A Governess for the faithless Duke (Regency Romance) (Regency Tales Book 3) by Regina Darcy Page B

sector of the docks, Elizabeth opened the door and disappeared from view, unaware that one keen pair of eyes in particular had been following her closely. The gentleman looked at the sign above the entrance way. His eyebrows rose. Hargrave and Daughter, East India Company, was neatly lettered, boldly announcing to all who passed by that here, on England’s newest docks, was a man of business who apparently did not know that women’s brains were not suited for the intricate workings of commerce. The Earl of Strathmore, intrigued by this revelation, bade farewell to his companions and continued on his way, his thoughts spinning like the silken strands of a spider’s web as he pondered the potential of this development.
    Inside the office, Elizabeth went directly to her desk. Mr George had already arrived and had brewed tea.
    “Good morning, Miss Hargrave,” he said, formal as always as he poured her a cup.
    “Good morning, Mr George,” she replied. Mr George was her father’s right-hand man, assisting him in the many aspects of his work as a merchant. There was nothing that Henry Hargrave could request of him that Mr George would not accede to and her father trusted his assistant completely. Mr George had come into the business by a most curious process. Henry Hargrave regarded slavery as an abomination; he was a vigorous supporter of Wilberforce’s campaign to abolish the institution but for a few days in the late 1790s, he had been a slave-owner. That was when he had seen Mr George on the auction block, the proud black man with the accent of Jamaica, bearing the scars of past whippings, offered for sale to whomever had the price. Offended by the practice, Henry Hargrave had outbid every man there. He had brought Mr George to his place of business and offered him his freedom and a job. The dignified young man had been wary at first but he soon realised, when his manumission papers were in his hand, that Henry Hargrave had been serious.
    Mr George soon learned the business of the docks and he had an advantage that another assistant would have lacked. Mr George knew commerce from its seamy underbelly. He was aware of the graft and corruption, the evil and greed that ruled many of London’s merchants and nowhere was this side of the city more visible than in the transactions that took place within the naval outposts of Great Britain. If Mr George regarded his former owner as naïve, he never said so, but Elizabeth knew that Mr George, unlike her father, had no illusions about his fellow man. He had seen too much.
    “Is Papa already out?” she asked, sipping her tea and appreciating the generous serving of sugar which Mr George had added. Sugar was not merely a sweetener that added flavour to the beverage; it was another of the products of the docks which travelled from ship to port to customer, expanding the profits of the canny merchants who sold it. Elizabeth had learned to her sums upon receipts and bills of lading; geography had been a lesson taught according to the flags under which the world’s ships sailed; she perfected her French, mastered German, and acquired Spanish as a result of the business which passed through her father’s office. She was less adept at embroidery, watercolours, and playing the harp than other young ladies of genteel upbringing who sought to impress their prospective suitors with their feminine accomplishments, but adding a column of numbers in her head, arguing costs in a merchant’s native tongue, and knowing which ship carried which cargo were attributes prized by her father. Henry Hargrave had no notion of how he should rear a marriageable daughter, and there was no woman at home to guide him in these arcane concepts, so he did the best he could.
    Her father did not know that there were times when Elizabeth wondered if her zeal for business should have been muted in favour of the quest for a husband. At twenty-five, well past the age when most Englishwomen were married and had