DisobediencebyDesign (5 page)

Joseph hid a smile as he resumed eating his dinner. The
conversation quickly turned to more pleasant, vacuous topics, which suited him
just fine. It gave him a chance to observe the marquess and marchioness. Lady
Richmond wore a striped dress of emerald and rust, the green matching her eyes,
the rust-red a reminder of the former vivid color of her graying tresses. Lord
Richmond’s formerly brown hair was now graying in a frame around his face, his
green-brown eyes almost the twin of Arthur’s but with the sadness of regret.
The couple looked weary and seemed to merely tolerate each other despite their
having been wed for what must have been nigh on thirty years. So unlike his
parents. Mother and Father acted more like Arthur and Lady Henrietta.

He glanced at Lady Sophia and caught her looking at him. Her
guilty blush sent an inappropriate shiver down his back. That morning he had
masturbated to a fantasy of her, to a remembrance of her body trapped by his
against the balustrade. But that fleeting moment of intimacy would be all he
would have with her, especially as her supposed fiancé was fawning possessively
at her side.

The Duke of Royston was a dour man and utterly unsuitable
for the captivating innocent that was Lady Sophia. But marriage amongst the
upper classes was not for love and passion. Such unions were for wealth and
connections. Joseph had seen some of the daughters of American society married
off at far too young an age to men old enough to be their fathers. Probably
their fathers’ friends and business associates. The practice was despicable.

Inwardly Joseph sighed. Men such as the duke and the
marquess were mired in history, in tenaciously preserving the past instead of
exploring new opportunities, planning new adventures. There would be more
evenings like this one. Joseph would just have to brace himself.

* * * * *

Geoffrey carefully negotiated the warren of dim, oak-paneled
passageways in Harwell Hall on his way to the drawing room. He did appreciate
that the Richmonds were modern enough to have indoor plumbing in their Tudor
manor but the journey from the dining room to the water closet was a bit
circuitous. Of course he might have taken a wrong turn at some point. Perhaps
he needed to visit the main house more often to get to know the place.

He chuckled. Royston probably knew every blasted nook and
cranny in the estate for all the time he spent there.

The next corridor should lead him back to the drawing room,
which was next to the dining room. The men would have finished their port by
now. He turned the corner—

“Oof!” Geoffrey grunted as he crashed into a woman,
instinctively grasping her shoulders to steady them both.

Her yelp of surprise lingered in midair as her book fell to
the floor, just missing his foot.

Anna
. Wonderfully kissable Anna. He flushed. He
should not think of such things in mixed company.

“Mr. Peel!”

He continued to hold her at the shoulders. The only thing
preventing him from pulling her against him was his damnable honor and an
accursed sewing basket she clutched before her.

“Miss…Miss…”

“I’m Anna, sir.” Her gaze fell to the basket.

“I thought to give you the same courtesy of using your
surname.”

She smiled a sweet, sweet smile with her kissable lips. “Colney,
sir. Anna Colney.”

“Well, Miss Colney, will you accept an apology from an
ungraceful clod?” His hands tingled from the lingering touch. He drew them down
her arms adroitly.

She looked up at him. Her brown eyes matched the rich oak of
the wainscoting and her cheeks were accentuated with a rosy flush. He had never
noticed until that moment how much she resembled Sophia. If not for the severe
servant’s uniform, one might mistake her for a cousin. Perhaps a cousin in
mourning.

“You’re not a clod, sir. It’s a hazard of the ground floor. Such
accidents happen more often than not amongst the servants.”

“Ah.” He should leave but he couldn’t. “So what are you
doing down here on the ground floor?”

“Lady Sophia called. She needed a quick repair to her
bodice.”

Hence the sewing basket. “You’re wearing a different dress,”
he blurted.

“Sir?” She blushed.

Bollocks
. “From the other night. This one is black.
And is it silk?”

