Determined Pursuit (eBook)

PROLOGUE

“The Bum, The Butler and the Letter”

The front doorbell rang shortly after ten a.m. at the Grosvenor Square London townhome. Llewelyn Greene, the family butler, opened the door to find a short, stocky vagabond standing at the top of the stoop. Normally, the soft mid-Spring breeze would carry the scent of flowers planted in the front window boxes into the home. However, the smell that greeted Greene was a combination of body odor and livestock manure. The vagrant had walked through some; it was still clinging to his worn shoes. The odor was so strong that the butler stepped back slightly and pressed the handkerchief he removed from his breast pocket to his nose.

After his eyes and nose recovered from the assault of the man’s aroma, he looked down at him from his six foot towering frame with a raised eyebrow and questioning look. “Yes?”

The man ran his sleeve along his nose as he sniffed loudly and then shifted uncomfortably under the butler’s scrutiny. He finally blurted out, “I brung this here note for Mr. Tennyson,” and shoved the small rumpled sealed envelope towards the butler.

Without moving, Greene looked down curiously at the envelope and could see his employer’s name and an address written on the front of it. The man twitched nervously at the butler’s reserved dead-pan demeanor but kept his hand out for him to take the letter.

“Ain’t no one at his other place ta give it to, so I brung it here,” he explained.

Removing the handkerchief from his face, Greene used it to gingerly take the envelope from the man’s hand–careful not to actually touch either the envelope or the vagabond’s fingers. The butler held the envelope up in the air to get a better look. His eyes narrowed slightly as he pinned the man with his dark, penetrating stare. “Who gave you this?”

The bum turned ashen at the butler’s intimidating demeanor, stammering, “A bloke down by the docks give me coin ta bring it to Mr. Tennyson.”

While holding him visually captive, Greene questioned skeptically, “does this bloke have a name?”

“No, no, sir,” the man stuttered, “He come up to me at da Screechin Crow last night while me and my boys were ‘avin a few. Sounded like he come from the ‘Mericas with the way he talked.”

Greene mulled over what the bum had told him. However, he was not releasing the man yet. “What did he look like?”

The man was perspiring profusely, which further enhanced his already pungent body odor, and Greene’s eyes were watering again. “Twas dark and he was wearing a coat and hat pulled down over his eyes,” he croaked out.

Unable to endure the smell of the man anymore, Greene released him from his stare. He then stepped back and placed the envelope on the table inside the doorway. When he turned back towards the front door to compensate the bum for his trouble, the man was gone.

Greene stepped out onto the stoop and glanced in both directions. He spied the offending man halfway down the street, holding onto his hat, running as fast as he could. Greene turned to enter the house, and a brief smirk flitted across his usually stoic face. He closed the front door, picked up the rumpled envelope and walked down the hall to the study, where he heard the voice of his employer.

Alexandra Tennyson was the matriarch of the Tennyson family. She was meeting with the cook in the dining room and could hear the raised voices of her sons and husband coming from the study across the hallway. Although the study door was closed, their voices were getting increasingly louder, and it sounded as though they were having a full-blown argument. No longer able to concentrate because of the noise, Alexandra ended the meeting with the cook and walked across the hall to the study. She knocked lightly on the door and suddenly the raised voices lowered significantly. Without waiting, she pushed the heavy wooden door open and was at once assaulted by a cloud of cigar smoke. Coughing and waving her hand in front of her face, she quickly crossed the room to the French doors and flung them open.

Turning, she said in exasperation, “Good heavens, what is the matter with you four? I do not know how you can even breathe in this room, let alone carry on such loud arguing.”

Her husband and three sons had stopped talking when she entered the room; an indication to Alexandra they were hiding something. Turning to her husband, with hands on hips, she demanded, “Well, what is all of this quarreling about? The entire household is getting an earful?”

