“I’m glad to hear it.” A Playhouse actress pushed Adam sideways, and, disgusted, he swung his walking stick sharply at her rump. She shrieked in protest and turned to scold.
Taking Adam’s arm, Northrup asked, “Would you like to visit Garraway’s? Possibly I could catch you up on the gossip which thrives so in this hothouse atmosphere.”
“You’ll not have to talk long to persuade me.” Adam glared at the saucy actress. “This financial district has become a madhouse equal to Bedlam.”
“That it has, sir.” Northrup swung wide the door to the famous coffeehouse where the practice of exchanging stock centered.
Acquaintances hailed Adam, and he returned their greetings. “Various rumors have come to your ears, I suppose.”
Northrup ushered Adam to a corner table where both could sit with their backs to the wall. He lowered his voice. “Rumors, but no facts.”
“Tell me all,” Adam commanded.
With a lopsided grin at Adam’s tone of authority, Northrup lifted his hand to the owner and called, “Coffee.” He turned back to Adam. “Many companies petitioning for charters to operate have been refused.”
“That’s surely not a surprise. Parliament’s Bubble Act classed any company operating without a charter as a public nuisance.”
“Yes, the proclamation is working well for the South Sea Company. The flow of money that was siphoned away from them and to the other companies has been halted before it begins. But—”
Northrup stopped as the hefty man they called Garraway brought over the fragrant blend.
“Good t’ see ye, Lord Rawson.” Garraway pocketed the coin Adam laid on the table. “Been missin’ ye.”
“Not too much.” Adam nodded to the crowd milling about the tables. “Business is booming.”
Garraway snorted. “I’d take th’ business an’ toss out th’ stock jobbers, if ye catch me meanin’.”
“Are they thick on the ground?” Adam asked with interest.
“Can’t spit without ’itting one.” He spat for emphasis and grinned when a gentleman yelped. “Ye licensed brokers are a rarity now.”
“But dull,” Adam suggested. “Very dull.”
“I’d not say that.” Garraway grinned, revealing two missing front teeth. “Leastways, not t’ yer face.”
Adam laughed. “I could always trust you, Garraway, to set me down when I grew top-lofty. Is it as busy as it was?”
“Not a’tall, a’tall.” He lowered his voice. “Not since th’ really wild bubble companies decided t’ pack up shop an’ leave.”
“The Bubble Act—”
“Ain’t worth th’ paper it’s printed on without someone t’ come in an’ kick those companies out, ye know that.”
“Are you saying someone is persuading the owners it’s time to quit?”
“All I’m sayin’ is that there’s been a bit of violence done t ’th’ owners o’ these companies.”
Adam whistled and sat back.
“Mind you,” Garraway continued, “not that it couldn’t be a disgruntled stock buyer who discovered ’e’d been bilked.”
“What do you suspect?”
“Damn it,” Northrup exploded, “I was going to tell him.”
“’A course.” Garraway stepped back. “Don’t want t’ steal yer thunder.”
Northrup had the grace to look embarrassed but told Adam, “I believe there is an enforcer from the South Sea Company who encourages”—Northrup lifted a significant brow—“the companies to collapse.”
“A cutthroat who works for John Blunt,” Adam mused.
“A very clever cutthroat,” Northrup answered.
Garraway wiped his fingers on his apron. “Aye, too clever fer th’ likes of me. I’d ’ate to run into ’im in a dark alley, if ye take me meanin’.” Glancing around, he said, “Better scoot. Asking fer trouble talking t’ ye like this.”
“Then go at once. But first…” Adam reached for his purse.
“Some other time.” The big man rubbed his nose in a parody of sentiment. “Been good talkin’ t’ someone who’s not ’alf mad fer money.”
As Garraway stomped toward the bar, Northrup moved his chair closer to Adam’s. “You got more information in ten minutes than I’ve been able to pry out of anyone in a month. I tell you, sir, everyone knows I’m not working for you anymore, but they’re still tight as a clam with me.”
“Old contacts,” Adam soothed. “You’ll cultivate them eventually.”