“It is last year’s mourning gown from my lady.” She nibbled
on her lower lip. “When guests are lodging we’re to dress for dinner as well,
sir. I need to be presentable in case I am called upon.”

He could not take his eyes off her now-moistened lip. “You
would think my house barbaric then. I’m certain we do no such thing.”

She smiled the loveliest of smiles. “I’m sure the lady of
your house sees to it, sir.”

“My mother.”

“Sir?”

“My mother. Lady Bucknall. There is no Mrs. Peel.”

She blushed. “I had gathered that, sir.”

Of course. His kissing Sophia. Or Anna, rather.

She curtsied. “I’ll take my leave, if you don’t mind, sir.”

She bent to pick up her book, almost crashing into him again
as he thought to do the same.

He straightened and glanced at the gilded letters on the
cover. “
North and South
. I’ve not read that one. Is it good?”

“I am enjoying it, sir.”

“It’s about industrialization, is it not? I should probably
read it.”

She laughed softly. “Yes, I suppose Mrs. Gaskell does touch
on similar themes to what you and Lord Petersham are about to embark upon.” Her
hand flew to her mouth. “I’m dreadfully sorry, sir. My lady has spoken a little
about your scheme. I have not been indiscreet with the knowledge.”

“You have already proved your penchant for discretion with
your silence concerning my relationship with Lady Sophia.” He handed her the
book.

She looked away as she tucked it inside her basket. “Thank
you, sir.” She curtsied and started in the direction from where he had just
come.

“Wait.”

She hesitated. “Sir?”

He had to say something. Really he just wanted to kiss her
but such a move would reek of power and privilege, making him yet another
aristocrat abusing a servant. He did not want such a base relationship with
her. He wanted something more. But such a thing could never be managed.

“I just wanted…I mean to say that…I think you look lovely
tonight.”

She blushed. “Thank you, sir.”

“Last time I saw you it was practically pitch dark,
otherwise I would have told you then.”
Blast
. That sounded stupid.

“And you were otherwise occupied. Good night, sir.” She turned
and left.

Otherwise occupied, indeed
. Geoffrey chuckled to
himself. Anna Colney was simply magnificent.

* * * * *

Arthur gritted his teeth and clenched his fists as he
crossed from the dining room into the drawing room to join the women. Henny
furrowed her brow briefly then offered a comforting expression as she took his
arm.

“Was the port that bad, darling?” she said.

“They excoriated him and by default, excoriated me.”

“Who, darling?”

“Father for one.”

“You and the marquess have never really got on. It’s a
shame.”

That was, unfortunately, too true. Relations between father
and son had always been rather formal, even when Arthur was a boy. He watched
as more of the men filed leisurely into the drawing room. “And him.”

Arthur eyed Royston cautiously as the duke approached. He
not only abhorred Royston’s cutting remarks regarding Joseph’s background, he
was wary of Royston’s continued fascination with Henny. The duke practically
leered at her.

“Henny, my darling—”

Arthur buried his fury. The man had no right to call her
anything but Lady Henrietta.

“You look absolutely ravishing this evening.”

“Thank you, Your Grace. My engagement to the most
fascinating of men has heightened my complexion and my spirits.”

God
he loved her. She was fabulously clever. And he
had to agree, absolutely ravishing in a blue-and-gold-striped, ruffled
confection that matched her coloring to perfection.

“Fascinating is right, my dear, what with his unusual choice
of a business partner.”

Arthur seethed.

Father joined them. “Yes, I must agree with that, Royston.”
He scowled at Arthur. “Where on earth did you find him?”

“In New York,” Arthur shot back, searching the room for
Joseph, catching his eye as he conversed with Geoffrey and Sophia. Arthur
raised a brow in invitation.

“Unusual, Your Grace?” Henny responded coolly. “Why, the
Americans are a most enterprising lot. Arthur is poised to make millions, if
you ask me.” She smiled sweetly.

Arthur squelched a grin. Royston had just lost quite a
bundle in his last investment. Something involving whale oil, as Arthur
understood it.

