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He smiled at the memory of how he’d charged into the discussion on the walkway without aplomb, overstepping and overreacting, only amending his behavior after the damage was done. Oh, she likely possessed a condemnatory opinion of him.
Chagrined, he closed the folders and noted the time. The wall clock showed half past ten. What was Miss Shaw doing now?
An unusual noise drew his attention to the front window. This area of town was as quiet as a tomb, all businesses closed and entertainment located elsewhere. Not a single carriage rolled down the thoroughfare, Bond Street a far cry from society’s reverie.
But then, the sudden noise came again, this time louder. The jangle of keys perhaps? He strode to the door, unlocked the latch and poked out his head. A cool breeze reminded of the late hour and he stepped onto the sidewalk and turned to view the paned window, a surge of pride accompanying the reflection within, the glint of moonlight on the gold painted lettering.
For security’s sake, he checked the secondary door which led to the stairwell shared with Miss Shaw, his attention alerted when it swung open with ease.
Had she left it unlocked? Foolish endeavor, indeed.
Or had she returned?
Perhaps he wasn’t the only person revisiting the building this evening. Stepping into the vestibule, he fumbled in the dark and cursed the fact he’d ventured out without a hand candle. If he returned to fetch one, he might not resolve the troubling noise. Best he continued upstairs and determine the main door remained locked. He’d taken only a step when a similar jangle and discordant feline yowl met his ears. Something brushed against his trousers and skittered down the stairs narrowly slinking through the door as it eased shut behind him.
A cat? A league of women and a cat? Animals did not belong in a place of business. Circumstances couldn’t become worse for the upper flat. Satisfied with his discovery, he turned to ascend and leave for the night when a spark of curiosity urged he continue upstairs and try the door handle. Could Miss Shaw be there? He waited not another minute.
Surprised for the second time this evening, Jasper discovered the upper door also unlocked. He entered, unthinking to consider why he was doing so or how he would explain if he walked in and found Miss Shaw inside.
The office stood dark, although the clouds shifted and moonlight flooded the window, allowing him a dusky blue-black view of the room. Sparse furniture included a rug at the center of the worn wooden floor and a few mismatched chairs in a grouping. A desk was the only other addition.
Jasper peered at the contents littering the blotter. A sealed packet with the landlord’s name in the corner was left beside a receipt for the yearly lease, paid in full. It would appear Miss Shaw had money to burn, or at least, an indulgent father or gentleman friend who was anxious to keep her in silk gowns and smiles.
He jiggled the brass handle on the single long drawer; firmly locked, unlike the two doors.
Amused by his antics and questioning his overactive curiosity this evening, Jasper made to leave, turning the latch to ensure the door stayed closed for the night.
Chapter 5
Sunlight sliced through the cloud cover as Emily exited her carriage and thanked the driver. Wednesday mornings brought her to the Foundling Hospital on Great Ormond Street. Aside from her desire to better others and eliminate suffering, she enjoyed putting her father’s funds to charitable use. Money couldn’t repair broken hearts or dreams, but it could fill stomachs and keep children in shoes and clean beds.
Hefting a basket of treats to her side, for her desire to give outweighed her diminutive stature; she approached the wrought-iron gate with a genuine smile. The orphans had grown accustomed to her weekly visits and each grin of delight caused her heart to sing with joy. No child should want for affection, the kind camaraderie of a sibling or loving approval of a parent.
Stepping along the slates, she paused to adjust the basket handle and glanced toward the brick facade, stoic and strong, protecting the lost children inside. An odd twist of emotion caused her heart to beat heavily. One didn’t have to live at the Foundling Hospital to feel loneliness or know the isolation of a fatherless upbringing. Sometimes, amidst the most normal situation, one discovers circumstances aren’t always as they appear. Sometimes, the grim truth makes one an orphan, the decisions and choices of others at fault.
