Chapter Eighteen
Three weeks later, Nash sat behind his desk in the library, gazing out the window at the cloudy day. The prior evening, the second meeting for the investors in the Indian cloth venture had gone well. The man who’d conducted the meeting had laid out a plan that involved a certain amount of risk, but in the end, could reap a tidy reward for those willing to take the chance.
Nash was willing.
He’d agreed to invest a good portion of Arabella’s dowry, leaving the rest for needed repairs and new equipment to improve production on his tenants’ farms. Which led him to thoughts of the audience his man of business had requested this morning. He’d set Mr. Bowers on a quest to gather as much information as he could about Mr. Jones and his son, who had been collecting the rents and only turning over part of it.
Although irritated at being duped, he at least had a sense of his financial situation not being as dire as he’d thought. Once he placed a trustworthy man in the steward’s position, things should begin to turn around.
“My lord, Mr. Bowers has requested an audience.” Quinn stepped aside as his man of business entered the room.
“Thank you, Quinn. Please have Cook send in coffee and some pastries.”
Quinn bowed and quit the room. Nash waved to the chair in front of him. “Have a seat. I’m anxious to hear your report.”
Bowers removed his spectacles and rubbed the lenses with a handkerchief. Once they were sufficiently polished and adjusted to his satisfaction on his face, he picked up his papers and studied them. Nash held in a smile at the way Bowers prepared himself for meetings.
The man cleared his throat three times, then began. “My lord, it appears you were correct, and Mr. Jones, the younger, has been assuming his father’s duties as steward for the past many months. It was during this time that he raised the tenants’ rents.” He stopped and looked up at Nash. “Without your permission. And kept the extra money for himself. He also received more money for the crops and livestock than he entered in his books.”
Bowers drew out his handkerchief and mopped his face. Taking a deep breath, he continued. “Notations made for repairs on buildings, fences, and roads were all false. Most repairs were made for a good deal less than reported, and some repairs were never done at all, although he took money for them.
“I had someone make an inspection of all the farms and outlying areas encompassing your estate, and I am sorry to report there are repairs that need to be done immediately, as well as some improvements that would help the farmers, and in turn, yourself, that should have been done already.”
His man continued on, reading from his notes, and although Nash’s mind began to drift from his actual words, what came across quite clearly was the Clarendon estate had been robbed blind.
Once Bowers finished, Nash rose and walked to the window and stared out at the gardens. For generations, men had lost all their money as well as un-entailed holdings due to gambling, drink, expensive hobbies, and women. Nash had always prided himself on not indulging in such pursuits. However, while he had congratulated himself, and taken care of business in Parliament, he had failed his tenants, his family, his title, and his future heirs. He’d been entrusted with the managing of his estate, and had fallen short.
He turned as Bower spoke again. “I took the liberty of notifying the magistrate of the goings-on. He said he would keep a look out for Jones, but he assumed—probably rightly so—that the man is long gone and will not return.”
“How much did Jones pilfer?”
“The closest figure I can come to is somewhere between five and six hundred pounds.”
Nash blew out a low whistle. Five or six hundred pounds! Well, he had no one to blame but himself. “That is a good bit of money. I am thinking he had been working in his father’s stead for some time. Perhaps the older Mr. Jones had turned over management to his son long before he left to live with his daughter.”
If he’d been less sure of the dowry Lady Grace would have brought him, he might have considered that his steward was robbing him—and his tenants—blind.
He returned to his chair, and leaning back, he tented his fingers and explained the details of the investment project he’d involved himself in. Laying out the plan clearly and concisely to his man of business convinced him the investment opportunity had been the right thing to do.
Bowers leaned forward, his appreciation for the investment apparent in his eyes. “That is very good, my lord. Those kinds of ventures tend to pay well. Of course, there are certain risks, as I am sure you are aware.”
“Indeed, and in all fairness to Mr. Sueade, who ran the meeting and is setting up the consortium, all of the perils involved in such an undertaking were clearly laid out.”
“That is certainly good news, my lord. Perhaps we can recoup some of the damage Mr. Jones has done to your financial state.” Bowers began shoving papers into his satchel in preparation to leave.
Nash looked up as Arabella rushed past the open door of the library. She carried some type of animal in her hands.
He sighed. Solve one problem, another crops up.
…
Arabella stood next to Lord Honeyfield at the Nightingdale soiree, who was rattling on about his problems with his man of business. Since dancing was never a part of a soiree, merely throngs of people dressed to impress while searching the crowd for something else to gossip about, Arabella decided to seek out the refreshment table. Her appetite had increased over the last couple of weeks, which she could only attribute to settling into her new life.
