Mowbray was back at his estate in Gloucestershire as part of his plan to move forward with his new scheme to get back on his feet financially. He had planned his moves in great detail and his next move was to be the first crucial piece of his puzzle.

Wilcox had written a note to Lord Comerford requesting an audience. His Lordship had agreed to a meeting at ten o’clock this morning.

Wilcox was dressed in his finest suit and had ordered the carriage for nine-thirty.

He was extremely confident in his success because he had done his work in London and had exactly the information he needed to make certain his Lordship would accept the deal he would propose.

“Your Lordship,” Wilcox greeted as he entered Comerford’s study.

“My Lord Denham, good morning. I was pleased to get your note and am anxious to hear what you have to say. Your message was somewhat vague, so I am not exactly certain what you wish to see me about. Please have a seat. And might I offer you some refreshment?”

“I am rather partial to scotch if that is convenient.”

“Of course. A man after my own tastes.”

Ralph went to the sideboard, poured them each a glass, and handed one to Wilcox who seated himself by the fireplace. Ralph remained standing as he studied his guest.

Wilcox did not like to be seated while Ralph stood, so he stood up and casually walked to the nearest bookcase and glanced at the titles, before turning to face his host.

“I have a business opportunity I think you might be interested in,” he said, letting the suggestion hang in the air without further explanation.

“Hmm. Not certain I would be interested. His Grace just visited me with his new business opportunity, and I am not certain I could consider another one right now.”

Wilcox had not heard about Thomas’s new venture and was most curious about it.

“If you do not mind me asking, what is his Grace’s proposition?”

Ralph wagged his head. “Not for me to say. And while he did not ask for confidentiality, I feel it is not my place to tell you about it.”

“But I am his Uncle. I was his guardian when he was growing up. We keep nothing from each other,” Wilcox insisted.

“Then I am certain he will be able to tell you about it.”

Wilcox did not like how this conversation was starting out. He needed to reset the conversation, even though he was burning to know what his nephew was up to.

“But it sounds as though you have not yet accepted my nephew’s proposal. Is that not so?”

“That is correct,” Ralph said going to the sideboard to refresh their glasses with another wee dram.

“Then might it be worth your while to hear what I have to say? My opportunity might be more interesting to you than the Duke’s, if you are only interested in one of them.”

“Very well, old man, I will give you a listen.” And with that, Ralph decided to sit.

Wilcox did not, and he stood before Ralph as he said, “Your excellent reputation in shipping is well known. And I have a gentleman in London who is interested in using your services.”

“Then have him contact my London office. It is a straightforward enough transaction. He can contact my agents and book his cargo. There is no need for me to be involved.”

Wilcox needed to finesse his next statement. “It is not quite as straightforward a transaction like that. He requires special considerations.”

“Oh? And what might those be? And who is this gentleman? Might I know his name?”

“It is unlikely you know him. And I am not at liberty to reveal his name at this stage.”

Ralph got up from his chair. He did not appear to like what he was hearing.

“You have not answered my other question,” Ralph said. “What exactly are his special considerations?”

Wilcox knew this would be the crucial answer. “He needs secure and private warehousing—away from the ebb and flow of usual commerce.”

“Meaning exactly?”

“He wishes to be able to retrieve his cargo without government examination.”

Ralph seemed to comprehend the implication immediately, but he did not quickly respond.

“And he understands that specialized type of service requires a premium shipping fee, for which he is most willing to pay.”

“He is a smuggler?”

Wilcox went to pour himself another scotch. “That may be a bit of an exaggeration. Let us just say he feels an obligation to his customers to be able to offer them lower cost products without the burden of unnecessary taxation.”

Ralph smiled. “You certainly know how to massage an answer. But my dear Earl, what you are suggesting is totally illegal, and I could lose my entire business if this was discovered. And let me say, I am quite shocked that a gentleman of your standing would even suggest such an outrageous proposition.”

