Octavius had come here because of what Steward William had said, he genuinely wanted to know what Mary thought of him. Even if she had no idea that the news she’d overheard was actually about him.
Once he knew her honest opinion, then he could decide whether to reveal that he was the Duke of Cambridge.
Having heard what she’d just said, though, the man decided there was no need to probe any further. Once she’d finished her work, he could simply tell her directly.
Just as he’d once decided to show up at her door in the first place, the woman once known as Miss Richman, now Mrs. Ethys, had never once been someone he could easily define or predict.
She was composed and steady, she loved life, and even though her father had lost money year after year, she’d kept supporting him just the same, every single year. She loved her family, and her family, in turn, had chosen to leave London so as not to be a burden on her.
This was the Mary Octavius had come to know before their marriage. Afterward, through time spent together, he’d learned that Mary loved earning money, and loved keeping her accounts crystal clear. Even now that they were married, even knowing he had wealth, she’d never once made a demand of him because of it.
Today, he’d seen her charmingly playful side. And now, he’d also learned her honest, genuine opinion.
Indeed, over all these years, had no one ever doubted the things said about the Duke of Cambridge? That he was a murderer, that he was rebellious, that he’d even angered the King enough to be barred from public appearances! Perhaps some people had doubted it, at some point, but no one had ever voiced that doubt openly.
Doubted what, exactly? Most of it had originated from Carlton House, where the Prince of Wales resided, spread by people close to him.
Octavius shook his head at Steward William, who had walked over, he decided not to disturb her for now. While she was occupied, he’d take the time to think through how best to bring this up a little later.
In the workroom, Mary still had no idea anyone had come by, she was busy discussing the matter of hiring more help with Betsy and Molly.
The current workroom could easily accommodate two full sets of tools at once. With just the three of them working, they could manage, but it would be exhausting.
“I need someone strong and clean-habited, an adult woman. If either of you knows of anyone suitable, let me know.” Both of them lived in Meryton and knew far more people than Mary did.
“Mary, last month Mrs. Long’s household just let go of their maid. It wasn’t that the girl did poor work, something happened in her family.” Betsy immediately thought of someone. “Mr. Hawk was injured in an accident while working at the docks, and Mrs. Hawk had to go home to care for him. Sadly, Mr. Hawk has since passed away, and Mrs. Hawk now needs work to support her two children.”
“Bring her by when you have the chance, and I’ll meet her first.” The stirring work in the workroom didn’t require any particular skill, just strength and patience.
As she spoke, Mary shook the mold in her hands, tapping it steadily until she was sure all the air bubbles had escaped, before finally picking up the wooden scraper. Even though the milk soap sold at a lower price, the quality still had to be kept up. Only with quality guaranteed would sales continue to grow.
Generally speaking, whether milk soap or mint soap, a bar bought for home use would last at most two months. Used more frequently, it might get used up within just one.
With so many soaps already available on the market to choose from, why would anyone pick her own homemade soap? Only because, after comparing price and quality, they found it the best value for their money!
Having managed to leave a good impression with customers, Mary certainly wouldn’t be foolish enough to ruin her own reputation. Naturally, she made sure every bar shipped out had been carefully inspected, and not just once, either.
Once unmolded, each soap’s shape had to be checked, only the ones that came out neat and square went up to the third floor. And then, during the repeated turning process, every bar’s color and firmness had to be examined as well.
To build something big and do it well, quality was the most important thing of all.
Working alongside Betsy and Molly, she got the day’s soap all into its molds, and once things were tidied up, they closed the workroom for the day. It had been a full day, everyone was back, her carriage had arrived, and now she had a second set of soap-making tools in hand as well.
On her way back to her room, Mary glanced specifically at the once-again-occupied guest room, he was probably resting, and she’d see him at dinner. She was feeling a little tired herself, so with some time left after washing up, she sat down to rest her eyes.
“Mary, Mary?” Octavius still hadn’t figured out how to bring things up when dinnertime arrived. He’d gone to the dining room, only to find the mistress of the house hadn’t come down yet.
So, he went back up to fetch her.
“Is it already dinnertime? I went to London today, and dozed off the moment I sat down.” Hearing the knock, Mary got up and realized she’d lost track of time. “You just got back, William will surely have prepared a feast, and I certainly don’t want to miss that.” The mere thought of good food waiting downstairs was enough to chase away her drowsiness.
“There’s veal you like, and pan-fried fish you’re fond of too—” Before Octavius could even finish, the person who was supposed to be walking beside him had already overtaken him and was leading the way.
Well, that was a rare experience, not many people ever walked ahead of him.
The man followed along, when it came to food, his own preferences had always leaned light, ideally with nothing but the natural taste of the food itself. Mary was different, she seemed to enjoy just about everything, never turning her nose up at something simple, nor shying away from something rich.
On this point, William absolutely adored her.
Watching his own steward fuss so attentively, Octavius nearly felt like he wasn’t the one being treated as His Highness anymore.
“Watching you eat really is a pleasure.” Once Mary sat down at the table, she never behaved like any of the other women he knew, picking at her food, fussing endlessly, complaining about gaining weight.
