Page 34 of Forgotten No More

Did Ruby seek the same? She’d venomously denied her reasoning had naught to do with marriage. He wanted to believe her more than the average selfish, social climbing miss. He did not know her as well as he’d like, but he’d seen good in her; knew she’d been instrumental in helping Lady Haversham start and run Foldger’s Foundling House long before its move out of London’s Cheapside.

Unexpectedly, a carriage pulled into the drive not far from where he stood in the shadows. He’d been so entrenched in his own thoughts he hadn’t heard the approaching wheels.

Harold pushed a bit further into the shrubbery as he heard laughter erupt from the carriage. Before the conveyance had come to a full stop, a footman jumped from his post at the rear of the carriage and set down the steps. The man opened the carriage door and two girls, no more than thirteen and fifteen, alighted, still laughing.

“Larkens,” a deep throaty voice called from inside the carriage. “Please deliver my daughters’ things to their rooms. My wife and I will retire to the gardens. And have Mrs. Goods bring tea around.” With that, the lord of the house stepped from the carriage. Turning, he held out his hand to assist his wife.

The pair made a striking couple, both with hair of the palest gold and creamy skin. Their daughters bounced into the townhouse, replicas of their mother, both of them so slight they barely reached their father’s shoulder. All the while, they smiled and laughed at some joke Harold was not fortunate enough to hear.

He continued to eye the couple as they directed the footman and butler as to which packages should be delivered to which room. Harold was baffled as to why Ruby was interested in this man or his family.

There was little else he could do but watch.

After a few more instructions, the couple followed their daughters into the house, closing the door securely behind them.

The carriage also eventually left, moving around the house to the area where Harold assumed the stables were located, leaving him alone once more.

He moved from his place in the shadows and toward the street. The sun was only just past midday, and he had much left to do before he accompanied Brock and Lady Haversham to the playhouse that evening.

Harold walked the few blocks necessary to a busier street in town before hailing a hack to Cheapside. That morning, he’d sent word to William about meeting to discuss the contacts he’d made within the shipping circles of London, thanks to Brock’s willingness to include Harold in a few of his business meetings. The men had readily agreed to meet with Harold, independent of Brock. It was important to him that Brock not be included in his business venture with William; if it failed, the blame could lie only on Harold’s shoulders.

If William’s venture idea had merit, these men would be able to help. Success meant not only a means of supporting himself, but also an opportunity for his brother to recover financially after his employer’s death.

The roads were clogged with midday travelers: expensive carriages taking the women of the ton to Bond Street for shopping, or pedestrians making their way to and from their places of employment.

As Harold neared the River Thames, the carriages thinned while the walking traffic increased. Vendors hocked their wares on every corner, shouting after people in hopes of earning coin. The sun was beginning its slow decent, and Harold knew he was late. He hoped William still loitered near the abandoned blacksmith shop.

Harold flipped a few coin to the driver when they arrived and jumped to the street in front of the dilapidated building. His older brother immediately stepped around the corner, as if he’d been hiding from view until Harold arrived. His attire looked roughly the same—worn, oversized breeches and a sturdy shirt that had seen better days, but at least his face and hands appeared scrubbed. As William made his way closer, his feet dragged. Harold suspected the boots he wore were of a size far larger than necessary.

“How do you fair, brother?” Harold asked in greeting.

“Better now that you sent word. I feared you would be unable to make the connections we need.”

Harold heard the emphasis on ‘we’ and, surprisingly, liked the idea of working alongside his brother toward a common goal. It had been many years since they’d spent time together. Even then, their age difference made it hard for them to truly connect as anything more than dueling siblings, boys becoming men.

He held himself back from embracing William this time, knowing the relationship they shared would never be on par with his and Brock’s close bond. “I had little trouble arranging a meeting for you.”

William smiled. “That is good news. When am I to meet them, and where?”

It was exactly the questions Harold had been pondering for some time. His brother could not possibly handle business in his current state of dress, unkempt as he was. But the situation was more easily rectified then he’d thought.

“I have made you an appointment with a tailor and hired a room for you.” Harold slipped a card with the tailor’s directions and the name of a boarding house from his jacket pocket and held it out to his brother. “They are expecting you.”

He shook his head, not taking the offered card. “No, I cannot be in your debt.”

Harold laughed. “I figured you would say exactly that, which is why you will pay me back—every cent.”

The Jakestons were a stubborn lot who’d never relished being indebted to another. When Harold had journeyed to London with Brock the previous year, he’d not accepted coin from his father or Brock. It was with luck that he’d placed a winning wager at White’s and was therefore able to afford new clothes. His brother, he learned, was much the same.

Still hesitant, William took the card and turned it in his fingers, reading. “Thank you.”

“Well, we cannot have you meeting thusly.” Harold thumped his brother on the back in jest. “We are now serious business partners, and must appear the part if we are to be treated as such.”

“Then you have secured the necessary funds?” William’s brow shot up in question.

“Did you doubt me?”

“Never,” William said.