Gold watched her retreating form as Belle ran into the house. That had been a disappointing encounter, he decided. He'd heard the rumors, of course. Neal had mentioned it in a letter a few months ago, asking if it was the girl he remembered from his father's house. Gold hadn't wanted to believe it was true, but when she had returned from town unexpectedly and alone...well, he hadn't needed to see a lot more than that. Short of witnessing the deed himself, nothing would have done a better job convincing him of what had happened to her than the fear he'd seen in her eyes.
He grimaced as he turned to leave. It was a pity – an absolute pity. She had always been a lovely, vivacious girl when he'd seen her and so very intelligent. They weren't friends, although he and her father were acquainted through business and proximity and he'd spent evenings at their house for social events.
He couldn't for the life of him figure out how a man could look at any woman and want to hurt her, but he especially couldn't imagine seeing someone like Lady Belle with her innate curiosity and outgoing demeanor and kindness and wanting to snuff the light out of her eyes like that. It was a damn shame is what it was.
Gold made his way back home slower than he'd made the rest of the walk. He'd have been inclined to blame it on his leg bothering him, except for the fact that the damn doctor had been right and taking these little walks were actually helping his ankle quite a bit. He'd broken it in an accident more than a decade ago, and it hadn't ever really healed properly. One of the reasons country life had appealed as much as it had was that he could avoid walking so much. In London, he'd been constantly on the production floor running inspections or showing the place to potential investors. When he was here he could go days without leaving the house if he wanted to. He kept a carriage which he made regular use of if he needed to leave his property, but otherwise his world had become the country house and the two miles of land in any direction and that had been enough.
His valet was in a mood when he arrived back home and it was all Gold could do not to laugh. Jefferson was the person Gold saw the most, since he was the one who kept his wardrobe clean and in good repair and made sure that Gold could look the part of a country gentleman when necessary. Jefferson was also prone to the occasional fit of hysterics when he felt his hard work wasn't being appreciated. If Jefferson weren't so damn good at his job (or if Gold weren't so opposed to change) he'd probably have found himself out on the street by now, but fortunately for him he'd been brought here from London.
"And just where have you been?" Jefferson huffed, looking at the dirt marring Gold's once pristine boots.
"I went for a walk," Gold replied. "Just like the doctor prescribed."
"Through a field?" Jefferson asked, going to the wardrobe to pull out something for Gold to change into before the stains could set.
"You know," Gold said, sitting down to ease the boots off. "If I'd wanted someone to nag me about my whereabouts I'd find a wife."
Jefferson gave a snort of laughter at that.
"And when you find someone willing to deal with that, do let me know," he said. "I'd like to wish her the absolute best of luck."
"I think if I were looking you'd know by now," Gold grumbled. "Don't you have enough to do around here besides complain or should I fire the groom and let you deal with the horses?"
Jefferson shot Gold a withering glance in reply and pulled out some new clothes for him to change into.
"I trust your walk was fulfilling," Jefferson said with a sarcastic deference that was bordering on toxic levels.
This was why Gold liked his valet, honestly. Jefferson was a pain, but he didn't make any secret of how he felt about his employer. Gold knew from experience as a worker that when someone was willing to lie and flatter you, they were willing to lie about other things as well. Anyway, Jefferson was amusing if nothing else and gave Gold an outlet to keep his wits sharp.
"It was a walk," Gold said with a shrug. "I ran into Lord Maurice's daughter."
"Oh?" Jefferson said, his mood darkening a little at the mention. "How is she holding up?"
"Well, the rumors are certainly true," Gold said sadly. "Just about tripped over herself trying to get inside."
"That could just be your personality," Jefferson reminded him. "Still, though, such a pity. She had her whole life ahead of her. Wasn't she supposed to be married soon?"
"To her cousin," Gold replied. "The tall chap who came over for cards with his uncle once."
Mr. Gaston Knightley had spent the entire evening watching his uncle's cards like a hawk. Gold couldn't really blame him, he'd spent his life being groomed as the heir to Lord Maurice and the poor boy had to wonder now what would be left for him to inherit. The truth was, Maurice was in just as much debt as most of his class. Gold knew a fair few young Lords who were beginning to look abroad for their brides, rich American heiresses whose dowries could prop up all the ceremony that came with the titles. Others were taking whatever they could scrape together and dumping it into investments and hoping for the best. Maurice was doing whatever he could to raise funds (including investing heavily in Gold's fabric mills) but he was also deeply in debt.
In a way, the tragedy that befell Lady Belle was a blessing for her cousin as it would free him up to pursue one of those American heiresses whose father's had money practically falling out of their pockets. He might even be able to hide his cousin well enough from his bride that she wouldn't notice if he kept paying for Belle's upkeep. Frankly, the girl had been extremely lucky that she didn't have any siblings who needed to marry and that her father and cousin cared enough about her that she'd not been sent away. A pampered aristocrat's daughter didn't have many resources available to her in those situations, and Gold had a mental image of her as one of the painted ladies at a brothel. There was no way the girl he'd seen today could have survived – there was definitely no way she'd have developed any clientele besides those who enjoyed hurting her if what he'd seen today was an accurate reflection of her normal behavior now. The girl could barely stand to hold a conversation, he couldn't imagine anything more intimate than that would be within her capabilities for a long time yet. It really was a damn shame.
