I fault you for creating such a fragile honour.’

Perhaps he did not have to strike the man. Showing him his faults had caused an expression as shocked as a slap.

It was enough. For now, at least. He bowed. ‘And now, your Grace, I must go. Back to Milsom Street. I suspect they still need help with the cleaning up.’

Chapter Twenty-Two

‘Must we be here?’ Margot stared out over the crowd in the assembly room, who all seemed to be enjoying the last ball of the season more than she was.

Stephen shook his head, smiling. ‘What sort of woman are you, to turn up your nose at balls and dancing? It is positively unfeminine. Next you will be telling me you do not like jewellery.’

‘You know I will not. I am simply tired. I swear, I have worked harder in the last month than I have all year.’

‘Because, as always, you take too much on yourself,’ her husband scolded. ‘You must trust Mr Suggins to do more. And you may always ask me for help. I will put on an apron and work for you.’

She smiled, remembering Stephen’s ineffectual attempts at sweeping the floor on the day that the shop had been destroyed. Until that day, she had not thought a broom a particularly complicated tool. But it was clear that he had never used one in his life. Or perhaps he had only been trying to make her laugh. She kissed him on the cheek. ‘It is enough that you paid for the new glass and the curtains.’

‘And the painters and woodworkers,’ he reminded her.

She shrugged. ‘Since so much work needed to be done, I felt it was time for a few changes to the rest.’

‘I consider it an investment in our shop,’ he said, smiling at her.

‘Our shop,’ she repeated. At times, she still found his change of heart to be rather amazing. But he had returned from talking with his father that day and informed her that the shop was to remain open with the full support of his family. While she suspected that was an exaggeration, she’d had no further visits from the duke.

‘You will rest tomorrow, in the coach to Derbyshire,’ he said, kissing her hand. ‘I know you are not looking forward to the trip. But I assure you, you will enjoy the place, once we have arrived.’

She smiled and nodded. It was plain from his expression, when he spoke of it, that the pleasure of the summer holiday was wearing thin for him. She must learn to be as supportive of his interests as he was of hers.

‘But you say you are tired. Do you wish refreshments?’ He gave a shallow bow to indicate that it was his pleasure to serve her.

‘It would be nice,’ Margot admitted, for the heat from the crush of bodies in the room was oppressive.

‘Stand here and wait for me. I shall return in a moment.’

‘Or I could accompany you,’ she said. The spot he had chosen for her was out of the common path, near a back wall of the assembly room. If she remained there, she would not see a single person of her acquaintance.

‘Wait,’ he insisted.

‘I will be over there, by Louisa.’ She pointed across the room to where her sister-in-law was surrounded by a flock of gentleman eager to procure a last dance before summer ended.

‘Later, there will be time to speak to her,’ Stephen said. ‘For now, you must stay here.’ He pushed her even deeper into the shadow of a potted palm.

‘Are you trying to hide me from view?’ Margot said, hands on hips. ‘Because I cannot think of a reason you would wish me to stay here.’

‘I am trying to surprise you,’ he said with exaggerated impatience. ‘And you are making it damned difficult.’

‘Then I will hide behind the palm tree, just as you wish, Lord Fanworth,’ she said, blowing him a kiss as he walked away.

It took only a moment for her to realise why he had been so particular on her exact location. From the other side of the plant that hid her, a voice called out, ‘Larchmont!’ It was the Duke of Bellston, greeting the other peer in the room.

Another duke, perhaps, but not an equal. The Bellston title was one generation older than Larchmont’s. Despite all the family pride he professed, her husband’s father ranked beneath the younger, and far more pleasant, Bellston.

Although she doubted he would make a scene in front of the other peer, as Larchmont approached Margot shrank even further into her concealment. Stephen had sworn that she never need see the man again. He had also assured her, if they did meet, the duke would behave as a gentleman. And that seemed almost as unlikely as her husband using a broom.