With Nash engaged in a deep conversation with Lord Blanchard about Parliamentary matters, she excused herself and wandered away. The scent of so many bodies pressed together in the space, along with women’s perfume and men’s hair tonic, had a dizzying effect on her. She barely made it to the refreshment tables before black dots began to gather in her eyes, and with a gentle swish of skirts, she slid to the ground.
When she awakened, Nash knelt by her side, his face a picture of concern. He reached for a cold cloth from someone’s hand that he patted her forehead with. “Are you all right, sweeting?”
She tried to sit up, but his hand on her chest stopped her. “No, don’t rise just yet. Give yourself a chance to recover from your swoon.”
A circle of curiosity-seekers surrounded her, making her heart pound. She’d never wanted to be the center of attention, and it seemed ever since she’d met this man she was right there. “I never swoon.” She huffed.
His grin annoyed her. She’d always been a stalwart sort, chafing at women who collapsed at every occasion. Why, she operated on animals and tended to cuts and gouges that would turn the stomach of some men. She closed her eyes, wishing herself back home in her bedchamber.
“I will escort Lady Clarendon to the retiring room, my lord. A slight rest will do her well. Unless, of course, you wish to take her home.” Lady Millerton, an older outspoken harridan of the ton leaned over her, directing her comments to Nash.
Wait just a minute. Why was the old biddy speaking about her as if she weren’t there? “I feel fine now. Please allow me to get up.” Her cheeks burned, and she wanted more than anything to gain her feet and forget this entire incident. Would there never be any peace in her life? Was she to be forever the subject of gossip and speculation?
Nash stood and helped her to her feet. For a moment, she felt as though she might faint again, but clutched his hand until the feeling passed. “I think we should go home, my dear.”
Nothing would have made her happier, but she was determined to stay, at least for a little while more. She certainly did not want to give the gossips more fodder for their nastiness. “I am fine. Truly. Perhaps a drink of some sort would help.”
Nash studied her. “Are you sure?”
He still had that ridiculous grin on his face, and she failed to see the humor in the situation. “Yes. I am sure.”
After leading her to a chair and seeing her settled, he left her to make his way through the crowd to find her a drink. She waved her fan in her face, wishing she had asked him to escort her to the patio outside. An old friend, Lady Voss, who had provided needed but unwanted advice since Arabella’s coming out, placed her impressive bottom on the chair alongside her. “Breeding already, eh?”
“What? Oh no—” Arabella stopped and counted in her head. Heavens, she hadn’t had her courses since before she and Nash had married. Could that be the explanation for her swooning, increased appetite, and unsettled stomach at the breakfast table?
A baby. A soft smile settled on her lips.
“Ah, I see I am correct.” Lady Voss patted her hand.
Was that why Nash kept grinning at her? It rankled that her husband had arrived at that conclusion before she had. Then she drew in a breath as another thought crossed her mind. After the way they’d married, most likely there would be many who would be counting months. Hopefully, the babe would not come early.
Nash returned with a glass of lemonade. “It is not very cold, but it might refresh you, anyway.” She wanted to question him then on what she’d just discovered, but kept silent as Lady Voss continued to chatter away.
The older woman seemed to be settled in for the night. Nash touched Arabella’s shoulder. “I see Mr. Dennison over there, and I need to speak with him. Will you be all right while I am gone?”
“I will see to your wife.” Lady Voss waved him on. “Just do what you need to do, and we will be right here when you return.”
Arabella sighed. So now she was a captive. As her companion prattled on, Arabella thought about a baby. She hadn’t had time to adjust to marriage, and now she would be faced with a little baby. Oh, how she wished they could return to the country now. The thought of nourishing food, fresh air, and mild exercise in the way of long walks, away from the foul smells of London and the even more constant appraising by the ton, left her anxious to speak with her husband.
It seemed an eternity, but actually only about thirty minutes, before Nash returned. “Are you ready to go home?”
All of a sudden, she felt very, very tired. “Yes, I believe I am.” Arabella stood and shook out her skirts, bidding Lady Voss a good evening. She took Nash’s arm, and they wended their way through the throng.
Since they were leaving as other guests were just arriving, it took a bit of time for their carriage to be brought around. Nash spent the time talking to Lord and Lady Dumont, who were also awaiting their carriage. They were leaving early, Lady Dumont said, because their young son was down with a fever, and even though Nurse was a careful guardian, Lady Dumont felt better returning home.
Another issue that brought concern to Arabella. Children got sick. They fell and injured themselves. Sometimes they died. She shuddered.
“Are you chilled, my dear?” Nash eyed her.
“A bit. I am eager to return home. The crowds and noise are starting to wear on me.”
Just then the butler announced their carriage was ready. Nash helped her down the steps and assisted her into the carriage. He sat across from her and tapped on the ceiling to alert the driver to proceed.
