“Wherein patience is a virtue, and a misery to bear.”

 

To Lady Violette Greyston.

November 8th, 1817

Mayfair.

London.

 

My dearest friend,

Falmouth and I were so distressed when we learned of your brother’s removal from London to the Cotswold’s. I trust that the journey was not too fatiguing. I find the journey to Tregothnan a terrible trial, I have to admit.

 

I am so glad to know that you will be returning for the season, though. You will, of course, have a spectacular come-out. I hope that you will try and enjoy this time, even if your heart is not in it.

 

Our dear friend, of course, is making steady progress and gaining in strength. He tires easily still, however, and is forced to walk with a cane on the occasions he is allowed out of bed. This actually makes him appear rather dashing, though naturally I have been forced to tease him over it. He has become really rather cross with me, truth be told.

 

You know, of course, all the things that he wishes to say to you, things which I cannot write here. Just assure yourself that nothing has changed on his part. He has been talking to Alex a great deal and involving himself in a business venture which Alex has begun with. I believe he means to make his fortune.

 

Be patient and strong, my dear. We all miss you dreadfully and long for you to return to us.

Au revoir, ma chérie,

Lady Celeste Sinclair.

 

Violette watched the words on the page blur, and then blinked the tears away. She had read and reread the letter a dozen or more times over the past fortnight. Celeste had written again, of course, but she was careful never to say anything further concerning Aubrey than: “Mr Russell is in good health and sends his regards.” Violette knew well that Celeste had her best interests at heart, and she was grateful, but she longed for news of him. She longed to hear how he really was, what message he had for her, if he was in as much agony of suspense as the days crawled past as she was. But, of course, it was impossible. If her brother suspected the letters contained any such messages, he’d stop the correspondence altogether. He had become quite the tyrant.

Blowing her nose, Violette put the letter away with care and smiled to herself. Yes, indeed, she would have a spectacular come out, just as Winterbourne intended. She would wear the fabulous and glittering finery that her brother had lavished such money on in the hopes of securing the duke for her, and she would create the biggest scandal she possibly could. It would serve him justly for his tyranny.

Her brother would learn the hard way that Violette Greyston was not a woman to be easily thwarted.

He could shout and rage and slam doors to his heart’s content, and indeed he did, and continued to do so. But she had learned that he would never hurt her physically, no matter how she provoked him, and Lord, had she provoked him. Living with him was like living with a coiled snake, but her anger and resentment had made her vindictive and she could not resist the urge to poke it with a stick.

She had gone out of her way, in fact, to make life as difficult as possible for him. She almost felt sorry for him.

Almost.

She walked to the window and stared out at the extraordinary view from her bedroom. Longwold was a vast estate. Situated high on the Cotswold escarpment, the views over the landscape were breath-taking. Rolling hills and steep paths and deep swathes of woodland were all visible, and on a clear day, you could even see the Mendips from the house’s proud position at the highest point on the Cotswold edge.

Today, however, there was a coiling mist wreathing the hills, clinging close to the ground and giving the countryside an ethereal, unearthly look.

Violette sighed and watched a red kite circling above the fields, its tiny shape sharp and dark against the winter white sky. Less than six weeks to go, she told herself. Oh God, but it felt like a lifetime. Six weeks before she could even catch a glimpse of Aubrey. Six weeks before her heart would feel able to beat again, trapped as it was in a suffocating fog of sadness.

She took a breath and stood a little taller, putting up her chin.

Six weeks.

And then she would be Mrs Russell.

***

Aubrey stepped down onto the icy street with care. His dignity was a fragile enough thing these days without landing on his backside on the filthy street. Cane in hand, he limped up the steps to his cousin’s grand house in Mayfair, clutching a much-read news sheet under his arm. For the first time in days, he felt a glimmer of hope, of excitement even, after a period that had been the most tedious and depressing of his whole life.

Strange really, he had become a dashing and heroic figure in the eyes of the ton. Oh, he was still believed a rake and a libertine, but now ... now there was the other side of him for them to gossip over, the side who would take a bullet to save a peer of the realm. He gave a snort of disgust at the idea. He’d been saving Violette’s brother. He’d done it for her and no other reason. The idea that he would probably have acted so, no matter who the man in question was, he pushed away without regarding.

There were so many gilt-edged invitations on his mantle these days that he could have probably attended a dozen or more soirées most nights of the week if he chose. The fact that he didn’t choose to go out any more than was absolutely necessary only seemed to add an extra glitter to his reputation. Anyone securing his presence at their gathering was seen to be truly fashionable.

It was beyond ridiculous.

He could rub shoulders with the Duke of York if he so chose, but he could not turn himself into a match that the Marquess of Winterbourne would desire for his sister.

Falmouth had been a brick, of course. Sensing that Aubrey was languishing and miserable in his recovery, he’d admitted that he too was restless and looking for a new project. The trading company he had created was running smoothly in his younger brother Lawrence’s hands. These days he no longer felt the desire to take to the seas, as Celeste was a poor sailor and he would not be parted from her.