“Why would I ever seek the opinion of a woman, my dear?”
Royston asked derisively.

Father chuckled.

“Because she’s got a point, Your Grace,” Geoffrey retorted
as he approached them.

Joseph and Sophia followed close behind, Sophia’s blush a
little too deep. Really, his sister’s dalliance with Geoffrey had gone too far.
He would have to scold her about her behavior later. She needed to maintain her
reputation, for God’s sake.

“Really, Peel? And what is that?” Royston’s tone reflected
his annoyance. He moved next to Sophia as if he owned her.

“Well, the scheme is absolutely brilliant,” Geoffrey
effused. “There’s talk of building a railway all the way from the east coast of
America to California. That’s three thousand miles. That’s a lot of railway
carriages
and
that’s a lot of railway parts. Phillips here has a plan to
supply all those carriages with parts. I mean no offense, Your Grace, but only
a fool would eschew such an investment.”

“An investment in a scheme that merely supports a
fantastical future is not my idea of a sound investment.” Royston’s lips
thinned disdainfully. “You boys go ahead and spend your money on outlandish
propositions. But don’t gripe about it when you end up in the poorhouse.” He
shifted his attention to Henny, placing a hand on her shoulder. “I do hope, for
your sake, that profits are more than a mere trifle so as to keep you in such
splendid gowns.” He let his hand slide down her arm to her hand. “My dear.” He
bowed his head over her hand and made his exit to the other side of the room.

Father followed at his heels.

Arthur’s blood boiled too hot for him to speak and Joseph
clearly struggled to keep a lid on his own fumes. Luckily Geoffrey had a cool
head.

“Don’t pay him any mind, Phillips. Petersham has shown me
some of your preliminary sketches and really, I think they’re brilliant.
However we must be reasonable and keep in mind men of Royston’s generation will
be skeptical. We must make it presentable to them. We can add some interest,
something unique for the younger investors, but for his lot we need to balance
that with the practicalities. You know…a sound investment in the future.”

Arthur shook his head in amazement. Geoffrey was a
lifesaver. So maybe Arthur wouldn’t scold his sister so much. She should have
her fun while she could.

Sophia turned her attention from Geoffrey to Joseph. “I’d
love to see your sketches, Mr. Phillips.” She looked at Arthur. “If I’m allowed
that is.”

“I suppose.” He sought confirmation from Joseph.

He nodded with a quirk of his lips.

“But it’s a secret, Sophie, so you can’t tell anyone,”
Arthur chided.

“Who am I going to tell?”

Henny laughed. “And who would believe a mere woman anyway,
Arthur, darling?”

Arthur grunted in annoyance. “Tomorrow. Come by the studio
tomorrow.”

Sophia clapped her hands. “Oh what fun!” she chirped. She
boldly took Geoffrey’s arm. “Now you two gentlemen can tell me all about
railways while Arthur and Henny coo.”

Joseph offered his arm for her other side. She blushed as she
took it and bit her lip with a grin as they sauntered away.

A pang of regret gripped Arthur’s heart. Such a shame that after
one year of marriage to Royston she’d have lost all that girlish exuberance.

Sophia huffed and puffed in laughter and exhaustion as she
ran across the estate with Henny, her exertions warming her against the chill
of early spring.

“C’mon, Sophie, the studio is just there.” Henny was
glowing. She wanted to see Arthur as much as Sophia wanted to see Mr. Phillips.

Henny was far too encouraging an ally when it came to
matters regarding Mr. Phillips. She confessed she knew Sophia was utterly
smitten but counseled a connection with Mr. Phillips would be dangerous. Yet
Henny acknowledged she trusted Sophia could be discreet when she put her mind
to it, as her liaison with Geoffrey proved.

