“Duke! Everyone knows that is a title only in name. His family was gifted the title by the Queen before they immigrated! It doesn't come with land, jewels, and even if it did, it doesn't change the fact that my heart belongs to Edmund!”
London stays quiet, she knows that etiquette demands that she never give freely of her opinion.
“Father won't listen. He insists on this match. Mother Hubbard has made it her mission to see me married to him. He's old!” She paces over to the mirror and looks at herself. “The thought of him touching me makes my skin crawl. Say something, Mouse!” she snaps.
“May I speak freely, Lady Reagan?” she asks softly.
“Yes. The witch is gone.”
“Thirty isn’t so old, Reagan. Any woman would be lucky to make such a match. He’s very handsome.”
“How old are you?” she demands.
“Twenty-two,” she replies.
“I'm seventeen! Of course, you'd say that. What will I do if he proposes, Mouse?” she grabs London's hand and not for the first time, she feels sorry for her. “I can’t be married by Christmas! That’s only five weeks away!”
“Six weeks,” London corrects and glances at Reagan, “Perhaps, you could dissuade him by acting out?” she suggests.
“Acting out?” her eyes grow wide with delight. “How does one act out?” she asks excitedly. London has to force herself to speak out of turn. Reagan has perfected the art of acting out.
“I would suggest that you pay attention to his likes and dislikes. Perhaps you could use that to your advantage.”
“Of course!” She jumps to her feet and paces. “The few times I've been with Declan, he's proven to be a perfect gentleman. Thank heaven. I can't imagine him as a lover.” She giggles and covers her mouth when London stares at her in shock.
“Reagan!”
“Oh, you really are a mouse, aren’t you? Edmund makes my heart pound. I love him. He makes me long for things I shouldn’t.” She sits heavily and drops her face into her hands. “I feel like I’m betraying him.”
London picks up her wrap and offers it to her. “Perhaps you should talk to your parents once more.”
“I tried, and they threatened to lock me up until the wedding.”
“I’m so sorry, Reagan,” London is shocked. She didn’t realize how desperate they were to see her married. “I will pray for you, Reagan. The Lord always has a plan.”
Unused to be on the receiving end of pity, Reagan stands and straightens her spine.
“Thank you, but I think perhaps the Lord has forgotten about me. Thank you for listening. Take tomorrow off, Mouse, with pay! I insist.” Lady Reagan whirls from the room in the same way she entered.
Of course she won’t take the day off. Lady Hubbard would throw a fit. London sighs and straightens her spine. If she knew how often London has thought about Lord Sheridan, Reagan would be shocked. A giggle escapes, and she stretches a second time, sighing with relief. London only slumps when in the presence of others. Her mother would have a fit if she could see her now. A smile forms as she begins to clean up the room. She starts by stoking the fire and throwing open the window blinds. The rest of her day is spent cleaning, ironing, mending, and starching the dresses for the next few days.
Thankfully, as a lady's maid, she is often left with time on her hands. Her downtime is hers to do what she wishes. London learned quickly to ingratiate herself with the household staff by helping the housemaids by maintaining the offices of Lord Hubbard. She grins as she thinks about it. The disguise she wears does more than ensure that Lady Hubbard isn't threatened by her. It also allows her to move through the house unseen. A good maid makes herself scarce, is rarely seen or heard, unless needed, and then ready in an instant.
Lord Hubbard works from home. He spends much of his day studying the stock market in London. His business associates talk openly about stocks and bonds. They pay no attention to the staff, in fact, they often discuss which companies to invest in and which are not doing well. They also debate when to push struggling companies into trouble just to buy them out or purchase stocks when they are low. It's a disgusting dishonorable business practice.
London listens, studies the ticker tapes, and uses the information to invest her own earnings. The first year she invested small amounts, but the past two years, she has grown bolder with her investments and managed to triple her savings. Her portfolio has grown to twenty-three thousand two hundred and forty-eight dollars! One day soon, she hopes to not be dependent on anyone else for her income. It is a tricky rope to walk. Even though some women are fighting back and daring enough to invest openly on the Stock Exchange. London doesn’t have that option, she must use a male investor that she trusts to make the purchases and sell when she directs them. The money she’s invested is all that she has left to her name. Luckily, she trusts her father’s oldest friend and advisor as her co-conspirator in her business dealings. In fact, she thinks he gets a thrill knowing that a young girl could out earn some of the best investors on the stock market. Her pseudonym is R. L. Pearce.
London knew as much about finances as any man by age ten, thanks to her father. It amused him to have her read the financial pages to him as a child. He invested in stocks and bonds, and she learned all the tricks of the trade, including to buy when things are low and hold until they go up.
His
