by Mary Brendan
The woman smirked. ‘Upper crust and wot a looker. Might have been Charlie’s brother...dark-haired and handsome. But handsome is as handsome does, that’s what me mother used to say.’
‘Did he ask for Charlie?’
‘Called him Mr Perkins. I asked for his name, but he wouldn’t say.’ The landlady hadn’t insisted on knowing in case she upset him and he pocketed the coins jingling in his palm.
From the woman’s cocked head and inquisitive slits of eyes Emma guessed she was preparing to fire more questions at her. ‘Thank you for your assistance...good evening.’ She hastened from the shadowy hallway into darkness. It hadn’t occurred to her that Lance Harley and her brother looked alike, but on reflection, she supposed they did. The Earl was taller and broader than her twin. But Robin had been a fine figure of a man in his heyday when well groomed and well fed.
The awful realisation that Harley was not only hot on her brother’s trail, but knew about his alias, too, made her speed up along the cobbles and renew her search for a ride home. Robin’s employer would know him as Charlie Perkins. The Earl had obviously been to Milligan’s to make his enquiries, then easily put two and two together about who Charlie might really be. Thankfully, it seemed he could still be in ignorance of his stepsister’s whereabouts.
Her preoccupation was rudely curtailed as a woman swayed past, drunkenly bashing into her. Emma politely said, ‘Excuse me,’ but got only curses in return.
Her Good Samaritan wouldn’t be about tonight to rescue her if she got into a scrape with belligerent locals, she warned herself. Well, not unless he was visiting his chère amie. She allowed herself to think of that faceless mistress. Did she look like her? What would become of her? Did Houndsmere plan to discard her? Or had he the wealth and stamina to keep a harem at various addresses? She felt a dart of pain beneath her ribs at the thought of sharing him with others. But as she never would submit there was no need to give it another moment’s thought, she chided herself.
A clop of hooves made her jerk up her head. She waved at the squat silhouette of an approaching hackney, sighing in relief as it slowed down. Having clambered aboard she gave the jarvey directions to drop her at the top of her road. She settled back, closing her eyes, realising with a sinking heart that tomorrow she would need to return to this eastern quarter to pawn her locket. And do it she must, though it broke her heart, because she feared that salt water and a good night’s sleep wouldn’t cure her poor papa’s ills. He must be examined by a doctor. Her father would insist on doing business with a pawnbroker himself. But Emma couldn’t allow that to happen. The locket was hers and the money from it must be used sensibly, not staked at the nearest gaming table in the futile hope of doubling its value.
She glanced out into the menacing blackness. She felt apprehensive in this area. But it would seem so much better during daylight. So much less dangerous than when only the gleam of a misshapen moon lit the snarled streets.
* * *
Emma wasn’t convinced it was the best she could do and she wouldn’t be stampeded into accepting the paltry amount she had just been offered for her locket. She closed the door of the pawnbroker’s and set off to look for another.
The necklace was heavy and of good quality gold, and it was the most precious thing she’d ever possessed. Her father had given it to her as a birthday gift on the year she made her come out. She had worn it every day since, beneath her bodice, loving the feel of the warm metal laying against her skin. Her mother would have felt the very same sensation against her breast and that gave Emma a closeness to the woman she’d never known. Nestling within the locket had been a miniature of her mother and father, painted to mark their wedding. She had carefully removed those precious portraits and stowed them away before coming to Cheapside. Sarah Waverley had had Spanish blood and Emma’s father had always said that his daughter had inherited her dark-haired beauty from his beloved wife. Though not conceited, Emma knew it was true: she saw her mother’s likeness every time she looked in a mirror.
Spotting another set of brass balls set high on a wall, she crossed the road towards that shop, wanting to get this business over with and return home to her father. He had still been asleep when she slipped into the house last night and she had gone to bed herself thankful that nothing had happened in her absence. But he had been up early that morning, flushed and complaining of a headache. Emma had again bathed his leg, worried that the wound showed no improvement. If she’d told him she was going to pawn the locket it would have upset him, so she’d said she was off to post a note to thank Mrs Sweet for her hospitality. She had done that. But her main reason for leaving him on his own had been to raise some cash.