The folly finally came into view, its exuberance of wrought
iron a testament to an earlier time when a fascination for the material
indicated modernity and progress. That such a harsh material could be shaped
and cast into delicate columns and curlicue capitals supporting roofs and
frames filled with expanses of glass had been a symbol of the new industrial
age. The Marquesses of Richmond had prided themselves as forward thinkers. Alas,
Papa seemed to have forgotten such a sentiment, although Arthur was taking up
the standard of their forebears with alacrity.

Inside the glazed outbuilding Mr. Phillips sat hunched over
a writing desk, his pen moving over paper, while Arthur paced about, waving his
hands. Mr. Phillips worked steadily, intent on whatever it was he was doing,
not at all distracted by Arthur’s dramatic gestures. Such focus was so very…
attractive
.

Henny grabbed her hand and they skulked closer.

“Let’s not go in just yet,” Henny whispered. “It looks as if
they’re mired in something important.”

Indeed. Arthur had pulled up a chair alongside the desk and seemed
to be listening intently, nodding as Mr. Phillips pointed then traced his
finger around the document before him. While Mr. Phillips continued to talk
Arthur stared at him, examining him, his face cast by a queer expression,
something akin to how he regarded Henny sometimes. Mr. Phillips finished
talking and met Arthur’s gaze and for a moment the two men remained in that
position, until Arthur shook his head, got up and flopped down in a stuffed
armchair.

“Now’s our chance.” Henny bounced up and skipped toward the
studio.

A rush of insecurity overwhelmed her but Sophia found the
courage to follow. She caught a glimpse of Mr. Phillips through the tall
window, flushed at a recollection of what she had done while dreaming about him
the night before then began to giggle uncontrollably.

Arthur greeted them with a mixture of relief and annoyance, the
latter directed mostly at Sophia’s girlish foolishness.

“Henny, darling.” He kissed her cheek and squeezed her hand.

Mr. Phillips stood. “Ladies.” He greeted them with a bow.

“Please, Mr. Phillips, don’t let us girls disturb you.”
Henny motioned for him to sit.

He smiled at her then flashed an even bigger grin at Sophia.
Her face grew hot.

Henny wandered around the small space, made more intimate by
stacks of discarded furniture covered with sheets. She lifted a corner of a
sheet and examined the pile beneath it. “Where’s that infamous bed, Arthur?”

Sophia swallowed hard. Mr. Phillips threw a look of
astonishment at Henny.

“Bed?” inquired Arthur.

“Oh, darling, didn’t you say this is where all the
marquesses used to take their mistresses? It’s a lovely space. I can see having
a tryst here.”

Arthur chuckled.

“The light is very good for drawing, Lady Henrietta,”
remarked Joseph.

“
Henny
. Please you
must
call me
Henny
when we are alone like this.”

“Okay. Henny.”

Mr. Phillips’ lips curled exquisitely. Sophia regretted not
kissing him the other night.

“So show me your work, Mr. Phillips.” Henny strolled over to
the desk.

“Joseph.” He turned to Sophia. “You too, my lady. I’m not
quite comfortable with all this aristocratic politeness.”

To be so intimate as to say his Christian name aloud sparked
a naughty thrill. She was already practiced with whispering it in the dark.

“Sophie! You must look at this,” Henny exclaimed.

Sophia joined them at the desk, her heart thumping a bit too
rapidly as she stood next to Mr. Phillips—Joseph. On the desk before her lay a
drawing of what looked like the exterior of a railway passenger car, every
piece of it precisely delineated with the greatest attention paid to the
workings underneath.

Joseph pulled out another drawing from under the stack of
papers, a more detailed view of all the mechanical elements of the car.

“All these undercarriage components are made from metal. The
rest of the car,” he said, pointing to the full view, “is made from wood.
Operating from the principle of specialization in manufacturing, I want to set
up factories that create only the undercarriage components.”

“So that’s what you two are up to.” Henny sounded impressed.

Arthur wrapped his arm around her waist. “The idea of a
railway across the American continent is…well…I cringe to say, picking up
steam—”

Joseph chuckled.

