Arthur’s uncle would say something about ticks latching on to a dog’s coat. Arthur didn’t like ticks, Phineas, or memories of his uncle. “You’ll be waiting a long time.”
“Time is my friend. What is that actor’s line about truth outing?”
Stewing, Arthur made his horse race forward, away from the determined reporter. He didn’t want the man to follow him to the stables where Arthur would lease a second horse for the trip to Gretna. He couldn’t afford the man asking questions that would lead to Miss Croome, especially when Arthur wasn’t sure if she’d actually elope with him.
The girl was perfect—shy, articulate, well-curved. Someone who, in time, would attest to his good character.
If the truth “outed,” she would need to say he wasn’t a monster, that every speech he’d made was true, that he wasn’t like his uncle, the man who’d raised him after the deaths of his parents.
Slowing his gig, Arthur dusted the seat beside him, slapping his glove against the worn leather. He had no one, not a soul from his past to attest to his mostly good upbringing. In his old shipping town of Liverpool, most only knew of the villain named Bexeley, the man who had been every inch a monster to everyone but his nephew, Arthur. If the truth ever came out, everyone would think Arthur a monster, too.
The question remained, was Ester Croome the woman who’d vouch for him? He’d know five minutes past midnight. If she appeared and escaped with him, that would prove she had mettle, truly tough insides to weather the scandal if his past came to light. Then he, the loner, had to figure out how to make her love him enough that she could say, without equivocation, that a man raised by a murderer wasn’t one. That he was honorable and true.
He slumped in his seat as he navigated the streets by the glow of the gaslight. The role of a smitten husband wasn’t going to be hard for an actor of his caliber to perform. And Miss Croome was not immune to his charm. He hadn’t made a woman blush so much in quite a while. Could Miss Croome become a woman with complete faith in a husband with a shadowy past?
Chapter Five
Almost Midnight
After twenty minutes of pacing in Mama’s parlor, peeking out of Nineteen Fournier windows and listening to Clancy announce each guest, Ester heard the names she had been waiting for.
“Mr. and Mrs. Fitzwilliam-Cecil.” Clancy’s voice carried above the lull of the music. Out of the parlor like a rabbit, Ester slowed her gait to a leisurely stroll until she grabbed Theodosia in a hug, crushing her fine indigo gown. “I’ve so missed you.”
“Ester,” she said, “I know I’ve been poorly of late, but I am feeling much better.” She hugged Ester more tightly. “What is it? What is wrong?”
Her friend knew her well. “Come with me.” She grabbed Theodosia’s arm, almost dragging her into the parlor.
Her husband, Ewan Fitzwilliam-Cecil, followed. His gaze seemed locked on his wife, and he hadn’t let go of her other hand.
Ester had grown more comfortable with him, and was even fond of him, but she needed to tell Theodosia alone. She released her friend and moved to the parlor door. “Mr. Fitzwilliam—I mean, Fitzwilliam-Cecil—I need to speak to your wife. Something for her ears only. It’s a matter that cannot be delayed.”
He puffed up his chest before kissing Theodosia’s fingers. “Miss Croome, we are a well-matched pair tonight. You’ll have to share this dark secret with both of us.”
Theodosia smoothed his ivory cravat against his damask waistcoat. The man was handsome in black and white. “Ewan. I’m feeling much better. You don’t have to hover.”
Mr. Fitzwilliam-Cecil’s countenance softened, filling with what Ester imagined any girl would want from a husband—a mix of concern and perhaps the desire that only the deepest love could bring. “I intend to crowd you, my dear,” he said, “I haven’t had my fill of you. Don’t believe it possible.”
Theodosia’s pale cheeks darkened. Her coloring was off from her normally healthy bronze features. “There’s no winning when he’s like this, Ester. Not even Phillip’s smiles can break his determination.”
“Well, Phillip’s good looks will break hearts. Just not his papa…stepfather’s.”
His smile dimmed at the truth of their son’s parentage they’d been forced to hide, but a touch of Theodosia’s hand to his cheek renewed the lift of his lips. The two were beaming, so entangled in each other’s confidences that Ester wondered if they remembered she was still in the same room. She gave a cough. “Frederica’s newspaper advertisement. Well, she gave the would-be-groom to me. I’m going to elope with him tonight.”
“Elope tonight? Ester?” Theodosia’s voice sounded low, almost cracking. “Why would she give him to you? A man isn’t a handkerchief to be borrowed. And you. You haven’t indicated that you were ready to marry, let alone elope. Is he here at your mother’s party?”
