Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"Who was that man?" Charlotte asked, watching as the figure of the man she had just collided with hurried off across the garden.

Sara shook her head.

"I don't know, Miss Davidson. I've never seen him before. Perhaps he's a friend of your father's," she replied.

"But why would he be coming through the garden? Why didn't he just go to the front door?" Charlotte said.

It had been a most surprising encounter, but not one Charlotte blamed herself for - he had collided with her, and she had not appreciated his growing angry over his ruined shirt. Whoever he was, he had no right to be in the garden, and certainly no right to shout at her for what had only been an accident. It was all very curious, and as Charlotte watched the stranger hurry away, she wondered again who he was and what he was doing there.

"I'm sure it's nothing, Miss Davidson. But you shouldn't linger here - not if you don't want your mother to find you," Sara said, and returned to her senses. Charlotte nodded.

"Yes, come along. We'll hide on the far side of the vegetable garden. She won't look for us there - I think she knows about the weeping willow. Come on," Charlotte said, and taking Sara's hand in hers, the two of them hurried off across the vegetable garden, seeking a place to hide.

***

"What an impression to make," Jacob thought to himself, as he made his way up a flight of steps from the lawn to the terrace.

His plans were ruined, and he could only imagine what Thomas Davidson would think of him when he appeared, covered in ink, begging for money. What sort of impression was that to give?

"The wrong one," he told himself, as a figure - a woman - suddenly appeared from a door in the middle of the terrace.

"Charlotte? Charlotte? Are you out… oh, can I help you?" she asked.

She was tall and slim, with dark brown hair and high cheekbones. There was no mistaking a relationship between the young woman and this older woman. Jacob could only presume it was her mother.

"Mrs. Davidson, I presume?" Jacob asked, adopting a deferential air.

The woman nodded, narrowing her eyes at the sight of Jacob's ink covered shirt.

"Yes, that's right. And who might you be?" she asked, addressing him as though he was some vagabond or chancer, and not the Earl of Swadlincote.

"Jacob Kirk, the Earl of Swadlincote. I have an appointment with your husband… Mrs. Davidson?" Jacob said, and the woman's demeanour softened, even as she continued to look curiously at his ink covered shirt.

"Oh, my Lord… yes, my husband's expecting you. We didn't expect you to arrive by the…. garden way," she said, and Jacob blushed.

"I got a little bit lost, I'm afraid," he replied, and the merchant's wife nodded.

"I see. Well, please, won't you come this way? I was looking for my daughter, Charlotte. You haven't seen her, have you?" she asked.

Despite his annoyance at Charlotte for having spilled ink all over his shirt, Jacob had the feeling the merchant's daughter would not thank him for revealing the fact she was hiding in the garden. Instead, he shook his head.

"No, I haven't seen anyone," he replied, and Mrs. Davidson gave an exasperated sigh.

"That girl… well, you'd better come with me," she said, beckoning him to follow her.

Jacob was led into a drawing room - a grand room, though furnished in a modern style. The furniture was not old, nor were the hangings or the paintings. His own home at Downside was filled with memories of the past, with centuries of collecting and acquisition. But all of this was new - a symbol of a new way of living, of money earned and spent, rather than an inheritance of right.

"It's very good of your husband to agree to see me, Mrs. Davidson," Jacob said, as the merchant's wife led him out into a large hallway with a central staircase leading up to a galleried landing above.

"My husband's a busy man, my Lord, but never too busy to turn away guests. This way," Mrs. Davidson said, and she knocked at a door on the far side of the hallway, flanked by pedestals on which stood two rather gaudy marble lions, which seemed to glare at Jacob as he stood waiting for an answer.

"Yes, come in," a voice called out, a moment later.

Mrs. Davidson opened the door, ushering Jacob into a book lined study, as the far end of which was a large desk, behind which sat a man who was obviously Thomas Davidson. He was somewhat older than Jacob, dressed in a blue frock coat, and frilled cuffs, a wig sitting somewhat lopsided on his head, and now he looked up at Jacob with some surprise, his eye drawn to the ink stains down his shirt.