Emma slowed down by the second premises and peered in the window. She could see little beyond the jumble of clocks and assorted gold and silver wares piled up. So in she went. At once she regretted having done so. This fellow looked shiftier than the other one who had been straightforward, if curt.
‘What have we here, then, miss?’ Solomon Pope purred.
‘I’d like you to tell me its worth.’ Emma brought a hand out of a pocket with an enticing gleam of gold swaying on a chain.
‘Its worth, or its value to me?’ he countered.
‘I will pawn it if the price is right.’ Emma met his sly eyes.
He patted the wooden countertop, inviting her to put the item down for inspection.
Pope pushed the circlet of gold links this way and that, then tested its weight in a cupped hand. ‘Very nice...but I have several already in the window.’
‘I don’t want you to put it into the window. I will collect it very soon. Actually, I made a mistake. I’ve decided to keep it.’ She’d sooner go back to the other fellow and haggle rather than deal with this one who seemed crafty.
‘How does two guineas sound?’ Pope’s fingers snapped shut on the locket.
Emma had put out her hand to take back her locket, but she slowly withdrew it. It was a good deal more than the previous offer.
Seeing her hesitation, he slipped two gold coins her way. ‘I’ll keep your locket safe in here.’ He pulled open a drawer behind him and deposited the necklace inside.
A few minutes later Emma was outside and hurrying towards home with the receipt for the locket tucked in her pocket. She brushed away the tears beading her lashes. Her mother would have wanted her to put her family’s well-being above sentiment. But even so a lump had formed in her throat.
* * *
Once sure that his customer was out of sight Solomon Pope retrieved the locket. He’d not made a sale yet today and before closing up could do with something fresh to draw the eyes of passing trade. He knew Miss Shabby Genteel wouldn’t be back to redeem her property. The likes of her never were for they only came to him when they’d hit rock bottom. He made some room in the window and displayed the necklace at the front on a scrap of velvet.
Sensing he was being watched, he looked up and scowled. He knew that particular skinflint of old. He was a regular customer, buying cheap geegaws for his fancy women. Solomon hoped he’d pass on by. The bell clattered even before he had made it back behind the counter.
The fellow strutted up to demand, ‘What price is the gold locket?’
‘Three and a half guineas, Mr Gresham.’
‘I’ll give you one and take it off your hands now.’ Joshua was desperate to have it, but hoped he was hiding it well. He knew from experience that this old miser was hard as nails when doing business.
Joshua had thought he must be mistaken when he exited his lawyer’s office and spotted Emma peering into a pawnbroker’s window. He’d quickly taken cover in the dim hallway and from his vantage point had watched until she emerged from the shop a short while later. Joshua had deduced that Waverley must have been telling the truth. If Houndsmere had loaned him money, Emma wouldn’t be reduced to visiting a pawnshop. Either that or the old fool was still running through a
ll his borrowed funds before they’d spent one full day in his possession. But Joshua feared that the Waverleys’ prospects could improve, courtesy of their friendship with those social climbers, the Sanders. So he ought to strike immediately. When he’d visited Bernard, after observing Emma and her friend entering the Sweets’ mansion, the older man had been working at his desk. Ever inquisitive, Joshua had manoeuvred into a better position to glimpse Waverley’s scribblings. It had made little sense to him. A coalman called Charlie seemed to be on Bernard’s mind, as did a woman called Augusta.
The locket would be of sentimental value to Emma. If she still refused to sleep with him, even with the gift of her locket as a final inducement, then he would present it to his wife for her birthday and take the house in Primrose Square, as was his right.
‘I said a guinea for it,’ Joshua renewed his offer.
