Spending Christmas in Hell (Diamonds of London #8)

Chapter One

December 15, 1818

Ridgeway and Dashfield Counting House

Barton Circle, Mayfair

London, England

“Look here, Hugh,” Sir Timothy Dashfield said as he shoved a ledger across his desk and pointed to one of the columns of numbers. “There are far too many accounts in arrears. Too many more months of us taking in excuses instead of income will put us into trouble with our investors.”

“What does it matter? It is but one month,” his best friend answered as he frowned at the column. “People have more on their mind this month than paying their loans.”

“Yet we can no longer keep absorbing these missed payments.” Already, at least six people who’d come to their counting house were late. “The month doesn’t make a difference.” It didn’t matter if the loans had been for a mortgage, rents, or any other endeavor the borrowers wished to use the coin for.

Having too much red in the ledger was a bad thing for all concerned.

“Have some compassion, my friend,” Hugh said as he sat back in the leather chair that faced Timothy’s desk. He rested an ankle on a knee. “These people will pay when they are able.”

“In a perfect world, that would be acceptable, but we owe our investors payments as well, and if we can’t make them, the whole of the counting house will be forced to close.” He cleared his throat and steepled his fingers beneath his chin. “And have you forgotten that we borrowed money from your father to even open this place?”

In total, there were four rooms within the counting house, all separated by walls with leaded glass windows. He and Hugh both had an office. As well, they had specific roles that played to their strengths. Often, it was Timothy’s duty to use charm and banter to bring in customers while Hugh, who was better with numbers, laid down the terms of the loans with the borrowers. The third and largest room was where their three clerks worked. The fourth room was more like a parlor, where they brought prospective borrowers for tea and conversation if they weren’t completely convinced securing a loan was in their best interests.

Since it was two hours until dinner time and the sun had already gone down, he and Hugh were the only ones yet in the office.

“Of course I haven’t forgotten.” Hugh frowned as their gazes met. “In fact, I’m quite certain my father will ask about that very thing when I go to the family seat for the Christmastide holidays in a few days.” He huffed. “It will be the first time the bulk of the family will meet Felicity, so I’m already on edge.”

“I can only imagine.”

In fact, Hugh had met and married his wife around Valentine’s Day earlier in the year, and during that same time, Timothy and he had decided to form a counting house together. After securing the funding from Hugh’s father, who was an earl, for the Bank of London had refused to consider the request for the same. They had drawn up a contract with the man promising to pay the loan back in installments with interest, for they were both confident the counting house would flourish. His job was to bring in not only investors but also clients, while Hugh was the numbers man. He was the one who settled on the amounts of the loans as well as the amount of interest a borrower would pay.

As it happened, around late May, once Hugh had felt comfortable enough in his new union that he could turn some of his attention to business, Timothy and he had opened the counting house. The whole purpose of running their own counting house was to provide loans to people whom the banks might have overlooked or not found worthy. Since they had firsthand knowledge regarding that sort of rejection, they wouldn’t have issues in finding clients.

It had been a successful venture almost from the first and they both found themselves suddenly flush. Even though Timothy had already made a fortune, there was always something to spend the coin upon. Money was a good motivator, and perhaps he liked it more than he should, for he was building for a future that would eventually come.

He merely needed the time and inclination to take the first step.

And ever since his best friend had married, he’d felt as if he were outside looking in on something he suddenly had no part of. Where he and Hugh had once been bachelors on the Town and had often prowled together through London’s ballrooms and drawing rooms, he was on his own now.

Even more so because Hugh had spent the better part of the year—with the exception of quick weekly meetings with him—with his new wife. Said lady taught piano lessons to the ton’s daughters out of a salon in their townhouse as a way to keep busy and provide an extra income.

“In fact, I should be home, getting a start on the packing instead of cooling my heels here.” Hugh waved a hand to presumably encompass the whole of the counting house. “We had decided to close the office anyway until after New Year’s Day so we could enjoy the holidays without having to worry over this place.”

Timothy frowned. “Except rents are due at the end of the month, and if we turn a blind eye toward that now, then there will always be another story, another excuse, another reason why they can’t be paid in a different month, especially since you went soft-hearted with some of our clients last month.” November had come and some of the rents didn’t.

Hugh shook his head. “It has been a difficult time for everyone. You know this.” A softness entered his expression. “Don’t let this business make you hard, Tim. The Christmastide holidays are coming. Coin is needed in other places. Grant people latitude. They will be more willing to rise to the mark later knowing you have a heart.”

“This sets a dangerous precedent, though,” Timothy argued with a frown as he closed the accounting book with a sharp snap. “What of our investors? Being short at month’s end will put us in a bind, and we will have to use our own coin to pay the difference.”

