“Yes. The last time I was mentioned in the papers...”
“Not to worry. I have some contacts who will run a very flattering piece on the once and future Marquess of Edensbridge the moment I give them the word. Probably early next week. That’ll give you a chance to get your wits about you and be seen at the most stylish places, raising just enough interest to whet the insatiable appetite of the ton.”
Perspiration pricked Daniel’s underarms and back. “Stylish places?”
Swimmer waved his hand in the air. “I have a list of them. I also have a list of the matrons it’s most important to impress.”
Daniel leaned forward and propped his elbows on his knees, studying his old friend’s face. “When did you become so socially savvy?”
“When I no longer had a choice.”
“But lists, Swimmer?”
“Those are courtesy of the duchess. She remembers you fondly, Hallsy. I must give you fair warning, my mother might well make your redemption her personal crusade.”
“Did I hear mention of the Duchess of Wrexham?” Granville’s voice boomed from behind Daniel. “Such a handsome woman. And I do so love a handsome widow. Perhaps I should stop round to pay her a visit.”
“Not without me there.” Swimmer rose to his feet at the same time as Daniel to shake Granville’s hand. “Otherwise, I’ll have to call you out.”
Granville clapped Swimmer on the back. “Still a barbarian, just like I told you, Meriden.”
At the sound of the name, Daniel froze in place. He caught Granville’s look, the slightly raised eyebrow, the cocky grin. It seemed his old friend might need a sound trouncing after all. Unless it was a joke, a truly terrible one, the kind only Granville could find amusing. Granville had promised Daniel he’d need only spend one evening in the company of Steady Eddie, dangling the lure of some time with Emme as bait when Daniel had needed more prodding. Now it seemed Granville planned to make their interaction a daily occurrence.
Daniel sat down, hoping if he wished it hard enough, Meriden would disappear. Or better yet, all his friends would disappear and Emme would appear in their stead.
“Hallsy.” Granville clapped his shoulder hard. “Don’t be an ass. Shake the man’s hand.”
Daniel stayed seated, but obliged, and the rest of them each took one of the luxurious leather chairs set in a semi-circle in front of the hearth, with a low fire chasing away the bone-chilling dampness of the English spring. The servant stopped ‘round again to fill the wine glasses, and this time, Daniel didn’t refuse. The four former mates sipped wine and kept the conversation light. Daniel, for his part, was taking the measure of each man, of what they’d become, when Granville mentioned the elephant in the room.
“Has anyone had word from Harry?”
The other three shook their heads.
“Not for months,” Swimmer admitted. “I thought perhaps he’d stayed in better touch with you and Hallsy, his fellow adventurers abroad.”
“Granville was the only one who ventured that far,” Daniel said. “When did you see him, Granville? About a year ago?”
Granville nodded. “Give or take.”
“You’ve been to Argentina?” Meriden shifted to the front of his seat. “I’ve heard it’s quite beautiful.”
Daniel gave him a wry smile. “Daddy never did let you out of jolly old England, did he, Steady Eddie?”
Meriden sat up straighter and glared at Daniel.
“Hallsy,” Swimmer warned, but Granville flashed an encouraging grin.
That look in itself was enough to stop Daniel. He wasn’t about to provide Granville with cheap entertainment. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded,” he lied.
Meriden gave one curt nod, accepting the lie.
Daniel meant to leave it at that.
“One tends to be more careful when one has a lineage and a title to consider,” Meriden countered.
Swimmer and Granville both leaned forward, but Daniel held up his hand. His friends relaxed, seeming to believe his indication of a truce. He wouldn’t disabuse them of the notion.
“How fares Lady Emme today?” Daniel asked, only partly to annoy Meriden.
Granville barely tried to conceal the nudge of his foot against Daniel’s boot, but Daniel continued to smile placidly in Meriden’s direction.
“My sister is none of your concern.” Meriden took a swig of wine and stared into the fire.