“But I wanted to pay you back.” Northrup looked wretched. “I’ve felt, well, guilty, leaving as I did, and I wanted—”
“There’s no debt.” Amazed and a little disgruntled at this display of commitment from one he wanted to cut from his life, Adam said, “You performed a service for me, and I paid you.”
“I know you hired me from kindness.”
“Kindness?” Almost alarmed at the accusation of humanity, Adam glared at Northrup. “Not at all. I needed a secretary. You were trained.”
“Yes, but—”
“It was business.”
Northrup ducked his head. “But you taught me so much. That wasn’t just business.”
“What I taught you made you valuable to me.” His brutality was akin to kicking a stray dog, but Adam meant to discourage this sentimental drivel. “It was coincidence that it also made you capable of earning a goodly fortune.”
Earnest as only the young can be, Northrup said, “Sir, whether you meant to be or not, you have been kind to me. You treated me with dignity when others scorned me.”
“A seaman performs his duties better when he’s assured of his pride.” With the scorn of a ship’s officer for a landlubber, Adam declared, “I have never seen any reason to believe different of those who work on shore.”
Northrup bit his lip. “I do not believe, sir, that you are as heartless as you profess to be.”
“I am. Believe me, I am.” His hand placed over Northrup’s wrist, Adam squeezed hard enough to grind bones. “But say no more.” Northrup tried to protest, and he said again with great meaning, “Say no more.”
Northrup jerked his hand back and stared, amazed, at the creation of paint and ribbon and wig that stood beside their table.
Carroll Judson’s Egyptian pebble teeth gleamed in a smile. “Such a pleasure, Lord Rawson.” Without taking his gaze from Adam, he ordered, “Cease your whining, Northrup, my boy, and fetch me a glass of wine. French, the best Garraway has to offer.”
“Humpty Dumpty commands me?” Northrup asked incredulously.
Judson’s smirk disappeared, and he sputtered, “You are insolent.”
Adam gained control of his amusement and snapped his fingers. Northrup and Judson interrupted their mutual glare to inspect him, and he jerked his thumb at Northrup, just as if the young man were some lesser creature in his employ. Offended, Northrup stood and bowed, doing Judson’s bidding with ill grace while Adam reflected grimly that Northrup would no longer whine about too much kindness.
But that was no concern of his. Judson hadn’t sought him out to exchange pleasantries. Perhaps he had information to be sold or bartered, and Northrup’s ego couldn’t stand in the way.
“Not that Garraway’s best will be drinkable,” Judson said. “I have such a superior palate, you realize.” He smiled as he slid onto the chair opposite Adam. “May I sit down?”
“Be my guest.”
Fluttering like a moth exposed to daylight, Judson fussed over his cuffs, his cravat, the elegant frogging of his coat. “So amazing to run into you last night, and again this morning.” He peered at Adam over his silver spectacles. “You look tired. Did you sleep well?”
Adam examined his nails.
“Quite right. Quite right. I’m too nosy by half. But that’s how I’ve come to make so much money these past few months. Drop a hint here, listen to a suggestion there. Soon it’s possible to gather every bit of loose stock to my bosom, as it were”—Judson pressed one hand to his chest—“and save it to sell at the proper moment.??
?
“When is that?” Adam asked coldly.
“Why, before the crash.” Judson shook his finger at Adam. “Come, come, you’re too astute not to realize the South Sea stock will tumble.”
“I am too astute, but I didn’t realize you were.”
Judson sniggered. “You’re so boorish, Lord Rawson. I don’t know why I even speak to you.” Adam opened his mouth, but before he could answer, Judson continued, “Of course the stock will go down, but when? That’s the question. I suppose that’s why you’re here in London rather than home with your lovely bride. What’s her name again?”
“Is it any concern of yours?”
“Bronwyn…” He tapped his fingers on the table. “Bronwyn Edana, was it not? Has the wedding taken place?”
“Not yet,” Adam snapped.
“Ah, that would explain your sour disposition. She’s one of those Edana beauties, and you’re not in her bed,” Judson cooed. “Will the happy event take place soon?”
“If you have anything to say, say it. Else I put this to better use.” Adam placed his cane on the table in hard evidence of his displeasure.
