From Lies (4 page)

Satisfied, Rafe didn't bother to dally as he went into town, going to a little shop near the docks that would have a messenger for him. He gave the lad a few extra coins before he headed out, having heard the previous week that the boy's mother had fallen ill and he was in charge of his siblings. It wouldn't be much, but enough to provide a bit of extra food should they need it. The boy winked at him and scampered off.

With a fond smile at the retreating form, Rafe tugged the brim of his hat down, pulled the collar of his jacket high to cover the bottom of his face, hunched his shoulders, and went to the Sea Maiden's Heart, a little hole in the wall place that didn't let riff raff in. Surprising considering its location so close to the docks. The waitresses knew him by sight and led him to a back corner table in the dimmest part of the place. He gave his order, always switching up what he drank, and got Mr. Monel his usual. His food and drink always took awhile to prepare and would be ready by the time he arrived.

Sure enough, just as half an hour had passed, Mr. Monel walked in. Rafe felt the smile on his face slip away when he saw two men following his seller. If Mr. Monel had discovered that Rafe was not yet twenty-three, there would be a price to pay, and most likely his mother would begin to tighten a noose around Rafe's neck until he had no freedom. The worst that could happen was the court would find him not yet mature enough to take over as the head of the family. He swallowed the bile scratching his throat and pasted on a smile as he rose.

"Mr. Monel."

"Mr. Grett, so good to see you." Mr. Monel's smile appeared genuine, but it didn't ease the fear chewing Rafe's insides. "And let me introduce you to some of my customers. This is Mr. Denath and Mr. Aldberry."

Rafe nearly swallowed his tongue as he shook hands with both men. "The Prince and Marquess?" It might not be them since both families shared their names with some lesser nobility, but Mr. Monel would have no reason to introduce Rafe to lesser nobility without prior warning.

Both men laughed, their smiles wide and bright, not a hint of malice in either.

"We've been found out," one of them, Rafe believed him to be Marquess Denath, said as he pulled out a chair and took a seat.

"So it seems. Though we had no intention of hiding our identities from you." The other man winked. And that one, Rafe thought, was the prince, based on the way Mr. Monel kept glancing at him. "What are you two having? We'll have the same."

Was he really going to share a meal with Prince Trint Aldberry and Marquess Olto Denath? Two of the peerage's most sought-after bachelors and investors?

Mr. Monel laughed as he took his seat. "Mr. Grett always orders something new. Never the same thing twice."

"And why is that?" the prince asked, his head cocking slightly to the side.

Rafe swallowed his terror at being in the presence of the prince and his closest friend. "It means no one has the chance to poison you." And it was the truth. He'd heard whispers of some merchants being taken care of because their enemies learned their habits, their routines. Rafe didn't want that to happen to him, couldn't let it.

The marquess laughed, drawing eyes Rafe didn't want to them. "This is a smart man you've found yourself dealing with, Mr. Monel."

"Aye," Mr. Monel said through a mouthful of fish. "That's why I don't mind coming when he calls." He cast a sidelong glance at the prince and marquess. "Even when it's you two I'm dealing with."

The pair laughed again, and when a waitress came over to take their orders, they requested the same drink Rafe had.

"A smart man must have good taste," the marquess said once the drink arrived. He took a sip of the blue-tinted drink, quirking an eyebrow. "Thought this was some kind of spirit, but it's juice."

Rafe took a large swallow of his own drink to hide his nervousness.

"Really." The prince took a swig. Rafe's gaze tracked the bob of his Adam's apple, then the path of his tongue as he licked his lips when he was done. "Not bad though. Might even be better than some of the wines they serve at the palace."

The marquess chuckled and took another sip. "I'd have to agree with you there."

Rafe's anxiety only dimmed a fraction. He was still on high alert, ready for whatever might happen in case they were waiting for him to slip up and reveal his age. He glanced at the three men before him, his gaze lingering a little on the prince. Not that he could be blamed with the way the prince smiled so easily, his whole face lighting up, and the fact he wore his clothes well; better even than some of the most fashionable people Rafe had seen who wore similar clothes.

