A Commercial Enterprise Page 5

  “Oh, I doubt if I shall be lodging at an establishment as grand as the Oxenford, Sir Henry.”

  “Has your uncle’s lawyer made arrangements for you?”

  “I do not know.”

  “Who is he?”

  “Mr. Jordan of Maitland Court.”

  “Ah, I know him. He is an excellent fellow and you may rely upon him to do right by you, for although he acts for the Lexhams, he is in fact a most honest and upright fellow—as lawyers go, of course.” He grinned mischievously. “He also looks after the welfare of his stomach, so I think you will most certainly be sampling French cuisine, Miss Lexham, if Jordan is involved.”

  “What is French cooking really like, Sir Henry? Richard says that it is nothing but over-rich sauce poured over indifferent ingredients and is not to be in any way compared with good, plain English cooking.”

  He laughed. “There is John Bull personified! However, in one thing he is right, and that is that French cooking is in no way to be compared with the English variety, but when I say that, of course, I speak from personal preference. No doubt your cousin would loathe the fare at the Oxenford, and that is his privilege.”

  “Presumably the Oxenford has a French chef?”

  His eyes took on a thoughtful expression, an almost faraway look which she did not think was entirely on account of her innocent question. “Yes,” he murmured, “it boasts the services of one of the finest French chefs in England, one Gaspard Duvall, late of Chez Grignon in the Rue Vivienne, Paris.”

  “He sounds very impressive.”

  “Oh, he is, Miss Lexham. He is. As a master of his art I believe that he excels Escudier, Ude, Jacquier, and possibly even Carême—although I would be strongly challenged on that last name.”

  The names meant nothing to her. She lowered her eyes, feeling suddenly very Selford indeed.

  They drove on for a mile or so before the carriage turned at last into the yard of a busy inn, where they partook of an excellent breakfast, which while it was obviously not the work of a Gaspard Duvall, was very tasty. The eggs were done just as she liked them, the bacon was perfectly crisped, the bread warm and fresh, and the coffee strong and aromatic.

  Much fortified and refreshed, they drove on toward London, and with each mile now, Caroline’s excitement mounted. For as long as she could remember, she had longed to visit the capital, and at last the moment was almost upon her.

  In spite of the smoke and mist which hung in a pall over the city, she was not disappointed in it. It was so immense, so noisy and thronged after the quiet of Dartmoor, and as the carriage passed through Tyburn turnpike, she felt she was entering the heart not only of London, but of the world itself.

  Mindful of her wish to see Lexham House, Hal instructed the coachman to take that route for Maitland Court, and so instead of driving on down Oxford Street, the carriage turned south into Park Lane and then east once more into Mayfair.

  Through tree-lined avenues they drove, and around quiet, gracious squares where the houses were very elegant and exclusive. At last she looked up and saw the name “Mayfair Street” engraved high on a wall, and the carriage began to go more slowly as it approached a high brick wall with a pedimented gateway, and it was through this gateway that she caught her first glimpse of the house in which her father had been born.

  It was a beautiful mansion, not all that large by London standards, but certainly very handsome indeed. Set at the far end of a cobbled courtyard that was flanked by coach houses, stables, and other offices, the house rose splendidly against a background of evergreen trees in the gardens at the rear. Perfectly symmetrical, it was breathtakingly simple with its tall, rectangular windows, the flight of white marble steps to the plain door, and the grand balcony extending the width of the floor immediately above.

  She gazed at it, oddly overcome by seeing at last the house from which she would always be excluded. There was something sad about the building, something closed and unused. There was no smoke rising from any of the chimneys and the windows were all shuttered.

  The carriage drove on and she sat back. “What a lovely house it is, Sir Henry.”

  “The Duchess of Devonshire considers it to be the prettiest house in Town.”

  “I’m sure it must be,” she declared, “But tell me, Sir Henry, are my relatives not residing there at the moment? It looks closed.”

