CHAPTER ONE

June 1781, Hawthorne Lodge, Upper Wick, Worcester

By the time her mother appeared at the breakfast table, Anna Hawthorne had read both of the letters awaiting her, slipped one into her pocket and made certain decisions about her day.

‘Good morning, Mama. Did you sleep well?’

‘For the most part. The wretched peacocks started calling as soon as it was light. I’ve never understood why your father wanted them – noisy creatures.’

‘He wanted them because they’re beautiful,’ Anna replied. ‘And because he was incorporating peacocks in his design for Lord Ashley’s dinner service … and the next season’s collection of scent bottles.’

Mrs Hawthorne huffed an impatient breath. ‘He didn’t need real birds for that.’

‘Of course he did. How else was he to develop the correct colours?’

Six years ago, Papa had spent hour upon patient hour in the garden, luring the peacocks with food and teaching them to trust him while he mixed endless paints until he finally found the shades he wanted. Whenever she could escape Mama, Anna had joined him there, absorbing everything he told her, not only about the complexities of creating precisely the required shades in porcelain manufacture, but a great deal else. And since his death, the year before last, she had continued to spend time with the birds who, by now, were as tame as pets.

Now, setting her napkin aside, she began paving the way for something else Mama wasn’t going to approve of. Usually, she didn’t bother to do this, preferring to head directly for the argument which was sure to follow. But today, since she had a bargaining chip, she decided she might as well use it.

Taking up the letter lying beside her plate, she said, ‘An invitation from Lily Anstruther to the house-party celebrating her betrothal to Lord Lycett. I shall – ’

‘My goodness! She has finally said yes, then?’

‘Lily was always going to say yes, Mama. She just wanted to enjoy a third London Season. However, regarding the house-party … I shall send our regrets, of course. Unless you think that Lady Anstruther might be extending an olive branch at last?’

‘Augusta Anstruther and I have been at daggers drawn since we made our come outs together, so I sincerely doubt it,’ replied Mrs Hawthorne. ‘The only thing we can agree upon is that we cannot abide each other. But the fact that I will not attend the party is no reason why you should not. Lily is a dear girl. And her elder brother counts a number of unmarried, titled gentlemen amongst his friends, some of whom are bound to be present, don’t you think?’

‘I would imagine so, yes.’

‘So you must go. Who knows who you might meet or what might come of it?’

‘Who indeed?’ murmured Anna, knowing the answer would be no-one and nothing but also knowing better than to say it.

Just as she’d expected would be the case, Mama was seizing an opportunity to fulfil her ambition of seeing Anna married to a title. In the eyes of the world into which she’d been born, Mama herself had married beneath her and, so far as Anna knew, had never regretted it. But from the moment of Anna’s birth she had been determined that her daughter would do better … and been hugely disappointed when Anna’s London season at the age of nineteen had not only failed to deliver the required result, but any result at all.

Mama had sought help from those old friends and relatives who still received her. And in return for substantial remuneration, her cousin, Cordelia, Lady Maybury, had undertaken to obtain invitations for Anna and to chaperone her at balls to which she would not otherwise have been invited. Papa had leased a house in the best part of Town, paid for extravagant wardrobes for both his wife and his daughter and then stepped back to remove, as best he could, the stigma of trade. But it hadn’t been Hawthorne’s Porcelain that had made Anna’s Season a failure. It had been Anna herself.

Neither Worcester society nor Mama’s many lectures on what was proper had prepared her for the people she would meet in the ballrooms of London. Young ladies whose lives appeared to revolve around the newest fashions, the latest gossip and which gentleman was the most handsome, the wealthiest or the owner of, or heir to, the most prestigious title. As for young men, most of them seemed to be whiling away their days at various sporting events or over cards and wagers at their clubs whilst living off their expectations. None of them, either male or female, ever talked about anything interesting and when Anna had tried to do so, they looked at her as if she had two heads. She seemed to baffle them as much as they baffled her; and the result was that she frequently said something tactless or unintentionally scathing.

