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  A Touch of Silver

  The Daring Dersinghams

  Book One

  By

  Lynne Connolly

  Copyright © 2019 Lynne Connolly

  Kindle Edition

  Published by Dragonblade Publishing, an imprint of Kathryn Le Veque Novels, Inc

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to similarly named places or to persons living or deceased is unintentional.

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  lynneconnolly.com

  Additional Dragonblade books by Author, Lynne Connolly

  The Daring Dersinghams Series

  A Touch of Silver

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  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Additional Dragonblade books by Author, Lynne Connolly

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Annie Cathcart snatched the spoon from her eldest son’s hand seconds before he smashed it over the head of son number two. “William, you’ll hurt him,” she scolded, as she restored the silverware to the table.

  The boy pouted. “He hurt me. He threw it at me.”

  William was far too advanced for his five years. Although his intelligence augured well for his future career, his quickness made him difficult to handle sometimes. Annie’s youngest, George, smiled beatifically. At three years old, George was heavily devoted to charming every woman he met, a trait she would have to watch. He was destined to be a merchant, not a member of the leisured aristocracy. Channeled in the right direction, he might make a good manager, but she would have to take care with her lovely boy. George had never known his father, being born after John’s death.

  Annie grimaced. She would have to engage a tutor soon, or find a school for the boys. At this rate, her children would have more servants than she did. That wouldn’t be too difficult, though, since she only needed a housemaid and a cook. But they needed some kind of male influence in their lives.

  Reaching for the stack of letters next to her plate, she found a knife and broke the seal of the first one. She rapidly scanned the contents. Although she’d been waiting for this news, seeing it in print made her gasp.

  Matilda looked up. “What is it, dear?”

  “It’s arriving. The rolling mill, it’s on its way.” Her voice shook. Repeating the news made it seem real. She was staking her business and her children’s futures on this machine. She’d spent far more money than she should have buying it and, as a consequence, if this venture failed, so would she.

  On their wedding trip, Annie and her late husband had seen a rolling mill and Annie had fallen in love. But her over-cautious husband had said no. The mill would bring her dreams to life, let her make the kind of silverware ordinary people could afford. She had hit on an unengaged market, if she could bring her plans together fast enough. The business bequeathed to her by her husband kept her busy enough, but she wanted more. Wanted to literally make her mark, wanted to broaden her customers so she was no longer dependent on other silver merchants for her profits.

  Buying and transporting the machine from France had cost all the money she could spare, and more. Nobody else had this idea, nobody had thought of using this machine for the production of quality silverware. If anyone got wind of what she was doing before she landed her first order, she could be ruined because her business was small, and she needed a head start to stake her claim first.

  So many “unlesses” and “ifs”. And her sons were depending on her success, although the poor mites didn’t know it.

  Not for the first time since she’d taken this step, panic streaked through her. What had she done? Would they end up in the poorhouse? But she had this chance, this one chance, before giving up her dream of independence and wealth.

  Picking up her rapidly cooling coffee, Annie drained the cup before returning it to the deep saucer and reaching for the pot.

  Matilda flicked back her lace ruffles and calmly removed a fork from the baby’s flailing hand. “Should I take them to the nursery?”

  Annie sipped her second cup of sustaining hot coffee. “No, Matilda, I’d rather have them here. I have a busy day planned, and I might not get to see them again until they have their dinner.” She did everything she could in the family part of the house, such as opening her letters, business and otherwise. She got very little “otherwise” in the post these days, her personal life all but disappearing for commerce. But she wouldn’t change for anything. “I have to make sure the workshop is ready for the delivery. We have to accommodate it here until we can arrange a better place for it.”

  She had that in hand, too. Leasing or renting a larger house would cost more money, but it would be worth it. It had better be.

  Matilda nodded, her mouth set in a thin line. “I will take the children out later today. You don’t need the boys under your feet. The weather is blustery, but I don’t think it will rain, so they may run off their high spirits in the park.”

  Without Matilda Cathcart, Annie would never have managed these last four years. Matilda wasn’t everyone’s idea of a maiden aunt. If she was, Annie would have probably sent her packing long before. But Matilda was intelligent, sensible and attractive with a keen interest in fashion, which she put down to her mother’s family being mercers. Annie’s parents were mercers, too, and she had never had much of an interest in fashion.

  They made a good little family.

  After a light tap, the door opened to admit Annie’s manager, Raymond Petit, a middle-aged man with a pleasant countenance, wearing a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles. Annie would trust Raymond with her life. He had come from a French Huguenot family not too far away in Spitalfields, and done well for himself. His cousin created many of the designs for Cathcart’s, and Annie was very glad of them both.