‘And I said three and a half, Mr Gresham.’ Solomon returned with the locket retrieved from the window display.
‘Two, and that’s my final offer.’ Joshua pushed the gold away on the splintered counter as though it hadn’t impressed him.
‘Good day to you then, sir.’
Joshua’s chest swelled in rage, but he wanted Emma’s necklace so burst out with, ‘Two and a half guineas and you will take my money, you scoundrel!’
Solomon extended a hand to seal the deal.
Joshua grabbed coins from his pocket, throwing them down in frustration, then snatched the locket and, refusing to shake hands, was soon gone.
Chapter Eleven
Had Emma not been blinded by tears as she hurried along towards home she might have noticed a sleek black curricle stop at the kerb up ahead. But though she had the comforting weight of cash in her pocket, her heart felt empty. Now separated from her mother’s precious locket, the finality of what she’d done had sunk in. She knew it was unlikely that she’d ever be able to recover her keepsake within the time she’d agreed with Mr Pope. The last personal link to her mama had gone for ever. Already she felt bereft. More than that, she had to tell her father what she’d done. With all their other troubles occupying him, he might have forgotten they’d talked about pawning it. If he brought the subject up, she couldn’t lie...yet the truth would undoubtedly distress him.
‘Hello, Emma.’
Emma jerked her head up at that husky, intimate greeting, looking into a face of raw-boned masculinity. So absorbed had she been in her woes that she hadn’t noticed a gentleman alight from the splendid curricle, then lean against it, waiting for her to draw level with him. She was forced once more into awareness of how breathtakingly good looking Lance Harley was.
He glanced past her at the row of office buildings and commercial premises she’d walked past. ‘I wouldn’t have expected to see you here. Were you meeting somebody?’
His comment was light, but she knew he wanted an explanation and, with tension simmering between them on matters of great import, it would be silly to antagonise him over something trivial. ‘I had some business to conduct, sir.’
‘With your brother?’ he asked.
She decided to use her tactic of deflecting his question by asking one of her own. ‘Have you business here, sir?’
‘My lawyer’s office is along the street.’
A half-smile moved a corner of his lips, confirming her worry that she might have made it too obvious she believed he had been with his East End mistress. His attitude bucked her up. Discreetly, she smeared tears from her lashes, then put up her chin. ‘I have to go now...my father is ailing. Good day to you, sir.’
He held out a hand. ‘I’ll give you a ride and take you quickly to him.’ Her hesitation made him add softly, ‘It is broad daylight, Emma, you will be perfectly safe.’
‘Indeed?’ she parried, matching his ruefulness. ‘Last time I rode in a carriage with you I feared for my life.’
He gave a soundless laugh. ‘Today I’m stone cold sober and will be a model driver, I promise.’
She nibbled her lip, in two minds whether to take the hand he had held out. She would get home that much sooner...but...
‘What can I say to make you trust me?’
Emma didn’t want him to think she was too timid to accept. It would be a boon to quickly return before her father began fretting and questioned her absence. Besides, she’d noticed they were drawing attention. Instinctively, she went to him, extending her hand.
* * *
‘Where are we going, sir?’
‘For a drive. Don’t be alarmed,’ he added. ‘I just want to talk to you. We were interrupted at my sister’s and there was more I wanted to say.’
‘But I have nothing to add, sir, so please don’t waste either your time or mine.’ She slanted a look at his rugged profile. They had been on the road just a few minutes when she realised he was taking a circuitous route to Marylebone.
‘A quick drive round Hyde Park and you will still be home sooner than if you had walked.’
‘I would have hailed a cab.’
Lance threw his head back and groaned. ‘Will you never stop thwarting me, Miss Waverley?’
‘No, sir,’ she said, but met his smile with one of her own. It was the first time they’d engaged in light banter and she liked it. But her happiness faded as memories of families and problems crowded into her head. This burgeoning harmony wouldn’t last.