‘Bellston.’ The answering greeting was delivered with the minimum of courtesy. If this was the way Larchmont behaved in public, it explained why her husband was thought rude, when he did not speak.

‘So good to see you this evening,’ Bellston said, sounding positively gleeful. ‘I was just saying to Penny that it has been too long since we’ve seen you.’

‘Yes, dear.’ Her Grace, the duchess, was not nearly so convincing a liar as her husband.

In response, Larchmont said nothing.

‘I trust the waters have helped with your foot,’ Bellston continued.

‘There is nothing the matter with my foot,’ Larchmont announced.

‘Of course not,’ soothed Bellston. ‘So I assume you carry that handsome stick as an ornament. May I examine it?’

Margot put her hand to her mouth to keep from laughing. It had surprised her when Stephen had made this very specific request for a gift for his father. Then he remarked that the old cane had met with an accident. She suspected the accident was similar to the one that had happened to Arthur’s nose.

A moment passed as Larchmont relinquished his cane to the younger man.

‘Do not worry,’ Bellston drawled. ‘I will return it to you, if you feel unsteady. I only wished to see the markings on the head. That is your family crest, set in the mahogany, is it not?’

Larchmont grunted in acknowledgement.

‘And a wolf at the head, pewter or silver?’

‘Silver, of course,’ snapped Larchmont, as if no lesser metal would dare contact his skin.

If he was so sensitive to base metals, it was a good thing he did not know about the lead shot she had hidden at uneven intervals down the length of the wood. Though Stephen had remarked that the old ebony cane handled like a rapier, this new one was fit for nothing more than support. It would prove horribly balanced, should one attempt to wave it about, or strike out with it.

‘Are those rubies for the wolf’s eyes?’ asked the Duchess of Bellston. ‘How very clever. They are set inside the mouth as well. The beast looks quite savage, does it not, Adam?’

‘Ravenous, my dear,’ her husband agreed. ‘Tell me Larchmont, where did you purchase such a marvellous stick?’

‘It was a gift,’ the man admitted, sounding rather like he was going to choke upon this act of kindness.

‘From de Bryun’s, I suppose,’ Bellston said. ‘We buy all our jewellery there, because of the family connection.’

‘Margot is very talented,’ agreed the duchess. ‘She has redone the hideous Bellston ring for me so that I almost enjoy wearing it.’

Almost? Margot shrugged. But it was exceptional praise from the duchess who had simple tastes for such a great lady.

The conversation continued in a similar vein, with the younger couple extolling her talent until she was quite embarrassed to be eavesdropping and Larchmont became frustrated enough to leave.

‘Did you like your surprise?’ Stephen had arrived and was holding a glass of lemonade out to her.

She nodded, taking a sip.

‘I doubt if he will ever admit it aloud, but he is quite enamoured of the cane,’ Stephen said.

‘However can you tell?’ He had not said two words about it, just now.

‘I have seen the care he takes that the crest is visible, when he walks with it. Family pride, you know.’ Stephen looked across the room at the retreating back of his father. ‘And now we must go to your next surprise.’

‘Two in one night,’ she said. Although she was relieved to see that he was leading her in the opposite direction from the one the duke had taken.

They worked their way through the crowd to a quiet terrace at the back where several invalids in Bath chairs were enjoying the music. Seated amongst them, on a low couch, was a pale woman in her middle years. She was obviously beautiful and just as obviously frail. Around her neck were the rubies that had been the cause of Margot’s greatest trouble and her greatest joy as well.

‘Mother.’ Stephen bowed and then bent forward to kiss the woman on both cheeks. ‘May I present my wife?’

Margot swallowed nervously, propelled forward by her husband’s hand at the small of her back.

‘Come closer, my dear.’ The Duchess of Larchmont gestured to her, reaching out to take her hands. ‘Let me look at you.’

Margot had known the moment would come when she would meet her husband’s mother. Despite his assurances that she was very different from Larchmont, she had not known what to expect. Her plan had been to be friendly and polite. But now, face-to-face with the great lady, the best she could manage was an awed curtsy. ‘Your Grace.’