  “The Lexhams are only in Town for the Season, Miss Country Mouse, and therefore will not officially be in residence until April or thereabouts. They have come up from County Durham because of the old earl’s death, but I believe they are staying at the Clarendon in New Bond Street. Opening Lexham House for a stay of such short duration would be prohibitively expensive.”

  “I don’t know anything at all, do I?” she asked suddenly, painfully aware of the gulf between the life she knew and the world he moved in.

  “But you will learn swiftly enough,” he replied. “Have no fear of that.”

  They were driving along Piccadilly now, and in a while he pointed out the Oxenford Hotel, with its pink walls and the balconies overlooking Green Park opposite. Liveried footmen paraded up and down the pavement outside the entrance, rushing to greet a gleaming barouche which drew up at the curb. He also pointed out the Pulteney Hotel, which was nearby. It was here that the czar and his sister had greeted the huge crowds from their balcony.

  Apart from exclusive hotels, Piccadilly seemed to contain a vast number of coach offices, for the street was thronged with mails and stages, and with countless travelers, either just arrived in Town or just about to embark for the country. Private curricles and cabriolets threaded their way in and out of the crush, the ribbons tooled with great dash by young blades, some of whom reminded her only too much of the unpleasant Lord Fynehurst, for they too were almost ridiculously fashionable and foppish.

  Had Caroline not been so excited and enthralled by it all, she would have been overwhelmed. Hal watched in amusement as she gazed almost breathlessly out of the window. There was more Lexham in her than there was Marchand, he thought, for she was a town mouse to her fingertips. If she returned to the wilds of outlandish Dartmoor, it would not only be her loss, it would be London’s loss too.

  Just as the church clock in Maitland Court struck eleven, the travel-stained carriage drew up outside Mr. Jordan’s premises and the footmen jumped down to open the door and carry her valise into the building. Hal alighted and then handed her down to the pavement.

  “I believe I have delivered you on time, Miss Lexham.”

  “I hope that you will not be late for your appointment, Sir Henry.”

  “There is no fear of that.”

  “Thank you for your kind assistance, I am truly indebted to you.”

  “No, Miss Lexham, I am indebted to you,” he corrected.

  “In what way?”

  “Your sweet presence was a delight and certainly brightened a long and lonely journey.”

  She looked up into his eyes, realizing quite suddenly that this was the moment of parting and she would probably never see him again. The realization came as a shock, and was not without a little pain. “Good-bye, Sir Henry,” she said, her voice deceptively light.

  Without warning, he pulled her close, kissing her fully on the lips. “Good-bye, Caro Lexham,” he murmured. “Please do not cherish too saintly an impression of me, for I have been struggling against very base thoughts concerning your person.”

  Fleetingly his lips brushed hers again, and then he had climbed back into the carriage, which immediately drove swiftly away in the direction of Westminster.

  She stood on the pavement, her senses reeling and her lips still tingling from his kiss. Tears pricked her eyelids as the carriage turned the corner of Maitland Court and passed out of sight, out of her life forever. “Good-bye, Hal,” she whispered.

  Chapter 6

  Before going into the chambers, she glanced along the pavement, where several elegant carriages waited at the curb, and on the panels of one she saw the Lexha
m coat-of-arms. She knew that this was Dominic’s carriage.

  Looking up at the facade of the building, she was suddenly aware of how close she was to the family of which she was part, but which did not want even to acknowledge her existence. A nervousness overtook her; gone was the excitement of seeing London, the sense of having escaped from Selford for a little while; instead there was the uneasy certainty that no pleasant experience awaited her when she entered the building.

  With a final glance at the corner where last she had seen Hal’s carriage, she went up the shallow, worn steps and into the cold hallway. A clerk hurried up the stairs to inform the lawyer of her arrival, and a moment later Mr. Jordan came down to greet her. He was a short, stout man, and his round face was pink and flustered, as if he was anticipating a disagreeable hour or so at the hands of the Lexhams.