It felt humiliating to be there - like a schoolboy approaching the headmaster's desk. A hundred years previously, such a scene could never have played out. Men knew their place in the order of things, but now…

"The Earl of Swadlincote, Thomas. We met in the garden," the merchant's wife said, and the merchant rose from his desk, coming to greet Thomas and holding out his hand as he did so.

"Ah… my Lord. I was expecting to greet you at the door," he said, and Jacob blushed.

"Yes… well… I'm afraid I got a little lost," Jacob said, as Thomas offered him a chair in front of the desk.

"I'm going to find Charlotte. I don't know where she's got to," Mrs. Davidson said, and nodding to Jacob, she left the room.

Whatever Jacob had intended to say, and whatever impression he had intended to give, was now forgotten. He was off to a bad start, and now he looked nervously at Thomas, who was waiting for him to speak.

"Well… my Lord. What was it you wanted to see me about? We've never met, and as far as I know, we have no connection to one another, apart from living in the same district. But I'm often in London on business, and really don't have a lot of time for socializing locally. I suppose it's different for you," he said.

The idle rich - that was what men like this called men like Jacob. It was a derogatory term, but there was some truth in it, too. Jacob's friends and associates spent their days doing very little of practical gain - dinners, balls, picnics, visits to the theatre, paying calls on one another. Time could be filled, but too often it was filled with frivolity, rather than anything of a definitely productive nature.

"Well… that's really what I've come to talk to you about," Jacob replied.

He knew he was the subordinate - the beggar. This was not how it should be. Men like this should show respect and deference to men like him, and yet here he was, actually having to ask for help…

"I see, and what exactly do you mean?" the merchant asked.

He was standing by the hearth, resting his elbow on the mantelpiece and waiting for Jacob to speak. It was humiliating, and his ink-stained shirt only added to Jacob's sense of humiliation.

"An investment… I understand you look for partners in investments. My lawyer, Mr. Haxby, thinks it would be a good idea for me to… expand my portfolio of investments. I was hoping the two of us might do business together," Jacob replied.

Thomas Davidson's eyes narrowed, and he smiled and nodded. Jacob had no intention of revealing the true extent of his financial difficulties, and yet it was as though the merchant could see through him and read the story behind his words.

"You need money, my Lord," he replied, and Jacob blushed.

"I… well, a small gain of capital would be advantageous, yes," he admitted, and the merchant laughed.

"A peer of the realm, coming to a newly monied man to ask for help - an investment, is that so? How times have changed. Has your inheritance run dry?" he asked.

Jacob clenched his fist, his anger growing at the manner in which he was being treated.

"I… no, as I said, I have some money to invest, and I thought you might be the one to help me, that's all. I can take my business elsewhere," he said, even as he knew he had no choice but to ask the merchant for help.

But Thomas Davidson now smiled and shook his head.

"Please, my Lord - I'm only too willing to help you. It would be my pleasure to assist you. As I'm sure you know, my money comes from importing tea from the Orient, and there're plenty of opportunities for your money to make a good return. But I have the feeling you need more than a good return," the merchant said.

Jacob looked at him curiously.

"I don't understand," he replied, and Thomas smiled again.

"Well… forgive me for saying it, but it seems to me a man of your standing, your inheritance, your… apparent wealth, wouldn't be coming to a man like me for a mere investment. If the fortune's gone, you'll need more than just a few good investments to regain it. I could help you, but I'd need something in return," he said, narrowing his eyes as Jacob shifted awkwardly in his chair.

He did not understand what the merchant meant, but it felt to Jacob as though an offer he could not refuse - though might not want - was about to be made.

"And what would that be? How could you help me?" Jacob asked.

"I could pay your debts off - all of them. My investments are seeing a staggering return. One doesn't like to boast, but… well, I'm one of the richest men in England - far richer than any of the inherited wealth of your fellow aristocrats," Mr. Davidson replied.