Daniel thought about how satisfying it would be to push his former friend into the flames. Only for a second or two. Only long enough to make him scream in agony. It was kinder than the man deserved after what he’d allowed to happen to his sister at the hands of a scoundrel. One more thing Daniel couldn’t forgive.
“I do so hope someone is looking out for Lady Emme,” Daniel said.
Meriden met Daniel’s gaze with fury glinting in his eyes. “My family has been through enough, Mister Hallsworth. You will do well to steer clear of them.”
“I knew it,” Granville said. “I knew it was too good to be true, the friendly pretense the two of you kept up last night.” He winked at Swimmer. “That’s why I poured half a bottle of my best rum into Meriden before I brought him here. Time to clear the air so the two of you can get up to your old antics again.”
“Granville, you’re an ass,” Daniel said. He’d had more than his share of Swimmer’s wine, and was far from the paragon of sobriety he’d been last night, which was making it harder to keep his own emotions in check.
“I have to agree with Hallsy,” Swimmer said.
Daniel leaned forward and spoke to Meriden. “As for you, Viscount Meriden, you can stop being such a self-righteous prig. The dispute over my title has nearly been settled, and I’ll soon be a marquess again.”
Swimmer lifted his glass in the air. “And so, a toast is in order!”
“Hear, hear!” Granville lifted his own glass.
Neither Daniel nor Meriden moved, their gazes locked. Daniel could only hope the man could read what he felt about him, about his inability to protect his sister’s virtue and her fragile heart. Better she’d have married an untitled bastard who loved her than run off with a social-climbing lecher.
It was Meriden who broke the stalemate. He pushed himself to his feet, thanked Swimmer for his hospitality, and shook Granville’s hand. He stopped just in front of Daniel. “I bid you good evening, marquess.”
Daniel waited until the man had almost reached the door before he called out to him. “Meriden, do give my regards to your sister. Better yet, I’ll come by and give her my best myself.”
“You’ll do nothing of the sort!” Meriden took one step toward him.
In an instant, Granville was on his feet in front of Daniel and Swimmer was shepherding Meriden out the door.
A minute later, Swimmer returned and the three men took their seats. Daniel crossed his legs and calmly stared into the hearth. For the first time since he’d set foot on English soil, he felt some measure of peace and purpose.
“Is he mad or just a pompous ass?” Swimmer asked Granville, gesturing to Daniel.
“I’m going to say a bit of both,” Granville said. “But love will do that to you.”
Daniel snapped his attention to Granville. “Stop right there.”
Granville shrugged. “I’m not going to keep your secrets if you’re so hell-bent on wearing them on your sleeve.”
“Lady Emmeline?” Swimmer asked. “After all these years, that’s what that little exchange was about?”
Daniel shifted uncomfortably in his seat. If he’d been so transparent after all, Meriden might come to the same conclusion. “I was once interested in the girl.”
“You were a hair’s breadth from ruining her,” Swimmer corrected. “Or so Meriden claimed.”
“Not to mention, he’s still interested in the girl,” Granville added.
Swimmer shook his head. “Hallsy, you can’t expect Meriden and his father to set her out on a silver platter because you’ve shown up with your titl
e nearly restored. And whatever that was between the two of you, it damn well didn’t help your cause.”
Daniel scowled. “She’s twenty-two. She can marry whomever she chooses.”
Granville peered at him over the top of his wine glass. “Exactly. And she didn’t choose you. You would do well to remember that. You need an ally, and Steady Eddie might just be it.”
“The day I need anything from Steady Eddie is the day I’ll declare myself ready for Broadmoor.”
“There was a moment there when I was going to suggest it myself.” Swimmer laid a hand on Daniel’s shoulder. “But now that I know what truly ails you, you’ll suffer no such fate, for I, dear boy, have all the answers. On your feet. We have ground to cover while the night is still young.”
Daniel groaned.
Granville leapt to his feet and downed the last of his wine. “That’s more like it. What’s first? An underground boxing match? A burlesque review?” He rubbed his hands together. “Perhaps the newest house of the great social evil. I know for a fact they’re quite motivated to attract a certain clientele. With the likes of a duke in tow, we’ll have the run of the place.”
