Carola Dunn (23 page)

Chapter 16

“Felix, I wish you will stop flirting with Fanny.” Miriam frowned at him over the gold-rimmed glasses she had taken to wearing for reading.

“Flirting! I am simply enjoying her company,” he protested, indignant.

“I believe flirtation comes so naturally to you that you don’t even notice what you are about,” she said dryly. “From the outside it looks like flirting, though I cannot be sure what Fanny thinks. You are about to propose to Lady Sophia--indeed you meant to do so a week ago!--and it is shockingly unfair to her.”

“I suppose so,” he conceded, “but she need never know.”

Taking off her spectacles, Miriam gave him an exasperated look. “While you and Fanny are both guests in my house, I hope you will respect my wishes.”

“Of course, m’dear.” Twice before she had objected to his gallantries, with a peasant girl in the Pyrenees, and with a sophisticated lady who happened to be the wife of his host in Bordeaux. She had probably been right both times, so she could be right now. This case was quite different, though, because Fanny was his friend. He had never enjoyed so delightful a flirtation, if that was what it was.

Suddenly Miriam’s words sank in. “A week ago? Have I really been here so long? Good gad, she may be in Paris by now. And it’s also time I was reporting to Rothschild. I must go up to Town.”

“Isaac has business in London tomorrow. You can travel with him.” She set aside her book as Isaac and Fanny, dressed for dinner, came into the drawing room. “Felix goes with you tomorrow morning, my love. His leave from Mr Rothschild is at an end.”

Fanny’s face fell. Even as he discussed travel arrangements with Isaac, Felix reinterpreted Miriam’s declaration: “It is shockingly unfair to her.”

Unfair to the Goddess, he had assumed. Had she meant, to Fanny? Impossible! Fanny knew very well that he hoped to marry Lady Sophia. He had kept her, as a trusted friend, apprised of every phase of his courtship. She understood that his family’s rank made it necessary for him to take a noble bride, while their condition made a wealthy wife advisable.

As Fanny had pointed out herself, she was not a naïve young girl. She had had enough suitors not to be misled by a pleasant flirtation between friends. No, Miriam had meant he was being unfair to Lady Sophia, and she was right, as usual. When he was married, he resolved reluctantly, he’d foreswear dalliance with any but his wife.

Fanny’s cheerfulness that evening was a trifle forced, and she retired early. When he bade her goodnight, Felix renewed his assurances that she and Frank could count on him in any difficulties.

She smiled up at him sadly. “You are so very...kind.”

He thought he heard Miriam mutter to her husband: “Blind!” but it made no sense so he must have misheard. He asked Fanny to give Anita a farewell kiss from him.

She nodded, whispered a strangled “Goodnight, and goodbye,” and left the room.

Treading slowly up the stairs, Fanny castigated herself. Would she never learn? Every time he arrived after an absence, her spirits soared. Every time he departed she plunged into the slough of despond. Her mind knew he was not for her; if only she could persuade her heart of that truth.

She went to her chamber and sat in a chair by the window, gazing out over the gardens, dimly lit by a waning moon, shadowed as a future without Felix. Once married, Lady Sophia would never let him consort with the likes of the Ingrams, and indeed, once he was married, Fanny didn’t think she could endure to see him. Her throat ached, but no tears came.

At last, still dry-eyed, she went to see that Frank was settled for the night. He had been carried down for an hour or two every afternoon these past few days, but he was still weak. He was her future, he and Anita. She loved them. In time, perhaps, in caring for them, she’d escape the pain of her love for Felix.

* * * *

In the morning, Felix and Isaac departed before the ladies came down. Felix offered to take the ribbons.

“You expect me to trust you with my horses?”

“I taught you to drive!” said Felix in mock outrage, taking the reins from the groom and mounting into the phaeton.

Laughing, Isaac joined him. “Unwillingly! Only because Miriam insisted it was necessary if we were ever to reach Spain. As I recall, the prospect of teaching a Jew appalled you.”

“What an arrogant numskull I was.” He gave the pair of sorrels the office to start.

“I didn’t precisely live up to my principles, hating you simply because of the blue blood in your veins. What we’d have done without Miriam to keep us in order, I cannot for the life of me imagine.”

“Wellington would have had to whistle for his gold. How right Jakob Rothschild was to send her with us.”