In no time at all, she’d become known as the Hedgehog Heiress. After that – and when added to the fact that she wasn’t a beauty – even her rumoured excessively large dowry hadn’t been sufficient to tempt potential suitors. Anna had told herself she didn’t care; that her real life was at home with Papa and Hawthorne’s; and, once back there, she thanked God that she’d never need to brave London society again.

Mama, still dwelling happily on the forthcoming Anstruther house-party, cut across her thoughts by saying, ‘Make my excuses and say that Miss Draper will accompany you in my place. She may be a trifle odd but her connections are excellent. No-one can possibly object to the cousin of a marquis, can they? And we must visit Madame Lavalle. You should order at least two new evening gowns. It won’t do to appear to be behind the mode.’

‘Indeed, not.’ Anna rose in preparation for making a brisk exit if necessary. ‘Very well. I’ll write an acceptance, after which I have one or two errands to complete in Worcester this morning. Is there anything I can do on your behalf whilst I’m there?’

Immediately, her mother’s expression hardened.

‘ What errands? Please tell me that you are not visiting the manufactory?’

‘The manufactory is certainly one of them,’ replied Anna calmly. ‘There are matters Mr Lowe wishes to discuss with me – and I with him.’

‘But it is highly inappropriate! How many times must I say it? A young, unmarried lady should not be involved in business matters at all – let alone doing so in a workplace. What people would say if they knew, I cannot imagine! It’s quite bad enough that everyone knows your father left Hawthorne’s to you and – ’

‘To whom else might he have left it?’ cut in Anna. ‘To second-cousin Malcolm, perhaps – along, of course, with the income from it?’

‘Well, no. But – ’

‘Exactly. You may prefer to ignore it, Mama, but the porcelain works made Papa a rich man and continues to pay for the many comforts you and I enjoy.’

‘I am aware of that. But it can continue to do so without – ’

‘No. It cannot. Papa left it to me because it mattered to him and because he knew he could trust me to take care of its future success along with the wellbeing of our eighty-three employees. Meeting with Mr Lowe on a regular basis is an integral part of that.’

Mrs Hawthorne huffed an irritable breath.

‘Then, if you must speak with him, at least have him wait on you here.’

‘It is more convenient to do so at the manufactory.’ Seeing her mother open her mouth on further argument, Anna held up a hand to stem the flow and said, ‘Please stop. I have agreed to spend a week with the Anstruthers next month. I have agreed to keep an open mind with regard to the gentlemen I’ll meet there. And, in the unlikely event that one I think I might be able to live with shows signs of serious intent, I will even agree to consider marriage.’

‘And so you should! You are twenty-three, you foolish girl. If you don’t marry soon, you never will. Don’t you want a husband and family of your own?’

‘Not enough to marry any man who offers merely for the sake of getting one,’ returned Anna coolly. ‘But all this is beside the point. I am going to the Anstruthers because you wish me to, not because I want to. But in return, I must ask you to accept that my involvement in the running of Hawthorne’s is necessary to the company and important to me personally. Or if that is beyond you, to at least stop arguing about it – since doing so will change nothing. And now I’m afraid you must excuse me or I shall be late.’

***

Sitting in the carriage on her way to Worcester, Anna reflected on how very tired she was of Mama’s attitude. It had begun on her thirteenth birthday with a decree that it was time she began learning to be a lady and therefore visits to the manufactory must stop forthwith. Prior to that, Papa had been taking her there since she was six and gradually, over the years, teaching her all the various stages of manufacture for each of Hawthorne’s wares. He’d let her watch them being born at the designers’ tables, take shape at the workbenches of the modelers and gather beauty in the hands of the painters. She’d gazed, entranced, as vases rose magically under the hands of potters at their wheels and waited in breathless anticipation for articles to emerge from the kilns. And when she was ten, Papa had allowed her to make something of her own.

‘A potter never stops learning,’ he’d told her. ‘New ideas and new techniques are being born every day, all of us looking for better ways of doing things. Never think you’ve mastered it all, Annie – because you never will, any more than I have.’

