Tom: To Secure His Legacy (Other Pens, Mansfield Park Book 4) Page 4

  “I apologize; I was woolgathering.” His ears burned at the admission.

  “That is answer enough,” Waller said with a laugh.

  “Waller wished to know if this female advisor was attractive,” Gabe explained.

  Tom sighed. “Her intelligence does not outshine her beauty, and she is not short of intelligence.”

  “I will assume she is unattached?”

  “I can admire the beauty of a lady even if she is married without falling prey to desire,” Tom grumbled in response to the stern look that had accompanied Gabe’s question.

  “I should hope you can resist falling prey to desire even is she is not married,” Gabe added. “However, falling for her charms and acquiring a wife would not be a bad thing.”

  Tom laughed at the uncharacteristic sigh which followed his friend’s word. Gabe was utterly besotted with his betrothed.

  “When I am certain I have established a good path to financial recovery,” Tom said, “I will begin contemplating a wife. Until then, I shall just admire the flowers in the garden.”

  “Unless the thorns from one of those roses snag your sleeve and refuse to let it go,” said Durward.

  “My heart is not yet in danger,” Tom assured his friend and himself. Miss Eldridge was becoming a good friend, and Tom found her tempting. However, that was the extent of his interest. “Speaking of thorny beauties, how is Miss Crawford?”

  “A beauty she is. However, I will not agree that she is thorny.”

  “And yet she has snagged you,” Tom replied.

  Again, Gabriel Durward, the most business-minded man Tom had the pleasure of calling friend, sighed like a hopelessly lost fool.

  “That she has. That she has,” he agreed. “She was well when I saw her yesterday, and if she remains well, I shall get to see her later today, for she and the Grants are to come to dinner.”

  Still wearing a smitten grin, Gabe applied himself to his work, writing one final note on his page before putting his pen in its holder. “Since I am still confined to my home, Waller was scouting some locations for a warehouse yesterday.”

  Waller was to be the third man in their undertaking. He had a little money and a fair bit of experience when it came to knowing goods and how to acquire them. He had been paying close attention to details on each and every voyage he had taken, whether it was on a privateer or a regular ship.

  To Tom, Waller seemed a good fit. Of course, the fact that he had earned Gabe’s approval was enough for Tom to accept the man despite any skills or lack thereof.

  “However,” Gabe continued, “as soon as I am allowed out of my door, I intend to call upon Mr. Gardiner. If there is anyone who can provide advice for us in this venture, Gardiner is our man.”

  He paused, his brow furrowing as he looked at Tom. It appeared as if he were not entirely confident how Tom was going to react to what he had to say. No doubt, he was considering how to counter any opposition. “I have also been considering adding a storefront to our venture.”

  The idea was not without merit. But then, Tom did not expect Gabe to present him with an idea which was anything less than profitable. “That would increase profit, would it not?”

  Gabe nodded slowly. “Indeed, it would since I would be both the supplier and the shopkeeper – not that I would actually keep the shop. We would need to hire someone to see to the running of the day to day workings of the business. Do you think your advisor would still approve of your participation in this venture if we were to add a store to the equation?”

  “I cannot see why she would not. I am using funds that will not harm my estate any further.”

  “You would still only be an investor and would not need to soil your hands,” Gabe added. “It would all be very respectable. We must remember your station.”

  All this was said in a flat, matter-of-fact fashion just as Gabe always spoke. He was not one to cover up the possible conflicts, he would, instead, find a solution – often, before any objection could be raised. Tom figured that such a skill was what made Gabe such a good businessman.

  Gabe folded the paper upon which he had been writing and handed it to Tom. “I have listed the few changes we are now discussing on this page.”

  Tom chuckled. “You knew I would agree before you even asked?”

  “He would have given you no choice,” Waller replied. “Durward usually gets what he wishes.”

  “One way or another,” Gabe added with a grin.

  Tom slipped the paper into his pocket. He knew his friend was not opposed to making his point forcefully known.

  “My first venture into an investment that does not involve a set of cards or dice.” Tom patted his pocket.

  “But just as much of a gamble,” Waller cautioned.

  “Ah, but I am not playing with gentlemen who wish to leave me with empty pockets,” Tom returned.

  Gabe pushed up from his chair and propped a crutch under the arm Tom knew had not been damaged in reclaiming his ship and rescuing Miss Crawford. “Mother insists that you have tea before you leave.” He pointed at first Waller and then Tom. “Both of you. You have joined our family, it seems, whether you wish it or not.”

  A short time later, Tom mounted his horse and began his journey homeward.

  The few minutes Tom had passed having tea with Mrs. Durward, Waller, and Gabe had been pleasant, as they normally were. Tom found he did not mind being part of Gabe’s family. Mrs. Durward was a far more attentive mother than his mother had ever been.

  Tom’s mother had loved him and doted on him, but her nerves always seemed to get the better of her. When they did, she would either become fidgety and unable to focus on what needed attention, or she ignored the source of agitation. Reprimanding a child was most certainly a thing that agitated his mother’s nerves, and so she rarely did much more than caution that such a thing was not good.