"So, Mr. Monel, how goes business?" Rafe hoped that by starting them on talks he would find out why Mr. Monel had brought such noblemen to Rafe's table.

"Splendid." Mr. Monel grinned broadly, his hands gesturing as he went into detail of what was selling and what was selling even better. It appeared that whatever Rafe brought to him sold the best of all his wares, and Mr. Monel wanted to expand, open a shop that would be dedicated to what Rafe's ships brought back.

"I procure a great deal that you've never wanted to sell before," Rafe reminded gently. Mr. Monel had nearly declined to do any business with Rafe in the beginning, claiming he was a wet-behind-the-ears lad trying to be a man. Rafe had nearly given up, but he'd persisted. He'd managed to purchase a ship and send it to areas few went because there had been no need to before. But everything evolved over time, and that included what people created.

"Psh." Mr. Monel waved his hand as if dismissing this fact. "I have those interested in buying anything you bring back, and word is what you provide others is of high quality. It helps that you're always fair and willing to negotiate. Besides, we have investors." He gestured to the prince and marquess who'd been sitting quietly, watching the two of them to the point Rafe had nearly forgotten they were there.

"Investors?" Rafe eyed the two men. He'd never dealt with investors—couldn't, really. "What makes you interested? And why should we accept?"

Mr. Monel spluttered beside him, and Rafe knew then that Mr. Monel was willing to trust them just because they were high ranking noblemen. And it looked as if both men were shocked. Of course, who would question or turn away a marquess, let alone a prince? Rafe wondered if he wasn't being foolish.

Then the prince smiled, and some of the anxiety throbbing in Rafe's skull lessened. "We've seen your wares with several vendors. It's interesting to see someone willing to work with so many and yet keep his prices fair. And whenever we talked with anyone about you, they all had the same things to say. Though some were grudging in their praise."

Rafe was certain he knew exactly who the prince was talking about. He nodded his head in understanding. At least one of his questions was answered. Now he just needed to hear the why.

The marquess answered for them both. "We like to see good people succeed, and we believe you will succeed."

All three men watched him, but Rafe wouldn't rush into this. He settled back in his seat, his glass held loosely in his grip, and thought. If he agreed, all of his wares would be in one location, which would make it easier for him and his men when it came to unloading and distributing his merchandise. Based on the fact Mr. Monel was there, he would be in charge of the shop, which would make it easier than having to deal with the number he visited.

But if he only dealt with Mr. Monel, there would be those who saw it as a slight, and they would do everything in their power to see Mr. Monel and Rafe fail, maybe even lose their lives. Besides, he knew of at least two shops that only stayed afloat due to his merchandise on their shelves. They would surely go under as soon as he stopped supplying them. Not that it was his responsibility to save others, but he enjoyed the people he worked with, liked assisting those in need.

"You would, of course, receive more since it would be in just one location," the marquess added, as if that would sway Rafe.

Rafe chuckled softly, glancing at his mostly empty glass as he rolled it between his fingers. He didn't bother drinking the dregs. "Gentlemen, I decline. Mr. Monel, until next time." He rose, bowing to each of the noblemen, then strode from the building, his heart slamming against his chest with every step he took. He'd just turned down the prince and marquess. What kind of an idiot was he?

He had a few blocks to berate himself before someone called out, "Hey, mister!"

Rafe turned. Running toward him was the messenger he'd given some extra coin to. He waited as the boy caught up to him, panting as he tried to collect his breath. "Easy." Rafe placed a cautious hand on the boy's shoulder. "I have time."

The boy grinned at him as his breathing steadily evened out. "Here." He thrust something in Rafe's hands then turned and ran away.

Rafe looked down, and saw what kind of idiot he was. In his hand he held a small bracelet, probably not even big enough to fit on his wrist, with little wooden blocks that spelled out
Thank You
. He cradled the bracelet close, a grin on his face as he made the rest of his rounds.

Rafe wasn't sure if he wanted to cry or scream. It was a week before the royal ball, he had everything he needed for Greta's gown, he had his own outfit in his closet, and he was more than ready for the whole oncoming fiasco to end. And he just wanted someone to remember his birthday. He dug in his pocket, fingering the bracelet he'd received from the messenger boy, Jaq, who'd taken to running all Rafe's messages. Rafe had rewarded the boy, at first by giving him a few extra coins, then by taking the child out to pick toys for his younger siblings—the poor boy was the eldest of seven with only one brother in the mix of girls—and then by bringing food to the family while their mother slowly recovered her health.

