A Commercial Enterprise Read online

  “No,” she replied, laughing, “but I know that he would never forgive me if he discovered that I had met you and yet had failed to ask for a reliable tip concerning the coming season.”

  “Deuce take it, madam, you are impudent!” he said, pretending to be stern. “And you are by far too concerned still with pleasing your disagreeable cousin.”

  “He isn’t disagreeable, truly he isn’t.”

  “I say that he is, Miss Lexham, for any man is disagreeable who thinks only of himself and refuses to see the point of view of others. However, as it is you who asks for a tip, and not Mr. Rat himself, then I shall oblige you. I have a nag named Nero which is believed to have excellent prospects for this year’s Derby. I warn you, though, that my rivals have put it about that the beast has woodworm in its peg leg, which is a damnable lie, for the wood is perfectly sound.”

  “How fortunate for the horse.”

  He smiled. She interested him greatly, for it was not often that one found a young lady with such an impish and irrepressible sense of humor, or one who had come direct from a secluded, restricted country life and yet was prepared to parry words with a man like himself.

  Initially he had wondered if he would soon regret the impulse of offering to convey her to London, but already he knew that he would not. He studied her as she looked out of the window again. Put her in fine lace and costly silks, and she could be from one of the highest families in the land.

  There was something mysterious about her. She was cousin to a lowly squire and she dressed accordingly, but there was nothing of the country squire about the quality of the silver and ruby necklace at her throat which she toyed with so frequently. How did she come to possess such a costly piece of jewelry? His idle curiosity prompted him to wonder what her first name was. Had she been of aristocratic birth, undoubtedly she would have been a Georgiana or a Henrietta, but she was not of aristocratic birth and so was most likely a Susan or an Anne. Almost before he realized it, he found himself putting the question into words.

  “Forgive my curiosity, Miss Lexham, but what is your first name?”

  “Caroline. Why do you ask?”

  “Oh, no particular reason.” So, she was a Caro, which was as aristocratic a name as any.

  “May I ask you a question, Sir Henry?”

  “Not if it is to inquire what my other names are, for I promise you that wild horses could not drag that embarrassing information from me.”

  She smiled. “I was merely going to ask you if you could tell me a little about the Duke of Wellington, for I know that you are his friend.”

  For a fleeting moment she thought his smile seemed to falter. She even imagined she saw a guardedness creep into his eyes, but then it had gone and his former good humor had returned. “And what is it that you wish to know?”

  “Everything, I suppose.”

  “That is too tall an order.”

  “Just tell me if he is indeed the paragon the newspapers say he is.”

  “On the whole I have to say that he is, unbelievable as that may seem. He is first and foremost a soldier, of course, and his manner is therefore that of a soldier, but he is also very witty and entertaining company. He is a staunch and loyal friend, and an infuriatingly stubborn fellow when he so feels, especially where his own personal safety is concerned, for he believes that over-attention to such things frequently interferes with the performance of his duty. On the field of battle he shows genius and diabolical cunning, which qualities he also shows in the corridors of Westminster. With one glance he can make a man his friend for life, but he can also with one glance quell an army. So you see, Miss Lexham, he is indeed a great man.”

  “And you admire him very much indeed.”

  “I admire no one more.”

  “Is it true that the Bonapartists attempted to murder him in Brussels last summer?”

  Again she thought for a moment that she detected a wariness in his manner. “Yes, Miss Lexham,” he said after a slight hesitation. “It is true.”

  “What happened? The newspapers said so very little.”

  “There was not a great deal to comment upon. Two French journalists lay in wait for the duke in a Brussels park after he had been to a dinner engagement, but purely by chance he took a different route.”

  She was horrified. “And but for that chance decision, the duke could have been assassinated?”

  “I fear that that indeed could have been the case.”

  “But how was the plot discovered?”

  He looked swiftly at her. “You ask a great many questions, Miss Lexham.”

  “Oh, forgive me, I did not mean to—” She broke off, suddenly flustered.