“Granville, we’re here to build up a reputation, not destroy one,” Swimmer said. “We’re going to have evening coffee with the most venerated and respectable woman I know.”
Granville’s grin turned into a frown. “Not your mother. I was only joking earlier—”
“Yes, my mother.” Swimmer pulled Daniel to his feet. “If there’s one thing my mother knows, it’s how to make a respectable match. Lady Tessa and Alcott can vouch for that.”
Daniel stopped his progress toward the door. “Why are you so anxious to involve the duchess in the plans for my redemption?”
“For his own preservation, no doubt,” Granville offered.
Swimmer shrugged. “What can I say? I’m just an affable fellow hoping to do my part in clearing the path to true love.”
Daniel glanced at Granville. “While avoiding a marriage of his own. Still, I’m in no position to turn down help.” He turned as Granville opened his mouth to speak. “Unless it’s from you.”
Granville made a show of straightening his cravat while Swimmer chuckled, and Daniel led the way as three-fifths of Harrow’s Finest Five filed out of the room, looking for all the world like London’s most respectable gentlemen.
29 March, in the Year of Our Lord 1870
To Mr. Daniel Hallsworth, son of the late Marquess of Edensbridge:
Pursuant to the request made of you by the Committee of Privileges on 18 March 1870, we are pleased to see your progress toward establishing a respectable household on English soil. We are most encouraged by your association with the Duke of Wrexham, and his mother, the Duchess of Wrexham. We remind you that engagement to the daughter of a peer in good standing in the House of Lords will do much to prove your ability to faithfully execute the duties of the Marquess of Edensbridge, and we look forward to learning of your progress on the matter in the near future.
Respectfully yours,
The Hon. Mr. Charles Alby
Clerk of the Committee for Privileges
House of Lords
London, England
Chapter 9
After several more restless days passed on British soil, Emme was thrilled to finally be doing something worthwhile.
She stepped down from the hired hackney and landed her booted foot in a puddle of something murky, smelly, and well outside her realm of experience. She picked her way across the rutted road, holding her skirts up to her ankles and stepping more carefully as she followed Lady Abigail to the front door of a narrow, gray house stuck among a row of connected buildings, one more dilapidated than the next.
She smiled to cover the shock of seeing this part of the city for the first time, and reminded herself of the virtue of their cause.
“How many children did you say live here?” she whispered over her shoulder to Lady Rachel, who brought up the rear of their small entourage.
“In this house? Three, with another one on the way. Probably dozens on the whole of the street.”
Emme glanced up and down the narrow street. It was an alleyway, really. A fierce sadness gripped her as she wondered where in this fetid landscape the children could play, how they could learn, looking out of their tiny, grimy windows onto this sad view, what dreams they could hold in a world this grim?
“Don’t look for any of them to be about in the street,” Lady Rachel said as Lady Abigail, a few feet in front of them, stopped at the door of the house they’d approached and knocked. “The younger ones will be attending to chores.”
“And the older ones?”
“Factory work, mostly. I know one of Mrs. Bailey’s sons—they live in the house on the corner—has an apprenticeship with a blacksmith a few blocks away. The oldest boy. He’s ten now, I think. Those not so lucky will be out begging.”
Working in factories. Standing behind kicking horses. Begging. Emme tried to remember what Edward had been doing when he was ten. She’d been seven then. She’d received a gorgeous miniature model of her family’s Arlington Street townhouse for her dolls. She’d had so many of them, and each doll had had her own elegant wardrobe. Edward had even carved a small wooden dog for her when she’d pouted for a week that the youngest child of the Doll family was pining for a pet.
The small door opened in front of them and a maid in a clean and pressed, if threadbare, brown dress stood in front of them. She inclined her head and curtseyed.
Lady Abigail spoke to the woman. “Mrs. Billings, lovely to see you. How do you fare today?”