Wilcox was not to be deterred. “My dear friend, we all know how unfair these needless taxes are. We know they are levied simply because the crown insists on engaging in all of these needless wars. And who pays for this burden? The ordinary citizen—those least able to bear these excessive burdens. You might even think of your cooperation in this a great service to your customers.”

Ralph laughed. “I say, Wilcox, you do have the gift of gab. But you are also suggesting a totally illegal action. And I am an upstanding businessman and I cannot and will not be a part of your scheme.”

Unfortunately, Wilcox could see he would now need to play his ace.

“Oh, my dear Comerford, while I admire your upstanding position, I am reminded of some unsettling information I have uncovered concerning some of your less seemly business dealings.”

Ralph became indignant. “I beg your pardon. That is a most insulting insinuation, and I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“Hmm.” Wilcox sighed and said, “I was hoping this would not be necessary.” He rubbed his chin and began to pace. “I came upon a most interesting piece of information recently—a series of invoices, actually. It seems a number of your ships were carrying guns, ammunition, and canons to Napoleon when we were at war with him. Now, I am not a legal scholar, but it would seem to me that that would be considered an act of treason—punishable by hanging. Would I not be correct?”

Ralph blanched and stood very still. “I did not know about any of that activity. I cannot be held accountable for all the cargo I ship. It would be totally impossible for me to know that.”

“Excellent… then it should equally be impossible for you to know what my client ships and what he does with his cargo?”

“You are a scoundrel, Mr. Mowbray—for I cannot call you by your title—as you demean the peerage.”

“Oh, your Lordship… such melodrama. Is that entirely necessary, considering your own transgressions? It would seem to me you have two options. Either accept my offer or have your dealings with France splashed across the newspapers and suffer the ensuing complications that would ignite in the courts. But take your time deciding. I am in no rush.”

Wilcox turned to the window and gazed at the view. “Such a charming vista. It would be a terrible tragedy if you and your family were to lose all of this.”

Ralph’s face was ashen. “Very well, I accept your offer. With the understanding that none of that other matter ever sees the light of day.”

Wilcox turned to him. “But of course. I am nothing if not loyal to my trusted business associates.”

Ralph said coldly, “Have your business partner contact me personally. His arrangements will require my personal care and consideration.”

“I shall be the one contacting you. He understandably wishes to remain anonymous. And you have chosen wisely. And good day to you sir. I shall be in touch.”

Wilcox started to leave but stopped. He remembered Thomas telling him that George wished to marry Helena and he could not help but twist the knife a little deeper. “My Lord, one other small matter of interest to you. I learned recently that my nephew is not engaged but has told you that so that your daughter and her friend George might pursue their own engagement. So, if you are still thinking of going into business with the Duke, you may wish to reconsider that as well.”

George, Helena, and her mother were having tea and playing a hand of cards on the terrace as it was such a lovely late summer’s afternoon.

“Georgie,” Helena said, “Have you heard about the ball Thomas and his Grandmamma are giving?”

“Of course. I see Thomas almost daily as we plan our project.”

“A ball?” Her mother asked. “How delicious. It seems almost no one entertains with any style anymore. It shall be such a treat.”

“You will take me, of course, Georgie?”

He gave her a look of surprise. “Of course, I shall, how could you think otherwise?”

At that moment Helena’s father came charging out of the house and over to the table. He turned to his wife and said, “Mother, inside. Now!”

Poor Sara was so shocked she immediately stood and scooted quickly indoors.

“Papa, what is the meaning of this,” Helena asked in trepidation.

“You have deceived me… the both of you,” he said also addressing George. “I know all about your plan to have the Duke tell me he was engaged so the two of you could conspire to get into my good graces with the hope of marrying.”

Both Helena and George were so shocked they could not respond.

“What makes you think such a thing?” Helena finally got the courage to ask.

“Thomas told his uncle, and his uncle told me. I have no reason to believe this is not true.”

Unmasked, the two had no defense. There was no way they could deny it.