  His eyes softened. “No, you must forgive me, Miss Lexham, for I should not have addressed you so sharply. You are quite right to wonder how an unsuccessful plot should have been discovered, and the answer—I should imagine—is that governments employ secret agents, spies to infiltrate enemy organizations.”

  “Such men must lead very dangerous lives.”

  He smiled faintly. ‘‘They do indeed, Miss Lexham.”

  “However, at least the duke is safe now.”

  “For the moment.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You surely do not imagine that the Bonapartists will let the matter rest there?”

  “Well, I—”

  “They will not, Miss Lexham, they will not cease until they have put an end to the Iron Duke, or until the day Bonaparte himself passes away.”

  Something about the way he spoke made her want to shiver. She fell silent, looking out of the window. He smiled to himself. What, he wondered, would the delightful Miss Caro Lexham say if she knew that within the last week in Paris there had been another attempt to assassinate the duke? This latest attack had come perilously close to success, with a shot being fired at the duke’s carriage as he returned to his mansion in the Rue Champs-Elysées.

  The duke had not been hurt and the whole affair was being kept secret for the time being, but there was immense and deep concern in Downing Street. These Bonapartist plots were becoming more daring and more efficient, for to be able to claim the life of the hated Iron Duke would be the greatest of feathers in their evil cap. They would be encouraged as never before and their cause would be given an impetus which could lead to the restoration of Bonaparte upon the throne of France. That was something which could not be contemplated by the victors of Waterloo.

  He took out his fob watch. They were making good speed, and if the roads were clear all the way to London, he would be well in time for his appointment with the prime minister. He smiled a little, for Marcia had been right when she guessed that there was more to his recent activities than met the eye; it was this latest attack on the duke’s life which had cut short the pleasant dalliance at Petwell.

  He glanced out at the Devon countryside, so bleak and forbidding, and thoughts of Marcia faded away as his concentration returned to the matter in hand. The situation was far more serious than anyone in the government wished to admit, for the Bonapartists had now daringly brought their cause across the Channel and were known to be in London itself. Unless they were foiled, and their most ruthless assassin captured, the Duke of Wellington could be murdered in the heart of England’s capital.

  Chapter 5

  They continued to make excellent speed, the roads proving to be as clear as Hal had hoped. He had arranged in advance for fresh horses to be in readiness at a number of inns along the way, as well as another coachman to replace the weary man who had driven so magnificently through the dangerous Devon terrain.

  Hal’s air of quiet urgency made Caroline wonder greatly about the nature of the appointment he had in London. What could it be about? Whatever it was, it was important enough for no expense to be spared, for the extra horses and coachman must have been costing a great deal. But he gave no intimation of his purpose, and she could not even begin to guess.

  The farther east they went, the milder the weather became. There
was no snow now and the teams of fresh horses moved swiftly and easily over the broad highways. Their halts were as brief as possible, but toward the end of the afternoon, with Exeter behind them now, they paused at another inn to eat, Hal insisting that she join him at the table. However, such was his desire to press on that they did not remain long at their repast.

  Day gave way to night, and now the lamps pierced the darkness as the carriage sped onward. Caroline’s head lolled against the green leather, her eyes closed. Her bonnet lay on the seat beside her and her tousled hair was coming free of its pins. Hal leaned across to tuck the rug around her once more, and as he did so he paused to look at her face. How very lovely she was, and how charmingly unaware of the fact. She was a beguiling, unaffected creature, a challenge, and if she weren’t a lady, he would not have refrained from attempting to seduce her. Also, affairs of the heart had no place in his life at the moment.

  Drawing the blinds down over the dark windows, he sat back again. He did not feel at all tired, his mind was too active, too preoccupied with the danger surrounding the Duke of Wellington, the hero of Waterloo, his own personal friend, and the man it had become his duty to protect at all costs.