  After refusing her offer of coffee, he dropped some letters in front of her. “These came for you just now, ma’am. The workshop is already busy.”

  Annie nodded. “I’ll come down in a few moments. I would prefer to spend all day there, but needs must when the devil drives.” She shot a meaningful glance at her oldest son, who had retrieved the spoon and was studying the surface closely. William was a moody child, like his father. He needed to be watched carefully.

  The reminder of her late husband sent a pang through Annie. She missed him, of course she did, although she had to admit life was more straightforward without him. John was a man of habit, older than Annie, and set in his ways. His constant refusal to introduce any kind of innovation had reflected his risk-averse nature. While he was in charge, the business h
ad declined. After his death, Annie had determined to set that straight and she refused to pretend she did it only for her sons. This was her chance to achieve everything she had dreamed of, and no man was there to stop her. She had waited this long to set her plan into action, taking the time to introduce the small innovations the core business had badly needed, creating a solid base for expansion. She now had six men working for her in the yard, instead of the four John had used, and she had her regular customers, who would come to her first because they could rely on her to produce the goods they needed at the right price and quality, when they needed them.

  Reaching for a clean knife, she broke the seal on the first missive. The neat copperplate on the outer part revealed that it had been hand delivered from the offices of her landlord.

  Dear Mrs. Cathcart,

  Thank you for your letter of the 16th March. Your proposition is possible, under certain circumstances. I would be interested in meeting you to discuss the matter further. At your convenience, I would like to meet with you tomorrow morning at ten, at my offices, if you please.

  Yours, etc.

  Joseph Stephenson.

  She read the short missive aloud. “He’s not dismissing the idea of renting us the premises next door,” she said, after reading the lines aloud. “We need that extra space if we’re to keep the core business at full capacity.” She read the lines again.

  To expand her business, Annie needed not only the house she lived and worked in, but the one next door, which had stood empty for far too long. If she rented the house next door, Annie could open a showroom and sell her goods directly to the public, and have more space for the extra workshop she needed for the mill. Excitement bubbled through her and visions of the glorious shop she would create spun fantasies in her mind.

  Selling silver to the gentry and middling sort, instead of silver plate. Letting them have what royalty had. The mill would roll silver thin enough to make that possible, with none of the wastage and time that hand-beating involved. And if she moved now, she’d have a head start on the large enterprises that could crush her in an instant if she entered too late.

  After her husband’s death, when he’d left the business to her and not in trust for the boys, she had been invited to become a member of the Guild with her own mark. It was well past time she did that, although she hadn’t needed it for the wire. It wasn’t as if she were the first woman silversmith in London. And she could not sell silver retail without the mark.

  “If we get the premises, that is very good news,” Petit said. “This means we do not have to disrupt our current business so much. It is preferable to the other offer.”

  “You have an admirable practicality, Annie, my dear.” Matilda plucked the last slice of toast from the rack and pulled the butter dish to her place. “You will leave your sons a great legacy. But what will you do when they are old enough to control the business? Retire gracefully?”

  Annie spluttered over her coffee. “I have no intention of doing any such thing. Why would I? The business is mine to do with as I wish. However, if my plan succeeds, then we will have plenty to keep all of us busy.”

  George gurgled, and Annie shot him a fond smile before turning back to the letter.

  She resented the necessity of going to Stephenson, cap in hand, but she would do it. He would never let her have the run-down premises next door if he knew what she planned. He was an astute man, and he would see the potential of her idea as she had, and he was a much greater man in the City of London. She would have to play the meek widow doing her best to preserve the company for her sons. The dutiful widow and mother doing her poor best for her family.

  The premises next door was doing nothing other than becoming a breeding place for rats and mice. Until ten years ago, it had belonged to a family of printers, but they had gone out of business. One day, the whole house would come tumbling down and take half the street with it. Stephenson did only the basic repairs to it.

  She turned to the other letter, which held the seal of a noble house. The quartered shield told her that.

  Using what was left of her prudence, she had made another plan in case the first one failed and Stephenson turned awkward. A couple of streets away lay a stretch of beautiful, large houses, and the one at the end was vacant. The owner, Mr. Dersingham, had come into the title of Earl of Carbrooke and moved to Mayfair, so why would he want to keep the other house?

  She’d approached the earl, and met with his man of business, a Mr. Smith, who had smoothly promised to show her request to the earl. She hadn’t liked Smith. He’d given her the urge to wrap her arms around herself to repress a shudder of dislike. A few stray strands of brown hair had straggled out from under his wig, and she could have sworn she saw something run up the length as he’d pushed it back. He was skinny, his stockinged calves obviously padded, his smile unctuous and measuring. When he’d taken her hand, his palm had been clammy. But she’d hidden her repulsion long enough to smile, repeat her request and hand him her letter.