Mama’s edict regarding Hawthorne’s was swiftly followed by Anna’s departure for a school for young ladies in Bath. Papa made it bearable by sending progress reports on one or other of the manufactory’s new lines or asking Anna’s opinion on this or that design. Then, during the holidays and unknown to Mama, he had continued to extend her ceramics education at home. He brought samples of everything from china clay to finished products because theory wasn’t enough. There was nothing, he said, more useful for judging quality than holding it in your hands. This soft paste was too thin and this one, too thick but this … this one was perfect. This vase looked flawless … but its surface wasn’t sufficiently smooth. And the sculpted edge of the plates for a new dinner service which had looked fussy in design proved sensuously elegant when transformed into test models.

So Anna absorbed all the intricacies of her father’s business, along with his passion for it. His sudden death rocked the ground beneath her feet; but the annual routine of Hawthorne’s was there to steady it again. In January, the two oldest tableware designs were discontinued and replaced with new ones. And in March, June, September and December, the seasonal collection of scent bottles and snuff boxes – three designs of each, only six of which were ever made – was released. Until his death, the scent bottles had always been designed by her father. Now, a team of three talented young men had inherited this honour.

Idly, Anna wondered what had excited Mr Lowe sufficiently to cause him to write asking her to come to the manufactory at her earliest convenience. It was unlike him so there must be a good reason although his letter had given no clue as to what it might be. Not that she minded. An excuse to visit Hawthorne’s was always welcome.

The manager met her at the door to the offices with his usual subdued smile. Nathaniel Lowe had been at Hawthorne’s for almost three decades having started as an office boy at the age of fourteen. Oliver Hawthorne, who liked to know all his employees personally, had soon recognised the lad’s diligence and quick mind – the result being that, before he was thirty, Lowe had risen to the position of under-manager. Anna had known him since she was six. She appreciated the fact that he never treated her as if she still was.

She said, ‘Good morning, Nathaniel. Your note said ‘at my earliest convenience’ and this is it. But if you’re busy at the moment, I can occupy myself elsewhere until you’re not.’

‘No need for that, Miss Anna. I’m glad you’ve come. Not that it’s an emergency … just something I reckon’s worth considering sooner rather than later and risk missing the chance of it. But come along to the office and I’ll tell Martha to see about some tea.’

‘Don’t trouble on my account.’ Stripping off her gloves, Anna followed him through the building to his office, nodding a greeting to sundry other workers as she went. ‘I’m intrigued. Your note said it was related to something we’ve discussed previously – but nothing springs to mind.’

Mr Lowe closed the door behind them and, when Anna was seated, said, ‘Well, it was a while ago – towards the end of last year, if I remember rightly. We’d been talking about the number of genteel visitors we’d had throughout the summer, wanting a tour of the works. You asked if there was some way to make use of it this season.’

‘And you suggested creating an exhibition of Hawthorne wares through the years,’ chimed in Anna, ‘coupled with an opportunity to buy or order.’

‘Yes. Only after that we had a series of problems – such as the supply of china clay and the second kiln misfiring – and the idea got pushed aside, then forgotten.’

‘So what has brought it to mind again now?’

‘A whisper I heard from a friend in Hereford. He’s a dealer in antiques and fine art so his clientele and Hawthorne’s are similar. He recently bought two paintings he knew had belonged to a certain gentleman. He said that if that gentleman was a customer of ours we might want to think twice about extending credit to him because he’s likely in financial difficulties.’ Lowe paused and then added, ‘He was talking about Lord Reculver.’

A faint frown touched Anna’s brow as she tried to place the name. Then, ‘Oh. The gentleman who buys the scent bottles?’ And when the manager nodded, ‘I think I met him once. I must have been twelve … and he came to see the spring collection on a day when I was here with Papa. He was polite and very … affable.’