Pierce Tennyson, a disarmingly tall and strappingly handsome Scotsman in his late fifties, removed the cigar from his mouth and smiled devilishly at his wife. She rebuffed his blatant distraction with the raising of her eyebrow and a roll of her eyes. He countered her defense by broadening his white wicked smile and reached for her hand. He knew this type of attentiveness would normally elicit a soft pink blush on her cheeks and a demure lowering of her eyes. His ability to charm her dated back over three decades. Pierce had swept her into a whirlwind romance that continued throughout their married years. In fact, as recent as this very morning.

After thirty-three years of marriage, Pierce Tennyson could still make the ground beneath Alexandra unsteady. He wore his shoulder-length, brown and silver-streaked hair pulled back and clubbed. His neat, predominately silver trimmed mustache and closely cropped beard were reminders of his seafaring days as the dashing ship captain she fell in love with. Pierce dressed the part of a proud Scotsman, even though he was half British on his father’s side of the family. He garbed his six foot well-built physique with his ancestral tartan and a traditional shirt of saffron split open at the neck, exposing a moderate amount of chest hair. His muscular legs, accentuated with matching green cloth stockings, tied garters, and black leather shoes, completed the portrait. Alexandra was not falling for his charms. “I know what you are attempting to do, Pierce Tennyson, and it will not work.”

His eyes widened in feigned ignorance and an amused smile touched his lips as he slowly made his way towards her. Truth be told, his eyes usually gave nothing away to his mood, unless it came to his beloved Alexandra. The sound of her voice or a mere glimpse of her, and his eyes would sparkle in admiration, as they did now. He could not help himself. He never tired of her determination, intellect, exquisite beauty, and endless ability to love. Although petite at five feet tall, Alexandra could take on any situation. She brooked no guff from anyone, regardless of their size or station. Although thirty-three years of marriage, laced with exasperation from his antics, and raising three headstrong sons, had lightened her blonde hair to a silver white, she was even more beautiful today than when he first looked into her cerulean eyes.

Alexandra’s face warmed at Pierce’s attention. She knew he was trying to distract her; something at which he was exceptionally adept at. Nevertheless, she was intent on finding out what they were trying to hide.

Pierce smiled down lovingly at her with his bright hazel-green eyes. Although he spoke with an almost perfect British accent, when he wanted to charm Alexandra, he would turn on his full Scottish charm. He accentuated his brogue with his rich, timbered voice as he captured her with his eyes. Alexandra felt like a warm velvet blanket was covering her as he purred, “Now Alexandra-luv, there is nothing fer you ta be worrin about.” His closeness had too much of an effect on her, so she stepped away and repositioned herself near the fireplace to collect her thoughts. Thank goodness the unusually warm Spring weather did not call for a fire, otherwise she would have been a pile of cinders.

Regaining his gentlemanly manners, he followed her and placed his arm affectionately around her shoulders, reassuring her. “We’ll be keepin it down so as not to disturb ya no more, luv.”

He then tried to guide her to the study door. However, Alexandra had a different direction in mind when she spun away and quickly took a seat in the chair opposite the desk. Smoothing her long blue skirt and tucking a stray silver hair back into the clip next to her ear, she cleared her throat to prepare for her attack. Directing her interest at each of the men, her blue eyes pinned them with an immobilizing look one by one. Satisfied she had their full attention; she flashed her brightest smile. “I am not going anywhere.” She then looked at each of them expectantly; waiting for one of them to speak up. “Well? What is it? It must be a pip if you want me out this quickly.”

It was comical to watch her strapping Scottish husband and three equally impressive grown sons all looking at each other, silently questioning among themselves as to their next move. How could this slip of a woman wreak such havoc with their confidence?

After an unacceptable period of silence, annoyance replaced Alexandra’s amusement, and she began tapping her slippered foot in frustration. Her oldest, Reece, sat down behind his desk and started absently sifting through papers. Her middle son, Alexander, positioned himself at the sideboard, randomly moving decanters of whiskey and scotch around. Christopher, her youngest, was examining the fingernails on his right hand intensely. Alexandra broke the silence. “Gentlemen, I am not leaving until I have an answer.”

There was a look of panic by her sons, and Pierce rolled his eyes in defeat. After...