"And what do I have to do in return?" Jacob asked, for he knew there was a pay-off for such a generous offer.

"I have a daughter, my Lord - Charlotte. She's… an interesting creature, more concerned with books than looks, so to speak. I want you to marry her in return for a dowry - enough to pay all your debts and make the necessary investments, at my advice, to live as you're accustomed to living," he replied.

Jacob stared at him in astonishment. It was as though he was conducting a business transaction, rather than arranging for his daughter's marriage. The very thought of it was extraordinary, and yet, Jacob knew the offer was one he could not fail to consider.

Mr. Haxby had told him the extent of his debts. A few successful investments would stem the tide for now, but the long- term future of Downside, of the estate, of the very title itself was at stake, even as the offer itself was quite extraordinary.

"Well… I…" Jacob stammered, thinking back to his encounter with the merchant's daughter in the garden.

He could not imagine the spirited young woman who had so forcibly replied to his anger over the ink, agreeing to marry him. She would certainly have an opinion on the matter, and Jacob could not imagine it would be favourable.

And then there was Olivia, too - what would she say when she discovered such a plan? Jacob could not simply forget his feelings for her. He wanted to marry for love - as impractical as that was - and yet Jacob's offer left him in a very difficult position.

"Mr. Davidson, I…" he began, but the merchant held up his hands.

"My Lord, I can't expect an answer from you immediately. I know that. Take some time to think the matter over. The offer's there," he said.

"And the investment?" Jacob asked, for he could not leave without being certain of a chance to save the family seat.

Mr. Davidson nodded.

"You can have your investment, my Lord - but if I've understood you correctly, it won't be enough to alter your fortunes significantly," he said, and Jacob nodded.

"I'll give your… proposal, serious thought," he replied, and the merchant smiled.

"I'm glad to hear it, my Lord. Shall I see you out?" he asked.

Jacob did not know what to think, even as he knew his choices were limited. As they stepped out into the hallway, Jacob looked up at a portrait hanging on the wall. It showed the Davidson family - the two parents standing behind a chair on which the young woman who Jacob had collided with in the garden was sitting.

She was pretty, with blonde hair, and bright green eyes, slim and petite. In the painting, she was holding a book, her father's hand on her shoulder, and a slight smile playing across her face.

"And would your daughter be… amenable to the arrangement?" Jacob asked, for he could not countenance the thought of marriage to a woman who would not be willing to go through with it.

Mr. Davidson thought for a moment, shaking his head and smiling.

"My daughter is… a difficult young woman. She prefers her own company and that of the books she reads. Her introduction to society hasn't gone well. I'm not saying this to put you off, you understand - she has many estimable qualities, too.

But in truth, we want her to marry, rather than continually filling her head with ideas. She wants to write a novel - a dangerous thing, in my opinion. Women need a steadying hand, not the indulgence of idle pursuits," he said.

Jacob nodded, though he did not see any reason why a woman should not pursue what the merchant described as "idle pursuits." Most of the women he knew spent their days indulging in far more idle pursuits than reading and writing. If anything, Jacob admired the thought of a young woman with ambition, even as he could not imagine Charlotte being amenable to such an arrangement, especially after what had occurred in the garden. First impressions mattered, and Jacob knew his own had not been favourable.

"Yes, well… I'm sure I'll give the matter some thought, Mr. Davidson," Jacob said, glancing again at the portrait, and feeling quite astonished at the merchant's suggestion, even as it could well prove his saving grace.

"Then I look forward to meeting you again soon, my Lord. But do give my suggestion some serious thought. Imagine it - all your debts paid, and enough dowry remaining to start anew. She's not a bad proposition - really," he said, opening the door of the house for Jacob, who smiled and nodded.

"Yes… well, I look forward to meeting her in due course," Jacob said, not wishing to admit his appearance was the result of his earlier encounter with just the woman they were discussing.

The merchant smiled and nodded.

"And I look forward to hearing your decision in due course, my Lord. It seems your problems are solved," he said, and all Jacob could do was nod, thinking the whole thing utterly extraordinary.