Derek was considering moving them to the country. After the nightmare last night, the unsettling feeling stayed with him through the morning. With his dismissal from the Runners, nothing really kept him in the city.
The country would provide enough amusements for his young wife, he thought. And working with his tenants would offer him a worthy cause. He thought it over during breakfast, which Vivian did not attend, as she was still sleeping upstairs. While leaning against one arm of his chair, Derek hid his smile behind his hand. There was something quite satisfying about lying in one's wife's arms all night.
***
Nathan McGallagher was able to hide his brogue well when he wanted to. Not that he wasn't proud of being a Scot. It's just that, in his line of work...one had to possess a certain skill for acting. Deception -- and being good at it -- was a key point in survival.
He was hunched over the bar of a dank tavern, dim and smelling of ale and wood shavings. He had in front of him a large tankard of ale, the best of the house, he was told.
It tasted like piss.
But he drank it anyway, pretending to enjoy it.
"So yer travelin' to London?" Nathan asked, breaking his words down to those of the common folk. "Fancy nabobs they got there. With their hats and canes and horses."
The man next to him, already deep in his cups nodded. "Gettin' me a job there, that's why I'm goin'."
"Oh yeah?" Nathan asked, fighting the urge to wince every time he took a drink of the ale. "Good wages?"
"Yeah...yeah...very good. Man named Bergs. Owns a business there, you see."
"Business?" Nathan pretended to sound disinterested. "Everybody say they got a business. Me own cousin tried his hand at it. Sold trinkets an' such, to all those pretty ladies up in those high streets. Ain't made any money, the poor fool. I told 'im, I told 'im it wouldn't work...got him a good whore at one o' them brothels though. The whore loved those trinkets!"
Nathan lifted his drink as if toasting the whore. Caught up in the spirit of their discussion, the man clinked his tankard and drank. Then he slapped a hand over Nathan's back.
"Not just any kind of business. Bergs has got a successful 'un. He's into cargo."
"Cargo?" Nathan grunted.
"Cargo." The man nodded, then stared at Nathan for a long time and leaned in close. "You're down on yer luck, why don't ya come with me and see if I can get ya a job. We be moving shipment around. Pay's good and I heard we get to play with the merchandise."
"How's that?" Nathan put a dazed look into his eyes and took another drink. "What sort of merchandise?"
The man smiled almost gleefully, his arm hooking over Nathan's shoulder in camaraderie. "Women."
"Pshaw!" Nathan chuckled. "Yer be fantasin' about women too much. No man has women as cargo."
"Bergs does, I swear upon me own mum. He runs a business in...slavery. English roses," the man lifted his hand and waved it around as if reading a store sign. "Taken from their homes and brought to your own."
"They take young ones then." Nathan said with a bit more interest.
"He sells 'em as servants in America or in India. Or even to the highest bidder. As servants, private mistresses, mail-order brides, you name it. I plan on gettin' me one."
"I could use one meself." Nathan smirked. Satisfied, the man slapped him on the back again. "I'll see to gettin' you a job. You'll be thankin' me. It'll be like a harem there."
Indeed, thought Nathan. He finished his drink and after given some information about finding Bergs, he left the tavern. He was getting somewhere now, he thought. Bergs, the British slaver. The Runners had been onto him for a year now but finally were able to get a lead on where his so-called business was.
Bergs was responsible for kidnapping young girls and women of the lower and middle class to be sold off.
Compared to his other assignments, this one was proving to be an easy one. If everything went according to plan and if Bergs was indeed, still on English soil, he could be thrown in jail within a week.
***
His ward was returning from a holiday at Bath today. Lord Vincent Garner wasn't all too thrilled about it, namely because of his current mood. After last night's discovery of Vivian in the arms of Trentham, Vincent Garner had a restless and sleepless night. He sat in his study reading quietly in his favorite chair as the grandfather clock just outside chimed one.
Helen DeGarrick was twenty and his ward of one year. How she became his ward was a long, complicated series of events that didn't countenance explanation unless absolutely necessary. In short, her father left her with a modest inheritance and as she was still unmarried, had been thrust into Vincent's care.
Vincent barely knew her, as he and Helen's father had been school chums decades ago and rarely spoke. But Vincent must have left some impression on George DeGarrick, a strong one for the man to list Vincent Garner as the sole guardian of his only child.
As Vincent knew nothing of being a guardian and Helen being a shy young woman, those first six months had passed in silence. She was mourning her father and he had no courage to try to comfort a crying woman. A woman shedding tears had always left him feeling helpless. After that, Helen wanted to spend the remainder of her mourning period in Bath. He had no objection.