Smug at having pushed Adam to violence, Judson whispered, “This stock situation is so distressing. You’re scouting out the evidence, eh?”
Adam sat back slowly. “Indeed, and it would seem I’ve found the right man. You can tell me what’s happening.”
As Northrup set the glass of wine on the table, Judson snipped, “Certainly better than your young friend.”
Adam pointed at the empty chair, and still resentful, Northrup sat. Too bad Northrup’s bit of money had gone to his head, Adam noted, for the young man comprehended Adam’s wishes with an acumen that bordered on genius.
Judson cleared his throat noisily. Adam had been staring at Judson, he found, from sheer lack of attention. It had shaken Judson’s composure, for Judson fussed with the velvet patches on his face and complained, “That gaze of yours would pierce steel. I wish you’d turn it elsewhere.”
Lifting a lazy brow, Adam complied, but not before commanding, “Don’t pick at those. Your valet would scold you.”
Judson snatched his hand away from his face. “My valet does take my grooming to heart. Rather more than I do, if I may say.”
Northrup made a sound of disbelief that rapidly changed to a cough when Judson turned to him. “Have you the consumption? It’s so common among the lesser folk.”
Northrup didn’t flick an eyelash, but nothing could halt the red tide of blood that flushed his cheeks.
With a phony smile Judson said, “You’ll have to train your servants better, Adam.”
Nostrils flared, Adam said, “Northrup is not now, and never has been, my servant. He was my secretary and, but for a bad stroke of fate, would even now be the marquess of Tyne-Kelmport. He’d be looking down his nose at the likes of you, Judson, so I’d temper my disposition.”
“That’s right,” Judson simpered at Northrup. “Your bachelor uncle married and fathered an heir before he had the good taste to die, didn’t he? Don’t worry. Children are notoriously unhealthy. I mean, look at old Queen Anne’s brood. Nineteen children, and not a one of them lived. Perhaps this brat will perish, too.”
“You really are mouse meat,” Northrup said with a notable lack of emotion.
Now it was Judson’s turn to flush. “Well! And I was just wishing you good luck.”
With a secret grin at Judson’s discomfort, Adam sipped at his coffee. “When is Sir John Blunt returning from Tunbridge Wells?”
“Soon,” Judson said. “That is, I imagine he’ll be returning soon to check on his company.”
Adam’s eyes narrowed as he considered Judson. He’d sounded so sure, then feigned to cover his knowledge. Interesting. “He’ll be selling another subscription of stock soon.”
“I’m sure he will, and it will be a grand time to invest.” Judson twisted toward Adam to whisper, “I’ve heard Sir John has plans to quell these companies that infringe on his grand plan.”
“What companies are those?”
“Royal Lustring, Yorks Buildings—”
Adam set down his cup with a distinct clink.
“—the English Copper Company, and the Welsh Copper Company.”
“How does Sir John think he can pull such nonsense off? Those companies have had their charters for years.”
“He’ll prove nonuse of the charters. They’ve already spoken with the chancellor of the Exchequer and Lord Townshend, and Lord Townshend is acting regent while the king is gone, you know.” Judson crooked one elbow around the back of his chair.
“But those companies are stable ones with a good record.”
Judson lifted his painted eyebrows. “So?”
“Quite right,” Adam said dryly. “Logic has no place in this mad world of finance. Yet if this is true…”
“Who are you going to believe?” Judson tapped his wineglass with his fingernail, and the arrhythmic tinging grated on Adam’s nerves. “Me, or your sickly little secretary?”
“Neither. I’ll believe no one until I consult all my sources.”
“You’ll see.” Judson stood and adjusted his clothing. “I’m right.”
As he strolled away, Adam turned to Northrup. “Is he right?”
“There are rumors, and that’s one of them,” Northrup agreed.
“That’s the one rumor that foretells the end. Sell your stock, my boy. Sell your stock.” Adam stood, noting the denial that stained Northrup’s countenance. Shrugging, he said, “You can be a fool if you like, of course. You’re no responsibility of mine.”
“Wait!” Northrup stood also. “Where are you staying?”
“Why do you ask?”
Taken aback, Northrup stammered, “In case I hear news I would like to pass on to you.”
