The Outrageous Belle Marchmain. Lucy Ashford

the aspirations of its title-holders.

      She’d also had to face up to the fact that her own prospects were bleak when her husband died five years ago in one of Wellington’s final campaigns of the war. She’d had to make harsh choices: either to move in with Edward at Hathersleigh Manor, or to earn her own living. In fact, imposing herself on Edward never seriously crossed her mind and the idea of being a governess or companion horrified her. Certain offers she’d received from so-called gentlemen repelled her even more.

      Then inspiration had come. She had always been a talented seamstress and was fascinated by the women’s fashions that ebbed and flowed like the long Napoleonic wars, so—in the face of her brother’s disapproval—she’d decided to open a dress shop in London.

      Her designs were bold and eyecatching. Outrageous, some of the ton’s older matrons were heard to intone witheringly. Her shop, though small, was well situated in the Strand, and she and Gabby lived in the two rooms above it. Soon she’d begun to attract customers who were tired of soft pastels and wanted something different, but she was by no means making a fortune. She was lucky if her own rent and bills were paid every quarter day. How on earth could she deal with Edward’s debts?

      Now, as the candles flickered around the bright silks and satins in this little shop, which she felt sick at the thought of losing, she looked at her brother steadily and said, ‘There’s no point in my even asking the amount of your debt to Mr Davenant, Edward, for I know I won’t be able to pay it. But I will go and see him for you.’

      ‘Go and see him?’ Her brother was astonished. ‘And then what? I’m damned if you’ll grovel on my behalf in front of that—that nouveau-riche upstart!’

      A flash of anger darkened Belle’s eyes. ‘I have never grovelled in my life. I will simply explain that you realise you have made a grave error—’

      Edward jumped up, about to protest, but something in Belle’s steady gaze made him clamp his lips together and sit down again.

      ‘That you’ve made a grave error,’ she repeated, ‘and would be grateful if Mr Davenant would accept your word of honour that your debts will be paid off steadily over—what? Three years, Edward?’

      He looked sullen now, a little boy again. ‘Three years! I suppose so. Times are hard, though Davenant’s thriving, blast the fellow …’

      ‘I shall go and see him,’ said Belle quietly. ‘And I’ll let you know how I get on.’

      He got up to pace to and fro, nodding. ‘Very well. And put on some charm, eh? Come to think of it, Belle, a second marriage for you, to some rich fellow—not Davenant, of course, God forbid—could be the answer for both of us. You’re really not at all bad-looking, if you’d just make an effort not to frighten the fellows off with those startling clothes and that sharp tongue of yours.’

      This time, there was an edge of ice in her voice. ‘Let me assure you I have absolutely no intention of getting married again. Ever.’

      Her brother shrugged. ‘Suit yourself. I’ll stay on in town for a week or so at Grillon’s, so you can let me know there when it’s all sorted with Davenant, can’t you?’ He started putting on his hat, checking his reflection in the mirror.

      ‘Edward,’ Belle said suddenly. ‘You’re not going to visit any of the gambling dens, are you?’

      He swung round. ‘Gambling dens? Never. And thanks for this, Belle. Some day I’ll return the favour.’

      Breezily Edward let himself out. Belle sat with her hands frozen in her lap, immobile.

      Gabby came in rather hesitantly. ‘Are you free, madame? I wanted to tell you that there was a little trouble earlier.’

      Belle’s heart sank anew. ‘What kind of trouble?’

      ‘Jenny told me about it. It appears that when you and I were measuring Lady Tindall in the back workshop for her new gown, a customer came in and complained about a cuff that was loose on a pelisse she bought last week.’

      ‘What did Jenny do?’

      ‘She mended it there and then, and the customer left—but she was so unpleasant, Jenny said! And she declared she would not be using our shop in the future!’

      ‘Well, it sounds as if we’re better off without her,’ Belle soothed and Gabby went off, looking happier, to tidy the workroom. Originally from Paris, the lively French girl had come to Belle’s notice when she’d advertised for an assistant seamstress and Gabby had proved invaluable, good both with the customers and with the two girls Belle also employed.

      In addition, it did no harm that Matt was smitten by Gabby—honest, stolid Matt Bellamy, who worked most of the time at his brother’s stables just down the road, but was a joiner by trade. Belle had hired him to fit out her shop and he continued to do odd jobs for her. Though Gabby teased Matt outrageously, Belle could see that secretly Matt adored her.

      Together against the world, Belle and her staff were a good team. But—Edward. Her brother had flushed with anger when she’d mentioned gambling dens, yet Belle couldn’t help remembering that when he’d first come into his inheritance the lure of the gaming parlours had pulled him time and time again to London.

      Marriage to Charlotte had at least cured her brother of that particular weakness. But trouble was still lurking, clearly. In fact, Belle felt that nothing had been quite right in her life since she’d clashed with the forbidding quarryman on Sawle Down. Just the thought of that encounter sent ripples of unease through her.

      Stay away from me! she’d lashed out at him. Why had she been so rude, so hateful to him? Because he was clad so roughly? Because he was employed by Mr Davenant?

      She’d never even met Davenant, but one thing was for sure. If he ever learned of the insults she’d uttered about him that day, then she and Edward were finished for good.

       Chapter Three

       London—four days later

      Adam Davenant had issued the invitations to the meeting at his house in Clarges Street only yesterday, but despite the short notice every single person had come and he was under no illusions as to why. Quite a few of them had never visited his Mayfair mansion, and they would all be desperate to get inside and assess his wealth.

      Greeting them, he’d cynically noted how their eyes leapt out on stalks as they registered the expensive if discreet furnishings. The number of liveried servants. The superb wine and food on offer. Everything was perfect; it damned well had to be when people were all too keen to rake up your lowly origins.

      Though the plentiful wine was perhaps a mistake, Adam decided as the boasting grew louder amongst the rich and ruthless men who’d gathered to feed on the cold repast set out on the vast table in his first-floor dining room. When the boasting began to turn to bickering, Adam knew it was time to start the real business of the day. He rose to his feet at the head of the table and, as was his way, stated his case bluntly.

      ‘In Somerset there’s stone to be quarried that’s as good for building, gentlemen, as any in the world. With London expanding so rapidly there’s a never-ending market, and all of us—whether landholders or business investors—stand to gain. But the issue I wish to discuss today is—transport.’

      Adam was dressed impeccably in black with a snow-white, plain cravat and he made an imposing figure. Though not yet thirty, he carried the authority of a man who was accustomed to power.

      He carried the authority of money.

      All eyes were on him as he turned to point to the large map hung on the wall behind him. ‘Gentlemen,’ he went on, in the polished voice in which there was no trace of his grandfather’s west country vowels. ‘What we need is a railway to convey this fine new stone from the Somerset quarries to the Avon canal and thence by water to London.’

      ‘There