Page 1 of Defending the Duke (The St. Clairs 4)

Chapter One

London—January 1816

Laurel Wright recordedeach item and its price before placing it in the basket. She provided the total and waited expectantly for payment, knowing Mrs. Jones wouldn’t have enough money to pay the entire bill. She wished she could allow the woman to take all of the goods anyway but Mr. Cole had expressly forbidden her from doing so, stepping away from his policy of giving customers the privilege to purchase goods on credit and allowing them to pay at the end of each month. As of last week, everyone who entered the chandler’s store, whether they purchased cheese, bacon, or any other groceries, had to pay for all items bought before they left the premises. She feared too many people had taken advantage of Mr. Cole’s generosity and that was why he had to insist on payment in full. Since she managed his ledgers, she understood why he’d made the drastic change. It had cost them a few customers since the policy had gone into effect but at least there was coin in the till and Mr. Cole could pay his own suppliers in full for once.

The woman shook her head and took two items out of the basket. After contemplating for a few moments, a third joined the two on the counter. Laurel deducted the cost from the total bill and struck the goods from her list. The longtime customer nodded and painstakingly counted out what was due.

“Thank you, Mrs. Jones,” she said, smiling kindly. “I’ll see you next time.”

Mrs. Jones shrugged and shuffled from the store. Laurel replaced the withdrawn items on the various shelves and returned behind the counter. She closed the ledger, placing it and the till on the shelf beneath the counter.

The bell tinkled as the door opened again and she saw Mr. Cole had returned.

With Julius Farmon.

She suppressed a shudder and kept a bland expression on her face. Laurel hated Mr. Farmon with a passion. He had bought up much of the neighborhood and raised rents, including the tenement where she lived with her mother and brother. Their small abode barely was large enough for the three of them yet they paid the bulk of what they earned in rent. It had helped when Mama held a job but after her heart attack several months ago, the doctor had wanted Dinah Wright off her feet and out of the workforce. Her mother’s heart condition had weakened her to the point where she could no longer even sew on the side, which had supplemented the Wright family’s income. Now, Laurel and Hudson scraped together what they could to replace the missing income. She not only worked as a clerk at Mr. Cole’s but since she was good with numbers, she kept the chandler’s books for him, staying late after the store closed to work on them. The additional sewing her mother used to take on had now fallen to Laurel and she completed those projects late into the night.

Her brother had quit school last month in order to contribute more to the family’s income. Hudson had been a mudlark for many years while attending school, scrounging the Thames at low tide for things that might have washed ashore. He’d collected anything of value and sold it. Now, Hudson worked two jobs. During the day he was a coal porter, unloading coal from ships along the wharf and delivering it to customers. At night, he was a waterman, watering horses at cab stands. Laurel only saw him for a few minutes late at night before he fell into bed and occasionally in the morning before they both left for work. She kept telling herself this wouldn’t last forever. That Hudson would sit for the upcoming university exam and earn a scholarship and become someone important. His teachers had called him nothing short of brilliant and she was determined that he would make a better life for himself.

If her brother did win a place at university, she would be thrilled—but she worried about replacing his portion of their income when he left London. They barely managed as it was, with rent so expensive. Fortunately, Mr. Cole let Laurel take home some items that were just this side of going bad. If eaten right away, they didn’t usually cause any stomach problems. As far as clothing went, Laurel was able to sew the few things they needed. The modiste where Mrs. Wright used to work for many years still gave Laurel scraps to use for patching elbows and knees on her brother’s clothing. Or she had until her death two weeks ago. The shop had now closed.

Mr. Cole surprised her by turning the sign hanging from the door, indicating they were closed. It was only two in the afternoon. She couldn’t imagine why he would be closing at such an early hour. As he came toward her, she focused on her employer and not the man by his side. She could feel Mr. Farmon’s eyes assessing her but she ignored him, afraid she knew the reason why he accompanied Mr. Cole.

“Is something wrong, Mr. Cole?” she asked.

“We’ve business to discuss,” Farmon replied.

Reluctantly, Laurel looked in his direction. Farmon was a good two inches shorter than she was but she was tall for a woman. He was almost as broad as he was tall, with eyes black as night and a sour expression on his bloated face. Several rings adored his sausage-like fingers. Though he dressed as a gentleman, she knew of his immoral character and ill humor and just how dangerous he could be. Last month, the tavern owner two blocks away had balked at the increasingly large weekly payment Farmon demanded business owners pay him for the privilege of operating in this neighborhood. Farmon had visited the tavern and had his henchman hold the owner down while he cut out the man’s tongue, telling him this would prevent future complaints from being aired.

She’d also witnessed firsthand the terror Farmon brought. Their neighbor across the hall had injured his back at work and lost his job. Mr. Greenley owed Farmon a small debt and worried how he was to pay it. Julius Farmon had come in person to collect what was owed him. Seeing that Mr. Greenley wouldn’t be able to work anytime soon, he’d cut the man’s throat and taken his screaming six-year-old daughter from the tenement as payment. When Laurel asked her mother what Farmon intended to do with the young girl, her mother explained that she would be sold into prostitution.

Because of incidents such as these, Laurel knew to keep her distance from a man as evil as Julius Farmon. If he bought Mr. Cole’s chandlery, though, that would be difficult.

“Cole here tells me that you keep the books for him,” Farmon continued. “I’d like to see them.”

“Why would I show them to you?” she challenged.

The man’s eyes narrowed and she wished she’d kept quiet. Though she did her best to be kind to all and act demurely as a young woman should, this man ruffled her feathers. Laurel tended to speak her mind, which her mother constantly rebuked her for doing. She felt she was just as smart as her twin and didn’t believe she should remain quiet simply because she was a woman. Of course, society had different ideas regarding the role of women. Men ran the world and would never consider women to be their equals. She would do good to keep her thoughts to herself and watch her tongue in the future.

“Show him the ledgers, Laurel,” Mr. Cole said nervously.

She studied her employer, seeing the sweat beaded along his brow, though the mid-January winter day with its blustery wind had plunged temperatures to where water froze.

“Yes, Mr. Cole.”

Laurel retrieved the ledger under the counter and said, “If you’ll come with me, Mr. Farmon.”

She led him through the closed curtain and back to the space used as an office. It was here Mr. Cole wrote up the orders he placed and where she kept all her records—by customer, by month, and by year.

“How far back would you like to see?” she asked, keeping her voice even though her nerves were frayed.

“Three years.”

“Very well.”

She went to the shelves and pulled what Farmon wished to view, setting out the books in different piles and explaining to him how she accounted for various things.

When she turned to go, he said, “Stay.”

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