“Yes, Father, it is true. And I am glad this is finally out in the open. George and I do wish to marry, and we want your blessing.”

“There is not a chance in hell.” He turned to George. “And I never want to see you in this house ever again. And if I do, I shall disinherit you Helena, and, George, I shall shoot you dead myself.” And with that, he stormed off.

Jenny was so excited by the prospect of baking for the Duke’s ball she thought nothing of racing over after she was done baking for the day to visit with Helena. Even though it meant the long walk to the Comerford estate.

Jenny ran the last few hundred yards to the front door and knocked.

She asked, breathlessly, as the door was answered, “Is Helena in, I should so like to see her.”

“Come inside, Miss Jenny, and I shall see if she is available.”

The butler left her standing in the entryway as he went to enquire if she was free.

But instead of the butler returning, Helena came dashing out of the parlor and threw herself into Jenny’s arms, sobbing.

Jenny was shocked. “Helena, my dearest, why are you crying?”

“Father has banished, George,” she said, pulling away from Jenny and wiping her eyes with the back of her hands. She linked her arm with Jenny and led her to the parlor as she composed herself.

She was anxious to tell Jenny what had happened with her father and rallied as she told Jenny the tale.

“But how did he find out?” Jenny asked.

“Evidently Thomas told his uncle and he then told my father.”

“How rude of the Duke to break your confidence,” Jenny said.

“I doubted he meant it to get back to Papa, but somehow it did and once Papa found out, all has been ruined for Georgie and me.”

“What can be done?”

“I have no idea. But we are lost,” and she burst into tears once again.

“Oh, dear friend, I am so very sorry. Is there anything I can do to help you?”

“It is so good of you to be here with me now.” Then she had a thought. “And why did you come? You had no way of knowing I was in distress.”

Jenny felt embarrassed now. “No, I came because I have some good news and I wanted to share it with you. But now I fear I may upset you more.”

“Oh, Sister, you could not. Please tell me.”

“I am to go to Pemberton to make all the pastries for the Duke’s ball.”

It took a moment for Helena to register this news. “Why, Jenny that is wonderful news.”

“And he is going to pay me a hundred pounds for the week.” Helena began to cry again. “Why are you crying?” Jenny asked, taking Helena by the shoulders.

“Because I am so happy for you,” she wailed.

They both started laughing. Then Helena stopped and looked as though she had an idea.

“What?” Jenny asked.

Helena smiled. “When I was last with Thomas, we talked about you—or at least I did. And I was saying what a wonderful person you are and how he should consider you as a wife…”

Jenny blushed. “Oh, Helena, why would you do such a thing? You know it is an impossibility. He would never consider marrying the likes of me.”

“And why not? You are charming in every way. You are a talented pastry cook, and I know he likes you.”

“Stop right now. That is a preposterous idea.”

Helena was beginning to forget her own problems as she was hatching a plan.

“I am going to take you in hand. We need to do something with that hair, and I want to teach you a few tricks to make you look even more appealing.”

“What is wrong with my hair?”

Helena scoffed, “Have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately? When is the last time you washed it?”

“I brush the flour out every day.”

“Oh, Jenny, you need to do much more than that. It needs a wash, a cut and some curl.”

Helena stood and held out her hand. “Come. Let me show you.”

They ran up to Helena’s room and they spent the rest of the afternoon working on Jenny’s hair, applying just the right amount of blush and rouge and working with Jenny’s nails, beaten and broken by her daily work in the bakery.

“When they were done, Jenny sat at the dressing table and stared at herself in the mirror. It was not a blatant transformation but a subtle enhancement of her natural beauty.

“Oh, my dear, how splendid you look.”

Jenny looked up at her friend. “I do look nice. Thank you. But I know not what difference it is going to make. I am going to be in the Pemberton kitchen making pastries for a week, not dancing at the ball nor having afternoon tea with his Grace.”

“Oh, he will notice. Trust me. I know Thomas. And I know men.