  However, where his mother was indolent, his father was stern.

  At a young age, Tom had learned to behave according to which parent was at home. Such shifting had followed him into adulthood. It was how he managed to escape many potentially damaging escapades. One did not wish for his behaviour to be published far and wide when that behavior might fall on the ears of a demanding father. Some misbehaviour could be tolerated, but Tom’s father’s patience had a limit.

  Tom had found himself on the wrong side of his father’s limit on more than one occasion. It had never been a pleasant lecture which followed. It was a wonder he still cared for his younger brother at all as Edmund was always being held up as the more exemplary of the two sons. Bitterness over such a thing was what made it easy to squander his brother’s inheritance. It had been foolish to do so. He knew that now as he looked at life differently, having been so near the end of it as he had been.

  Tom drew his horse to a stop. “Miss Eldridge?” He had not expected to see her in this section of town. Nor had he expected to see her dressed more like a maid than the lady of quality he knew her to be. However, she had been dressed as a gentleman when he first met her. So it really should not surprise him so much as it did, he supposed.

  “Mr. Bertram.” Miss Eldridge dipped a shallow curtsey.

  “You are far from home.” He slid down from his horse.

  “Indeed, I am. As are you.”

  Apparently, she did not wish to tell him why she was here. He could see it in how she shifted and would not meet his eyes.

  “I was calling on Mr. Durward. He hopes to add something to our venture.”

  That caught her attention and stopped her from looking anxiously up and down the street.

  “He hopes to add a storefront.”

  Her brow furrowed while her lovely lips pinched together.

  “Does the investment still meet your approval?”

  She sighed. “So many do not pay their bills.”

  She said it so softly that Tom was not sure if she was talking to herself or had meant to include him in her thoughts.

  “But the profit margin is h
igher.”

  She shook her head. “There are employees to pay.”

  “There are employees in a warehouse as well, and a merchant might not make good on his promise to pay.”

  She blew out a breath. “It is your money.”

  “But do you approve?” Tom was not certain why he felt such a compulsion to hear her say she approved of his decision to be part of this venture. It was likely because she understood numbers better than he did.

  She shrugged. It was not the vote of confidence for which he had hoped.

  “I will give it a bit more thought, but I suppose there is no more risk in it now than there was before.” She shook her head. “No, no. I do not need to think any longer. It is a fine idea. Should you lose part or all of the money you are using, it will not harm your estate.” She pulled her lower lip between her teeth as her brow furrowed again. “Although it will not help it either,” she added.

  “I trust Mr. Durward.”

  She smiled at him. “Of course, you do. I should have considered that. You can tell me the particulars when next we speak, but I must be going.” She dipped another small curtsey and then scurried away.

  Tom watched with curiosity as she stopped at a house and knocked on the door before opening the door for herself and entering.

  Chapter 6

  “Good day, Mrs. Johns,” Faith greet the lady who was sitting near the window, stitching a petticoat. “How are you feeling today?” She placed her bonnet on the table near the fireplace and draped her pelisse over a chair next to the table.

  “I am doing quite well today.” Mrs. Johns lifted her hand and wiggled her fingers. “Not even a small ache yet.”

  “Then you are healing well.” Faith searched the workbasket for a thimble, needle, and thread.

  “I believe I am,” the lady replied.

  Faith enjoyed these moments with her friend’s mother even if it did require her to dress in a drab costume so that it was easier to traverse the streets in this part of town without being thought of as a lady of much means.

  “And your foot? Have the soaks helped the sores?”

  “Immensely, but I must still hobble about with that crutch you gave me. It hurts far too much to walk on it without that.” She tipped her head toward the wooden crutch leaning against the wall behind her chair.

  To Faith, Mrs. Johns looked well. The brown curls that were not covered by her frilly black cap framed a smiling face. Smiles from Mrs. Johns were few and far between in the past few months, but not without good reason.

  “And your heart?” Faith posed the question in a whisper as she took a seat in the second chair in front of the window.

  “It aches, but not as it did. I believe it is also healing each day.” She sighed and looked around the room. “I am even beginning to think of this as home.”

  “That is good.”

  Faith threaded her needle and began stitching a seam on a pair of men’s small clothes. It was not a glamorous way to provide assistance to her friend’s mother, but it was a useful way to do it. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. Robert would not be pleased to know she was sewing such an intimate article of clothing for a gentleman to whom she was not related.

  The sound of a piano being played while someone sang drifted across the hall and into the sitting room.

  “Olivia has a new student,” Mrs. Johns said. “That makes three.”

  “I am glad to hear it. Nobody sings as sweetly as Olivia,” Faith replied with a smile. “Those young ladies are fortunate to have such a good teacher.”

  “You sing just as sweetly.”

  “Thank you.”

  Faith applied herself to keeping her stitches close and tidy, but after a few moments, she could not help but hum along with the tune being taught in the music room.

  It was not an actual music room. It had been designed as a dining room, but when Olivia and her mother had moved into this small terraced house, it had presented the best prospect for a classroom. It was close to the door and had a window which faced the street and gave a good source of light so that a lamp did not always need to be lit. The savings of a few pence here and there were important for two ladies left with little to their name and in such an unexpected fashion.

