Gentleman's Trade (11 page)

“I’m afraid I don’t understand. If the forged documents are no longer a threat, how can he coerce you or Vanessa?”

“I told you I’ve overextended myself to finance some planters. I’ve also had to take out some loans myself, with half my business as collateral.”

Hugh’s mind raced ahead of his host’s words, and a chilling scenario occurred to him. “Wilmot has purchased your notes,” he said softly, each word falling distinctly like pebbles into a still pond.

Richard Mannion’s face looked gray and ravaged. He nodded.

Hugh whistled silently through his teeth. “And I take it the half of your business you used as collateral was your own, not Vanessa’s? So, if you cannot meet your obligations, and Wilmot weds Vanessa, then he gets the entire business.”

Mannion nodded again, then turned once more to stare out the window. He looked as if he’d aged twenty years since Hugh entered the room. Hugh pursed his lips, touching his fingertips together in steeple formation. He tried to think, to puzzle a way out of this new dimension to the maze; but his emotions kept rushing in. His rage at Wilmot’s duplicity was at the man’s callous use of Vanessa, merely a means to an end, for he did not believe, as Richard wanted to, that Wilmot truly cared for Vanessa. He had to will the violent emotions to ebb. They would serve no purpose and only cloud his reasoning.

The library door opened, and the figure of a woman in a white cotton gown printed with delicate floral trails backed stealthily into the room, her head still peeking out the door into the hall.

“Vanessa?” queried her father.

She jumped, her breath whooshing out of her chest, and turned toward him. Her hand clutched over her heart in recovering surprise.

“Shsh!” she hissed, swiftly closing the door, her back against it. “Mr. Wilmot’s here!”

“Again?” asked her father.

“Yes,” she whispered, “and I just heard him ask Jonas if he could see me. I had Jonas tell him earlier that I was not coming down to see anyone with this bruise.” Her hand unconsciously rose to touch a spot below her left eye.

“It doesn’t look too bad,” observed Hugh.

Vanessa’s eyes opened wide, and a bright red flush swept up her neck and face to bum her cheeks as she assimilated Mr. Talverton’s presence in her father’s library. Turning sideways, she presented him with her right side only, the bruise out of sight, her gaze directed at the wall.

“What are you doing here?” she squeaked, then nervously cleared her throat. “This is wonderful. If Mr. Wilmot finds me in here with you, my excuse for avoiding his company will be hollow, and I shall be forced to speak with him again.”

“I told you before, Vanessa, you are being ridiculously missish. I want you to continue to socialize with Mr. Wilmot.” The falseness of her father’s words made his tone flat and harsh.

Hugh’s eyebrows rose in amused recognition of the lie.

“I understand that, Father,” Vanessa responded distractedly, failing to catch the innuendos Hugh heard. She went on, exasperated: “I choose to do so from a position of strength, however, not an embarrassing weakness for a physical flaw.” She stared resolutely at the opposite wall.

“Mr. Mannion?” called Jonas’s voice as he rapped on the library door.

Vanessa swung around, wild-eyed. “Where can I hide?” she silently mouthed, desperation in her eyes. Hugh was surprised by the intensity of her desire to avoid Mr. Wilmot, and he felt a rush of feeling to be of assistance. Coming up beside her and catching her elbow in his hand, he propelled her toward the desk.

“One moment, Jonas,” called out Mr. Mannion, uncertain what his daughter and guest were up to.

The door opened a few inches and Jonas scurried inside. “Mr. Wilmot desires to see you, sir. Immediately,” said the butler, his voice quavering slightly. In openmouthed awe, he watched Mr. Talverton shove Vanessa underneath the desk, then lightly vaulted it to sit in a chair in front, slouching and crossing his long legs out in front of him to obscure any sight of Vanessa hiding on hands and knees.

Mr. Mannion just shook his head at his daughter’s antics, then a thoughtful expression stole over his face, and he rubbed his hands together with glee. Making an abrupt decision, his lips parted in a smile, and he strode over to stand by Mr. Talverton and aid in the deception.

“Well, Jonas, show him in, of course,” said Richard while he struggled to control a corner of his mouth from lifting in amusement.