  His short-queued wig rested uncertainly on his balding head as he bowed over her hand, and she noticed that his black coat appeared to be several inches too small around his ample waist. She tried to bolster her flagging courage by telling herself that before he had discovered the delights of French cuisine, his coat had probably fit him excellently.

  “Good morning, Miss Lexham. I’m so glad that you have been able to come all this way.”

  “Good morning, Mr. Jordan.”

  “I was concerned that you should be present.”

  “I gained that impression from your letter, Mr. Jordan, but truly I cannot imagine why you think I should be here, for it is hardly likely that I am a beneficiary.”

  Still aware of the need to screw herself up to a certain pitch in order to face her family, she went on: “Indeed, my only real reason for making the journey was so that I would at last be able to see London. There, is that not a dreadfully impious admission?” She laughed nervously.

  “Please don’t be anxious, Miss Lexham,” he said kindly, “for in me you have a friend. You are Philip Lexham’s daughter, and for me you need no other recommendation.”

  She stared at him. “But you are my late uncle’s lawyer—”

  He smiled. “I am a man of business, Miss Lexham, and perhaps I have not always allowed my heart to rule my head. Of late, however, as you will soon discover, I have attempted to correct that fault in my character. Shall we join everyone else now?”

  Slowly she nodded, accepting the arm he offered, and together they went up the staircase. She heard the low sound of refined conversation emanating from beyond the door at the top of the stairs. In spite of her efforts, she could not dispel her nervousness, and she knew that the hand resting on the lawyer’s black sleeve was trembling as they approached the door.

  A large group of elegantly clad ladies and gentlemen occupied the room. Dressed uniformly in the deepest mourning, they presented a daunting sight as they turned as one to look at her. Their eyes were cold and their faces unsmiling, and the room fell horribly silent. Their icy disdain was almost tangible, and not one word was uttered by anyone.

  Her heart began to pound, for this ordeal was already far worse than she had imagined. It seemed that she could hear Richard’s warning echoing in her head. They will never forgive you for being a living reminder of an episode they would prefer to sweep under the ancestral carpet. They’ll scorn your country ways and your country clothes. They’ve ignored you all your life and they are not about to change now.

  A young man stood apart by the window, and she knew immediately that this was her cousin Dominic, the new earl. His honey-colored hair, so like her own, was disheveled and bright in the pale winter sunlight, and his profile was quite perfect as he gazed out, not even glancing at her, although he must have known she was there.

  He was tall and slender, and dressed very fashionably, although he was no fop. He made no concession at all to his father’s death, and in this he was alone among the Lexhams, with the exception of Caroline herself. His coat was dark green and excellent, his breeches a tight-fitting pale gray, and golden spurs gleamed on the heels of his top boots. His cravat was worn in the unstarched style so popular with young gentlemen of fashion, and a large bunch of seals was suspended from his fob. He was very handsome, there could be no disputing that, but there was a chill about him that made her feel instinctively that what Hal had said of him was the truth.

  He turned at last and she saw the hard twist of his sensual mouth. For a moment he surveyed her in silence, and then he deliberately crossed to a vacant chair, flung himself impatiently into it, and then glanced at the lawyer. “Get on with this circus, Jordan, I haven’t got all day.”

  His action in seating himself while she remained standing was a calculated insult which only a fool could have failed to note. She lowered her eyes, wishing that her ordeal was over so that she could escape and forget that she was part of this prideful family.

  Mr. Jordan hastily conducted her to a chair and then sat at an immense desk. Unlocking a drawer, he took out a rolled, sealed document, which he opened and then set on the green baize before him. Clearing his throat, he began to read, and as he spoke the familiar opening lines, it was evident that everyone expected the will to be merely a formality, but as he progressed, all eyes were suddenly on him, for it was soon obvious that this was no ordinary last will and testament.