“Of course.” Adam relaxed. He should be staying at a friend’s, or at his club, or even at an inn. No gentleman would go back and visit his betrothed as if she were his mistress. He really shouldn’t even see Bronwyn again. He should let her fret about him—it was a strategy he’d used on other women, with great success. Unable to follow his own advice, he said, “If you need me, send a message to Madame Rachelle’s in West London. They will know how to contact me there.” He walked away, stopped. “Humpty Dumpty, eh? A pithy description indeed, Northrup. Humpty Dumpty.”
Bronwyn’s beautiful sister dabbed frantically at the corners of her eyes, trying to hide her distress from the finest of society as they milled about Rachelle’s drawing room. “Look what you’ve done.” Lady Holly, viscountess of Sidkirk, showed her snowy handkerchief dotted with black smudges.
Shifting from one foot to the other, Bronwyn denied, “I didn’t do that.”
“You made me cry with your willfulness and your unreasoning stubbornness, and just because of you my cosmetics are running.” Seated on a low ottoman, Holly raised her face to Bronwyn. “Have I ruined my powder?”
When Holly had discovered her in the salon, Bronwyn had cringed, but now her panic slowly dissipated, and she prepared to wheedle her way around Holly’s sense of duty. Eyeing the parched surface of her sister’s skin, she said, “No. But, Holly, why are you using all that stuff on your face? You’re so beautiful.”
Looking away, Holly muttered, “I’m not as young as you are.”
“But it will make your hair fall out,” Bronwyn protested.
Patient with her sister, Holly sighed. “I wear a wig.”
“How could you be so resigned? You don’t need it! You’re one of the Sirens of Ireland,” Bronwyn insisted.
“So?” Holly shrugged petulantly. “That hasn’t stopped the onslaught of nature.”
“Better to look like you at thirty-one than like me at twenty-two,” Bronwyn answered with a fair amount of bitterness.
Holly flashed a glance over her sister. “You dare to complain, when your appearance is so cosmopolitan, so piquant, so magnifique, so chic?”
With faint humor Bronwyn protested, “Please, no F
rench. It gets me in terrible trouble.” She debated but couldn’t resist asking, “Do you really believe I’m attractive?”
Holly reached up and pulled her down on the chair beside her. Bronwyn winced as her bottom made contact with the hard cushion, but Holly never noticed. “You look wild, like a lioness. You almost frighten me, for you draw every eye, and that’s dangerous. You’re attracting almost too much attention, and that will bring the envy. Trust me, it’s not a comfortable feeling to know that other people will do you a wrong just because they’re jealous. Be careful, little sister.”
Feeling giddy and a little embarrassed, Bronwyn realized for the first time in her life that her looks were valued above her sisters’—by one of her sisters.
Studying Bronwyn, Holly decided, “I have something you need. I purchased it in Nice this spring.” She rummaged in her fringed purse. “Parfum d’Orange, made by a little old man in this cunning shop who warned me it wasn’t my scent at all, but I wouldn’t listen and bought it anyway.” Holly took Bronwyn’s lacy handkerchief from her lax hand and drenched it with perfume, then dabbed it around Bronwyn’s ears, along her arms, and on the part of her chest revealed by her décolletage. “There, isn’t that devastating?”
Bronwyn breathed deep the fragrance of oranges. “It’s wonderful.”
“It’s you.” Holly slipped the glass bottle into one of Bronwyn’s deep pockets. “Take it as a gift.”
“Thank—”
“And go at once to Maman and Da and beg their pardon for worrying them.”
Bronwyn laughed at her scheming sister. “I can’t imagine they’re worried. When has anything other than the next party ever worried them?”
“You’re being terribly cold.” Again Holly’s big eyes filled with tears.
“I’m being terribly practical. Who’s going to recognize me? Even your own husband hasn’t figured out who I am, and he’s ignored me for years.”
“Of course he knows who you are.” Holly refused to look toward the viscount of Sidkirk. “He’s dissimulating.”
“Holly,” Bronwyn said in exasperation, “he’s flirting with me.”
Lines deepened around Holly’s mouth, and two crevices creased the skin between her brows. “How could he? My own sister!”