A Commercial Enterprise Read online

  As the bells stopped, she heard voices close at hand, and saw some shadowy figures coming from the direction of the mews. There were two men, followed by three small boys pushing barrows, which appeared to be laden with meat, fish, fruit, and vegetables. One of the two men was Gaspard Duvall, and she realized that the little procession had been to all the various markets to choose the choicest items for the tables at the Oxenford.

  There was no sign this morning of the chef’s sprightly joviality, for he was engaged in a low, urgent conversation with the other man, who appeared to be another Frenchman. Something was obviously wrong, for even allowing for a certain Gallic tendency to gesticulate excitedly, the chef’s manner could only be described as exceedingly agitated.

  He argued heatedly with his more taciturn countryman, whose attitude was one of muted but determined disagreement. It was this dark-haired, thickset second man who suddenly saw Caroline standing in their path. With a sharp word of warning, he nudged the chef, who immediately fell into a confused silence, seeming to find it difficult to collect himself sufficiently to manage one of his usual smiles of greeting.

  “Wh-why, Mademoiselle Lexham, how early you are out,” he said at last.

  “Good morning, monsieur,” she replied, glancing curiously at the other man, who now retreated to join the kitchen boys waiting obediently with their heavily laden barrows.

  The chef followed her glance and seemed to think he should explain who his companion was. “That is Boisville, mademoiselle, he is my entremettier.”

  “My French is very poor, monsieur, and I am afraid you will have to explain.”

  He appeared relieved that she had not understood anything earlier, and he beamed. “Ah, forgive me, mademoiselle, and of course I will explain. An entremettier has charge of preparing the soups, the vegetables, and the desserts, whereas I am the chef de cuisine, and I am in charge of everything. I am call the gros bonnet, which in English means the ‘big hat’ because chef’s wear tall white hats. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.” She was surprised, however, to learn that Boisville was Duvall’s subordinate, for his manner before he had realized she observed them had been anything but subordinate; indeed, it had been the very opposite!

  Boisville bowed then, smiling, although it was not a smile she particularly liked, and murmuring in excellent English that he would, with the chef’s permission, proceed to the kitchens with the boys. Duvall nodded his agreement and the little group moved on toward the hotel, vanishing into the swathes of mist.

  She smiled at the chef. “Please don’t let me detain you, monsieur, for I know you must have a great deal to do.”

  “But it is a pleasure to be detained by so lovely a lady,” he replied, his bright eyes dancing with his usual gaiety. “Besides which, I welcome any diversion which keeps me from those odieuse kitchens!”

  “Are they really as bad as you say?”

  “They are worse!” he cried with feeling. “And today I shall inform Monsieur Bassett as much. I shall complain and I shall demand improvements.”

  She wondered what the superior majordomo would make of such animated and impassioned criticisms, for the chef was evidently determined to carry out his threat.

  He gestured angrily toward the hotel. “I must make do with old-fashioned ovens and open fires, when in Paris I had closed ranges. But here they expect me to create the most recherché of banquets, the most exquisite of wedding feasts! I am the gros bonnet, I have the best brigade de cuisine—that is the kitchen team,” he added almost as an aside. “And yet I must work in the most odieuse of kitchens! It will not do, and today I will say so.”

  “I wish you well, monsieur.”

  He smiled, drawing her hand to his lips. “I thank you, mademoiselle. But now, I fear, I have to go and see that the brigade carries out its tasks correctly. They may be the finest team in the world, but they do not always do things the way I like. Au revoir, mademoiselle.”

  “Good-bye, monsieur.”

  With light, swift steps, he hurried away into the mist, and as she watched him she thought again of Boisville’s curious attitude. The entremettier had not conducted himself as if Duvall had been his superior, and there was no mistaking the fact.

  She walked alone for a little while longer, thinking of other things, and then she decided to return to the hotel to write a letter to Richard before taking breakfast. Inside she inquired of the porter where she might find writing implements, and she was directed to the library, where she found an escritoire. A housemaid was attending to the fire, but she hurried out immediately when Caroline entered. Sitting at the escritoire, she took a sheet of the Oxenford’s superior parchment and settled down to write.

