Lady concealed, p.1
Lady Concealed, page 1
Lady Concealed
Jane Charles
Lady Concealed
Copyright © 2015, 2018, 2022 by Jane Charles
All Rights Reserved
Cover Design by Lily Smith
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
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No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.
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Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Thank you
Excerpt ~ A Tenacious Trents Wedding (A Second Epilogue)
Historical Romances by Jane Charles
Contemporary Romances by Jane Charles
About Jane Charles
Lady Concealed
All Genviève Mirabelle wanted was her mother’s belongings and a place for herself, out from under the watchful eyes of her step-brothers. The Trent Brothers, specifically. Since coming into her life they have had very definite plans for her future, despite her objections. There is only one thing keeping her from seeking her freedom: her mother’s missing items. Once found, she can live as she wishes, without a gentleman telling her what to do.
Mr. Jonathan Bridges owns one of the finest shipping lines in London. That is, he did until his secretary and a few employees disappeared, leaving a mess of things. Now several crates are missing and he has no explanation for the owners. The one most persistent in demanding answers, Miss Genviève Mirabelle. As much as he tries to put her off, she is determined to help him. Heaven save him from meddling females who are better served sitting at home having tea.
Their search leads them from the docks and right into danger, into the heart of a smuggling ring. But their lives are not the only thing in danger. Their hearts hang in the balance since neither one ever anticipated what was to come.
For my mother, Donna.
* * *
From the time I could remember, she always had a book in one hand, a stack by her chair, and another on her nightstand, just waiting to be read.
One of her favorite genres—Romance, of course.
* * *
I love and miss you, Mom.
Chapter 1
February, 1815, London, England
Geneviève Mirabelle Trent tapped her foot against the cobblestones outside the massive warehouse along the river Thames. Her ire rose the longer she waited. If she did not receive answers soon, she would search the place herself.
A hulk of a man had asked her to wait while he searched out Mr. Bridges, but that had been nearly half an hour ago. Stepping into the large building, she glanced around. Had the man gotten lost among the crates that seemed to go on forever? She had never been inside a shipping warehouse before and was surprised at how massive it was. From her vantage point, Geneviève was not sure where it ended, or how wide it was. Surely her family belongings were in here somewhere.
Geneviève checked the small watch she kept pinned inside her pelisse. She needed to be done with this business soon and return to the Bentley townhouse before anyone was aware she had left without her maid. The woman, though very sweet, reported each of Geneviève’s movements and it wasn’t anyone’s business where she went or what she did. She knew one of her half-brothers would have insisted on accompanying her because the area was too dangerous for a lady. They failed to remember that she lived her entire life without a father, or brothers. She and her sisters learned early on how to take care of themselves. It was rather aggravating to have someone determined to guard her when there hadn’t been anyone to do that for the first twenty-three years of her life. Further, it was annoying to suddenly be thrust into a position in which she needed to ask permission or be told to behave a certain way.
With a sigh, Geneviève stepped further into the warehouse, determined to catch someone’s attention because apparently the hulk who had greeted her forgot he left her waiting. Though there were men all around moving crates, nobody noticed her. Shouts echoed as men called to each other or hollered out orders. She would have been impressed with what appeared to be organized if it were actually organized. What she viewed was a mass of blocks with no rhyme or reason. Her family belongings were supposed to be here, yet remained missing for the past three months. Or, perhaps they weren’t missing and the owner was just too lazy to reply to her correspondence.
A sign on the wall caught her attention. The office was up the narrow flight of stairs. Surely that was where Mr. Bridges was holed up right now, and she was not about to wait another moment.
Carefully she climbed up the wooden steps, her dark grey gown trailing behind her, gathering dust. There wasn’t much to be done about it now. She anticipated any place along the docks would be filthy and her sister, Hélène, could repair the damage if necessary. That is, if Hélène had time now that she was married and if she ever returned from her wedding trip.
Geneviève paused outside of the office, raised her fist, and rapped sharply on the wood.
When no call came from within, she knocked again.
Was he gone from his office? She pushed on the door and it swung open. A gasp escaped her lips. Papers were stacked on the desk, the secretarie, chairs, and a table in the back. “How could anyone find anything in this disarray?” One would think someone as successful as Mr. Bridges, who ran one of the most efficient shipping lines, would be far more organized. She would be surprised if Mr. Bridges could locate anything, let alone her family belongings.