“And Joseph has the idea of being at the ready with parts
for railway carriages once the thing is finally built.”

“But won’t thousands of miles of railway take a long time to
build?” Sophia asked.

“You mean won’t we have parts sitting in warehouses during
all that time?” Joseph’s eyes twinkled at her.

“Well yes, I suppose. Something like that.”

“The proposition is for us to start small. Fulfill existing
need. But look toward the longer term and be ready for expansion, my lady.”

“Sophia,” she said softly. “You should call me Sophia,
Joseph.”

She could have sworn he blushed slightly at the sign of
intimacy.

He cleared his throat. “But we don’t want to show our cards
just yet. We want our competitors to think we’re not their competition. We want
the element of surprise.”

“Which is another reason why we’re looking for multiple
backers,” added Arthur. “We’re hoping more names attached to more companies
might confuse competition.”

“Geoffrey,” Sophia said.

“Yes,” Joseph replied. “Incorporation contracts seem to be
Peel’s specialty.”

Henny sat in the armchair with a laugh. “Oh, Royston is
going to hate the lot of you.”

“He already does, Henny, darling.”

“If you don’t mind my asking,” Joseph began circumspectly, “why
is that?”

Henny flicked her gaze toward Arthur. “Arthur’s less than
half his age and has far better luck with his investments.”

“It’s not luck, Henny,” Sophia countered. “Arthur takes
great care and consideration with financial matters. The duke seems old-fashioned
with his money.”

“And I stole Henny from him,” Arthur added sullenly.

Joseph glanced between Henny and Arthur, appearing a little
stunned. “Really?”

Henny got up. “Arthur, you know it wasn’t like that at all.”
She paced nervously.

“Well that’s how Royston sees it.”

Joseph looked at Sophia in supplication.

“The Duke of Royston is a cousin of Henny’s mother—” Sophia
began.

“Distant cousin,” Henny corrected.

“So Henny had been…well…sort of promised to him—”

“Since I was an adolescent,” Henny added with disgust.

“But she and Arthur met at her coming out and I suppose…” Sophia
glanced at her brother. “They fell in love.”

Arthur took Henny’s hand. “That was three years ago.”

Henny smiled up at him.

“But then the duke lost a great deal of money on an
absolutely foolish investment—” Sophia continued.

“Wig powder,” Arthur joked.

Henny laughed sharply.

“And Henny’s father had second thoughts.”

“Thank God,” Henny breathed.

“At the same time Arthur had made a fortune in his
transatlantic telegraph cable investment and he asked Henny’s father for her
hand in marriage.”

“Dad jumped at the chance to marry his daughter to someone
with intelligence and fabulously good looks.” Henny glowed with love.

“Ah,” Joseph said. He raised a brow at Sophia. “And how does
Lady, uh, Sophia fit into all of this? With Royston I mean.”

Arthur shuffled his feet. “My father is not as radical as
Henny’s father is. He sees an alliance with the duke as benefiting the legacy
of the Marquessate of Richmond.”

Sophia’s heart fell. She knew all too well marriage to the
duke was her fate but to hear the words spoken aloud in front of a man who
inhabited her dreams was absolutely depressing.

“And how do you feel about this, Sophia?” Joseph’s voice
conveyed concern.

“It does not matter how I feel. It is my duty.”

“Well I for one think it does matter how you feel,” he
responded. “What about this Peel fellow?”

“You mean marry Geoffrey?” she exclaimed. “I can’t. He’s
only an heir to a viscountcy. Papa says he wants more for me.”

Joseph turned to her brother. “Arthur?”

“There’s really nothing I can do. I’ve told Father I don’t
think the match is a good idea. He says young people today have foolish romantic
notions. I’m not even entirely certain he approves of Henny.”

A bleak silence descended upon the group until Henny puffed
a sigh.

“Sophie, we promised your mother we would be back for tea.
We’ll have to change first.”

“Yes, Henny.”

Henny gave Arthur a peck on the cheek. “Right. We’ll see you
boys later.” She grabbed Sophia’s hand.

