“No need,” Lady Laura Jamison said to the Eal of Winchester, unclenching her jaw and showing her teeth in a false but placating smile. “I’d be most distressed, kind sir, if you put yourself out on my account. Becca left me a list of instructions as long as my arm on which shares to buy and sell, and how to deliver my orders to our Stock Exchange agents. To excel at my duties, I need only follow each and every step. Rather like climbing a ladder.”
“People have been known to tumble from ladders. Land in the wrong place.”
She narrowed her gaze. “Very true. But for all I know, aligning myself with you may land me in deep water. How do I know you’re trustworthy? You could be copying those scoundrels Becca had imprisoned. Sneaking into our household to steal our secrets.”
She’d tried to appear apprehensive, but when his jaw went slack with shock, she couldn’t stop help but chuckled.
He waggled a finger. “You, pixie, are provoking me. Deliberately.”
“Do, please, stop calling me such a childish name. If you haven’t noticed, I became a woman several years ago.”
His gaze flicked over her body, scorched where it touched and left her tingling in its wake. “Trust me, Laura, I’d noticed.”
1807 June Couple In Morning Dress, English. Lady in white dress with lemon cape and an interesting white hat with a tassel. Gentleman in black tailcoat, white shirt and cravat, breeches tucked into high black boots with tan tops, fob and watch chain at his waist, black top hat and cane. via Le Beau Monde, or Literary and Fashionable Magazine, London, U.K.
Definition Morning Dress: Comfortable outfits worn either at home, out shopping, or for walking in the park or country. Presentable but not overly accessorized. For women it was often an Empire style, high-waisted, gown made from sprigged or plain muslin, cotton, or wool and either a Spencer or a coat to cover it for warmth, plus shoes and a bonnet. For men it was breeches or trousers, shirt, cravat, coat, boots and hat. This couple is dressed as a lady and gentleman of Jane Austen’s acquaintance would dress for a morning outing to a village, for shopping, or visiting friends.
Sunday Snippet: “Are you suffering some sort of aliment in your abdomen, Your Grace?” #SundaySnippet #RegencyRomance #HistoricalMystery #ReadARegency #HistoricalEroticRomance https://books2read.com/suziloveFTAV
Sunday Snippet: The Duke of Stirkton stared, open-mouthed, at the countess. “You’re a cool one.” #RegencyRomance #HistoricalMystery #ReadARegency #EroticHistoricalRomance https://books2read.com/suziloveFTAV
Lady Rebecca Jamison ticked off numbers on the fingers of one revolting brown glove. “First, I’m not a thief. Second, I’m not a courtesan needing coin. Third, I’ve never been your mistress.” She looked down at her maid’s drab clothes, shuddered. “And if the women you’re taking to your bed dress this shabbily, I suggest you raise your standards.”
The Duke of Sherwyn drew several shuddering breaths. “Correct, on all counts. Now, appease my burning curiosity. What deception did you employ to hoodwink my servant?”
One shoulder lifted in the semblance of a shrug. “Oh, that! A child’s ploy. I laid coins on the fourth step and paid a street urchin to knock on your door and then run. When your gatekeeper bent to retrieve the coins, I slipped around the door and inside.”
Incredulity, then infuriation, surrendered to mirth. The simplicity of her ruse, alongside her detached style of recounting her deception, startled him into a snort of amusement.
“Huh! My ever-vigilant butler diverted by the sight of a few pennies.”
“Oh, no, not mere pennies. Gleaming new gold coins. Rest easy. Your servant’s momentary distraction cost me a high price.”
He lifted his hand to hide his smirk. Since he’d become Sherwyn, Jenner’s behavior vacillated between extreme formality due a duke or nose-lifting disdain owed to the family’s black sheep. This chink in Jenner’s polished armor pleased him.
He dipped his head, and said, “I bow to your finesse as a trickster. Now for my next pressing question. Why are you here?”
“I need your assistance.”
He grinned. “Ah, so once again your white knight is being asked to draw an imaginary sword and defend your ladyship’s honor.”
She groaned. “If only things were still as uncomplicated as in our childhood games.”
“As the Duke of Sherwyn, you’ve entree into the best houses and social events.”
After a scowl towards the ceiling, he muttered, “Thanks to my stepmother, I’m forced into it. But what does my recent social popularity have to do with your current predicament?”
“In daylight, with other ladies, I can stroll about the streets. Visit shops, sometimes slip unnoticed into the twice-weekly stock auctions at the Hall of Commerce in Threadneedle Street. And I’ve already searched the desks of many of the mere misters and lesser peers of the lower orders of the consortium, as their houses aren’t guarded like fortresses.”