He was tempted to adopt Jaq as his own, if his mother wouldn't mind, and move them all into a house he had designs of buying the day after his birthday. But now, he just wasn't sure. He rubbed the bracelet with his fingertips. Would he be good enough? He looked around at the garden. Only flowers were there. Would he know how to handle Jaq and his siblings if their mother was willing to move somewhere that wasn't the slums?

Rafe took the bracelet from his pocket and held it before him, staring at the letters. He didn't know what to do. Tension had been escalating between his mother and Greta, and Raquel was demanding he spend more time taking her to visit with Lord Shaften—time he didn't have because business had picked up, and he was beginning to invest himself in a small family he knew little about except that they needed help he was more than willing to give.

With one last look around the garden, Rafe settled the bracelet back in his pocket and headed to the house, staring straight ahead as he passed the stable boy and the cook's assistant, who squeaked and ducked her head. He just wanted the day to be over, but he needed to go with Greta into town and pick up his sister's dress and hat and double check that the hairdresser would stop by their home to do his mother and sister's hair the day of the ball. He avoided the kitchen, feeling more of late that the cook was prepared to kill him if he stepped into her domain, which was a shame since he couldn't swipe food for Greta as easily anymore. Instead, he'd taken to skipping out on dinner and having food brought to his room, more than enough for the two of them since his mother had taken to cutting back on Greta's meals.

Maybe while he was in town he'd stop at the law office and make sure everything concerning who was in charge of the finances and owner of the home transitioned smoothly. He'd make sure to wait until after the ball before moving against his mother. He wanted his sister safe, and he was worried he wouldn't be able to manage that until she was betrothed to Lord Shaften. Luckily, Lord Shaften had begun to drop hints of a marriage contract, and Rafe had been more than happy to drop hints in return that he'd be amicable to such a marriage. It helped that Raquel constantly talked about the man and his children.

"Rafe."

Rafe winced at his mother's sharp tone but turned obediently to her. "Yes, mother?" She was scowling at him, and he wondered what he'd done wrong this time.

"You're late." She stopped before him, her face so pinched he wondered if it wouldn't crack. "Hurry up and collect your sister's dress. I don't want that filth touching it."

Rafe nodded, even as he saw Greta wince behind his mother. "Yes, mother."

She huffed at Rafe before stomping past him. He waited until the click-clack of her heels faded then nodded his head toward the front door. Greta bobbed her head, her eyes watery as she rushed out the door.

"Happy birthday to me," he whispered under his breath as he followed Greta to the stable, glad to see the cart and horse ready with several blankets covering the boards. Rafe didn't bother saying anything to the stable boy, just climbed in the back and made himself comfortable, not making a sound until they were well away from the house. He dug out a handkerchief he'd taken to carrying for his sister, who cried as of late at almost every word their mother spoke to her.

"Here." He handed the cloth to Greta and took the reins, keeping an eye on the road, which had more activity due to the coming ball. "The ball's almost upon us."

Greta sniffled, blowing harshly into the fabric. "Yes."

"Maybe you'll catch yourself a prince."

She graced him with a watery laugh as she dabbed her eyes. "You'll be the one to catch the prince's attention, I'm sure of it. Besides, I can't go. Mother has forbidden it."

Rafe snorted. It hurt more than it should that Greta had forgotten his birthday, but he wouldn't say it. No one needed to know how much they hurt him. If they did, he'd be seen as weak, and his business that he could now legally own would be in ruins before the next day.

Appearances
, a voice in his head whispered.
You'll always be bound by appearances.

Rafe knew it was true, but he didn't want to dwell on it. Today should be a happy day, but instead it was growing bleaker the closer to nightfall they came. Soon enough he handed the reins back to Greta and climbed into the back of the cart, splaying himself across the blankets to stare at the sky. At least that was one constant in his life: there would always be the sky above his head and the ground beneath his feet.