“William once said something about homing pigeons being a profitable venture.”
“I hadn’t considered them.” Darius took his seat after Vivian had taken hers. “It would require time, because the generations born on my land would always home to me. I’d have to sell breeding pairs, though I assume it can be done.”
“The government is using them more and more,” Vivian said. “They used them to get word of the victory at Waterloo, and it was faster than any horse or packet.”
Darius considered her, seeing not only beauty and grace, but also intelligence—and wondering if William saw any of it. “I didn’t know that. What else does William have to say about British commerce?”
“We need finer wool,” Vivian said. “There are Spanish sheep that produce a much higher grade of wool than our farm breeds, but we stick to what we know, when pretty much every country on earth can grow its own sheep.”
“His Majesty had some of these Spanish sheep, didn’t he?”
“William bought some in the dispersal about ten years ago, and they’ve been producing little sheep at Longchamps all the while. They’re… distinctive, but very soft to pet.”
“Like you.”
She smoothed a pleat in her dress. “And here we were doing so well, Mr. Lindsey.”
For her fortitude, Darius returned to the matter at hand. “So William thinks we need to focus on competing with other nations?”
“Of course. The Americans have more space to grow corn of all kinds than we’ll ever have, the Antipodes can grow sheep, and the shipping is getting faster each year. You think of competing with other vegetable farmers to get your goods to Town, but soon you’ll be competing with the French table grapes, the Spanish citrus, and so forth.”
“You’ve learned a thing or two, being married to Longstreet.”
“And what fascinating stuff it is.” She smiled, though the result was sad around the edges.
“To a man strapped for coin, it is fascinating.”
She apparently took him at his word. “Whatever you have, there’s demand for it on the Continent. The Corsican saw to that.”
“What do you mean?”
“His Majesty’s troops were usually provisioned by design, with quartermasters and contracts and a whole supply line set up by the military as the armies moved from place to place. The Russians and Germans operate similarly. Napoleon relied on what he called foraging, and what we would call pillaging, even in his own territory. Any place the Grand Armée passed through was devastated. Crops, goods, livestock, entire buildings were torn asunder in a night to feed the campfires—they’d even burn the fodder for the livestock in their campfires. You could export lumber, had you a wood. You could export anything, and there’d be a market for it there somewhere.”
Darius frowned at the fire, because this conversation was the furthest thing from flirting—and he was enjoying it. “How to get my goods to that market? And how to retrieve one’s coin?”
“That’s easy.” Vivian rose and went to the window. “You hire one of the half-pay quartermaster’s officers who campaigned from Portugal to Poland, and he’ll be happy to live cheaply on the Continent while taking a little coin to see to your business. Most of them picked up enough of the languages, they still have contacts, and a few have wives of foreign extraction.”
“You’ve thought about this?”
“I listen.” She turned, that slight smile still in place. “Hour after hour after hour, I listen to my husband and his parliamentary associates debating everything from soap taxes to window taxes to reform of every stripe.”
He could see her doing it too, quietly keeping the servants organized, the guests happy, and the conversation flowing—while William expounded on soap taxes. “What is there to debate about a soap tax, for pity’s sake?”
“If soap were more affordable, the general populace might put it to more frequent use and avoid some of the pestilence plaguing them. We’d then have a healthier work force and could tax what they create, rather than the soap they can’t buy now. Similarly with the tax on windows and fresh air in tenements and factories.”
She looked lonely over there by the window. Remote, though she was only a few feet away. “And we’d all smell better. This is what you and William discuss over dinner?”
“William and I rarely dine together privately. We entertain a great deal, or we did until this fall. Losing two sons has taken a toll on William.”
“It would take a toll on any man.” Darius rose and crossed the room to stand behind her. “Except possibly my father.”
“I don’t know the man.”
“Count yourself fortunate.”
She cocked her head in a manner Darius was learning meant serious study, so he distracted her by scooping her up and settling with her in his lap.
“You said you’d wait until tonight.” She sounded wonderfully tart in her disapproval, even as she cuddled into his embrace.
“I’m not under your skirts, Vivvie.” He nuzzled her breast, closing his eyes. To his consternation, she threaded her fingers through his hair and cradled him against her, as if he were a tired boy.
“Tell me about your father.”
“He’s awful.” Darius resisted the temptation to tell her they weren’t going to speak of this either. The topic was harmless enough—though distasteful. “If I learned to tolerate a beating anywhere, it was at his hands. My brother, Trent, was his particular project, which was no privilege, believe me, and my mother staked me as her personal favorite.”
“I gather your parents were not congenial.”
“They were at daggers drawn. Part of the reason I can countenance this scheme of William’s is because there is reason to doubt the paternity of at least one of my siblings. My mother was that angry with Wilton, that desperate.”
She stroked his hair absently. “One shudders to think of it, years and years of battle, and all within the one place that’s supposed to be a haven from strife.”
He fell silent, because her caresses were mesmerizing, which made no sense. “Shall we take a nap, my lady?”
“You gave me until tonight,” she chided, her hand pausing. “Is your father’s example why you’re so careful with John?”
“I’m not sure what you mean.” And he didn’t want to pursue it, so he nuzzled her breast again, rubbing his cheek deliberately over her nipple.
“You’re trying to distract me. Let’s take a walk, and you can show me some of your land.”
“There’s nothing to see.” He did it again. “It’s all under snow.”
“So we’ll kidnap John from his studies.” She pulled away, but only a little. “We can make a snowman.”
“He’d like that.” Darius frowned while she traced his eyebrow with a finger. He’d like it too. He’d made snowmen before, for his sisters’ entertainment, mostly. Emily was more than a decade his junior, and she’d been in need of playmates. There was no point to a snowman, but a man could do only so much paperwork.
Vivian rose off his lap. “Then we can have a toddy before dinner.”
“You like my toddies?”
She smiled at him, not only with a curving of her lips but also with her lovely brown eyes. “The entire household likes your toddies. But yes, I do. I never knew this about myself, but I could become overindulgent in them.”