As she left, Sophia caught Joseph’s sympathetic look, spurring
her heart to beat a little faster.

* * * * *

Henny waited until almost midnight before she wended her way
through darkened corridors to Arthur’s apartments in the sprawling Harwell
Hall. Servants clung to shadows, keeping silent as she traversed the lengths of
hallways, crossed courtyards, climbed stairs. They would know the Earl of
Petersham and his fiancée were desperately in love and deserved their privacy.

Light streamed into the hall from under Arthur’s library
door, flickering and wavering but bright. The faint scent of pipe tobacco hung
in the air. She hesitated a moment, wondering if she should knock, knowing he
wouldn’t expect her to. She turned the knob, opened the door and stepped
through.

Arthur started then stared at her with a guilty expression,
the same expression he got when he had been thinking of her in a rather naughty
way. He stood with his back to the fire, his hands behind him flexing in the
warmth.

Before him sat Joseph, a book opened in his hand, one leg
crossed over the other, dressed, as was Arthur, in a smoking jacket. Joseph,
too, stared at her until realization washed over his features. He said nothing
as he stood and walked toward the door, merely nodding politely at her,
although she could swear there was a measure of amused approbation in his
countenance. He closed the door quietly behind him.

“Henny, is something wrong?” Arthur came toward her, his gaze
searching her face. “You look a bit worried.”

“I do?” She touched her fingers to her cheek.

He held out his hands and she took them. “Come to the fire.
Tell me.”

He knew… Arthur
always
knew when her mind weighed
heavily with cares and concerns. But this one was difficult to put into words.

“I’m leaving tomorrow.”

“Yes. I knew it would be soon, darling,” he responded
softly.

“My parents are expected home from the Continent this week.
Mama and I need to start planning the wedding but once we have a few things
settled we’ll both return here, you know, so Sophie and your mother can help
too. Maybe in a few weeks or so.”

He tenderly brushed a fallen curl from her face. She took
his hand and pressed it to her cheek.

“I’m so lucky!” She could not stop the tears from falling.

“Darling Henny, what’s the matter? Please tell me.”

“It’s Sophie. I feel for Sophie.” Young, beautiful, virginal
Sophie. “Royston is remaining here, presumably to woo her.” She looked up at
him. “Arthur, it is a terrible match.”

“I know.” He wrapped his arms around her. “There’s just
nothing I can do.”

His voice held frustration and a measure of disquietude. He
might be willing to try to stop the match.

“Poor Geoffrey.” She sighed. “They would make a good pair.”
She hesitated, knowing her next thought was daring to the point of impropriety.
“And then there’s Mr. Phillips.”

Arthur pulled back with a furrowed brow. “What about Joseph?”

“Your sister obviously has a case on him.”
Maybe you
could encourage it?

“She’s eighteen. Girls her age get a ‘case’ on young men all
the time. Besides, such a match would be preposterous, Henny.”

“Sadly, yes. I just wish Sophie could have one romance
before she’s fettered to Royston for life.”
And if she did
,
he might
set his sights elsewhere
.

“She’ll have to content herself with Geoffrey.”

Henny sighed. Geoffrey was too much of a gentleman to do
anything but kiss Sophia senseless. Certainly he would never deflower her
without marrying her. “I suppose so.”

Arthur eyed her intensely. “There’s something else, isn’t
there?”

Her lungs constricted in dread. “It’s just that,” she said,
trying to steady her voice, “I don’t want to have to go back to that
predicament ever again.”

“What predicament? Henny, what are you talking about?”

“Royston,” she blurted, tears streaming down her face. “I
don’t ever want to be considered a match for Royston.”

“What?” he exclaimed incredulously. “Darling, that’s never
going to happen. You’re engaged to me. We have a settlement, remember?”

“But what if you died?”

His incredulity sharpened. “What if I
died
?” He
searched her face. “Henny, what is this about?”