They barely knew each other, so combined with his mood of feeling pathetic and unworthy, Vincent wanted only the solitude of his book and a good cup of tea.
At one-fifteen, he heard the faint sounds of Helen's arrival. Fifteen minutes later, a soft knock sounded at the study door.
"Come in." He said curtly.
"Miss Helen, milord." His butler, Conrad announced. Vincent dreaded the moment he would have to reacquaint himself with his ward.
A slender, beautiful creature appeared at the doorway, dressed in sprigged white muslin and pink rosebuds in her black hair. An inner glow seemed to radiate from that pale skin and green eyes danced, though her lips were curled only in a slight smile of greeting.
"Lord Garner." Helen greeted.
Awkwardly, Vincent Garner stood up from his chair. "M-Miss Helen." Damn it, he was stammering again. He clenched his jaw together to try to control that quiver one felt when one could feel a stammer coming on. "I...hope your journey was pleasant."
His voice came out stilted and he silently berated himself for it when he saw some of the light disappear from Helen's eyes.
"It was uneventful, but comfortable enough. Thank you for having everything arranged." Vincent sat back down in his chair, but left his book closed. "I did what I had to."
He could see her glance around the room, debating whether to stay or leave. Then without waiting for an invitation, Helen took a seat on the sofa across from him. Her hands were ungloved and Vincent found himself watching as she folded them gracefully in her lap.
"Your holiday in Bath...was it well spent?"
She smiled. "Yes. I met some interesting people and the waters benefited my health." Then she paused. "I heard of your engagement...I'm sorry to hear it will not take place. The young woman, her name..."
"Vivian Locke." He supplied moodily.
"Yes, Miss Locke, she married another?"
Vincent broodingly opened his book again and forced his eyes to where he left off. "To Lord Trentham. I d-don't wish to s-speak of it." He clenched his jaw tightly. He wanted her to go away and leave him be. He didn't want to stammer or think of Vivian.
A long silence passed. Embarrassed that she angered her guardian so easily and on the first day of her return, she stood up and went to the door. "I will see you at dinner then, Lord Garner."
Dinner with Lord Garner was a lavish affair. The table was set like a grand dinner party complete with large bouquets of flowers and an elaborate setting of crystal, silver and porcelain. He owned one of the largest houses in the London and its rooms were matched in size by the scale of furniture and chandeliers that adorned it.
He sat stiffly in his chair and stared down at his plate as they waited for the first course. Helen studied him from beneath her eyelashes, trying to decipher him. He made her nervous, probably because of his abrupt and cold manner. Yet she trusted her father's judgment. She was convinced her father would never have entrusted her into the man's care if there wasn't some semblance of goodness.
"I've read in the newspaper that recently -- " Lord Garner scowled and looked up. "Why do you read the paper?" He grumbled. "Women shouldn't f-fill their heads with s-such stories of tragedy and coldness."
She frowned a little. "I'm afraid you're very old fashioned, Lord Garner. Women want to be informed these days."
"T-they should b-be tending to their husbands and c-children."
"I happen to think women are talented in many things and are able to stay well informed of England's happenings while being good wives and mothers."
He only shook his head and remained quiet for the rest of the evening's meal. Near the end during dessert, he said, "I'm going out. To the opera."
Helen's face lit up. "Oh, may I go? I've never been -- "
"You won't like it." He said quickly, his face flushing at the cheeks.
"Please?"
Fighting back a particularly strong stammer, he ended up barking, "Fine!" He hated it when it happened, so he stood up and tossed his napkin down. "W-wear s-something ap-appropriate."
He escaped while he still could, before he ended up making a complete fool of himself. He was making a terrible first impression on his ward and perhaps that was the reason why he felt the need to leave her company as soon as possible.
He wanted her to like him, even just a little. After all, he was her guardian until she married and for once, he wanted someone to talk to. He had dreaded her arrival hours before, but after seeing how pretty and sweet she was, he wanted her around after all.
It would be nice to have some company around. Loneliness began to eat away at him in the night and it hit particularly hard last evening when he thought of Vivian. His longing to have a family of his own had been killed the very moment he discovered she had married someone else.
So until Helen married, he would have the pleasure of her company...at least until his abrupt manners drove her away.
***
Men displayed their wealth by dressing their ladies in splendor. Attending the opera offered just an occasion for them to show off. Grand dames had their hair twisted up with elaborate feathers of exotic birds, while others adorned their tresses with jeweled clips and pretty blooms.
