Orlan Trahern had known a hard life as a youth. At the age of twelve, he saw his father, a Welsh highwayman, hanged from a roadside tree for his crimes. His mother, reduced to working as a scullery maid, died just a few years later of the ague, weakened by years of overwork, meager food, and cold winter drafts. Orlan had buried her and had sworn he would make a better way for himself and his own.
Remembering the gray oak where his father had swung, the lad had worked hard and wisely, careful to be scrupulously honest. His tongue was quick, as was his wit, and his mind was agile. He soon grasped the ways of money, rents, interest, investments, and, most of all, the calculated risk for high return. Young Trahern first borrowed money for his ventures but soon was using his own. Then others began to come to him for money. Anything his talents touched fattened his coffers, and he began to acquire country estates, townhouses, stately manors, and property. In return for notes redeemable by the Crown he had accepted a grant to a small, verdant isle of the Caribbean to which he immediately retreated to enjoy his riches and more leisurely manage the flow of wealth into his accounts.
His successes had earned him the title “Lord” Trahern from dirty-faced vendors and crafty merchants, for he was indeed the lord of the marketplace. Aristocrats used the title out of necessity when they went to him for loans, finding small comfort in having to beg him for moneys but considering him well beneath them they rejected him socially. Orlan yearned to be accepted as their peer, and it was difficult for him to accept that desire in himself. He was not a man to crawl, and he learned to pull the strings well on a man’s life. Now he tried to do it with his only child. The slights that he had received during the years spent accumulating his fortune were in a large part responsible for the rift that now made his beautiful daughter withdraw into herself.
But Shanna was of the same temperament as her stubborn and forthright father. While Georgiana Trahern was alive, she had soothed the rifts and softened the arguments between her husband and child, but her passing five years previous had taken from them their mediator. Now there was no one who could gently dissuade the willful, elder Trahern or ply the daughter with her duties.
Still, with Ralston to guarantee that she abided by her father’s demand, Shanna had known no opportunity to be anything but compliant to his wishes. It had not taken her long after returning to England to become lost in a multitude of names that accompanied various odd and assorted titles, baron, earl, and the like. Dispassionately she could name the flaw in each suitor; an obtrusive nose on this one, a roving hand on that one, a twitching brow, a wheezing cough, a pompous pride.
The sight of a threadbare blouse beneath a waistcoat or a rumpled and empty purse hanging from a belt abruptly cooled her to offers of marriage. Aware that a handsome dowry would accompany her and that she would eventually inherit a fortune large enough to stagger the wits of the most imaginative, the swains grew zealous and attentive, exceedingly considerate of her smallest desire, except the one she declared most often. They ignored her pleas to remove themselves from her presence and usually had to be assisted by Mister Pitney. Frequently among the courting bachelors quarrels broke out, resulting in blows, then brawls, and what had begun as a quiet social event or a simple outing often dissolved into ruins, with Shanna being safely escorted home by her guardian, Pitney. Some wooers were subtle and devious while others were bold and forceful. But in most she saw the desire for riches exceed desire for her. It seemed none cared for a wife who, with love in her heart, would share simple poverty but rather saw first the gold in her father’s hand.
Then there was another sort who actively worked to get her into bed without the ceremony of marriage, usually for the simple reason they were already attached to a wife. A count wanted her as his mistress and passionately vowed his devotion until his children, numbering six, interrupted his proposal. These encounters far outweighed the good and with each, Shanna was left with a little less to endear men to her.
Not the least of her troubles was that her year in London had come near to being totally disastrous for mere existence’s sake. The Treaty of Aix-la-Chapelle had let loose soldiers and sailors upon the city and a good lot of them, bolstered with the false courage of gin, had taken to thievery to survive, making the night treacherous for those who innocently wandered the streets. Shanna had, but only once, and that occasion had been enough to dissuade her from further venturings. But for the swift and capable strength of Pitney setting the miscreants to rout, she’d have been divested of her jewels and no doubt her virtue as well. In April she had been nearly trampled to death when escorted to the Temple of Peace to hear a concert of Handel’s Music for the Royal Fireworks. In truth, it was the fireworks that had caused the commotion, setting to blaze the rococo edifice, which the King had ordered built to celebrate the Treaty of Aix. In horror Shanna had watched as a young girl’s skirt caught aflame. The lass was hastily stripped to her stays and her gown trampled until the fire was put out. A moment later Shanna herself escaped questionable injury when her escort of the evening seized her and dragged her to the ground. She might have believed his protestations that he was only seeking to save her from a wayward rocket if he had not loosened her own laces considerably in the process. The cannon’s blast was mild in comparison to Shanna’s rage and, heedless of the mob which surged around her, whether to ogle her half-clad bosom or to escape the flames she could not determine, Shanna drew back her hand and sent the viscount to his knees with a stinging slap. She had then stalked through the mass of people, regaining her carriage and some semblance of modesty. Pitney’s bulk had prevented the young lord from joining her, and Shanna had made the journey back to the townhouse alone.
But that was all in the past now. What mattered was that her time of grace was almost gone, and she had failed to find an acceptable mate. However, she was a woman with a mind of her own. Like her father, Shanna Trahern could be shrewd and clever. This was one of those times which demanded all of her cunning. And she was desperate enough to try anything to escape the fate the elder Trahern planned for her. Anything, that is, but fleeing altogether. Honesty prevailed when she admitted to herself that, despite their differences, she loved her father deeply.
This very afternoon lagging hope had been rekindled when Pitney, a truly loyal friend, had brought long-awaited word to her. Even the ever-watchful Ralston had been taken care of. It was an exceptional turn of good fortune that he was called away in the early morning hours to investigate the damage to a Trahern merchant ship which had run aground near the Scottish coast. Since Ralston would be gone at least a week or perhaps more, Shanna felt confident she would have this matter behind her before he could return. Then if all went well, he would find the deed done and have no chance to set it awry.
Confiding in Ralston would have been the same as informing Orlan Trahern himself, and Shanna had to take special care to insure that Mister Ralston was convinced of her sincerity and the validity of her actions. If her father ever suspicioned that she had been up to some chicanery, there would be more than his rage to contend with. He would see his word carried out forthwith, and she had no desire to live with the consequence, whoever the fellow might be.
Shanna grew anxious in the sheltered interior of the luxurious Briska, and the voice of the wheels as protection, she tested the name that was so new on her lips, so full of promise.