But Mrs. Billings was no maid of the house. She was one of the two women residing here with their children, one of the down-on-their-luck women they were here to help. Of course, there would be no servants in a house of so little means. Emme couldn’t fathom how she could be so obtuse. She was not only on the opposite side of London from where she resided, she was in an entirely different world. She smiled at Mrs. Billings, whom she knew to be about her own age, but whom by looks could have passed as ten years older than Emme.
The woman invited them into the house, which began with a dark, narrow hallway, then opened to reveal a cramped sitting room to the right with a pitched, narrow staircase to the left.
“Please, m’ladies, have a seat.”
Mrs. Billings’s accent was not what Emme expected. It was quite refined, better even than a ladies’ maid.
Emme took an unsteady breath as she sat on a worn black divan whose seat cushion sank further under her than she expected. According to Lady Abigail, Mrs. Billings had come from good circumstances, married a working man who supported her well. But after he’d died, she’d been reduced to living in a shabby house with another family, with barely a ha’penny to scrape together between them.
The other woman living in the house, one Mrs. Carter, had two children and a third was on the way, while her husband served a term in debtors’ prison. It was unlikely they’d see Mrs. Carter that day, as she was close to her confinement and no longer going up and down the stairs. Lady Abigail had proudly reported the woman was able to keep up with the small sewing repair projects that earned her some semblance of an income while she lay abed.
As Mrs. Billings excused herself to check on the tea kettle and turned to leave the room, she bumped into a small, cherub-faced child with long, blonde hair plaited into two neat braids, who couldn’t have been more than six years old. Mrs. Billings bent and whispered something to the child, who curtseyed in front of the spinsters, then backed away and disappeared up a dark staircase.
“My daughter, Jeannette,” Mrs. Billings told Emme. She turned toward Lady Abigail. “She’ll ensure Mrs. Carter is ready to receive company.”
“Lovely.” As Mrs. Billings left the room, Lady Abigail leaned closer to Emme. “While Lady Rachel and I check on our mother-to-be, you can chat with Mrs. Billings. There are rather cramped quarters upstairs. I hardly think the three of us will fit into her bedcha
mber.”
A minute later, the little girl returned, curtseyed, and motioned for the spinsters to go up the stairs, and Mrs. Billings arrived with a tea service—shabby, with dings and scratches, but polished to a luminous shine—and set it on the tiny table in front of Emme.
“Jeanette will serve us.” Mrs. Billings took a seat across from Emme.
The little girl poured tea into Emme’s cup and motioned to the cream and sugar. Emme requested one lump, which the girl stirred into the tea. She then repeated the ritual for her mother, who took her tea black, curtseyed to both women, and disappeared out the door.
“That was lovely.” Emme took a sip of tea.
“We’ve practicing the skills she’ll need in a few years’ time. We don’t have the connections to find her a position in the home of a peer, but perhaps a successful tradesman. Someone kind who runs a safe and respectable household.”
Emme furrowed her brow, not mentioning that cleaning and cooking skills were more important to a maid seeking a position, as footmen were charged with serving duties in the respectable households she’d mentioned. But perhaps it was different in the home of a tradesman’s wife. And she kept her counsel on what an unsafe or disreputable household might mean for a young maid, sure that Mrs. Billings wasn’t naïve. Without a peer’s money and a father’s name to protect her, the world posed an untold number of threats to the girl, and the most her mother could dare hope for Jeanette was a safe place to earn a living wage.
As Emme sipped her tea and tried to think of something more to say, a few small portraits propped on top of a rickety sideboard caught her eye.
“Oh, those are lovely.” She stood slowly, taking care not to bump the table that butted up to her knees. “Is this one a portrait of your daughter?”
“It is. She was three then. It was the first time I could get her to sit still for more than one minute at a time so I could get the sketch down.”
Emme glanced at Mrs. Billings. “You painted these? All of these?”
One Kiss From Ruin: Harrow’s Finest Five Book 1 Page 9