  ... I have always been a proud, strict man, conscious of my duty to my family and aware at all times of my rank and position in life. Unlike my foolish, contemptible brother, Philip, I saw to it that I married suitably, into a titled and respected family, thus forming a union which was acceptable in the eyes of the society of which I was part.

  My brother’s actions brought shame and scorn upon the name of Lexham, but through me it has been restored to the respect and dignity it should always command. Philip was unworthy to bear such a noble and ancient name, and I see it as my duty to make certain that my successor proves to be in my image and not in the image of my brother.

  I have viewed with some alarm the profligate conduct of my son Dominic, and I have no intention at all of allowing him to fritter away the family fortune which he so fondly imagines is now his to do with as he pleases. In order to curb his many excesses, I have imposed certain strict conditions if he wishes to inherit that which I have chosen to leave him....

  For some time an increasing stir had been passing through the gathering, but now an incredulous murmuring broke out. Caroline kept her eyes lowered as she quelled the anger her dead uncle had aroused with his disparaging remarks about her father. Dominic remained motionless and silent, his handsome face very still indeed.

  Mr. Jordan glanced uneasily around and then cleared his throat once again. Silence returned, and he continued to read.

  For a period of six calendar months from the day upon which this document is read, my son will not receive one penny from my estate. At the end of that period he will receive almost everything, provided he has limited his conduct and proved himself to be reformed. He must be entirely free of debt, both gaming and otherwise, he must no longer keep company with rogues and women of no character, he must have taken a suitable wife, a woman of name and property, and his own name must be free of any ignominy. If he does not do these things, then another period of six calendar months will ensue, and then another, and so on until he bows to my wishes and becomes a man worthy of the title of the thirteenth Earl of Lexham...

  At this there was immediate uproar, for no one could believe what they were hearing. Dominic had been listening in stunned silence, but now he leaped to his feet, his eyes diamond bright and his lips thin with fury. “Is this some jest of yours, Jordan? If it is, then I’ll have your miserable hide!”

  “It is no jest, Lord Lexham,” replied the lawyer, raising his voice to be heard above the clamor.

  “I’ll contest it!” cried Dominic. “I’ll take it to every court in the land if need be!”

  “You cannot contest it with any hope of success, my lord, for your father was most definitely of sound mind when he made the will. And perhaps I should warn you that he deliberately chose as one of t
he witnesses a gentleman of such rank and eminence that I do not believe you would wish to offend him by challenging a document to which he had appended his name. I speak of the Prince Regent himself.”

  Dominic stared at him, and the prince’s name was not lost upon the others, who heard it in spite of their disorderly protests. Abruptly the room was quiet again, and everyone looked at Dominic. His face was very pale, and his demeanor chilling as he held the lawyer’s nervous gaze. “Correct me if I am wrong, Jordan,” he said softly, “but did you not read out that I would inherit almost everything?”

  “That is indeed what I read out, Lord Lexham.” The lawyer was uneasy.

  “From which I understand that this damned charade is not yet over.”

  “I fear not, my lord.”

  “Then proceed, lawyer.” Dominic’s voice was almost silky.

  “If you w-would please be seated once again, m-my lord,” stammered the unfortunate Mr. Jordan, beads of perspiration clearly visible on his glistening forehead.

  “I will remain standing.”

  Mr. Jordan’s hand shook as he picked up the will again, and he was obviously very uneasy indeed, just as Dominic intended he should be.

  As I believe that my son will think me not to be in earnest about these conditions, I am going to demonstrate my firmness of purpose in a most signal way. I do, therefore, omit from his inheritance a very important part of my estate. That part is Lexham House itself....

  The lawyer paused, expecting another angry outburst, but the room was absolutely silent. From where she sat Caroline could see Dominic’s face very clearly, and although he did not move a muscle, she could tell that he was immeasurably shocked. But when he spoke, his voice was very calm. “To whom does the house go?”