  Mr. Johns had been killed in the very accident in which Mrs. Johns sustained her injuries. Unfortunately, Mr. Johns had not been adept at keeping his finances in as lovely a state as his wardrobe, and the new heir – some long-lost cousin – was not keen on paying for the upkeep of two ladies beyond seeing to the rental of this house for them.

  Thankfully, Mrs. Johns and Olivia had been provided for in a small way in Mr. John’s will. Still, it was not enough to keep either his wife or daughter from having to take up some form of work to ensure they had food, clothing, and warmth.

  Faith jabbed her needle into the fabric she held. Men, who did not know how to see to their accounts and manage money appropriately, were in danger of leaving those they held dear to scratch their way through life once they were gone. This tableau – right here, in this small sitting room where Mrs. Johns was stitching clothing for some family to make a few shillings while her daughter earned a few more by offering lessons — was what she wished Robert would take to heart. Gentlemen were responsible for their loved ones even after death – and he, up until now, had been the furthest thing from responsible.

  However, Faith would not suffer this fate should her brother be taken from her tomorrow, for she had seen to her own security. She had her dowry and that which she had managed to earn by investing her allowance with Mr. Clarke.

  “Did your maid attend you?” Mrs. Johns asked.

  “She did. I believe she was hoping to air out your room today.”

  Mrs. Johns shook her head. “It is not right,” she muttered.

  “Not right for me to see to the care of an injured friend?”

  Mrs. Johns peeked up from her work. “You know of what I speak.”

  She did. Faith knew that the significant lowering of circumstance – from a fine estate to – she looked around the small room – this — was perhaps the most challenging part of Mrs. Johns’ injuries.

  “But it is beginning to feel like home?”

  Mrs. Johns nodded. “Strangely, yes.”

  “As soon as you no longer need that crutch,” Faith said hopefully, “you will be able to move about and do all the things you wish to do that would make this house feel even more like home. My maid and I are no substitutes for your talents. Do you remember when it snowed that one winter when I was visiting, and Olivia and I were unable to go to the village to gather all the things we thought we needed for a party?”

  The lady across from her smiled. “Such pouting!”

  “We were not very happy,” Faith laughed. “But you knew just how to make the few things we had available look like the finest decorations in any drawing room in town.”

  “I am certain it was not that well done,” Mrs. Johns replied with a laugh.

  “Why Faith! You have performed a miracle.” Olivia Johns, tall, slender, and beautiful, breezed into the room. “I have not heard Mama laugh in so very long.” She stopped to kiss Faith’s cheek and then her mother’s before collecting some sewing on which to work.

  “We were reminiscing about that party we had one winter,” Faith explained. “I am eager to see how your mother will improve this place once she is able to move about freely.”

  “It will not be long,” Olivia said. “She was limping across her room last night.” She peered up from preparing to work and gave her mother a pointed look. “Not that she should have been, but she managed it.”

  Faith watched as Mrs. Johns merely raised an eyebrow at her daughter but seemed unmoved by the gentle scold.

  “I hear you have a new student,” Faith said, turning back to Olivia.

  “She is so promising. Did you hear her just now? Not quite the voice of an angel such as you have, but very pleasant.”

  “An angel? Me?” Faith shook
her head and laughed.

  “You are too modest,” Olivia chided. “There was an exceptionally handsome gentleman who paused outside my window just after you arrived,” she added.

  Faith’s needle stilled. Had Mr. Bertram followed her?

  “Indeed?” She tried to keep her voice even so as not to give away how excessively curious she was. “What did he look like?”

  “He was riding a bay and wearing a dark blue great coat. His features were sharp – not rounded – angular, and his hair was brown. I could have looked at him for hours if he had stayed in front of my window, and if I had not had a student who deserved my attention.”

  “He most certainly sounds attractive.” Apparently, Mr. Bertram had followed her. She would dearly like to know why. “Do you think he was listening to your music?”

  Olivia shook her head and laughed. “I should hope not from the puzzled expression on his face.”

  The room fell into silence for three ticks of the clock on the table in the corner.

  “Do you know him?” Olivia asked.

  “I believe I might.” Faith tied off her thread and snipped it. She needed a fresh length to complete the next seam.

  “Well, out with it!” Mrs. Johns cried. “I have heard no talk of handsome men in this age. The two of you used to speak of them so often.” There was a wistfulness in her tone.

  Olivia, of course, could not attend soirees in town. There was not enough money for such things, and even if there were enough funds to allow for a ballgown and slippers, she was still in mourning for her father, though she had begun to wear lavenders.

  “Do you recall that I have been helping Robert with his finances?”

  Both ladies nodded.

  “And that we sometimes frequent a coffeehouse so that I might speak with a stockbroker?”

  Again, they nodded.

  “Well, on our last visit to that coffeehouse, there was a gentleman there whom the stockbroker thought could benefit from my assistance.”

  Olivia’s eyes were wide. “You met that gentleman at the coffeehouse?”

  “Yes.”

  “While you were dressed as…”