Old Jonas’s eyes rolled in his head and his lips split into a broad grin. “Y-yes, sir!” he said emphatically, backing out into the hall.

From inside the library, they heard the butler tell Mr. Wilmot in a very austere tone that the master would see him now. Mr. Mannion’s iron-bar brows rose as one. Jonas never referred to him as the master, and with that supercilious air, he ventured to think Jonas could outshine a quality London butler any day.

He leaned casually against the desk and looked down at Hugh Talverton expectantly. Somehow he knew that if anyone could bring their ship safely to port, it would be this gentleman.

“So, Richard, you think I’ll be able to secure the high-quality cotton I need for my mill in England?” Hugh said loudly as they heard Russell Wilmot approach.”

“Without a doubt. You understand, however, why I can’t quote you a price immediately?”

“Of course,” Hugh said, his face a study of serious intentness.

“Good. Ah, Russell, come in. Hugh Talverton and I have just been discussing the magnitude of his cotton needs,” Richard Mannion said with brash heartiness, his eyes darting about, not quite meeting Mr. Wilmot’s.

Hugh stood up, inwardly cringing at Richard’s tone, for it was a little too hearty and welcoming. “Hello, Wilmot,” he said neutrally, curious to judge the gentleman’s reaction to his presence.

Wilmot nodded with bare civility before turning to address Richard. “Where’s Vanessa? You know I desire a word with her.” His eyes narrowed and slid in Hugh Talverton’s direction. “In private.”

Hugh raised a sandy brow and crossed his arms over his chest.

“You have some objection, Mr. Talverton?” Wilmot asked, his grating voice heavy with challenge.

“Objection?” Hugh returned slightly before a comical expression of petulance pulled down his features. “Why, dash it, yes, I suppose I do. I’d be in a devil of a pucker if she agreed to see you after turning down Trevor and me.” He dropped his hands to his sides and turned toward Mr. Mannion, his posture and demeanor suddenly stiff. “Sir,” he protested lugubriously, “surely you would not allow Miss Mannion to deliver us such a backhanded turn.”

Mr. Mannion coughed suddenly and looked down at the floor while scratching the side of his nose. The alteration in Mr. Talverton’s manner was astounding, and he was trying very hard to maintain his serious expression. “Uh—no, of course not. No daughter of mine would display such ramshackle manners,” he said gruffly, clearing his throat again.

Under the desk, Vanessa shook her head ruefully, amazed at her parent’s participation in a blatant prevarication. She was astounded that her usually sober father could hold his own in the mini-play he was enacting. Mr. Talverton’s performance drew a wry smile to her lips. It seemed he was a natural dissembler. He should have trod the boards. She leaned closer to the floor to better hear their dialogue through the narrow gap between the bottom of the wood panel end piece of the desk and the floor.

“Forgive me, Richard,” Hugh said. “You’d be right to consider me the veriest lobcock for my ill-chosen words.” A sound suspiciously like a snort came from Mr. Wilmot. “Richard, you assured me—”

The library door opened abruptly, cutting off his words as he swung around to see who entered.

“Excuse me, dear,” Mrs. Mannion said sweetly, ignoring the dark scowl on Russell Wilmot’s face, “why don’t you gentlemen join us in the parlor?” Her eyes flickered down, catching sight of white cloth figured with trailing flowers peeping out from under the desk. Her eyes opened wide. Vanessa? Though flustered and confused, she knew immediately her daughter would not be quick to forgive, if her hiding place were revealed.

Amanda Mannion’s eyes flew up and fixed upon Mr. Wilmot. She came toward him and hooked her arm in his, a stiff, broad smile on her face. “Come, sir, let’s provide an uplifting example and lead these two errant gentlemen to the parlor.” She pulled him forward, leaving him no recourse but to acquiesce gracefully. She patted his arm and strolled slowly out of the room. “It is too bad Vanessa won’t join us. The child is dreadfully embarrassed by that bruise on her face. It really is not that terrible, but she is adamant in her refusal to see anyone. She has been keeping to her room. Pouting, I think, poor dear. Oh, but just listen to me, my tongue is carrying on like a fiddlestick. If I’m not careful, you’ll soon be likening me to Mary Langley,” she said with a laugh, her voice fading from Vanessa’s hearing as she led Mr. Wilmot into the hall.