“Do you mean to say you entered these men’s homes and rifled their papers?”
“Well yes, but–”
“Are you mad?”
“I risked little, because those sort of houses cannot afford a footman guarding every passageway. Especially not on occasions such as those I attended, where every footman is needed to fetch drinks for belligerent guests. Slipping into those libraries was child’s play.” She sighed. “What I cannot do is visit the homes of the highest ranking peers to scour their correspondence for any that bears the special seal of the consortium. Nor secure enough privacy to copy any incriminating letters I may find. Someone always hovers, and watches, at those type of houses.”
He paced before her like a restless panther, an angry scowl pulling his face taut. His fine looks had always turned heads, but this brooding beast carried a lethal combination of strength and menacing masculinity. She shivered. His newly acquired arrogance of bearing enhanced, rather than detracted from, his magnetism, although this time, she knew to avoid his magnetic pull.
“You intend searching the houses of every peer in the city who is making money from stock shares?”
“No, no, not all of them. We’ve done a lot of research–”
“We?”
“My family have become quite adept at research. We’ve narrowed our search to gentlemen known to invest in railway expansions in a large way. Our final list is of those we consider to be involved in the inner, and most secret, tier of the syndicate. It contains eighteen names, the majority of whom are high-ranking peers.
“Bloody hell, Becca.” He ground the expletive out through clenched teeth. “You’re out of your depth. I’ve been involved in similar commercial groups. They’ll stop at nothing for the sake of money.”
“Nevertheless, we need certain details you may overhear at clubs about certain gentlemen having sudden windfalls. Or things gleaned at certain balls and soirees.
“Unbelievable.” Both hands went up in the air. “That’s certainly as clear as muddy water.”
“Clear or not, I’m asking you to trust me. To help me.”
She held out both hands, palms up, and hoped he wouldn’t notice their tremors. “With your assistance, I can verify more names. Collect proof of each one’s involvement and hand it over to Scotland Yard. Time is of the essence, as we’ve now less than two weeks.”
She watched him absorb, assess, decide. In under a minute, he guided her to his desk and seated her before it.
“Make a start. List the names of every man you suspect to be a member.” He placed writing materials before her. “Then list those you consider inner tier, and include their ranking.”
“Two nights ago,” Lady Rebecca Jamison said, “the woman we engaged at the Women’s Betterment Society to tally the Stock Exchange ledgers — our friend — was murdered. The killer was still inside Peggy’s house when I arrived. Her slayer stopped at the back door and stared directly at me, memorizing my features.”
Her pronouncement was flat-voiced, deadly calm.
“Thankfully, his immediate concern was escaping with our two accounting books. But when the cache identifies me as the woman who saw their lackey’s face, I am certain they will send him to dispose of me as well. They are peers, titled and wealthy, and cannot risk being exposed as members of an illegal group. If we cannot stop these men, brutes who employ cold-blooded assassins to do their dirty work, I will certainly be the next to die.”
The Duke of Sherwyn’s chilled blood turned to ice.
Embracing Scandal (Scandalous Siblings) by Suzi Love. Lady Rebecca Jamison saves her family from financial ruin by investing in railways, but when a greedy syndicate murders her friend, Becca is forced to beg assistance from Cayle St. Martin, the new Duke of Sherwyn. https://books2read.com/suziloveES
On January 27th, 1772, The Pantheon opened on Oxford Street, London. Designed by James Wyatt, The Pantheon featured a rotunda which was one of the largest rooms in England at the time. The Pantheon was intended as London’s answer to Ranelagh Gardens for winter entertainment and opened to a crush when nearly “two thousand persons of rank and fashion assembled.” The Pantheon officially closed for public entertainments in 1814, after Lord Chamberlain restrictions on the building’s use as a theatre made the final venture unprofitable. It was converted to a bazaar in 1833 and in 1867 became a winemakers office and showrooms until being demolished in 1937.
From 1819 Ackermann: The Pantheon was built “for the purpose of public evening entertainments” and was a “superb and beautiful structure” with elegant interiors furnished with fine paitnings, gilt vases, and statues depicting gods and goddesses. The building consisted of a suite of fourteen rooms, and between 1789-1792 (until a fire) was used as an exhibition space for Italian operas after the destruction by fire of the King’s Theatre in Haymarket.