As they turned out of the stable yard and trotted down the drive, Isaac asked, “Have you decided whether you are going to give Rothschild your notice?”

“If Lady Sophia accepts me, certainly. If not, probably. I’ve enjoyed working for him and shall be sorry to give it up, but I ought to be learning how to run Westwood. My father isn’t growing any younger, as you pointed out, and duty calls.”

“Then you mean to call on Lady Sophia first? To throw yourself at her feet, as you once advised me! My first errand is to Mr Rothschild. If you wish, I shall tell him you are on your way.”

“I’ll come with you. The Daventrys may not be in Town, and in any case we’ll probably arrive too early to call, since you dragged me out at dawn.” The longer he could put off the evil hour, the better--no, not the evil hour! The difficult task. Offering for a young lady’s hand in marriage was a notoriously arduous affair.

He had practice, of course. Proposing to Miriam had been awkward enough, especially when he discovered in the middle of his heartfelt offer that she was an heiress. That had come as a shock! This time he’d be sure to sort out the financial business with Lord Daventry first. A properly brought up female like Lady Sophia would want nothing to do with settlements.

Perhaps she’d be in Northamptonshire, or Paris.

He drove straight to New Court. He and Isaac went into the bank and asked for Mr Rothschild.

“He’s at the Bank of England,” said the clerk in a voice of nervous awe. In fact, the whole establishment seemed to be in a state of breathless anticipation.

“What’s going on?” Isaac asked.

The man drew them aside. “It started the day before yesterday, with a draft from Mr Amschel in Frankfurt. Mr Nathan sent me to the Bank of England to cash it, and they told me they cashed only their own notes, not those of private individuals. When I told Mr Nathan--well, I never thought to see him lose his temper, cool as he usually is.”

“What did he do?” Felix demanded.

“‘Rothschilds are not private individuals!’ he roared. Next morning he gave nine of us clerks purses stuffed to bursting with ten-pound Bank of England notes, and he took another, and we all went round to Threadneedle Street and started cashing them. Nearly £100,000 in gold we had by the end of the day.”

Felix and Isaac began to laugh. “And then?”

“He went back this morning, with nine more fellows. We’re waiting to hear.”

“Devil take it, I wouldn’t miss this for the world,” said Felix. “How can I bear not to work for a man with such colossal nerve?”

Provided with newspapers, he and Isaac sat down to wait. The hour arrived when it would be perfectly proper to call on the Marquis of Daventry. Felix glanced at the clock and shook his head.

Not long after, Nathan Rothschild strolled into the bank, followed by nine grinning clerks. He nodded to Felix and Isaac with an air of grim satisfaction. “I’ll be with you in a moment, gentlemen,” he said, continuing to his private office.

The entire staff converged on his henchmen.

“Soon after we arrived,” the most senior began the story, “one of the bigwigs came in. Lord, was he in high fidgets, but he tried to hide it with a laugh.”

“‘How long do you mean to keep up this jest?’ he asked,” broke in another clerk, sniggering.

“And Mr Rothschild, in that placid way of his, he said, ‘Rothschild will continue to doubt the Bank of England’s notes as long as the Bank of England doubts Rothschild notes.’“

A roar of approval arose.

“So this chap goes off, and we go on cashing notes, until pretty soon he comes back and says they called an emergency meeting of the directors. The upshot is, in future they’ll cash any draft of any Rothschild.”

There was a murmur of gratification, but no one had doubted that their employer was going to win. Through the murmur cut Mr Rothschild’s voice and the clerks hurriedly scattered about their business.

“I cannot wait to tell Fanny and Miriam that story,” said Felix, laughing, as he and Isaac went into the inner office.

The banker received their congratulations with a grunt. “Well, my lord, you have returned to work? How do you fancy Paris again?”

“Very much, sir, but I hesitate to commit myself. You see, sooner or later I must learn to manage my father’s estate.”

“Naturally. Your duty to your family comes first.”

“However, the earl is in excellent health, so there is no urgency. On the other hand, I am hoping to win a young lady’s hand in marriage, and if I do, I shall have to give up my employment, with deep regret, I assure you, sir. So my future course rather depends on the lady’s answer.”

“Take another fortnight. But if you decide sooner to quit, let me know.”

“Of course, sir. Isaac, I’ll see you later?”