“I’ll follow behind you, just let me get my glass,” Vanessa heard Hugh say loudly.

She started to back out of her hidey-hole on her hands and knees, only to bump into Mr. Talverton’s shins and sit down on his foot. Mortification stained her cheeks cherry red, and she bolted upright just as he leaned down to assist her. Her head collided violently with his chin and she toppled forward again as Hugh bit back an oath, a hand coming up to nurse his sore jaw.

“What are you doing here?” she whispered savagely while blinking back the tears caused by the sharp pain on the top of her head. She grasped the edge of the desk and pulled herself up.

“I wanted to be sure you were all right, but I didn’t expect you to wallop me,” he whispered back.

“What? I think, Mr. Talverton, you have the wrong end of things,” she declared, tenderly touching the sore spot on the top of her head.

They stood and glared at each other. Eventually the humor of their attitude percolated through to Vanessa, and she started to giggle. Quickly she compressed her lips to stifle the sound. She waved a hand toward the door.

“You’d best join them before Mr. Wilmot becomes suspicious.”

“Becomes!” he retorted caustically. “I thought that was his natural state of being.”

She swallowed another laugh and pushed him toward the door. She was rapidly revising her impression of Mr. Talverton. Truly, he displayed wit, intelligence, and understanding, all traits she admired. If it wasn’t for his unfortunate habit of causing her injury and embarrassment, she could even come to like the gentleman.

Adeline opened the French doors of the parlor and walked out onto the gallery overlooking the gardens. Trevor followed behind her and placed a hand lightly on her shoulder. She turned to look up at him, a melancholy sadness touching her delicate features.

“What are we going to do, Trevor? Everyone believes you wish to marry Vanessa.” She gave a tight little laugh. “I even told Vanessa that last Friday.”

“I know,” he said softly, “and last Friday I believed it, too. But then I thought I would never love another woman as I loved Julia, and I was looking for second-best, someone to be a companion to me and a mother to my children.”

He turned her around to face him, taking both her hands in his. “I cannot believe I was blind for so long.”

She pulled her hands from his and grasped the balcony railing. “This has all happened too fast. We must be mad.”

“I realized that night at the theater that I loved you. I realized then it was a love that had been growing for some time, only in my blindness I didn’t see it for what it was.” He grinned. “Do you know when it really hit me? It was when Wilmot touched Vanessa. I was angry, angrier than I can ever remember being. But what went through my mind was that my anger was like that of a brother. After Hugh’s antics I looked down at you and it hit me with a hurricane’s force that if it had been you he touched, I would not have hesitated as I did. I would have milled him down immediately because I love you.”

“Oh, Trevor,” she said, smiling wistfully, “I knew the night of the Langley Ball when we danced. I don’t know why or how. I can’t explain it. I felt awful about the theater because Vanessa asked me to keep you occupied for the evening so she could allow Mr. Wilmot to be her escort. I felt, I don’t know, almost rebellious, for I knew Vanessa was busily comparing you and him. It was as if I could see her making up lists of the good points of both of you.”

He chuckled and gave her a little hug. “We’re both very lucky.”

“Yes,” she said slowly, then backed away a step and looked at him earnestly. “But we can’t tell anyone of our attachment yet, and you must continue to act as if you are courting Vanessa.”

He frowned but nodded. “I agree. Vanessa is ripe for marriage, but if her heart is not entangled, I don’t wish her to fall into Wilmot’s grasp. The man is up to something. I can smell it, but for the life of me I don’t know what it is.”

“Father has been acting very strangely, too. He knows of the incident at the theater but has virtually ordered Vanessa to forgive Mr. Wilmot his transgression.”

“That doesn’t sound like Richard.”

“It’s true. He had a long talk with Vanessa about it yesterday.”

Trevor leaned against the balcony railing, a thoughtful expression on his face. “I’ve told Hugh I would start some discreet inquiries into Mr. Wilmot. There have been rumors of a connection with Laffite.”