Page 2 of A Stolen Heart

Simone gave them all a shaky smile and stood, picking up Alexandra to hold her in one arm and carrying Alexandra’s little bundle in the other. “Now, children, pick up your bundles of clothes. Stay close. Hold on to my skirts and don’t let go, no matter what happens. And be very quiet—like little mice.”

John and Marie Anne nodded, though she could see the uncertainty in their faces. They walked quietly out of the room and tiptoed down the stairs. Simone did not go out the tall front door, but led them to the side door. She paused, her hand on the knob, taking a deep breath. John and Marie Anne clutched her skirt.

Simone opened the door, and they scurried into the night.

CHAPTER ONE

London, 1811

ALEXANDRA WARD GLANCED AT HER companion in the carriage. He looked as if he were about to fall into a swoon. His face was a pasty white, and sweat dotted his upper lip. Alexandra suppressed a sigh. Englishmen, she was discovering, seemed to be a curiously poor-spirited lot, always gaping and staring and sputtering about how something could not be done. It was a wonder that the country had ever achieved its place in the world, either politically or financially.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Jones,” she said in a pleasant tone, trying to ease the man’s fears. “I am sure that your employer will be quite amenable to seeing us.”

Lyman Jones closed his eyes as he let out a small moan. “You don’t know Lord Thorpe. He is a…a very private sort of man.”

“So are many men, but that doesn’t make them poor businessmen. I cannot imagine why a man would not be interested in meeting someone who had just signed a quite lucrative contract to ship his company’s tea to America.” Frankly, Alexandra had been amazed that Thorpe had not been at the office to meet her and sign the contract this morning. He had not even attended any of her meetings with his agent, Lyman Jones. It seemed foolish in the extreme to turn over so much of one’s business to another without supervising him. She herself had many employees on whom she depended, but she would never think of not joining them in an important meeting with a client. However, she refrained from pointing this fact out to Mr. Jones, who seemed too upset as it was.

“I—I don’t know how it is in America, Miss Ward,” Mr. Jones said carefully, “but here, well, gentlemen don’t generally engage actively in business affairs.”

“How do they get any business done, then?” Alexandra asked in amazement. “Someone must be engaging in business affairs. How else can England be so prosperous?”

“Well, of course, men engage in business affairs. It is gentlemen, men like Lord Thorpe, that I’m talking about.”

“Oh. You’re talking about the nobility?” She appeared to consider the idea.

“Yes.” Mr. Jones looked relieved. He had had a rather difficult time talking to Miss Ward through the negotiations. It had seemed most bizarre to even be discussing business dealings with a woman, much less bargaining with one—especially one who looked like Alexandra Ward. Lyman Jones would never have imagined a woman running a business, as Miss Ward seemed to, so he would have been hard put to say exactly what he thought such a woman would look like. But he knew that she would not have been a tall, statuesque woman with a cloud of thick black hair. Nor would she have had Alexandra’s strawberries-and-cream complexion and large, expressive brown eyes, eyes so dark that they were almost black.

But then, Alexandra Ward was unlike any other woman Lyman Jones had ever met. Perhaps it came from her being American; he wasn’t sure. But she spoke in a blunt, decisive manner and left no room for disagreement, sweeping everyone before her in a way that was almost impossible to resist. After a session with her, he usually found himself exhausted and unsure exactly how he had been talked into something. He was feeling that way now. He wondered sinkingly if Lord Thorpe would end his employment for this.

“I am afraid I’m not used to such distinctions,” Alexandra admitted. “In the United States, a gentleman is determined more on the basis of his actions, I believe, than on his birth.” She paused, then asked curiously, “This Thorpe is a feckless sort? I suppose he must have inherited his wealth. Still, one wonders how he has managed to hang on to it.”

“Oh, no, miss,” Jones protested hastily. “I didn’t mean that. It’s not that his lordship doesn’t know or care about the business. He does. What I meant was that a gentleman wouldn’t be, well, seen in the day-to-day running of it.”

“I see. It is a matter of appearance, then.” Alexandra thought that Thorpe sounded more and more foolish.

“I suppose.” Jones frowned. He didn’t like the way that sounded. “I mean, well, it just isn’t done.” He hastened to add, “Lord Thorpe is an excellent businessman. He made most of his money himself, actually, in India.”

“Ah.” Alexandra’s dark eyes sparkled with interest, all thoughts about Lord Thorpe’s business acumen fleeing. “That is precisely why I am so eager to meet the man. His collection of Indian treasures is well-known, and I am rather a devotee of the subject myself. I have even corresponded with Mr. Thorpe, I mean, Lord Thorpe, on the subject.”

Alexandra thought it prudent not to mention that she had asked Lord Thorpe about seeing his collection when she was in England this year and had been turned down flat. That was, actually, why she had settled on the Burchings Tea Company with which to negotiate a contract. The company had an excellent reputation, of course; Alexandra would never have made a bad business decision just to satisfy a personal whim. However, the fact that the Burchings Tea Company was owned by the same Lord Thorpe whose collection she so wished to see was a very pleasant bonus. She had been sure that she would meet the man—who, she presumed from the tone of his letter, was a crotchety old fellow—during her business dealings with his company.

“I understand that his collection is quite impressive,” Mr. Jones replied. “I, of course, have never seen it.”

“Never? None of it?” Alexandra looked at him in surprise.

Jones gazed at her with a slightly puzzled expression. “No. I mean, I have, of course, sometimes brought something to his lordship at his home, and I have seen some objects in his foyer, but generally, Lord Thorpe comes to the office to discuss his business.”

It seemed odd to Alexandra, whose family had always held open house every year at Christmas for their employees, that one’s highest-ranking employee would not have spent time inside one’s house. She felt a close, almost familial bond with many of her employees. Indeed, some of them were related to her. But, she supposed, it was simply another example of how the British—or perhaps it was just the nobility—were different.

The carriage pulled up in front of an impressive white stone edifice and stopped. Lyman Jones looked out the window and said in a stifled voice, “We’re here.”

He turned to Alexandra with an almost pleading look on his face. “Are you sure you wish to do this, Miss Ward? Lord Thorpe is—he’s a bit of a recluse. He truly does not appreciate visitors. I—it’s quite likely that he will refuse even to see us.”

“Then we shall have to leave, won’t we?” Alexandra returned lightly.

“On the other hand, he might very well agree to see us just to tell us what he thinks of such impertinence.” Jones felt slightly sick at the thought.

“Buck up, Mr. Jones,” Alexandra said, trying to instill some spirit in the poor man. “I promise you I have dealt with many an old grump, and I generally handle them rather well.”