  Oxenford Hotel, Piccadilly. Before breakfast. She smiled, for it was so very grand. Dipping the quill in the ink again, she continued writing. She knew that Richard would be very anxious about her, in spite of his anger at her insistence upon going, and so she wrote in great detail about everything that had happened, even describing the evening gown she had borrowed from Jennifer Seymour.

  She worded the letter with great care, for she wished it to strike just the right note of affection, neither seeming to encourage him to hope she had changed her mind about marriage or seeming to rebuff him too much, for that would have been hurtful. She wanted him to know that she thought of him, that she loved him still, but that he must not hope she would return to become his bride. She was glad now that she had thought of asking Hal Seymour for a racing tip, for that gave her the perfect ending for her letter.

  I was exceeding impudent on your behalf, she wrote, for when I traveled with Sir Henry I shamelessly pumped him for some inside information about the turf. He was good enough to tell me that he sets great store by a horse named Nero for this year’s Derby—that is surely as good as from the horse’s mouth and will make you a very knowing one with your cronies. I will end now, but I promise to write again before I return to Selford. Your affectionate cousin, Caroline.

  After sanding the letter, she folded it, melted some sealing wax against the flames of the crackling, smoking fire, and a moment later the letter was ready to be posted. But as she went toward the door to take it down to the porter, the door was thrust open and she halted in shocked dismay as she saw Lord Fynehurst standing there.

  The pale morning light from the window fell coldly on his Apollo curls, making them seem more contrived than ever. He was dressed from head to toe in pale blue, and he held a lace-edged handkerchief lightly between the thumb and first finger of his left hand. His eyes flickered unpleasantly, and he stepped aside, and Caroline realized that he was accompanied by his sister, Marcia, Lady Chaddington.

  She advanced slowly into the room, and Caroline instinctively backed away from her. Marcia was clad in chestnut velvet, the same color as her lovely hair, and there was deep fur trimming at her throat, cuffs, and hem. She wore a beaver hat at a rakish angle, and her hands were plunged into the largest fur muff Caroline had ever seen. She was a vision of modish style, but there was something malevolent about her as she halted before Caroline. Lord Fynehurst slowly closed the library door, leaning back against it to prevent anyone from entering unexpectedly.

  “Well,” murmured Marcia quietly. “You have looks enough, I suppose, but in other ways you are rather drab, are you not?”

  Caroline said nothing, swiftly gathering her skirts to hurry to the door, but Lord Fynehurst wagged a reproachful finger at her. “Not yet, dearetht, not yet.”

  “I wish to leave, sir, please allow me to pass!”

  Marcia turned. “I have not done with you yet, miss.”

  “What do you wish of me?”

  “I have come to issue a warning.”

  “A warning? About what?”

  “About interfering with that which does not concern you.”

  “I’m afraid that I don’t understand,” replied Caroline, but she sensed that it was because of Hal Seymour. It could be nothing else.

  A cool, contemptuous smile
played about Marcia’s lips. “You don’t understand? Come now, don’t let us pretend, for you are a scheming, conniving jade and you know full well why I have felt it necessary to come here like this.”

  “No, my lady, I do not know.”

  “I note that you appear to know who I am.”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you must also know in what way you have transgressed.”

  “No.”

  “What a vulgar little creature you are, to be sure, for your conduct has been that of a demimondaine of the meanest order.”

  “A demimondaine?” gasped Caroline, her gray eyes widening with shock and anger.

  Marcia’s rich hem swung as she walked slowly along the tall shelves of books, an elegant gloved finger dragging along the embossed spines. “What else are you but a common Cyprian? Only such a creature would stoop to the level you stooped to in order to gain a place in Sir Henry’s carriage. You flaunted yourself quite outrageously, or so he tells me.”

  Caroline felt as if she had been struck. Hal had said that of her? Her trembling fingers crept to her grandmother’s necklace, moving nervously over the chased silver.