Several years prior, when she discovered the truth and understood her father’s history, then witnessed her mother’s misery, Emily labeled herself unlovable, unworthy. Yet intelligence and determination won out, convincing on some peripheral level that while men were basically dangerous to one’s heart and the affections they evoked powerful enough to destroy all happiness, she could overcome, unwilling to turn into her mother, broken, a shadow of her potential. Emily would accomplish independence, reliant on no one other than herself, and then, only then, allow emotion and perhaps, a future including marriage. Men had all the advantages. It was time women secured equality. Equality offered choice and with choice came power; each link in the chain dependent upon the success and strength of the one before.
Today, each step echoed the core of her purpose and ever-present vows. Mothers…so many despairing mothers for decades, had sought this place, unable to care for their newborn babes, unwilling to confront the rogue who’d gotten them in the family way and then deserted them. Emily had visited the hospital for over three years and never once had she encountered a gentleman in search of his child, a man interested in the betterment of the abandoned youth kept there, aside from doctors or humanitarians.
Nodding a greeting to the gatekeeper, she entered the imposing stone building and walked to the front desk intending to chat with one of the nurses before visiting, but the hall stood empty. Undeterred, for circumstances often caused a depleted staff or unexpected emergency, Emily placed the wicker basket at her feet and moved to wait by a window overlooking the center courtyard. This side of the hospital was partitioned by the north wing adjacent to the chapel. A grassy knoll bordered by a bright flower garden, littered with daisies and buttercups, lay parallel to the walk where a corpulent ginger cat had found respite in a comfortable patch of sunlight. Content absorbing the day’s warmth, its tail twitched lazily until the feline turned in her direction and looked straight through the window where she watched.
The cat held her gaze for several beats of her heart until a scuffle near the front door drew her attention away and she spun to see a gentleman enter, his face a mask of tolerant anger, his fist gripped tight on the collar of a young boy, no more than seven or eight years of age, his feet bare and clothing torn. The child, disguised by filth, didn’t struggle though Emily could see in his wounded expression she hadn’t witnessed the worst of the conflict. Two nurses entered, their conversation fading as they discovered the scene in the vestibule.
Emily stepped aside to offer the nurses privacy as the gentlemen explained, but with unforeseen happenstance, the child wriggled from the gentleman’s grasp and slinked to stand at her side, the touch of his cold tiny fingers pressed into her palm as if he reached for any scrap of salvation she reserved in her soul. Her heart blossomed with his trust. She offered his hand a firm squeeze of comfort and leaned into the basket to withdraw a gingerbread biscuit. He glanced at her outstretched palm, eyes wide, then snatched the treat, devouring it with hardly a breath between bites.
“Jenny, please gather the necessary paperwork.” The lead nurse motioned to the other to do her bidding, but it was of no use. The gentleman departed with nary a glance backward. “Find Dr. Alastar and tell him we’ll need his assistance as soon as possible.”
Emily eyed the young boy, who darted glances toward the exit, likely considering escape as soon as he believed his flight successful. He looked wild at first glimpse, his hair overgrown and stringy, his clothes ill fit, but she knew beneath the grime of the city, a child’s innocence lived in his chest. She could see it in his woeful expression.
“What’s happening here?” The doctor entered, his commanding presence enough to spur the lad to seek refuge near her skirts where he grasped the cloth as if to anchor in safety.
“A gentleman came by with this scallywag in hand. Another mudlark, no doubt. He didn’t know what to do with him as his wife begged him to help, but he appeared uncomfortable with the act of charity and left directly after.”
Mudlarks were comprised of misfits and runaways who lived an independent life along the Thames, pilfering whatever could be found and sold from the shallow waters. Scavenging proved a hard and lonely life, where children were lost to disease, drowning or accident. Emily placed her hand on the boy’s shoulder as a swell of instinct urged she protect his precious spirit. She’d never wanted for food or clothing. Yet she was not so unlike the child in a different way, as surely they both wanted for the affection and approval of a loving parent. At least Emily did so at one time.
“I’m sure the visitor considers his duty done.” Emily’s mutter drew the attention of both doctor and nurse.
“Miss Shaw, my apologies for this scene.” Dr. Alastar strode forward and the child shrank in equal measure. “With all this commotion, I’ve neglected propriety. Forgive me.” His professional demeanor transformed into easy charm.