Arabella was not quite ready to discuss the possibility of a baby with Nash just yet. Even if he did seem to be aware of her condition—before herself, in fact—she still felt more time needed to pass before she could be assured that she was, indeed, increasing. Once she was certain, she would ask for them to return to the country.
“Arabella, I am sorry you fell ill this evening. I had hoped to talk to you about hosting a dinner party in the near future.”
“A dinner party?”
He leaned back and rested his foot on his knee. “Yes. I know you are not fond of these affairs, but we need to solidify our position within the ton, which will especially help my work in Parliament. It doesn’t have to be a large party. Just ten or so guests.”
Lord. Here she was about to ask to have them return to the country, and he wanted her to take on a dinner party with the very people she loathed.
She shook her head. “I do not feel up to a dinner party. Not yet.”
“When?”
Attempting to lighten the mood, she said, “Never?”
“It is your duty as a countess to see to our social calendar. That involves hosting parties ourselves.” He tugged on the cuffs of his shirt and added, “You always seem to have enough time to forage for injured creatures and attend to them.”
She raised her chin. “It so happens I enjoy the company of animals much more than the company of nasty gossipers always looking to find something wrong with me.”
The carriage rolled to a stop. “We will discuss this further when you are not so overwrought.”
“I am not overwrought.”
“Nevertheless, we will continue in the morning.”
She gritted her teeth. How she hated when he treated her like a child. She ignored his arm and proceeded up the steps ahead of him. With any luck, she wouldn’t ruin her exit by fainting again.
…
After two weeks of frantic preparations, Nash joined Arabella in the drawing room as they waited for their dinner guests to arrive. He’d been quite proud of how she had handled the upcoming event. Although she was nervous about hosting her first dinner party, it looked as though everything necessary had been done quite to perfection.
Once she’d consulted with Cook about the menu for the evening, she’d asked him to approve it, as well. For a woman who resented any interference from him on most things, it was rewarding and amusing that she would consult him on this.
He wandered to the side board and poured a brandy. “Would you care for a sherry, sweeting?”
“Yes, please. Perhaps that will help to calm my nerves.”
Handing the glass to her, he said, “From what I have seen, you have nothing to be nervous about. The table setting is perfect, and we can certainly count on Cook to present a wonderful meal. We have a nice variety of guests who will keep the conversation going. It will be fine.”
He didn’t add, since he wanted to keep her spirts up, but she looked exhausted the last couple of weeks. She’d been taking naps, but apparently early pregnancy—which she had yet to mention to him—was taking its toll on her body. In all fairness to her health, and the well-being of the babe, once this dinner party was over, he might suggest they retire to the country.
Quinn arrived at the drawing-room door. “Lord and Lady Templeton have arrived, my lord.”
The couple entered the room, followed shortly by Baron Cloverfield and Lady Cloverfield. Within less than twenty minutes, all the guests had gathered in the drawing room, awaiting the dinner announcement.
Nash was proud of Arabella. Even though he knew she was nervous and fatigued, she carried on conversations with their guests and circulated to each group to make sure everyone was comfortable. Even though she didn’t believe it, she was an excellent hostess, and so far, everything was going just fine. He would need to compliment her later on about how well she’d handled it all.
Quinn appeared at the drawing room door and announced dinner in his usual perfunctory manner. The guests lined up in order of rank and strolled to the dining room. He had Lady Templeton on his arm, and Arabella was escorted by Lord Templeton.
The seating arrangement had been worked out between the two of them one night as they sat naked on their bed after a rousing session of lovemaking. He had Mrs. Talbot on one side, and Arabella’s friend Lady Lovell on the other side. The footmen began serving and pouring the first wine as the dinner began.
As the meal continued, he watched Arabella over the rim of his wine glass and couldn’t help smiling. Any residue of nervousness had left her as she had a lively conversation with Lord Lovell. From what he could hear, they were discussing the need for education for the underclass. He shook his head. His wife certainly had Whig leanings.
Before the fourth course had been served, Quinn entered the room and bent to Arabella’s ear and spoke softly. She blanched and appeared agitated.
Nash frowned. “What is it?”
She lowered her voice and said, “Apollo got out of the kennel and was run over by a carriage. He needs attention.”
“One of the dogs?”
She nodded, biting her lower lip. By this time, they had the attention of most of the guests at the table. Surely, she would not do this to him. Important people sat at their table. For God’s sake, they were hosting a dinner party! “I am sure one of the maids can handle it.”
“I’m sorry, but I must see to the animal myself. No one else knows how to stitch him up.”
Mrs. Talbot put her hand to her chest. “Lady Clarendon, certainly you are not going to tend to an injured animal yourself?” She looked as though she were about to faint.
“No, she will not.” Nash glared at her.
Arabella hesitated, then carefully laid her napkin down and stood. “I am sorry. I will return shortly.” She avoided Nash’s shocked expression as she turned and hurried from the room.