  Marcia turned to face her, her eyes cold and filled with loathing. “You are an adventuress, Miss Lexham, and your purpose is quite plain to one and all. Why, you even went to the length of taking rooms in this very hotel!”

  “I didn’t reserve the apartment here; Mr. Jordan, the lawyer, did.”

  “At your instruction, no doubt.”

  “No!”

  “It doesn’t matter, for you will not succeed. You will not succeed in this and you will not succeed in retaining your hold upon Lexham House. I mean to be rid of you, my dear, and quickly.”

  “I do not wish to hear any more of this, Lady Chaddington. Please allow me to leave.”

  “In a moment. First I warn you that I mean what I say. I intend to be rid of you, and soon you will have proof of how determined I am and how powerful is my influence. Take my advice, Miss Lexham, forget your notions of grandeur and forget Sir Henry Seymour, whose derision you have already earned. Take yourself back to the remotenesses of Devon, where you belong. Now, I will bid you good day, and I trust good-bye as well. Be sensible and remove yourself from Town as swiftly as possible. Be tardy or obstinate, and it will be the worse for you. I am an implacable enemy, I promise you that.”

  Her rich skirts rustling, Marcia swept out, followed by her mean-hearted brother. Caroline leaned weakly against the escritoire. She was shaking, her emotions swinging between anger at being so unjustly threatened and abused and a dreadful humiliation that Hal should have expressed such an opinion of her.

  To her face he had been charming and courteous; behind her back he was false and contemptuous. Furiously she blinked back the hot tears, forcing them away as she strove to retain her poise. Then, her head held high, she emerged from the library into the deserted passageway.

  Chapter 12

  Such was her mortification at finding out what Hal had said of her that the thought of perhaps seeing him at breakfast was quite dreadful. To her immeasurable relief, however, neither he nor his sister appeared in the dining room. She did not enjoy her first fashionable breakfast, for she was too distressed after her confrontation with Lady Chaddington.

  She sat almost alone in the elegant dining room, for most of the guests had yet to rise. Although it was now bright and sunny outside, the room was gloomy and depressing, for its windows did not catch the morning sun, and she was glad enough to escape into the lighter hallway to await Mr. Jordan’s arrival.

  The hall was very busy now, the porter was always rising from his chair to open the door, and a constant stream of waiters, their long aprons crackling, hurried up and down the grand staircase with trays, or in and out of the dining room, which was beginning to attract more guests now. Mr. Bassett occupied a prominent position on the tiled floor, smiling obsequiously at the more exalted guests, and outside she could see the liveried footmen parading importantly up and down, exchanging disdainful glances with their opposite numbers outside the nearby Pulteney.

  Sitting on one of the elegant sofas, Caroline watched everything, and she was surprised that she found something with which she could most certainly find fault. A door opposite stood open, and she could see that the room beyond was the coffee room. It was sun-filled and bright, with many white-clothed tables, and it was a much more welcoming proposition for breakfast than the dark dining room. Had she been in the majordomo’s place, she would have seen to it that breakfast was served in the sunny coffee room, of that she had no doubt.

  As she dwelt upon this, a carriage was pulling up at the curb, and its arrival was greeted with immediate service by the footmen, who hurried to open the door, which was adorned with an aristocratic coat-of-arms. A young gentleman with honey-colored hair alighted and entered the hotel, his expression dark, and he had advanced to where she was sitting before she sensed his presence and looked up sharply into those gray eyes which so mirrored her own.

  “My lord earl!”

  Dominic’s lips were thin and cruel. “I would have words with you, madam. In private.”

  “I am sure that whatever you have to say can be said here,” she began, a little apprehensively.

  “In private,” he repeated, the tip of his ebony cane indicating the open door of the deserted coffee room.

  Seeing that they were attracting the interest of both the porter and Mr. Bassett, she decided against her better judgment to do as he wished, and in the coffee room she turned nervously to face him.