He drew the curricle to an abrupt halt with Hyde Park nowhere in sight. Neither was much else about. A row of cottages and an area of heathland, much like the one she walked and talked on with her brother, was the only vista. But this grassland was shielded by a windbreak of scraggy hedging.
‘This will do.’ He threw the reins to the tiger, then sprang down and came round to help her alight. He nodded at the deserted park. ‘Just a quick stroll...please?’
There was a light in his eyes she’d not seen before. And something inside her melted into tenderness. It would be so easy to very much like this handsome, charismatic rogue. But she must never let him mean too much for that could only end in heartache. For now, though, she must concentrate on being practical. She had no idea where Robin was. But Lance Harley might know and if she were clever she might find out.
‘Just five minutes, then,’ she said huskily.
In fact, they walked hardly at all. Once behind the screen of hawthorn Lance drew her to a halt, turning her towards him with firm fingers that caressed her shoulders.
‘You look upset. What business did you have in Cheapside? A matter concerning your father’s financial problems?’ His thumbs gently brushed the tear smudges on her cheeks.
‘I’m afraid so...’ She wouldn’t admit they were reduced to selling family heirlooms; rather let him believe she’d also had a meeting with a lawyer.
‘Why be upset over it when I can easily help you?’ he asked softly.
‘I need no help, thank you. I was upset...because I’m worried about my father’s health. And I was thinking of my mother, too. I have been a long while without her.’
‘How long?’ he asked.
‘All my life. She died the day my twin brother and I were born.’ Her voice broke on a sob.
Lance leaned in, gently pressed his lips to her cheek in comfort. ‘That is indeed a tragedy. My own mother passed away when I was fourteen, so I have very fond and vivid memories of her that I cherish.’
‘You are lucky then, sir.’ Emma smiled up into his warm blue eyes and that entangling of gazes seemed to be the signal he needed to softly mould together their mouths.
‘I could have been slower and more tactful in my approach to you at my sister’s house,’ he said. ‘You don’t know much about me other than I like you, but I’m not a patient man.’ He paused as though regretting what he’d said. ‘When I say I’m not patient, I can be very giving and considerate and tender...’ He hung his head, looking almost bashful. ‘What I’m trying to say is that I’
m not a selfish lover and I don’t want you to fear that I’m a debauched reprobate. I know I’ve gained a reputation that might shock some young ladies, but honestly, you shouldn’t believe half of what you hear, Emma. It’s just people making up stories.’
‘I haven’t heard anything,’ Emma said, sounding taken aback. She freed herself, stepping back.
He turned his head and choked a regretful laugh. ‘Forget I said that, then.’
‘I don’t think I can. What stories? Never mind,’ she followed up briskly. She’d made herself sound an ingénue. Of course the Earl of Houndsmere would have a certain reputation and the gossip would concern his carousing and his women. ‘It is not my concern whether you conduct yourself in a way likely to make tongues wag, my lord.’ It was her turn to smother a sour laugh. ‘Yesterday you said we were alike and in that unfortunate respect we seem to be. My reputation stands no scrutiny either.’
‘You’ve been thinking about what I said...that’s a good sign.’ He reached for her, holding her still as she would have turned away at his gentle mockery. ‘I’ve chosen to flout convention from time to time from arrogance and privilege. You have nothing to feel ashamed of, Emma. You were dragged into something bad.’
‘But you still allow your arrogance and privilege to affect your behaviour, don’t you?’ She swung her face around to challenge him with a bold golden gaze.
He tugged her yet closer so their bodies touched and rested his head against hers. ‘I want you. I can’t help how I feel. I’m offering you anything you or your family want. Am I so repulsive that you can’t bear the thought of letting me love you?’
Emma knew how easy it could be. But what did love mean to him and to her? Different things, she was sure. Love to her meant a lifelong relationship, not a liaison lasting months. She twisted from his embrace and walked away a few steps. ‘You know very well I do not find you repulsive, but...’