  As dawn approached he was still awake, but Caroline slept on, her head rocking very gently to the motion of the carriage and her honey-colored hair tumbling in profusion over her shoulders. Hal glanced outside and saw the pale gray lightening the eastern sky and he felt more relaxed suddenly, for now there could be no doubt that he would be in time for his appointment in Downing Street. With a snap he raised the blinds, and Caroline’s sleepy eyes opened.

  “Good morning, Miss Lexham.”

  For a moment she forgot where she was. A stray curl rested against her cheek and she pushed it aside, sitting up swiftly as memory returned and she realized what an untidy, disheveled sight she must be.

  He smiled. “Don’t look so concerned, for I promise you that even now you look disconcertingly splendid.”

  “I don’t, I look positively dreadful,” she replied, returning the smile. “Where are we?” She glanced out at the unfamiliar, flat countryside.

  “I don’t know precisely, but I do know that London lies not too far ahead now. We should both be in time for our respective appointments.”

  She took the few remaining pins from her hair and began to swiftly comb it. It was not a ladylike thing to do, but really she did not feel able to sit there without doing something to rectify her appearance. In a matter of minutes she was neat and reasonably tidy again, and as she straightened her grandmother’s necklace, she felt much more presentable.

  He glanced at the necklace, his curiosity about it returning. “That is a very handsome bauble, Miss Country Mouse.”

  “It belonged to my grandmother. She was the eleventh countess, I believe.”

  Her words startled him. “Your grandmother was a countess?”

  “Yes, she was the Countess of Lexham. The late twelfth earl was my uncle and it is his will I am going to hear.”

  He was unable to conceal his surprise. “So, you are one of the Lexhams?”

  She nodded. “Perhaps a great deal would become more clear to you if I explained that my father was Philip Lexham, the late earl’s only brother.”

  “The black sheep of the family. Yes, that does explain a few things, and it certainly accounts for my never having encountered you in society before.”

  “It also accounts for my unfashionable, plain appearance.”

  “I did not say that.”

  “No, Sir Henry,” she said with a smile, “but you could not be blamed for thinking it.”

  “I admit that I did not for one moment imagine you would belong to the exalted Lexhams, for to begin with you are too sweet and charming. Have you ever met any of them?”

  “No.”

  “Then I cannot in all honesty say that you have missed a great deal.”

  “You do not mince your words, Sir Henry.”

  “Where the House of Lexham is concerned, I do not, and that is especially so of the new earl, who, I realize now, is your first cousin.”

  “Dominic? Yes, he is.”

  “He is a harbinger of mischief, Miss Lexham, and I warn you to be on your guard where he is concerned. He is, without a doubt, the most disagreeable, odious, untrustworthy, and sly insect it has ever been my misfortune to come across. He does everything to excess, whether it be gambling, indulging his considerable appetite for the ladies, lying, cheating, or anything else. In my opinion there is no depth to which he is incapable of sinking. He would, as they say, sell his own grandmother for sixpence.”

  She was shocked at this blunt assessment of her cousin and his apparent legion of faults. “He cannot be as black as you paint him, Sir Henry.”

  “He can be and he is, Miss Lexham. Unfortunately, however, his looks are deceiving, for he has the appearance of an angel.”

  He looked at her again. So, the mystery about her was explained. Of course she was closely related to Dominic Lexham, how had he failed to note the incredible likeness before? They shared the same honey-colored hair, the same large gray eyes, and the same fine-boned features; but where the new Earl of Lexham was all that was bad, his lovely country cousin was in truth the angel of the family.

  She sensed that he was still thinking about her unexpectedly grand connections. “Well, my cousin’s character is hardly likely to be of any concern to me, Sir Henry, for I do not expect to have much to do with him during my brief stay in London. But now that you know I am one of the Lexhams, would you be very cross with me if I asked if it would be possible for us to drive along Mayfair Street when we reach Town?”

  “To see Lexham House? Of course I am not cross, and certainly we may drive along Mayfair Street.” He looked outside at the ever-brightening morning. “Miss Lexham, I believe I am hungry enough to eat the proverbial horse. At what time did you say your appointment was?”