“Please don’t give it another thought. I’ve come to visit the children as always, although it would appear there will be a new addition in the group.” She turned a gentle smile toward the lad pressed into her side.
“He’ll need a bath and fresh clothing. You shouldn’t be so near until we’ve determined he’s healthy.” The doctor went to one knee, but the child pressed harder into Emily’s side. Was it her imagination or could she feel him trembling through the layers of her walking dress?
The doctor nodded toward the nurse and she took the initiative with a broad smile. “Come now, what’s your name? Wouldn’t you like a hot bath?”
The questions prompted the child to withdraw further and Emily’s heart ached at the atrocities he might have endured living near the river, under a bridge or perhaps, sleeping on the cold damp ground night after night. How deep were his scars that he’d not recognize genuine kindness and shun the basic essentials of cleanliness and warm clothing?
She stared at the top of his filthy blond head, the color all but obscured. He remained mute, silenced by fear or other inhibitions. Emily twisted to free her skirts and knelt beside the nurse to clasp the lad’s hands tightly within her own. “I have more treats in my basket. Not just biscuits, but small toys as well. If you’ll go with the kind nurse, you’ll be clean and ready for supper like all the other children who will fast become your friends.”
A breach in wariness softened the worry etched in his brow. He glanced to the nurse who’d stepped away and then returned his gaze to Emily, the cynical sideways glance exposing suspicion beyond his tender years. A moment passed before he shoved his fingers into his left pocket, his forehead puckered with determination.
Emily watched as his free hand worked to retrieve something from his torn trousers, for surely his stance and perseverance proved it as important.
At last, when she worried Dr. Alastar would show no more patience, the lad accomplished his goal and wriggling a piece of jewelry from the assorted trinkets dragged from his pocket in a tangled clump, treasures he’d salvaged from the perils of the Thames. He gathered the silver chain together and pressed it into her palm.
Startled, Emily glanced from bracelet to child, before acknowledging his trust with a grateful smile. “How delightful. Thank you ever so much. I will treasure this always.”
With her words, all apprehension faded. The lad left without a squeak of protest and Emily stared after him, the gift safe in her palm and the hope for another child’s future happiness warm in her soul.
Across the city, Jasper stole a glance out the window as Penwick exited his carriage. A skip of anticipation, inspired by his desire to succeed, beat a cadence in rhythm to the earl’s walking stick against the slates. Sleep had eluded him last night. Was the thief of his respite eagerness for business or the recurring image of Miss Shaw’s stunning blue eyes? He did not know. Amusement dared distract as memories of the lady’s indignation renewed, but he suppressed the daydream. Now was not the time for fanciful notions. This morning he hoped to secure his first client and initiate an endeavor toward a lucrative, respected future; thus proving his worth to his overbearing brother.
His brother.
Jasper considered Dashwood’s imminent return. The wedding trip, initially planned for one month’s time, had already extended a week overlong. How he’d like to secure an account or two before Dash stormed into London, newly married and forever condescending.
Penwick entered and with tempered enthusiasm Jasper rounded the desk to greet the earl. He’d hardly completed niceties before Randolph rushed through the door.
“Excellent. Excellent timing.” Randolph’s jovial announcement brought pause. “I wouldn’t want to miss this appointment.” He angled a pointed glare at Penwick, then lower to the earl’s cravat and Randolph’s eyes flared.
They all seated before Jasper’s desk, but instead of aiming attention to Nasmyth’s invention, the conversation swiftly turned to Penwick’s neckcloth.
“Fine linen, Penwick. May I inquire of the design?” Randolph leaned forward with pointed interest.
“My valet is a master with the Osbaldeston knot.” Penwick twisted from left to right to offer a better view of the complicated arrangement. “He outdid himself this morning.”
“Indeed.” Randolph leaned closer still, his eyes narrowed. “Extraordinary crispness in each complicated crease and fold.”
Beaufort withdrew, apparently satisfied, and Jasper suppressed the desire to roll his eyes. “Gentlemen, shall we begin?” He smoothed the papers on the desk blotter and looked up with expectation.
“Of course, although I should mention,” Beaufort eyed Penwick’s assemble, “you’ll be the name on every tongue if you flaunt your valet’s talents at any lively London reverie.”