  The thick, cream paper crackled when she picked it up, and the seal bore a crest imprinted into its shiny crimson wax. The seal snapped as she tugged at the crease of paper, and she opened it, enjoying the smooth surface under her hands.

  Dear Mrs. Cathcart,

  Re our proposed meeting regarding the house on Bunhill Row.

  The Earl of Carbrooke thanks you for your interest in the property. At this time, his lordship is engaged in other more important affairs, and cannot attend to the matter personally.

  However, I have his lordship’s ear, and I will arrange a lease for you if you would agree to a more personal proposal of my own. Privately, if you please. A quid pro quo could be useful to both of us.

  Yours etc.

  E. Smith, pp Gerald, Earl of Carbrooke, etc. etc.

  The effrontery of the reply left her choking in fury. She tossed the letter on the table, where it fell with a dull clunk, due to the heavy seal on the back. Matilda poked at it and turned it so she could read it.

  Annie glanced up, anger kindling in her heart. “What gives the man the right to talk to me like that? How dare he? The aristocracy thinks the world revolves around them, and so do their servants. What gives him the right to talk to me like that?”

  Entering the room, the maid took one startled look at Annie and muttered something about taking the boys upstairs. Annie waved at her irritably, giving her permission, then turned back to Matilda. “I cannot see why he would treat me like a whore standing under the Seven Dials!”

  Matilda closed her eyes and groaned while William shrieked, “Whore! Whore!” in delight as the nurse led him from the room.

  Annie cleared her throat, heat rising to her cheeks. However agitated, she should mind what she said in front of her children.

  “If you use language of that nature around Stephenson, it will give him grounds for refusing your request, too,” Matilda snapped. “As matters stand, that is guaranteed to become William’s favorite word for the next few days.”

  Annie was trying hard to calm down, but nothing was working. The more she thought about the pompous, stuffy earl tossing her request to his man of business, who had written in such insulting terms, the angrier she became. As a woman with her own business, she faced a great deal of opprobrium from certain quarters, but she was not the only one. Smith was a small, mean man with a small, mean mouth. Yet another man who thought he could use her any way he saw fit. And the Earl of Carbrooke employed this miserable worm?

  The earl could go hang, and his blasted lawyer with him, and she would tell him so to his face. The coffee she had just drunk boiled in her stomach, leaving a bitter taste at the back of her mouth.

  Scraping her chair back, Annie got to her feet. “I’m going to see him. Now.”

  Matilda sighed. “Then I am coming, too. I can see there’s no talking to you now, so I will take my leave and get ready. Fifteen minutes, that’s all I ask.”

  Oh, yes, and in that time, Annie would calm down? Matilda’s t
actics were too transparent for Annie to accept. She didn’t think so. “I will be perfectly fine and I will go alone. I see no reason to inconvenience you. Besides, I need you to take care of the boys this morning.”

  Matilda sighed, accepting Annie’s decision. “Remember you are representing your business, Annie. Do not let your anger overwhelm you. Put on your mother’s pearls. You don’t want to appear before him like some kind of—hoyden.”

  “I don’t care. I’m only going to give him a piece of my mind. I don’t want anything from him now. His house can burn for all I care.” She turned to Petit, who stood patiently by the door, a wary expression in his dark eyes. “Take care of the workshop until I return. I will not be long.”

  Petit nodded, a smile curling the corners of his thin mouth. “I thought you considered the Bunhill Row house of little importance in your plans?” Petit had Annie’s confidence in all things, and he knew her plans. He would not tell anyone.

  “I do, but these aristocrats need to learn that the City of London is not to be treated as if it is of no consequence. I will deal with this impertinent earl and his lawyer.”

  That was a promise. Fury had her by the tail.

  Annie took five minutes to locate a shawl, hat and gloves, and to change her soft indoor slippers for sturdy outdoor shoes. Recalling Matilda’s request, she located the pearls at the bottom of her petticoat drawer and put them on, tucking the necklace roughly into place. She wouldn’t bother to don pattens to keep off the dirt and mud of a potential shower. If it rained, the mud would have to take her as it would.

  She stormed out of the house and strode down the street to the main road to find a cab or a chair.

  Chapter Two

  Gerald Dersingham, the new Earl of Carbrooke, stirred through his morning mail with the end of his teaspoon. “Everybody wants us,” he said gloomily.

  The oldest of his three sisters lifted her attention from her plate. Damaris’ blue eyes met his guilelessly. “Everybody? Isn’t that an exaggeration?”