Geneviève made her way around the desk, looking in every direction. Even at her mother’s worst, when it came to household management, she was not this disorganized. Did he not have a secretary? If so, they needed to be sacked.
This disorder was maddening and she could not leave this room until some order was put to it. Geneviève knew well enough that it wasn’t her place but Bridges needed help. And, as she wasn’t about to leave until she had spoken directly to him, she might as well put herself to use.
With a heavy sigh, she removed her gloves before reaching into her reticule to retrieve her spectacles. Once they were settled on her nose, she placed the gloves and reticule at the one clear area at the corner of the desk. Already, she was warm and doubted the office would get any cooler. After undoing the buttons on her pelisse, she slid her arms free, noting almost immediate relief.
The top document directly in front of her was an invoice for sugar from Barbados. The papers below it were similar, listing items shipped from a foreign port to England or from England to a foreign port. Not all of the English ports were out of London, but Bristol, Dover, Plymouth, and Liverpool as well. There was no semblance to these documents and a headache developed in the back of her skull.
With determination, Geneviève stood and took each stack from the desk and piled them until there was one tall disorganized lot and began to separate them out into new stacks. English ports accepting deliveries in one stack. Documents regarding shipments out of England were placed in another stack. A third held letters from customers, much like the one she had sent, demanding to know where the property was. Those questions could not be answered until the invoices were in order.
Jonathan Bridges wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his arm. The sleeve was filthy and no doubt grime was now smeared across his face. Not that it mattered, because there was work to be done and, until he cleaned up the mess caused by his former secretary and manager, he would be working with his men to right the situation.
His secretary and warehouse manager had disappeared, along with a few other workers, leaving him with missing shipments and unhappy customers. Though in his gut he knew the truth, he still hoped all the items had been misplaced or incorrectly labeled—not stolen.
With a sigh, Jonathan trudged toward the stairs to his office. His body ached from the physical labor and it was a painful reminder that he had sat far too long behind a desk. He had family obligations that had kept him from giving his business the attention that it needed. Concern for his sister, widowed not long ago, and her two young sons had him visiting her in the country more often, meaning he spent less time in London. The neglect may have cost him the business. Never would he trust another to do a job without his supervision.
Most of his employees had gone home for the evening, but Jonathan did not have the same luxury. He was still going through papers that he had found hidden away after his secretary had disappeared. Hundreds of invoices were shoved in small crates in a storage room beneath his offices. It was by chance that he had found them to begin with. There were months to be inventoried and the thought of facing the paper, now stacked on every available surface in his office, made Jonathan’s headache. But, it had to be done. He couldn’t rest until everything had been accounted for and all items delivered to their respective owners.
He glanced back at the now dark warehouse as he climbed the stairs to his office. His jacket, waistcoat, and cravat were folded and draped over the railing, waiting to be put back on before he left for the evening. They had been removed when he set out into the warehouse this morning. In hindsight, he probably should have removed and left the items in his office.
Jonathan stifled a yawn as he plodded up the narrow stairs. Perhaps he should see about having a cot set up until all of the work was completed. He practically lived here as it was, leaving only late in the evening to return home, ate a cold supper, fall into bed, and started all over just as the sun was rising.
He slowed as he neared the top of the stairs noting the door to his office was open. It had been closed earlier and there was no reason for his workers to have been inside. Lamplight illuminated the landing and he tilted his head, straining to hear the quiet humming coming from within.
Who was in his office? As they were humming, Jonathan did not feel overly threatened, but he still pulled the knife from inside his boot just in case. This was the waterfront after all and any manner of character lived down here from orphans and whores, to owners of the various businesses and pubs, with several thieves walking the alleys ready to relieve you of a purse.
Was it someone he knew, someone not in their right mind who wandered in, or a thief?
He straightened his spine, no longer feeling the aches from earlier, grasped the knife confidently, and stepped into the doorway only to be brought up short by the vision before him.
A young lady with auburn curls arranged attractively behind her head sat in his chair, behind his desk. Gold spectacles were perched on the bridge of her delicate nose, drawing attention to the eyebrows drawn together in concentration. Full lips were pursed around a pencil she held between her teeth and she was rifling through his papers.
Who the bloody hell was she and what gave her a right to go through his things?