  “Eleven o’clock.”

  “Excellent, for my appointment is a little after that, which means that we have more than enough time to partake of a hearty inn breakfast.” He lowered the glass to instruct the coachman to pull in at the next suitable hostelry.

  She felt that she had already imposed too much upon his generosity, and could not, therefore, enjoy breakfast at his expense too. “Sir Henry—”

  “Think nothing of it, Miss Lexham,” he interrupted, knowing exactly what was on her mind, “for I have more than enjoyed your company. Besides, I loathe eating alone; it is uncivilized and disagreeable in the extreme. Tell me, in the far recesses of Dartmoor, do you usually enjoy a gargantuan breakfast?”

  She smiled. “My cousin does, Sir Henry, but I certainly do not. He likes nothing better than a spread of cold meat, beefsteak pie, cheese, and beer, to say nothing of the more usual bacon and eggs and fresh bread.”

  “Dear God,” he murmured dryly, “the fellow must be built like Goliath. However, you will be pleased to note that I am a genteel London weakling, and I breakfast accordingly.”

  “I’m relieved to hear it,” she replied, her tone a clever reproduction of his own.

  It was not lost upon him. “Miss Country Mouse, I perceive that you have already begun to metamorphose into a sharp-tongued town rodent.”

  “I am told that I have always been thus, Sir Henry,” she said, smiling.

  “By your overbearing cousin Richard and his clique of hunting, shooting, and fishing friends?”

  “Yes.”

  “They would naturally say that of you, for such dull fellows have little appreciation of a woman’s wit.” He smiled.

  “I know,” she said with a sigh.

  “You would make a dreadful lady of Selford Manor, Caro Lexham, you may take my word for that.”

  “Is that a compliment?” she asked hesitantly.

  “Oh, yes, it most certainly is,” he replied softly, his hazel eyes almost lazy as he looked at her.

  She colored just a little, for she could not help but be affected by what he said an
d the way he said it. From the outset she had been drawn to him, sensing that he was a man apart, so singular and different that she would never be able to forget him. Never before had she experienced an emotion so strong and instantaneous; but she knew that it was an emotion she must put firmly from her mind, for she was no Lady Chaddington, and it was to the Lady Chaddingtons of this world that men like Hal Seymour turned, not the Caroline Lexhams.

  He watched her, wondering what she was thinking. How easy it was to bring that charming color to her cheeks and to make her look so delightfully confused and uncertain. It would indeed be pleasant to lay siege to her, for the prospect of her eventual sweet surrender was tantamount to the blackmailing of his senses.

  He smiled wryly to himself, for had she known his present train of thoughts, her illusions about the gallant and gentlemanly Sir Henry Seymour would have been more than a little shattered. Best to speak of other things. Breakfast, perhaps.

  “I trust we do not have to travel much farther before we find an inn,” he said. “And I also trust that when we do find it, it provides an acceptable table.”

  “Surely all the inns on such an important road to London would be excellent, Sir Henry,”

  “Possibly. Whatever they provide, however, it will not be up to Oxenford standards.”

  “Oxenford? I don’t understand.”

  “The Oxenford is a fashionable hotel in Piccadilly. My sister and I lodge there at the moment while my house in Hanover Square is being refurbished.”

  “You lodge in a hotel?” She was surprised.

  “Why yes, is that so strange?” He was amused at her reaction. “Hotels like the Oxenford are not like inns, Miss Lexham; they are exclusive and expensive and are fast becoming very fashionable indeed, especially since the Czar of Russia and his sister, the Duchess of Oldenburg, stayed at the Pulteney three years or so ago. Kings and princes find the best London hotels very much to their liking, and that in turn means that it is quite proper for gentlemen to take their wives, sisters, and daughters there too. Ladies do not like to stay at inns, but they find the new hotels very acceptable indeed. And of course, the hotels provide the very best of French cuisine, which is exceeding fashionable. In fact, I would say that French cooking is practically de rigueur at the moment, as you will no doubt discover for yourself.”