‘That’d be him. He hasn’t bought anything for the last three years. But before that, he was a collector. I’ve looked back in the ledgers and every season for twenty-six years, he’s bought one of the limited edition scent bottles. At first, he bought the snuff boxes as well he but stopped doing that after four years. And now, as I said, he’s stopped buying the bottles as well – which he would do if he’s in financial straits.’ He stopped and grinned at her. ‘Anyway, the whole thing gave me a bit of an idea.’

Anna grinned back. ‘Let me guess. That if his lordship is selling paintings, he may also be interested in selling other things – such as his Hawthorne collection?’

‘Yes. And if he is , limited edition wares going back two and a half decades designed by your father – some of the very earliest even made by him – well. They’d make a wonderful feature for our exhibition.’

‘Indeed. Do you know how many of our pieces he has?’

‘Yes. Twelve snuff boxes and one hundred and four scent bottles.’

Anna stared at him. ‘Good heavens! As many as that?’

‘A bottle every season for twenty-six years.’ Mr Lowe sat back in his chair. ‘What do you want to do?’

That didn’t require any thought at all.

‘Make an approach. Ask if he’s interested in selling – subject to condition and valuation, of course. Also, try to find out whether any such pieces have come up for sale recently and, if so, what sort of prices they commanded.’

‘I’ll investigate further. But we already have some information of that sort in the files. Mr Wicherley of Cheltenham bought all three bottles from the 1776 spring collection – the Muses, if you recall?’

‘Euterpe, Urania and Terpsichore? Yes. And?’

‘And he sold them last year for four times what he paid. However, a complete set was bound to do well. Lord Reculver only ever bought one of the three … but he had a good eye. He chose Terpsichore that year. And the year before, he bought Flora from the summer collection.’ Mr Lowe thought for a moment. ‘Of course, he could probably do better by selling the pieces separately at auction rather than as a complete lot to us. But if he’s trying to be discreet …’

‘As he probably is.’

‘An offer from Hawthorne’s could be a godsend.’

‘Almost certainly, I’d say.’

They shared another smile as they savoured the moment. Then there was a tap at the door and Martha’s head appeared around it to say, ‘Sorry to disturb you Mr Lowe, sir – but Donald says there’s summat not right with the delivery from Upton.’

‘Tell him I’ll be with him presently,’ said the manager.

‘No. Go now.’ Rising, Anna said, ‘I’ve taken up enough of your time and should be leaving anyway. But let me know when you hear something further on the matter we’ve been discussing.’

***

A few days later at his home in Gloucestershire, Viscount Reculver’s reaction to the letter from Hawthorne’s Porcelain was not one of unalloyed joy. How the devil had this fellow Lowe found out that he might be amenable to selling anything – let alone a collection of something he didn’t even know he had? Surely his precarious financial position couldn’t have become common knowledge already? He’d been careful. It was why he’d sent that pair of indifferent ‘school of ’ van Ruisdael landscapes to be sold in Hereford, rather than in Gloucester where they might have fetched a better price.

The only thing making it possible for him to stay afloat in the last six months had been Christian going behind his back and repaying the loan to Fleetwood’s on his behalf.

Be furious with me if you like, Daniel , he had written, and then put it aside. After what you did for me, how do you think I’d feel knowing I could help but not doing so?

Well, anger had been some part of what Daniel had felt … but sick relief was a bigger one. So he’d swallowed his pride and vowed he’d pay Kit back somehow, however long it took.

He still didn’t know what that original loan had been for. Mama said his father had mentioned some sort of investment but she had no idea what it might have been. And since there was no paperwork to account for it, Daniel could only conclude that Father had been duped into some fraudulent scheme or other. God knew, there were plenty of them to choose from. And details of how the money had been lost didn’t change the fact that it had been.

Aside from the paintings, he’d sold the two large Chinese vases from the drawing-room, the travelling chaise and four of the horses. These had been sufficient to tide the household over for the time being and also pay the quarterly interest due on Father’s remaining, smaller loan … but Daniel knew that everything he did was merely putting a temporary plug in the hole. Worse still, he couldn’t see any end to it.