Hopefully, she had enough in her name to let her keep a house after her father passed.
"Oh!" Jefferson exclaimed, springing to a silver tray. "The mail came while you were gone. I put the rest in your office, but you've received a letter from your son."
Gold smiled at that, taking the envelope from Jefferson and examining it fondly. Letters from Neal were the highlight of his day when they occurred. The boy was very busy with running the factories (and Gold did understand how busy that could keep a man), so the fact that his son had taken time out of his day to write his father always touched him.
"Was there anything else of interest?" Gold asked as he changed into the new trousers Jefferson had gotten for him and slipped on a pair of shoes.
"Something from the bank," Jefferson replied. "And something from your solicitor. Nothing that looked too important, anyway. Although if you want someone to keep tabs on your correspondence maybe you should hire a man of business, or a butler."
"Would you rather I had a butler or a groom?" Gold asked idly, and was amused at how quickly Jefferson's mouth slammed shut.
They both knew that the move out here had technically been a promotion for Jefferson. He went from being a valet to being the only male servant in the house, leaving him performing the duties of butler and valet (and with the corresponding raise in pay). When Gold died – or if Jefferson got it in his head to leave – he'd be able to apply for work in a larger house as an underbutler or at the very least as a valet to someone who kept a larger house.
"I'm going to go see what I can do about these trousers," Jefferson replied quickly, taking the dirtied clothes with him as he trotted off to the laundry.
Gold smiled to himself, finding a seat near a window as he broke the seal on Neal's letter and settled in to read it. His boy was well, and as busy as he'd suspected. Neal also had hopes for a new contract to ship their fabric to the continent, which would allow for some expansion of the factories as well. Neal had it in his head to begin producing yarn and thread as well. This, of course, required more investors. Luckily, finding those had always been something his son excelled at. Gold couldn't have been more proud of the boy.
He leaned back and took in the view of the world outside. He really was lucky, all things considered. To come from where he'd begun to all of this…it was an incredible streak of good luck and hard work. People didn't leave the neighborhood in Glasgow he'd come from unless it was in shackles. His father certainly hadn't, anyway. Gold grimaced at the memory of the man, but felt a smug sense of self-satisfaction at it. If Malcolm Gold could see his son now, what would he think? Probably be livid that his useless son had managed to exceed his own father. Malcolm Gold had never had any particular fondness for his son or his wife, abandoning both for months at a time only to turn up once things had begun to settle into some sort of normalcy.
But it was far too pretty a day to let his thoughts linger on his father. The man had gone to the gallows years ago, and it was good riddance.
Instead, Gold felt his attentions running towards his neighbor's house and the girl contained within. He'd always been fond of Lady Belle French, but the woman he'd met this afternoon was so changed from the one he'd known that he was still having trouble reconciling the difference. There was also the little niggling of his conscience telling him he was no better than the neighborhood matrons who refused to visit the fallen woman, only to be personally offended when the girl had made no effort to take visitors. The rumors were rampant that she'd been a seductress intent on bettering her station by luring an Earl, conveniently ignoring that her father was a Viscount so the title wasn't that different – and if anything, Lord Maurice was on slightly better financial footing than most men of his station were. He was a spendthrift, that was for sure, but he also understood the importance of investing and as a result actually had an income – which was probably the main reason the marriage between Lady Belle and her cousin had been arranged to begin with. A man with no money had no room to make such demands of his heir.
Anyway, that was all a moot point now anyway. They'd been caught, and polite society had deemed her guilty of becoming that which they most hated and feared – fallen. He'd never particularly understood that fear, himself. Coming from where he had, prostitutes and tavern girls had flaunted whatever wares they had openly but not from any particular love of the act. They'd done it as a means of survival, nothing else. He'd found that he couldn't judge them for that, when he had been willing to do whatever he'd needed to make ends meet himself. Survival became a way of life in the slums, and there had been a reason his mother had guarded him so closely when he'd been a boy.
He found it particularly galling that she'd been judged guilty of an act that he didn't think she'd been a particularly willing accomplice in. Women who'd had a choice in the matter didn't look so very…hunted. Whatever had transpired between Lady Belle French and Keith, Earl of Nottingham couldn't be known but Gold had no doubt in his mind she hadn't had any particular interest in it occurring.
Gold had heard there had been a court case at one point, owing to the Earl having deflowered a virgin in a quite public fashion, but he hadn't heard much about it the last few months. Maybe they had decided to drop the suit. Perhaps that was something to ask Neal about. Neal always had his ear to the ground in London, and he would know the gossip about the case, as well. Gold hated to express such a lurid interest in the details, but Lord Maurice was one of their investors. He needed to stay abreast of the man's financial situation to the best of his ability, and also to remind Neal that any time spent attempting to court money from anyone associated with Nottingham may alienate Maurice. It was really just good business sense for him to keep on top of things, really.
Surely that was all it was, really – business. There wasn't any other good reason for him to care what befell Lady French, after all.