Chapter Fifteen

As Eliot approached Deverell after a rare solo ride, the sight of a lone rider sat in the shade of the broad-branched tree interrupted his thoughts about Leighton and Climence.

“Good morning.” The rider inclined his head. “Is this the home of Eliot Severin?”

Taken by surprise, Eliot simply nodded before saying, “I am Eliot Severin.”

The man regarded him briefly then produced a sealed letter from his waistcoat pocket. “This is for you.”

Slowly reaching for it, he said, “What’s this about?”

“I was told to deliver this personally to you and await your answer.”

His brow slightly furrowed, Eliot loosened his grip on the reins, allowing Fordel to graze. He gasped on recognising the seal, Hugo Lambert’s seal. In his haste to open the letter, he almost dropped it.

‘Master Severin, I pray this message finds its way safely to your hands. Forgive the furtiveness, but I could think of no other way to contact you. I have come to Mariosha, hoping to meet. I have been to the house, but Madam Anders would not allow me in. If you wish to discuss your father’s business, I ask you to come to The Ivory where I am staying. If you have no interest in your father’s business, I bid you send me a note, so I know not to contact you again. I wait to hear from you. Hugo Lambert.’

Displeasure at Climence’s behaviour threatened to overshadow Eliot’s surprise at Hugo’s arrival. Aware of the messenger’s presence, he thanked the man and said he’d deliver his reply personally to Hugo.

Touching the edge of his tricorn, the messenger turned his mount and trotted in the direction of the Mariosha Road.

Heat flushed through Eliot’s body, his tense muscles causing Fordel to toss his head and flick his ears back and forth. Quelling the urge to confront Climence, Eliot instead crumpled the letter and stuffed it into his coat pocket.

The sound of a carriage making its way across the courtyard to the gate made him instinctively move Fordel to stand close to the wall. Narrowing his eyes at the sight of Climence’s carriage exiting the gate, relief somewhat overshadowed his anger as the carriage headed away from the city.

He waited agonisingly long moments to make sure there was little chance of him being seen before he touched his heels to Fordel’s side. The horse darted forward in a trot before gaining speed to gallop towards Mariosha.

Although it was late morning, the traffic in and out of the city was as busy as ever. Eliot had to dig deep to summon his patience as he could do no more than walk Fordel along the broad cobbled street behind riders, coaches and carriages which crawled ahead of him. On either side of the street, common folk and peasants made their way on foot, some wrestling carts across the cobbles.

A whiff of meat and fish wafted towards him as he passed the street leading to the market area. The cacophonous shouts that hailed from the market, which could barely be seen, made it sound closer.

Approaching the Trade Building, he knew his way would be clearer as the street opposite led to the more affluent areas of the city. Coming alongside the building, he glanced at the long, wide windows, absently wondering if the broken window, out of his sight, had been replaced.

As Eliot turned his attention to the street ahead of him, he glimpsed the distant castle. Although its position on higher ground made it visible from near anywhere in the city, he was too far to see the whole building, only the upper floor of the central block and the roof of the wings on either side.

He made his way onto a wider street, where the shops grew gradually more refined, the spaces between each affording glimpses of the park greenery. Richly dressed nobles paraded along the pavements, greeting some, eyeing others.

Eliot fixed his gaze on the creamy-white building at the end of the street, The Ivory, Mariosha’s elegant hotel. Leaving Fordel at the stables in the back, he climbed the wide, white steps to the entrance.

The doorman’s gaze slowly travelled down and up again before he looked Eliot in the eye. “May I help you?”

Not in the mood for niceties, Eliot’s tone was sharp. “I’m here to see a guest.”

“Here? Are you sure?”

Momentarily narrowing his eyes, Eliot breathed deep, aware of his less-than-suitable appearance. He glanced down at his dusty boots and plain black coat and removed his tricorn. “I apologise for my less than suitable appearance. I’d just returned from my morning ride when I received a message requesting my presence at The Ivory, and I do not wish to keep him waiting.”

His mouth still turned down, the doorman raised his brows, sniffed, and stepped aside to hold the door open.

“Thank you, good sir.” Bowing smartly, Eliot entered. His brisk march stuttered to a stop. Never having been in the hotel before, the interior took his breath away.

He’d stepped into a large, open area instead of an entrance hall. Wide-backed chairs, arranged in the space to the left, afforded whoever sat there a clear view of the main thoroughfare, which Eliot had, moments ago, ridden up. Beyond that was a smaller area dotted with tables and chairs, attended to by neatly dressed servants bearing small trays.

Tilting his head back, Eliot’s eyes widened at the domed ceiling. To the left of the wall opposite the door, a wide staircase curved up to the first floor. The balustrade on either side continued all the way around, encircling that floor, with a similar encirclement for the floor above.

Against the far wall stood a solid wood desk, the deep brown the only dark stain amongst the décor of ivory and gold. Behind it, the man in an ivory waistcoat stared at Eliot in the same manner as the doorman.

Colouring slightly, Eliot strode up to him.

“May I help you? Sir.”

Eliot chose to ignore the barely hidden distasteful tone. “I’m here to see Hugo Lambert.”

“Are you here to make a delivery to Lord Lambert?”

The title, ‘lord’, caught Eliot by surprise for he’d assumed Hugo to be an assistant in the company. “He asked me to come.” Eliot gave his name, struggling to remain neutral in the face of the man’s condescending expression.