He picked up Lowe’s letter again.

Scent bottles , he thought. A hundred and four of them. Seriously? And where were they, for God’s sake?

Cudgelling his brain, he finally remembered the pair of glass-fronted curio cabinets in Mama’s sitting-room. Both were full of four or five inch high porcelain figurines. He dimly recalled one of a dragon and another which bore a more than passing resemblance to the Queen. Were those what Lowe was talking about? And, if they were, could Mama be persuaded to part with them? She couldn’t possibly need over a hundred scent bottles. Could anyone?

Groaning inwardly, he supposed he’d better find out. When asked, the butler informed him that the ladies were taking tea on the back terrace. Deciding to seize the opportunity to get a better idea of what he’d be talking about, Daniel changed direction and headed for his mother’s sitting-room and the cabinets.

His memory hadn’t been playing tricks. There they all were, cheek by jowl and all of them different. A mermaid on a rock; a medieval minstrel; Venus arising from the waves … and many, many more; most of the tops were silver-mounted and a few, gold. No two were alike and all of them done in exquisite, miniature detail. He opened one of the cabinets and took out Queen Charlotte. Her Majesty’s head formed the stopper to the bottle and was attached to her body by a dainty chain. Daniel gave a tiny, disbelieving laugh and returned her to her place between a dancing gypsy and a skimpily clad goddess, wondering how much it was all worth.

He joined his mother and sister outside. They were sitting in the shade because although Mama’s hair was fading to grey now, her skin was still that of the redhead she had been in her youth. It was from her that Daniel had inherited his own colouring. Rebecca, by contrast, took after Father’s side of the family; dark eyes, dark hair and a perfectly-defined widow’s peak that rendered her face heart-shaped.

Refusing tea and, coming directly to the point, Daniel said, ‘Mama … for how long was Father buying those little bottles from Hawthorne’s Porcelain?’

‘The scent bottles, do you mean?’ And when he nodded, ‘Since the year you were born until – until three years ago. Four each year; spring, summer, autumn and winter.’ She sighed, nostalgically. ‘Why do you ask?’

Four every year for twenty-six years? Well, that explains the quantity , he thought. But side-stepped her question with a seemingly idle one of his own. ‘Do you ever use any of them?’

‘Only the peacock one on my dressing-table. Why?’

‘Because I’ve had a letter from the manager of the manufactory regarding them.’

‘Really?’ said his sister. At the age of nineteen, Rebecca was doing her best to remain cheerful despite having been robbed of her Season this year due to Father’s death and seeing scant chance of having one next year either. ‘Saying what?’

He sighed but, realising there was nothing to be gained by prevarication, said, ‘Apparently they may be interested in buying them.’

‘ Hawthorne’s would?’ asked his mother blankly. ‘Why?’

‘I’ve no idea, Mama. But how would you feel about selling – or at least looking into the possibility of doing so?’

She was shaking her head before he had finished speaking.

‘Sell your father’s gifts to me? No.’

Daniel drew a long, tired breath. ‘Could you perhaps consider it? I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t necessary. But – ’

‘Sell something else. Sell the Sèvres dinner service, if you must. Heaven knows, we’re unlikely ever to use it again. But not my scent bottles.’

‘I’ll sell the Sèvres, since you have no objection and if I can find a buyer,’ he said patiently. ‘But in Hawthorne’s, we may already have one. Please at least think about it.’

Lady Reculver opened her mouth on another refusal. But before she could utter it, Rebecca said flatly, ‘You can’t just dismiss it out of hand, Mama. You know how things are. Papa left a mess behind and –’

‘Stop. I won’t have you speaking of your father like that!’

‘Why not? It’s the truth, isn’t it? Dan is at his wits’ end trying to make ends meet but he can’t do it all on his own. You and I will have to make some sacrifices as well.’

‘And what are you giving up?’

‘Hope that I’ll even be able to make my come out next year,’ returned Rebecca promptly. ‘Because if we can’t afford it, I won’t.’