“That’s a timely observation as I intend to frequent as many gatherings as possible during my short stay in town. I’m trying to locate a dear friend. Perhaps you might suggest a social where the popular ton will be in attendance.” Penwick appeared most serious.
Beaufort let out a loud guffaw, his eyes shooting to Jasper. “The perfect assignment, wouldn’t you agree, Jasper?”
Jasper who’d begun to tap his fingernails against the paperwork in exasperated patience forced a smile that both men interpreted as agreement. Taking advantage of the conversational lull, he cleared his throat, reassembled the information on the blotter and launched into a fast, furious description of the steam hammer. Neither man appeared nonplussed and after a few minutes of factual reiteration of financial benefits for investment, Penwick appeared satisfied. He questioned the durativity of the invention, as well as its construction and adaptability and Jasper, due to his diligence, answered each question with thoughtful information. Before long, a rush of accomplishment and relief took control as Penwick signaled his commitment to invest in the proposal. A casual ease returned to their appointment.
“Perhaps you’d like to join us later this evening. We’ve plans to meet up with Viscount Kellaway. He’s a likeable sort who knows everyone worth knowing. I doubt Kell would mind an addition to the crowd.” Social connections through Penwick or otherwise could only serve Jasper’s business well.
“Thank you. I appreciate your kindness.” Penwick stood and retrieved his walking stick before the three men completed the meeting with a firm handshake and a commitment to meet later that evening. By no means did Kellaway, a sworn lothario and bachelor, present the entré into polite society Penwick desired, but the association was one which could lead to invitations within the ton. Kellaway knew everyone and everything that happened in the city.
Chapter 6
Emily returned from the hospital to find her mother writing a letter in the drawing room, her attention solely focused on the foolscap atop the desk. Not wishing to startle her, Emily quietly entered; a whisper of sadness accompanying the scene to winnow into her heart and remind things would never be as they once were. If only her mother could accept the circumstances and come to terms with their situation.
Emily strove to be a good daughter. She loved her mother dearly and empathized with her suffering, but it was that same heartbreak which prompted her to organize the league and work toward independence. No woman should be solely dependent on a man; no female made to feel inferior. In truth, her mother’s despair sparked the league’s formation, but the organization was fueled by Emily’s determination to reject how her mother appeared, broken and lonely. Circumstances stole her mother’s spirit and in turn, her future, all because she believed herself incomplete now.
“Emily, you’re home.” Her mother rose from the desk, a sealed paper in hand. “Please summon Mary. I need this letter posted immediately.”
Emily fought against the hollow sadness of her mother’s expectant expression. “Another letter?”
“Yes. I always write, dear, you know that. Every day I write to your father.”
A swath of uncomfortable emotion crowded Emily’s heart and she inhaled fully, as if she couldn’t gather the air needed to breathe. Mary entered and with a glance over her shoulder, Emily met the eyes of the housekeeper in meaningful communication. “Mother wishes to post another letter.” An anxious pause followed before Mary nodded and accepted the mail.
“I’ll see to it right away then.” The housekeeper bustled from the room as if her heels were afire.
“How was the hospital? Were the children happy to see you?”
Startled by her mother’s clarity, Emily found a gentle smile and sat on the chaise, patting the seat beside her. “Come here and I’ll tell you about my visit. I made a new friend today and he gave me a gift. I’d like to show it to you.”
“A gentleman? A handsome lord?” Her mother’s smile extended to her eyes, a giddy childlike note riddling her questions. “This is wonderful news. Tell me all.”
“Not a lord, but handsome nonetheless.” Emily clasped her mother’s hand now that she’d settled at her side. “And very young.”
“Age should not deter true love. Your father was fifteen years older than me and that difference never interfered with our affection,” Bianca said with finality.
Emily swallowed past the lump in her throat and strove to resurrect a cheerful tone. “My friend is perhaps seven or eight years old, our age difference too vast.”
“Oh, you had me convinced you’d met a suitor.” Her voice dropped as though she’d arrived at a disappointing conclusion.