Heaven only knew how those women managed to gain weight when they barely ate eight ounces combined in a whole meal.
Mary could easily put away a full pound in one sitting, and yet she never seemed to gain an ounce for it. People always said women should be graceful and restrained, that overeating was a sign of vulgarity. But Mary managed to eat with plenty of grace all the same, while also making it look genuinely appetizing.
Octavius drained the last spoonful of his soup, having been so focused on watching her, he hadn’t even noticed he’d eaten more than usual himself tonight. At the very least, half again as much as his normal portion.
“This food was put on the table to fill people’s stomachs. It gives me nourishment, and it gives my palate something to enjoy too, why wouldn’t I take pleasure in it?” Mary finished rinsing her mouth and stood up. “Lucky for you, you didn’t say I eat too much, or you’d be dining alone from now on.” She’d have made sure to eat at different times from him.
“No, I don’t think that at all.” That much was entirely true.
“So, you have something to say to me? Let me say upfront, I still don’t know how I’d answer that particular question yet.” He’d followed her all the way out of the dining room, clearly the man had something on his mind. Before he could speak, Mary headed off the topic she suspected was coming.
“No rush on that, I have plenty of patience.” Octavius didn’t expect to get his answer on the very first day back anyway. “I just wanted to talk a little, that’s all, I didn’t want to just finish eating and go straight to bed.”
“But don’t go breathing a sigh of relief just yet, say it to my face.” That stung a little, honestly.
“Isn’t that only right? Don’t forget, I’m at home right now. Even though I haven’t said yes to you, however you look at it, you’re still my husband. So there’s no need for me to hide anything from you, that would be exhausting.” Of course, Mary wasn’t only avoiding it for the sake of not putting on an act.
More than that, she wanted her husband to come to know the real her sooner rather than later. If he couldn’t handle even this much, what was the point of discussing any kind of future together!
“You can relax a little too, you know. There are no venomous snakes or wild beasts here, nothing’s going to eat you.” The man before her had perhaps only just returned, slipping back into that same wary posture he’d worn the very first time he’d shown up at her door.
He was courteous, but he kept his guard up too.
That kind of guardedness was nothing at all like Mary’s own. This man seemed as though he might lunge forward and take a bite out of someone at any moment!
Without the beard, it showed even more clearly.
“I know, I’ll adjust soon enough.” So, she’d already seen through him. Truly a clever, perceptive girl.
As for what she’d said earlier, she wasn’t wrong either. This was the Richman house, she was entitled to behave however she pleased here. That sigh of relief simply meant she wasn’t ready to discuss that particular topic just yet.
“Mm. You said you wanted to talk, go ahead, then, is there something specific on your mind?” Mary handed the choice of topic over to him, there wasn’t much of note to share from her own recent, rather ordinary days.
“Have you heard about the shipwrights’ strike at a London shipyard last month?” It had to come out eventually, so Octavius chose to start with something he’d recently been involved in.
“I hadn’t heard before, but someone mentioned it today while I was in London.” What was this about, why bring it up so suddenly? Could it be that this man beside her had actually been involved in it somehow?
Mary’s mind began to wander, already assigning him all sorts of imagined professions.
She’d once assumed he was simply the idle younger son of some wealthy family, the sort who never had to work or worry about anything, comfortably provided for regardless. Whatever “business” he claimed to have would just be a polite way of putting it. Now, it seemed that wasn’t the case at all.
“You’ll remember, I’m sure, how I looked the first time we met, a bread thief.” Even Octavius found himself wanting to laugh, bringing it up now.
“That part was actually fine. What frightened me a little was how you kept following me afterward. Fortunately, you didn’t keep at it.” Since he’d brought it up, Mary felt entitled to a bit of teasing to his face about it.
“I stopped following because someone else took over for me, I apologize for that.” Octavius once again offered his apology for that old incident.
“Well, I suppose I thought I was safe at the time.” Mary shook her head, since it was all in the past, she wasn’t going to dwell on it further. “And then?”
“And then, you also witnessed, with your own eyes, me shaving off that beard. That sort of thing takes up a fairly significant part of my life.”
“After leaving here last month, I disguised myself as a shipwright looking for work, and got myself temporarily into that very shipyard.” Octavius explained further. “You’ve probably already guessed, I certainly wasn’t there to build ships. That’s right, I went in to investigate something.”
A, a Sherlock Holmes, then?
“That shipyard mainly builds warships for the Navy. Since the second half of last year, their progress has fallen badly behind schedule. Someone came to me, hoping I could find out the real cause.”
Mary listened carefully, not daring to interrupt.
“Half a month later, I had my answer. It turned out to be quite simple, the shipyard had been withholding the shipwrights’ wages, which stirred up their resentment, and that’s what had been dragging the progress down all along.” Octavius paused there. “That’s all of it. Do you have any questions?”
“So you’re a private investigator? Someone paid to solve people’s problems.” Someone comes asking, and off you go, that seemed to fit.
“You guessed wrong, Mary.” Octavius turned to face her directly, entirely serious now. “I am Octavius Augustus, the current King’s third son, and, as you already know, the Duke of Cambridge.”