Touched and grateful that she had come to his defence, Daniel stretched out a hand to her and said, ‘I’ll do everything I can to make it possible, Becky. And Anthony’s cousin, Lady Colwich, has offered to present and chaperone you if necessary.’

‘I know and it’s kind of her considering she scarcely knows me. But it doesn’t solve the problem, does it?’

‘No. Unfortunately, it doesn’t.’ Deciding it was time to take a firmer line with his mother, Daniel turned to her and said, ‘The bottles have sentimental value. I understand that. But when was the last time you really looked at them, never mind took any of them out of the cabinet? Can you even remember?’

‘I look at them,’ she insisted. ‘Of course I do.’

‘So if I moved a few of them around you’d notice? And be able to put them back as they were? Truthfully now, Mama. Would you?’

‘I … yes. I’m sure I would.’

‘That sounds fun.’ Smiling, Rebecca stood up. ‘Shall we try it?’

‘ What? No!’ Her ladyship reached for her handkerchief. ‘Stop it, both of you!’

‘Very well,’ said Daniel mildly. ‘We’ll speak of it again another time. Meanwhile, all I’m asking is that you think about it. Will you do that?’

Dabbing her eyes and sighing deeply, she eventually said, ‘Very well. If I must.’

‘Thank you.’ He bent to place a kiss on her cheek, then turned to his sister. ‘Walk with me a little before I must get back to the grindstone?’

She took his offered arm. ‘Yes. I’d like that.’

‘So would I.’ He led her down the steps to the gravel path and then said softly, ‘Don’t push too hard, Becky. She knows things are bad. But she doesn’t want to believe just how bad.’

‘Neither do I – but what use is that? Sometimes I feel so angry with Papa … leaving us in debt with nothing at all to show for it. Is that wicked of me?’

‘No. It’s understandable. And sometimes I feel the same.’ Mostly, however, I just feel bloody helpless , he thought but merely said, ‘He never confided in me; never let me help in even the smallest way. It probably wouldn’t have made any difference if he had … except that I’d have been better-prepared for what was to come.’

Rebecca strolled on at his side in silence for a little while. Then, ‘Hawthorne’s Porcelain, you said. There was an Anna Hawthorne at school, though I didn’t really know her because she was older than me. But it’s not a very common name, is it? And I’m sure I recall some of the other girls whispering that her father was in trade … so perhaps he owns the manufactory that made Mama’s scent bottles. What do you think?’

‘It isn’t impossible, I suppose.’

‘But it isn’t much help.’

‘Not really, no.’

‘What would be?’

‘Buried treasure? The pot of gold at the end of the rainbow? An unexpected bequest from an anonymous benefactor?’ He managed a grin. ‘A handsome, charming and obscenely rich young gentleman riding up to the door on his white horse and refusing to leave until you promise to marry him?’

Rebecca laughed. ‘None of those is remotely possible, more’s the pity.’ Then, coming to a sudden stop to stare up at him, ‘On the other hand, perhaps you could sweep an heiress off her feet.’

Keeping his tone light, Daniel shook his head. ‘I’m sure I could – if I happened to be acquainted with any heiresses, that is.’

‘You’re not?’

‘No.Sorry.’

‘Not even one?’

‘Not even one.’ He hesitated and then added wryly, ‘And if I’m to be honest, desperate as things are, I’m not sure I could bring myself to marry a woman just for her money.’

‘Why not? Other gentlemen do it.’

‘I know. And that’s up to them. But I can’t imagine it makes for a very happy marriage. After all, the couple in question would both know , wouldn’t they? And there would be resentment on both sides. She, because he hadn’t married her for herself. And he because, however good their intentions, he’d always feel … bought and paid for.’

‘Perhaps,’ said Rebecca reluctantly. ‘But it needn’t be like that. They might come to love each other.’

It was Daniel’s turn to laugh.

‘You’ve been reading too many romances, Becky. If only real life was like that. But it isn’t.’

~**~**~