Page 1 of The Rise of a Forsaken Lady
Prologue
London, 1814
The mood in the private room in the back of White’s was somber, and two parties sat surrounded by the smell of sweet cigar smoke and strong brandy. One was sporting a greying beard and sly wrinkles around his eyes. The other was younger.
Half-filled glasses and a bottle of brandy sat between the two on a grimy wooden table where a thrice-read and discarded broad-sheeted London Gazette lay tossed in the middle. The two drank the same liquor in the same room where they met once a month. After seven months, they became adept at reading each other’s responses to the same topic that brought them together.
It was customary for them to sit in silence, allowing the faint strains of classical music to seep from the clubhouse and through the air, until the older broke in. However, this time, the younger party was brave enough to disrupt the ritual.
He took a fortifying sip of the brandy. “So, I remember your proposition from last month.”
“You’ve come around then?”
“There was no issue of me coming around,” the younger man drew in his breath with a hiss, then measured his tone back to respect. “It is more of figuring how to do what needs to be done.”
“I told you—”
The young man lifted the bottle and refilled his glass. He spoke dismissively. “Yes, yes. I know. You’ve drummed it into my head over and over again. It’s the only way, you say, but how?”
“Do not mistake my intelligence or yours. You already know what to do and how to do it.”
He grunted acceptation of his older partner’s rebuke.
The man took a low draw on his pipe, then relaxed in a long slow exhale of smoke. “If you want your own credit line from the suppliers in the continent that come from my connections, then yes, it is the only way to get the payoff you seek.”
He leaned in and looked right into the young man’s eyes. “Unless, of course, I had misjudged you and you are not as hungry for success as I thought you were.” He slowly leaned back, pipe in hand. “If so, I fear that the last seven months of our meetings have been a waste.”
“I am as dedicated as ever,” the younger man was growing angry. “But I am sure there can be a less…damaging way of going about it.”
“For you to rise, someone has to fall,” the gruffer voice said. “That is how it has been from the dawn of time, for personal gain, there must be a sacrifice.” He raised his eyebrows quizzically. “I am sure you know our history. Marcus Brutus and Caesar…Ephialtes of Trachis and King Leonidas of Sparta…and now it is your time to do the same.”
“I was sure you were going to tack on Judas Iscariot,” the younger man said humorlessly.
“Your target does not have the power to amass a legion of angels to assist him,” the man said wryly. “And furthermore, do you have the suicidal deliberation of killing yourself?”
“No,” the younger man cringed.
“Then, let us skirt that example,” the older man said dryly. “He has concealed his contacts overseas for too long, suppressing your ventures and making you lose out. Don’t you think it is time for your patience to run out?”
“I agree, but…this?”
“It has to be done one way or another,” the older man replied sagely. “You are close to him, and our association needs what he knows and who he has. And, with him out of the way, you can finally have what, or whom, you want, hmm? He stroked his greying beard. “If you choose not to, you will lose the momentum you have built in the last three years.”
“So, blackmail is what you are resorting to?”
“Admit it,” the older man’s voice was sage. “You are tired of his honorable shenanigans too, and how comfortable he in his position when he—and you—could be so much more.”
“I do not think it is his contact really,” the younger man stressed. “As far as I know, he has not used those contacts since he rose to power. I think they are his fathers…or were anyway.”
The senior leaned in, “And they are not dead, so be it if they are his father’s or not. With him out of the way, and if you do wed the lady, those connections will be yours by default. I told you a year ago,” tapping his forefinger on the table to emphasize his point, he continued. “and I will tell you for the last time, as this is prime time for you to do so. Do what you have to do, and you will see how much it works out…for both of us. Untold riches are ours if you do this right, and you want that, do you not?”
The shuddering breath the younger man let out was answer enough, even before he replied, “Undoubtedly.”
“Then we have an agreement.” A hand was stuck out over the table and lingered there before another hand grasped it.
“We have...it’s agreed. In three months, someone will be in jail or dead, and we will be so much richer.”
Both men leaned back in resignation, signaling that the matter was decided on.