Since opening the counting house, they had been fortunate enough to partner with a couple of men within the beau monde with loaded coffers who insured a good portion of their loans, with appropriate interest, of course.

“There are worse things.”

“What the devil are you saying?” Timothy gawked at his friend, who remained silent. He shoved a hand through his hair. “You’ve grown lax since you married.” That could be the only explanation. “If that is what marriage entails, I want no part of it.” Ha! What a lie! He decided to ignore his inner thoughts, for the truth of the matter was, he did want a wife and to start a family. Why else was he saving for a future if he’d never take the steps to have one?

Hugh’s grin was wide. “Let us just say that since marrying Felicity, I have learned what is important in my life and what can be overlooked for a time.”

“So, our business isn’t important to you?” Where had the man gone he’d opened the counting house with? The man with a head for numbers and a rigid conscious of right and wrong?

“I didn’t say that.” His best friend planted both boots on the floor, leaned forward, and rested his forearms on his knees. “I merely said there are things in life that expand one’s souls, and there are things that don’t.”

“Since when have you been concerned about your soul?” What the hell was happening?

“Perhaps when I fell in love with Felicity.” Of course, that had been quite the convoluted, harrowing tale of how the man had finally managed to win the heart of his wife, whom he’d married in haste before either of them had declared feelings. “Before you find that one woman who will turn your life topsy turvy and change it forever, you think you the world is yours for the taking. You believe you are invincible. But all it takes is one look, one smile, one show of vulnerability, and your mind isn’t your own any longer.”

“What do you mean?”

Hugh continued to grin as if he were naught but a loon. “When you fall beneath a woman’s spell, your world shrinks and all you can see is her. You want to be a better man for her, show her that you are worthy, live for the day when her eyes will shine while looking at you, live for that day when she touches your hand as well as your heart, because then you will realize you hadn’t properly lived before.”

“Bah.” Timothy briefly pointed his gaze to the ceiling before landing it back on his friend. “Stuff and nonsense. Surely your brain hasn’t rotted out in the span of six months.” It wasn’t that he didn’t believe in love, it was just that he’d been terrible at finding it. In fact, he’d been thrown over a couple of times, and since then, he’d put the thought of finding, or even pursuing, love behind him in favor of other things. “Love is a fairy story at best.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way, because I am here to tell you it is very much real, and it is transformative when you surrender to it.” Slowly, Hugh shook his head. He cleared his throat. “This must seem fanciful to you, and I don’t blame you for thinking that way. I was once where you are.”

“I remember.” He’d counseled Hugh on that very thing before the other man had finally declared himself to Felicity. “Then if it isn’t love that has turned your mind to soup, it must be the Christmastide season.” If there was a trace of bitterness in his words, he couldn’t help it.

“What the devil do you have against Christmastide?” When Timothy didn’t immediately answer, Hugh frowned. “I have known you for a long time, and I don’t recall you ever opening up about your past or this particular season.”

“That is because it isn’t flattering or particularly pleasant.”

“Might as well have it out, man. It is clearly bothering you and twisting you into a bitter old man before your time.”

“At least you haven’t lost your sense of humor.” For a few moments, he thought over his next words. “My father was an embarrassment to my family.”

“Must have been a hidden embarrassment.”

Timothy snorted. “My mother did everything she could to hide what a horror he was. She took great pains to make certain no one in society suspected anything. I don’t know how far that went, for truly Papa was a drunkard most of the time, and when he’d reached the point of intoxication where he couldn’t walk, his voice grew louder.” God, those were terrible years. “He had a nasty habit of calling anyone within earshot names or criticizing their persons.”

“I’m sorry. That sounds like a trial,” Hugh said in a soft voice.

“It was, so when we could convince him to leave Town and stay in the country, many of us breathed easier.” He shoved a hand through his hair, for these admissions were quite difficult. “Christmastide seemed an excuse for him to act the lout. When he fell into drunken stupors during those times, he always caused some sort of scandal. Once, he took off all his clothes and drove a donkey cart into the village on Christmas Eve, thinking himself Joseph.”

“Damnation. No wonder you dislike the holiday.”

“Indeed.” Timothy nodded. “Aside from not being able to know his limits, my father often would sell off family possessions to pay debts, taxes, or fund more liquor. A could of times this happened during Christmastide. Imagine being a young man hoping to make a good impression with the girls in the village, but the government men came marching up to the manor house and then walking out with furniture, paintings, and when I was younger, books and toys. Everything was fair game for my father’s vices.”

“I don’t know what to say.” A pained expression went over Hugh’s face.

“Don’t feel bad. Neither did anyone else, and over the years, more and more friends abandoned us for fear of having a run in with dear old Papa.” It was a relief when the man finally succumbed to a pickled liver. “Mama never came back to Town due to acute embarrassment, even after I managed to pay most of my father’s debts.” Which was another thing that picked at his soul. “My sisters haven’t returned either, even though I told them both I would give them a Season if they desired.”