“When I’ve finished my business for the day, I’ll go to my father-in-law’s. You can contact me there.”

A few minutes later, Felix was walking along Cheapside towards St James’s. He ought to be preparing a speech for Lord Daventry, and another for Lady Sophia, but his mind kept returning to Nathan Rothschild’s triumph. Fanny would admire such masterly tactics. Even Wellington must approve the neat way the banker had turned the enemy’s flanks and defeated him with his own guns, yet left him with no possible legitimate cause for complaint.

He reached Pall Mall with no idea what he was going to say to the marquis. Passing the magnificent façade of Carlton House without a glance, he turned into St James’s Square and came face to face with an old friend.

“Roworth! Where the devil have you been hiding?”

“Here and there, Gardner, here and there.”

“Haven’t seen you in years, my dear fellow. Buy you a drink.”

The Honorable Aloysius Gardner did not have to insist, though in view of his afternoon’s quest Felix stuck to ale. The first sip suggested to him that the hollow sensation in his middle was hunger not, as he had supposed, sheer terror at the prospect of jumping with both feet into parson’s mousetrap.

Gardner had just breakfasted, but he lingered, reminiscing about the escapades of their youth, while Felix consumed pickled oysters, followed by a large beefsteak with mushrooms. In the end it was the Honorable Aloysius who regretfully had to take his leave, recalling an engagement.

No further excuse for delay presenting itself, Felix made his way to the Daventrys’ front door. The knocker had not been taken down; the ground floor curtains were open. The family was at home.

On asking for a private word with the marquis, he was shown into his lordship’s study. Feverishly considering possible openings, he paced the room, wending his way between deep, luxurious leather chairs and pausing before the half dozen books that graced the single bookshelf. The Peerage, the Baronetage, the Turf Register, and three volumes on agriculture, he noted absently.

The only other item of note in the “study” was a sideboard bearing several decanters. To this Lord Daventry immediately repaired when he entered after what seemed to Felix an age but was actually only two or three minutes. “You’ll take a drop of something, Roworth?”

“Just a little Madeira, thank you, sir.”

“Here you go. It’s good to see you, my boy. Sit down, sit down. You were lucky to catch us in Town. We’re just passing through, on our way to Paris. Everyone’s there now, the ladies tell me, since we put paid to Bonaparte for good. A splendid victory! Here’s to Wellington.”

He raised his glass in a toast and Felix followed suit. He was sorely tempted to embark upon a discussion of the Battle of Waterloo but the marquis was made of sterner stuff.

“We left Brussels in a bit of a hurry,” he said. “Lady Daventry was nervous, and who can blame her. M’daughter was sorry to leave her...hmm...friends.”

So obvious a hint could not be ignored. “I was sorry for your absence, sir, but glad that Lady Sophia was safe. You know, I believe, why I did not...er...speak to you before your removal.”

“Yes, indeed, my boy, and very proper of you. Am I to understand that the...hmm...obstacle is a thing of the past?”

“It is, sir. My...er...financial situation is much improved. I can give you details.”

“No sense in wasting time on that yet. Wait until you have...hmm...addressed Sophie. I don’t scruple to tell you that she’s been a worry to her mother and me, and I make no guarantees, mind.”

“I admire your reluctance to force her into an unwanted match, sir.”

“Finicky, that’s what she is.” Lord Daventry grew confidential. “But she may be...hmm...changing her tune. Her little sister’s just wed, you know, and a girl don’t care for that. Then poor Garforth was killed at Waterloo, and Bissell maimed. Those two lads in the Guards came through unscathed, but they’re no more than boys. And the count, well, a foreigner, you know. A fine fellow, to be sure, but after all he’s in Belgium and we are not.”

So he was now head of the list, Felix thought, a peculiarly cold feeling invading his chest. “Then may I take it you approve my...er...suit?”

“Gad, yes! One of the finest families in the country, after all. Can’t think of anyone I’d rather...hmm... entrust her to, now that your little...er...difficulty is out of the way. She’s in the drawing room now, if you want to get the business over with.”

Felix drew a deep breath. “Yes, I daresay I had best... hmm...strike while the iron’s hot.”

As the marquis led him across the hall, he felt dismayingly as if he were walking in dead men’s shoes. Both Garforth and Bissell knocked out of the race by the fortunes of war! Fanny was right, glory was a poor substitute for life and health.