The man picked up a small bell and rang it. As if by magic, a young man appeared, arms held stiffly at his side. “Inform Lord Lambert, what was your name again?”

As the young man stepped smartly up the stairs, the man indicated the space a little away from the desk. “You may wait there.”

Staring at the floor, Eliot rotated his tricorn between his fingers. With nothing to do but wait, he became acutely aware of the fluttery feeling in his belly with the realisation he knew nothing of Hugo Lambert, what kind of man he was. So caught up in his thoughts, he failed to notice a man approaching.

“Eliot Severin.”

His head jerked up at the sound of the soft voice, which belonged to a much older man, shorter than him with hair a uniform grey.

“Finally, we meet.” His gentle smile deepened the lines around his eyes.

“Hugo, forgive me, Lord Lambert?”

Reaching out, the man took Eliot’s hand in both of his. “I fretted I would not recognise you. But you bear so close a resemblance to your father.” Blinking rapidly, his smile faltered. “When the messenger said you’d deliver your reply in person, I did not expect to see you so soon. But come. I have much to tell you.” As he headed for the stairs, he said to the man at the desk, “Have refreshments sent to my chambers.”

“At once, my lord.”

Hugo shut the door behind Eliot and indicated the straight-backed chairs by the desk placed close to the tall window. “Please, sit.”

“Lord Lambert, I must apologise. You must think me very rude. Not once have I replied to your letters.”

After a pause, he said, “Am I correct in thinking neither you nor your mother received my letters?”

“That is correct.”

“As I thought. Sit, sit.”

But Eliot remained standing by the chair, covered in ivory cloth. “I-I’m not…” Hitching his shoulders up, he indicated his dusty clothes. “I’d been riding and hadn’t thought to change.”

Hugo snorted, waving his hand dismissively. “If they choose to decorate in such a foolish manner, that is not our concern.”

Smiling for the first time since receiving Hugo’s letter, Eliot lowered himself onto the chair. “My lord, when did you call at Deverell?”

“Two days ago. I don’t think you were home.” Seated on the chair opposite Eliot, he rubbed his brow. “Madam Anders wouldn’t allow me to enter. Madam Marcelin tried to speak to me but.” He shook his head.

“I’m sorry.”

“No call to be. That was when I began to suspect my letters hadn’t reached you.”

“Cli-my grandmother took them, for whatever reason. I didn’t even know about my father’s company until recently. Luckily, my mother took delivery of your last letter.”

Hugo sat back, eyes wide. “You didn’t know of your father’s company? Your mother didn’t tell you?”

“She explained everything after I read your letter. My grandmother, she doesn’t make it easy.”

“I see. Well, you are here now and that is what matters.” Hugo was about to undo the ties of the leather folder on the desk when there was a knock at the door. “Ah. The refreshments.”

Eliot’s fingers itched to open the folder and had to curb his retort when Hugo invited him to have a drink to celebrate their meeting.

Finally, they were back at the desk and Hugo opened the folder, revealing a stack of papers. “You, Eliot, are the heir to your father’s company and his fortune.”

“Fortune?” His voice was barely more than a whisper.

The older man smiled. “The company was set up many years ago, by your father’s grandfather. Despite choosing to live at Deverell following his marriage, Ruvane continued to travel to Salmarin although he’d also organised an assembly of associates to maintain the daily running of the company.”

“Did you know my father?”

Hugo’s smile turned wistful. “We grew up together. But I didn’t join the company until after, after his death,” he finished softly. Then, with a quick shake of his head, he reverted to his business-like manner. “After you were born, he put plans in place for you to learn the business when you came of age.”

Lowering his gaze, Eliot stared at the pile of papers; if his father were still alive, he would know of the business already. Swallowing hard, he dismissed the pointless thought as Hugo continued.

“I had planned on inviting you to Salmarin to learn of the business. But, as you’ve not been aware of it, I suppose the question now might well be, do you wish to keep the company.”

Not knowing what to say, Eliot didn’t reply. Until it occurred to him, “I beg your pardon, my lord, but what exactly is the business?”

“Ah, how lax of me. We manufacture soap.”

“Soap?”

Hugo smiled. “Not very exciting, I know. But Severin’s Soaps have always been in great demand. We’re one of the few that use pure olive oil in our process, not animal fat.” The man’s pride in the product was evident.

A smile tugged at the corner of Eliot’s mouth; he was the heir to a soap fortune.

After a pause, Hugo said, “It is clear I have given you a lot to think about. Do not feel you have to come to a decision now. These papers explain the business and how the company is run. I will leave them with you.” He refastened the ties and pushed the folder to Eliot.

“Will you be staying in Mariosha?”

“I am needed back in Salmarin. My only worry is how I stay in touch with you.”

“You may write to me at my friend’s house.” Taking a piece of paper from the neatly stacked pile by the ink pot, he wrote out Renard’s address.

“Excellent. You will find my address amongst those papers.”

As they got to their feet and shook hands, Hugo covered Eliot’s hand with his free one. “If you decide to keep the company, we will continue to run it for you as we have been doing. If you wish to come to Salmarin and learn the business, you will be most welcome, and we will be very happy to teach you. Also, know that you have a home there. Your father’s house still stands.”