Whether Alex was being entirely truthful or just trying to give Aubrey’s mind something other than his own misery to occupy it, he wasn’t sure. Either way, he was grateful for the distraction. Even more so as he thought that perhaps he had hit upon something. A way in which he might be able to change his fortunes. Not overnight, perhaps, but maybe in a year ... or two or three ...

He felt his heart clench, knowing that Violette would be married to the blasted Duke of Ranleigh by the time he’d been able to establish himself. Even if by some miracle he managed it, no doubt his reputation as a gentleman would be sullied by the idea of him actually doing something to earn his fortune rather than merely inheriting it.

He would never measure up to the Ranleighs of this world, that was for certain.

Pushing such dark musing aside, he hurried into the warmth of Falmouth’s town house. As the butler led him through to the study, he held on tight to the only spark of light, aside from Violette herself, that had the power to keep him awake till the early hours.

Alex got to his feet as Aubrey came in the room, and he found himself touched by the warmth in his older cousin’s eyes as he approached. Strange how things worked out, really. Aubrey had spent most of his life in awe and more than a little fearful of Alex, and yet in recent months, he’d come to realise that rather aloof exterior was merely that: an exterior that he showed to the world.

The affection and regard which Alex had shown for him since that fateful night outside Almack’s had been more of a surprise than anything. That Alex actually seemed to respect both his opinions and the fact that he did actually have a head for business, despite his father’s lack of faith, had given him the confidence that he’d been sorely lacking.

Now he added drive to that confidence, a burning desire to do something to show his father and Winterbourne that he was a man to be reckoned with.

He waved the paper at Alex, quite unable to keep the excitement from his voice. “Did you see this?”

Alex looked down at the crumpled news sheet. “The Duke of Portland’s place at Troon?” he said, looking at the headline. “Oh yes, Stephenson has got the locomotive running, hauling coal from the mines.” Alex looked up and grinned at him. “Do you know I don’t think you ever got over that trip to the Pennydarren ironworks, did you?”

Aubrey flushed a little but smiled, remembering being taken as a very young man of twelve or thirteen to see Richard Trevithick’s steam locomotive. He’d been enthralled by the great metal beast, it was true, and it had stuck in his mind.

“But Stevenson has taken it further, Alex, just look.” He found he was quite unable to contain himself as he spoke. “Imagine the possibilities for travel, for the movement of goods, the speed with which we could cross the country, cross continents, even, with a machine like that?”

Alex laughed and shook his head. “Well, yes, but the things run on tracks Aubrey, it’s not such a simple matter.”

“No, of course it isn’t,” he said, running a hand through his hair with impatience. “But they’ll be wanting investors surely, forward thinking men who can see the possibilities. Think of it, Alex!”

As Aubrey watched his cousin’s eyes, he could see that he was thinking about it. He sat down and held out the news sheet, his dark brows drawn together.

“Very well, Aubrey,” he said, at length. “I’ll leave it in your hands.”

“What?” Aubrey replied, puzzled. “Leave what in my hands?”

Alex shrugged. “I told you I had money set aside to invest. Investigate this project and see what you think. If you believe it’s sound and that you can negotiate a deal you are happy with, that’s good enough for me. I’ll, of course, make it worth your while. You’d be amenable to payment via investment shares, I assume?”

Aubrey opened his mouth and closed it again. “Are you quite sure, Alex, I mean ...” he began as Alex sighed and folded his arms.

“Do you believe this locomotive is truly going to change the face of travel and the movements of goods, or do you not?”

“Well, y-yes,” he stammered, but he hadn’t expected Alex to put him in charge of the - frankly staggering - sum of money he had set aside for his next project with no more than a news sheet and few excited words from him.

“Well, then,” Alex replied with a blithe wave of his hand. “That’s good enough for me.”

“But, Alex,” Aubrey objected, wondering why he was arguing his way out of what might well be his salvation. “You can’t possibly ...”

The words died in this throat as he caught Alex’s look of mild exasperation. “Aubrey, my dear fellow,” he said, getting to his feet and laying a heavy hand on his shoulder. “You have proved to me over these past weeks that you have a very fine mind that has been allowed to languish because of your fool of a father. Please allow me the benefit of the doubt in the matter of my own judgement. I think, at my age, I am allowed the belief that I am not a fool, and I can recognise talent when I see it. I trust your judgement, Aubrey. There is an end to it. I put the affair entirely in your capable hands.”

“I-I never meant to imply ...” Aubrey began, not sure whether to be delighted or mortified, but Alex just laughed at him.

“You might like to speak with Sindalton as well. I’ll make sure to introduce you to him. Strikes me that it’s the sort of thing the duke might be interested in.”

Aubrey just blinked and nodded. There seemed little more to say other than, “Thank you, Alex, truly. I won’t let you down.”

“I know.” The words were said with such confidence that Aubrey could not help but be buoyed by them, and he let out a breath. Suddenly the world seemed a little less gloomy, and his situation just a little less impossible. Not much, admittedly, since he still needed a miracle or an elevation to the peerage but ... well, it was something, at least.