1814 January The Pantheon via Ackermann’s Repository : This once noble structure, situated on the south side of Oxford-street, was originally built by Mr. James Wyatt, for the purpose of public evening entertainments. It was a most superb and beautiful structure, the admiration of all connoisseurs, foreigners as well as natives. The interior was fitted up in such a magnificent style, that it is scarcely possible for those who never saw it to conceive the elegance and grandeur of the apartments, the boldness of the paintings, or the effect produced by the disposition of the lights, which were reflected from gilt vases. Below the dome were a number of statues, representing most of the heathen gods and goddesses, supposed to be the ancient Pantheon at Rome, from which it derived its name. To these were added three beautiful statues of white porphyry, representing the King and Queen and Britannia.
The whole building formed a suite of fourteen rooms, each affording a striking specimen of taste and splendor. After the destruction of the King’s Theatre in the Haymarket by fire in June 1789, the Pantheon was used for the exhibition of Italian operas, and was frequently honored with the presence of their Majesties; till on the 14th of January, 1792, this beautiful structure also fell a prey to the same devouring element.
The fire broke out in the new buildings which had been added for the most convenient performance of operas; and before any engine reached the spot, the flames had gained such a height, that all attempts to save the building were in vain. Owing to the scenery, oil, paint and other combustible materials in the house, the conflagration was so rapid that not a single article could be saved. Persons who witnessed the progress of this tremendous fire, declare that the appearances exhibited through the windows, the lofty pillars enveloped in flames and smoke, the costly damask curtains waving from the rarefaction of the air, and the superb chandeliers turning round from the same circumstance, together with the successive crashing and falling of different portions of the building, furnished to their minds a more lively representation of Pandemonium than the imagination alone cam possibly supply.
The effects, too, of the intense frost which then prevailed, upon the water poured from the engines upon the blazing pile, are described as equally singular and magnificent. The loss occasioned by this catastrophe amounted to £60,000; only one fourth of which sum was insured. The height of the walls fortunately prevented the conflagration from spreading to the contiguous houses.
The Pantheon has been rebuilt; the original elegant front and portico still remain, but the rest of the edifice exhibits not eve a shadow of its former magnificence. Since its re-edification, it has been used principally for exhibitions, and occasionally for masquerades. Various plans have at different times been brought forward for opening it for dramatic representations; and this was actually done a few months since under a license from the magistrates, by a Mr. Condy, who is understood to have embarked a considerable fortune in the concern; but whose right has been contested by the winter theatres, and is likely to become a subject of legal discussion.
1800 Pantheon Masquerade, London, U.K. via Rudolph Ackermann’s Microcosm of London. Engraved by John Bluck. (1791-1831)
The finger prodded her chest again. Gently yet insistently. But his voice softened. “And I, the man, and the duke, choose you. You, Lady Rebecca. Do you think I can’t decide for myself, for my family, for you and me, what’s best?”
“But that’s what I’ve always done. It’s always been up to me to work out the best plan for everyone and then make it happen.” “In the past, that’s what happened.”
“But even now, it’s up to me to keep everyone safe. You said yourself that neither my family, nor the society, could go on without my making these types of decisions. I’m always the one with the clear head. In time, you’ll see that I’m right to walk away from you when this is finished.”
“No, no. This isn’t finished by a long shot, sweetheart. There has to be some consolation in my life for taking on control of Julia and my brothers, for assuming the family titles and topping up our coffers.”
“I know how hard you’re working to succeed. But it’ll never work if you have someone like me in your life.” “I don’t want someone like you, Becca. I want you.” This time his kiss was tinged with desperation. “Answer me one thing.” Her eyes widened. “Do you love me, minx? Do I still hold your heart?”
“Stop! It’s unfair to ask me that. Leave, please, just leave.” Turning away, Becca wished him gone before he glimpsed the fat tears collecting in her eyes. It was crucial that she remain strong. Even if it broke her heart to do so.As he reached the door, Becca heard Cayle mutter, “I will have you, Rebecca Jamison. I will not stop until I find a way.” She didn’t know whether it made her happy, or if it simply terrified her.
1810 January 1st. West India Docks, London. By Thomas Rowlandson and Augustus Charles Pugin. Printed in 1810 By Rudolph Ackermann in Microcosm Of London, or London In Miniature. Volume 1. Aquatint showing warehouses at quayside and several West Indiamen moored alongside. Warehouses held thousands of tons of cargo, including sugar, rum, molasses, coffee, spices and hardwood. Docks were constructed by powerful group of businessmen led by Robert Milligan, wealthy merchant and ship-owner outraged at losses suffered due to theft and delay at riverside wharves. via National Maritime Museum, Greenwich, London, U.K. ~ collections.rmg.co.uk