Jonathan cleared his throat.
She startled and straightened. Her grey eyes grew round as her eyebrows rose.
Chapter 2
Goodness! The pencil fell from her mouth as she gazed upon the stranger in the doorway. His shirt and trousers were filthy, as were his hands, and there was sweat and dirt smeared across his face. Midnight hair practically stood on end and she assumed it was from being pushed away from his face, or he hadn’t brushed it in days. He was handsome with his light brown eyes, chiseled jawline, currently shadowed with a day’s growth of stubble and aquiline nose. He wore only his shirt sleeves but his shoulders strained against the fabric.
He may be handsome and a fine specimen of a man, but that did not mean she was not in danger. Geneviève glanced past his shoulder. The warehouse was completely dark behind him. Her heart lurched. Where had everyone gone? When she came to the office the warehouse was a bustle of activity. Now there was nothing but silence and she was very much alone with this stranger.
How could she have not noticed everyone had left?
She shifted her gaze to her reticule at the corner of the desk. It was out of her reach and feared she would not be able to grab it quickly enough to get the small pistol out before he stopped her.
A small, sharp knife used for breaking seals lay on the desk to her right and Geneviève moved her hand to clasp the handle. Though it wasn’t much of a weapon, it helped calm her pulse knowing she had the means to protect herself if necessary.
The stranger lifted a dark eyebrow, glanced at the knife then back at her face. “Who are you?”
Geneviève slowly stood. “I might ask you the same question.” She lifted her chin. She would not be afraid.
He took a step inside the office. Light glinted off the blade in his hand. It was longer, sharper, and far more lethal than the one she clutched. Her heart hammered with such force she feared it might burst right out of her chest. He frowned in what appeared to be confusion then shook his head and slid the knife into his pocket. Though Geneviève tried to calm herself, the knife was still easily accessible.
“You might,” he replied. “But as you are in my office, I demand you explain yourself.”
“Your office?” Certainly, this was not Bridges. He looked like a common dock worker, certainly not a successful businessman.
“Mr. Bridges,” a voice called from below. “I’ll let myself out and bolt the door.”
“Thank you, Jones,” the man in the doorway called without taking his eyes from Geneviève.
Goodness. This is not what she was expected at all. “Geneviève Mirabelle,” she finally answered.
Bridges let out a sigh and frowned. “How might I help you, Miss Mirabelle?”
Perhaps she should return when he was better rested or had a chance to bathe. He appeared tired with small lines at the corner of his light brown eyes and the downturn of his mouth.
No, she came here for answers and she would not leave without them. She straightened her spine. “You know very well why I am here.” She let the small knife rest on the desk and crossed her arms over her chest. “I’ve written to you several times demanding my family’s belonging and you have yet to produce them or even respond to my inquiries.”
“I’ve been otherwise occupied,” he ground out as he entered the room and placed a jacket and other items on the vacant chair in front of his desk.
“Not in here apparently.” She gestured to the desk and surrounding areas still covered in documents.
Bridges frowned, placed his hands on the back of the chair, and leaned forward. “At the moment I am without a secretary. I will look into the matter and send a message of when you can expect your items delivered.”
He was putting her off. Again! Given the state of his office, she suspected that Mr. Bridges had no idea where her shipment was, but she would give him a day and not a moment more. “I expect an answer by tomorrow evening or I will be back to search myself.”
Miss Mirabelle had lost her mind. She could not go rummaging through his warehouse. It was bad enough she had been going through the papers on his desk. It had been hours ago that Jones told him she was here and then left before an appointment could be scheduled.
Had Miss Mirabelle been up here the entire time? What had she discovered? Hopefully, not the inconsistencies or he would be ruined. She was angry enough about her missing shipment that she could very easily go to the authorities and complain against him.
That would never do. “I will do my best to have your answer.” He stood back and indicated to the door.
She studied him for a moment then gave a quick nod of her head before reaching over and retrieving her reticule. After removing her spectacles and placing them inside, she drew on her gloves and lifted her pelisse. Nothing about Miss Mirabelle was common, from the fiery hair and sharp grey eyes to the expense of her clothing. He knew nothing of the family, but her appearance spoke of wealth. “Where is your maid?”
“I did not bring one.”
She was daft. These were the docks and it was already dark outside. “Do you have a carriage waiting?”