“Sometimes the sins of our family run deep, and until your sisters or mother convince themselves none of that was their faults, they will continue to hide.” He huffed out a breath. “But I understand. I had a questionable uncle once.”

Timothy nodded. “Ever since then, Christmastide has been tainted. I rather doubt I will ever reclaim any enjoyment I once had.”

“That is certainly your prerogative, but promise me you’ll keep an open mind. Life can surprise you.”

“If it will make you feel better, then I shall promise.” But he didn’t know if he would keep it.

“Good” Hugh nodded. “In any event, I am still your partner in this enterprise; it is still how we make a living. Nothing has changed in that regard.” He stood, locked eyes with Timothy. “However, I am not in the business of making other peoples’ lives untenable. Put yourself in their position, Tim. Wouldn’t you want someone to understand?”

“I suppose but—”

“My wife reminds me every so often that everyone deserves a second chance, that we are not our pasts, that there is always an opportunity for growth.” Shadows reflected briefly in his eyes. “Listen, Tim, there are many people hurting in London. All I’m asking is that you lend them some understanding and grace through Christmastide.”

“And then what? Hmm?” He clambered to his feet as well. “If they didn’t have the rent payment that was due at the first of the month, they certainly won’t have it now. Once they get behind, it is all too difficult to catch up without relying on the criminal element.” That would come at its own price.

“I don’t know, but I have seen some harsh situations with some of these folks.” As he moved toward the door to Timothy’s office, he glanced over his shoulder at him. “There is always a story, and yes, sometimes it’s sad, but we are all just trying to survive in this world. Christmastide, especially, should be a time of forgiveness and charity.”

Timothy snorted. “Fine, but when you and I are facing empty coffers and accounts because we are paying back loans without the income from the rents, you can be the man pleading with someone else for the same latitude you are asking me to show.”

“It won’t be forever, Tim. You know this.”

“Perhaps, but what of our futures? What happens when your daughter wishes to go to an expensive finishing school next year? Or when your wife is increasing?” One of his eyebrows rose in question. “Will you deny them both their own future?” His daughter was nearly done with her schooling and would soon be launched into society.

“No, of course not.” Unexpected moisture rose in Hugh’s eyes as he paused at the open doorway. “We, uh, lost a pregnancy already. Three months ago,” he admitted in a low, choked voice. “I would do anything to help Felicity so she wouldn’t need to go through this, so when I tell you that everyone has something bringing them grief or upset or pulling their minds away from other things, please believe me.”

“Oh, God. I’m so sorry.” Immediately contrite, Timothy crossed the room to lay a hand on his best friend’s shoulder. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Hugh shrugged as he brushed at the moisture in his eyes. “I didn’t want to burden you, and I’m not certain Felicity would want me to say, but—”

“You need support as well,” he finished in a soft voice. When the other man nodded, a sigh escaped Timothy. “Go home, Hugh. Go home to your family and enjoy the time together. I shall take care of everything here.”

“I appreciate that.” The other man nodded. He swallowed heavily. “You should leave work until the New Year. We will start fresh then, with a revised plan of how to help the very people we are serving.”

“Perhaps I will after I go try to collect the rents on a handful of clients.” After all, what did he have to come home to? An empty townhouse? “Afterward, I might take dinner at the club.” And drink himself into a stupor so he wouldn’t be reminded that a full coffer didn’t equate to loving arms or warmth in a bed at night.

Hugh nodded. “If you should need company, come by. Felicity would adore seeing you again, and so would my daughter.”

“I might do just that. At least it isn’t snowing. I detest that more than Christmastide.”

Of course, he spoke too soon. By the time he’d stepped out of his closed carriage on Thackeray Street in the Kensington area, a light snow came drifting down.

“Well, buggar.” Hunching deeper into his greatcoat, he shoved his hands into his pockets then addressed the driver. “I shouldn’t be longer than thirty minutes to an hour. If you want, you can drive about. There is a mews one street over.”

Robert waved a hand. “I’ll wait here, Sir Timothy. It’s a bit quieter here than in other sections of Mayfair.”

“Right then.” Then, with another huff and a curse at the snow, Timothy made his way along the pavement until he reached an unassuming building that held store fronts on the ground level and living spaces above. As the only piece of luck for the evening, there were a few clients who lived in the area. At least he’d be able to get the errands over quickly.

As much as he would enjoy a brandy in front of his fire, he couldn’t help having the memory of his drunk father in the back of his mind. Under no circumstances would he grow into that.

Christmastide a joyous time? Rather it had the tendency to be hell. Hadn’t he been shown that too often to think otherwise?