  The sunlight streamed over his elegant figure, burnishing the brown of his coat and flashing upon the jeweled pin in his cravat. He did not deign to remove his top hat. His whole being exuded utter contempt and disdain for her. He did not pretend to be polite, for he regarded her as an inferior creature without any right to civility. “I think, madam,” he said in a chilling tone, “that I have been foolish to allow this charade to progress this far. I speak of your unwelcome presence in Town and your impudent pretensions to my property.”

  “The impudence was not mine, sirrah,” she replied coldly, her anger aroused. “It was your father’s for bringing me into his will.”

  “Don’t think to be clever with me, missy!”

  “I’m not being clever, I merely repay you in kind for your arrogant rudeness.”

  His gray eyes flashed furiously. “Be careful, I warn you. Besides, it is immaterial what you think or say, it is what you do which concerns me—and I intend that you shall leave London immediately and that you will renounce any spurious claim you may have to Lexham House.”

  He gave a brief, mirthless laugh. “You fancy yourself to be a fine lady all of a sudden, don’t you? You languish in one of the best hotels in Town, flaunt yourself in an opera box in borrowed fripperies, and believe yourself to be very much the Lexham! But you are only a vulgar little Marchand, and your posturings are laughable.”

  “Really? I did not notice you laughing last night, my lord.”

  His control snapped at this sarcastic defiance, this unwanted reminder of the humiliation he had suffered because of her presence at the opera house. With an oath, he seized her roughly by the arms, shaking her with a savagery that frightened her. She began to struggle, wanting to shout for help but somehow unable to do so. Her efforts were in vain against his furious strength, but then she was saved by the sudden opening of the door as a maid came in with a pile of freshly laundered napkins.

  Dominic released her immediately, turning away with an air of apparent nonchalance, and needing no prompting, Caroline gathered her skirts and hurried out past the startled maid.

  To her immense relief, she saw Mr. Jordan waiting for her in the hall, and she slowed to a sedate walk, composing herself as she approached him. She would not say anything of what had just taken place, for there was no point, and it was probably better left untold. She smiled. “Good morning, Mr. Jordan.”

  “Good morning, Miss Lexham.” His shrewd eyes to
ok in her flustered appearance and noted the emergence of the new Earl of Lexham from the doorway behind her. Dominic walked past without a word, and Caroline lowered her eyes as the lawyer looked at her again. “Another unpleasant confrontation with your kinsman, my dear?”

  “Yes.”

  He waited, but she did not elaborate, and so he offered her his arm. ‘‘Shall we go?”

  “By all means, Mr. Jordan.”

  Dominic’s carriage had gone when at last Mr. Jordan’s chariot drew away from the curb and proceeded west along Piccadilly before turning north into Mayfair. The lawyer glanced at her, wondering what had passed between the two cousins, for whatever it was she was greatly upset by it, he could see that by the way her hands trembled. To break the silence, he spoke of the housekeeper at Lexham House, Mrs. Hollingsworth.

  “She is expecting us and will conduct you over the house, which I fear is very cold, having been closed since last autumn. She has been under some difficulty since the late earl’s demise, for she has hardly any staff, barely sufficient even for an unoccupied house.”

  ‘‘Why is that?”

  He cleared his throat. “I—er—believe they were reluctant to fall under the jurisdiction of the new earl.”

  “I can sympathize with their dilemma,” she replied shortly.

  They drove on toward Mayfair Street in silence, and he began to wonder if her quiet mood was caused solely by her disagreeable Interview with her cousin. The more he considered it, the more the lawyer sensed that there was something else of concern to her, and he hoped for her sake that it had nothing to do with the handsome, charming Sir Henry Seymour, in whose company she had apparently spent a great part of the previous evening.

  The chariot turned into Mayfair Street, and Caroline sat forward, putting aside her problems and thinking instead of the house which was so briefly to be hers. She was aware of holding her breath as the carriage rattled beneath the pedimented gateway and entered the wide, cobbled court before the house. She saw again the flanking wings of stables, coach houses, and kitchens, but it was at Lexham House itself that she gazed as the sound of the carriage’s approach echoed all around.