‘She is a rare beauty, Stephen, just as you said,’ the duchess announced, pulling Margot forward to sit on the couch beside her. ‘There is no need to be so formal.’

‘I scarce know how else to be,’ she whispered, for a moment shocked into honesty.

‘You must treat me as you do your own mother,’ the duchess said firmly.

‘I do not have a mother,’ she said, and then corrected herself. ‘At least, I have not had one since I was very small.’

‘How sad,’ said the duchess. Then she smiled. ‘But I understand you honour her by continuing with your family’s work.’

Somehow, Margot doubted that the duke described what she had done in quite that way. But for the duchess, she settled for a simple, ‘Thank you. You are too kind.’

The duchess gave a small nod of her head and touched the necklace at her throat. ‘And I see you are admiring my rubies.’

‘They are magnificent,’ Margot agreed.

‘I was so glad to hear that Stephen had them reset for me.’

For a moment, Margot hovered on the edge of fear. It was rare to see her work after it left the shop. And even stranger to see it in this way.

The duchess touched the necklace again. ‘It is strange to lose something so precious and have it returned looking even lovelier. See how clever the work is on the gold. And Stephen has promised me that I shall meet the designer here tonight.’

Her first impulse was to turn and run. But she felt her husband’s hand at her back, holding her in place. ‘And so you shall, Mother. It is none other than my Margot.’

His mother’s eyebrows raised in surprise. ‘You?’

She could manage nothing more than a small nod of her head.

‘Beautiful and talented,’ the duchess said. ‘When I heard that Stephen had married a shop girl, I did not think that could be right. But to find a lady with such a rare gift? That is entirely a different matter.’

Margot wanted to correct her. When she took on the shop, it was never with the intent of being anything so grandiose as an artist.

But Stephen was speaking and there was no time. ‘Yes. It is. When I first chanced upon her work, I had to know the person that had executed it. You can hardly blame me for losing my head.’

He spoke glibly today, without a sign of the halt that she sometimes heard. But it bothered her to think he would lie so easily and to his own mother.

‘She has a special room at the back of the shop, where she entertains her more prestigious customers,’ he was assuring his mother.

‘So it is hardly like going to a common shop, then,’ his mother agreed. ‘It would be more a meeting of equals. So much nicer than tramping down Bond Street with the rest of London.’ She glanced at Margot. ‘You do have a shop in London, do you not?’

‘Only the one in Bath,’ she said softly.

‘Well, that will not do,’ the duchess said, with a frown. ‘When you are in London for the Season, you must speak to Stephen about finding a property.’

‘What would happen to the shop in Bath?’ she said, not wanting to seem ungrateful.

‘I suppose then you shall have two shops,’ Stephen said, with a smile.

‘Two,’ she repeated, in wonder.

‘And we must convince the Regent to give her a Royal Warrant,’ the duchess continued. ‘I have but to show him the rubies.’

‘And Larchmont’s cane,’ Stephen added. ‘She did that as well. And work for Bellston...’

‘Really.’ His mother gave an impressed nod. ‘Then certainly, she must have a Royal Warrant. You must design a birthday gift for Prinny, my dear. One smile and he will be eating from your hand.’

‘And buying your jewellery,’ Stephen added.

‘Of course,’ she said, barely able to whisper. If she was to be a marchioness making jewellery, then why would it not be fit for a prince? Then she looked from her husband to his mother and back again. ‘But what if he does not think it proper for a woman to be in trade?’

The duchess smiled at her. ‘Then, my dear, we will remind him of Lady Jersey and the Duchess of St Albans. Some of the biggest banks in England are run by women, you know.’ She gestured to Margot to lean closer, so that she might whisper in her ear. ‘That is the problem with men, my dear. They think so small. But we love them, so what can we do?’

Margot looked to her own dear Stephen and smiled. ‘Indeed, your Grace. What can we do but love them?’

* * * * *