Her mother’s forlorn reply tugged at Emily’s resolve. She didn’t wish to be a disappointment, but her heart remained conflicted when it came to matters of relationships and marriage; the joy of one seemingly causing the crisis of the other. Despite her mother’s misconception, Emily wished to be loved and cherished, but at what cost? And on what terms?
While she deliberated every emotion with extreme care, her mother’s despondency evolved into a daily struggle. Still one condition shouldn’t eradicate the other. Even the ladies of the league held a secret desire to be courted and Emily had dutifully ignored discussing relationships deferring to every aspect of independence imaginable. Perhaps, she’d wronged her friends. She’d need to be more open-minded when it came to her opinion of their future. Her intractable resolution, to remain happily unattached, could not impinge on the choices of others. The league should serve to suggest options, choices for a future not commanded by the social doctrine.
Emily assessed her mother’s dejected expression. Her solemn contemplation confirmed their discussion would go no further. The two sat in companionable silence until Mary entered with Portia Edmonstone by her side.
“Portia?” Emily rose to approach her friend, surprise and puzzlement causing her quick reaction. “The league doesn’t meet on Wednesdays. Is everything all right?”
“Yes, of course. I’ve a little matter to discuss and hoped you’d spare a few minutes for tea and conversation.” Portia’s usual sagacious demeanor seemed absent, her eyes expressing a different message than her words.
“I’ll leave the two of you. I have matters to attend.”
Emily’s eyes followed her mother’s brisk retreat, uncertainty causing new worry to blossom.
“Has she gotten any better?” Portia whispered, though they stood alone in the room.
“I’m afraid not.” Emily motioned her friend closer as they moved to sit near the fire.
“What a silly expression. You are fearless, afraid of no one or no thing.” Portia offered a smile of reassurance. “I’m sure your mother will improve in time. My aunt suffered a similar depression after my uncle passed. It was nearly a year before she showed any emotion other than sadness.”
“Maybe.” Doubt forced the word out in a mutter. “I wish she would accept Father is gone. That way she could plan for a happier future. It’s been over two years and she seems to get worse by the week. And it’s not just sadness or despondency.”
“I daresay her heartache is palpable.” Portia patted Emily’s hand in comfort. “She looks so lost at times, but then on the occasion she appears almost hopeful, as if she believes your father will return.”
“I know. Some days she’s right as rain, her demeanor cheerful. The most troubling aspect of her condition is found in its unpredictability. It causes me grave concern.”
Portia was her closest friend, yet Emily had never confided the particulars involving her parents. It didn’t seem appropriate, nor would she want the circumstances repeated to any person, ever. Not that she didn’t trust Portia. She was the closest Emily had to a sister. Yet secrets sometimes had a way of finding a path to daylight when they were best left hidden in a dark drawer. In that, Emily reserved her deepest regret and emotion for evening, when she snuffed the candles in her bedchamber and wept herself to sleep.
“Enough of my tale of woe.” Emily laughed away the truth in her statement. “What brings you to visit? It must be a matter of great importance. I can see it in your eyes no matter you are trying your best to conceal the truth of it.”
“This evening, the Bandlewits are hosting a gathering.”
“Yes?” Emily nodded to Mary who appeared at the door with a tea tray. The room fell silent as refreshments were served. In fluid habit, Emily accepted the letter Mary offered, slipping it into her gown pocket without a comment or remark for Portia’s behalf. Once the housekeeper left, their conversation resumed.
“My mother insists I attend. Apparently she’s become fast friends with Lady Bandlewit and the two have contrived to match me with the eldest son, Norris. I’ve known about this conspiracy for two days and I’m sure I’ve lost weight from my lack of appetite…or will to live. I couldn’t fathom becoming a Bandlewit.”
“It does present an unexpected conundrum. Have you expressed your feelings to your mother?” Emily knew how deeply Portia wished to achieve her aspiration. The situation was difficult enough without another layer of complication.
“My mother and father believe my vision to travel the world is a ridiculous and rebellious dream. Their answer is to see me married and under my husband’s thumb so he can be the one who will squash ambition out of me before I raise our brood of Bandlewits.”