“Not yet. The man, the handkerchief, is Arthur Bex.”
“Wait. You ladies are still with this newspaper advertisement business?” Fitzwilliam-Cecil squinted. “Theodosia?”
She cast him a look, an arched brow above a sly, crescent-shaped eyelid. “Ewan, it worked out well for us.”
Her husband paced with his hands behind his back, very much the picture of an elegant penguin. “And Bex is in this, too? I told you he’s hiding something.”
Something burned in Ester’s chest at the insinuation. “What has he done? Name an instance of him being untrustworthy.”
The playwright rubbed at his neck. “I know of nothing directly, but no one had heard of him prior to three years ago. Then he had a horrid break with a countess and it was in the papers.”
“He’s famous. I know it must be terrible having your every move scrutinized. I think that would make anyone seek privacy. But to accuse him of something nefarious without proof, that’s wrong. You, of all people, should know to have proof.”
Surely dwelling on his and Theodosia’s bumpy journey back to love, he frowned. “I’m just concerned for you, as I am for all of my wife’s friends. You ladies are special, and there are a lot more villains in this world than heroes.”
Theodosia adjusted her deep blue gloves. “Ewan, Ester Croome’s smart. You don’t have to fret, but I must speak to her alone.”
He nodded and went to the door. “Let me go find my brother and see if he’s still looking in the newspaper for a bride, the next Lady Hartwell.” The man stopped his grousing at the door, his countenance clearing of its frown. “Take care, Miss Croome. I know you’re partial to Bex’s voice, his stage presence. You deserve to be happy.”
“Yes. I do. I think I can be happy with Bex, and he wants to marry me.”
Theodosia walked her husband to the door. “Let me see what can be done. Pretend nothing is wrong. Is that something a successful playwright can do?”
“I won’t betray confidences.” He put a kiss to Theodosia’s palm. “But convince Miss Croome to take care. There’s something about Bex…his radical ties.”
“Go out and save your brother Hartwell from receiving stares. He might not be as comfortable as you in these settings.”
Ester knew what she meant. Theodosia’s husband and her brother-in-law, the viscount, along with a banker and some representatives of Stephenson Clarke Shipping who’d enjoyed Papa’s fabric trade from Jamaica, were the only pale faces in a sea of chestnut, olive, henna, and ebony. It could be uncomfortable for them. How would Bex fit into such a setting? Would he be beset with nervousness, like Ester? How would she do in his world full of strangers and other actors—all different from her?
Theodosia closed the door, came to Ester, and clasped her palms. “I know you have feelings for this actor. You’ve liked him since we saw him in that play, with Frederica, almost two and a half years ago.”
“I’m in love with Arthur Bex, and now he wants to marry me.” Her voice, to her own ears, sounded proud, and she was. How could she not be, with the man of her dreams coming for her tonight?
The sleek ebony hair of Theodosia’s
chignon bobbled as she shook her head, “Star-struck love…it’s not the same as deep love. And it’s not mutual. You must be logical. Think of what a wrong choice could cost. Your parents will disapprove of an actor.”
The breath almost left Ester, and she wrapped her arms about her to keep her heart safe. “You are married to a playwright. How can you talk about an actor so poorly?”
Putting a palm on Ester’s crossed arms, Theodosia said, “I have no parents to disapprove. You and Frederica are the only ones whose opinions mattered to me.”
Ester pulled away. “Then you, of all people, should be supportive. Arthur Bex has dined at your table. He’s been in one of your husband’s productions. How can you stand here and talk about him as if he were nothing?”
Theodosia stopped reaching for her and lowered her arms against the shiny satin of her gown. Croome fabrics draped both of them, but they couldn’t be more different.
“I respect Bex’s profession, Ester, but I am not your parents. I know how important their approval is to you.”
The approval of her parents had been everything until she’d discovered that they were living a lie. She shook her head. “This has nothing to do with them. It’s about Bex. He wants to marry me. Maybe when he saw me, he loved me, too.”
Theodosia nodded. “There is much to love about you. You’re smart and thoughtful. Never rash. Why not wait a month, meet with him a few more times—”
“I don’t have a month. Tonight, my father is to announce my engagement to a philanderer. Of course, he sees nothing wrong with that.”
“Your father wouldn’t do that. There must be some mistake. Mr. Croome adores you. He’d never do something that would make you so unhappy.”
“I’ve seen the contract. He’s told me so. The only mistake is mine, believing I had more time, or that my parents would afford me the opportunity to choose. I’m just a pawn in Papa’s negotiations. Maybe now he’ll make enough money to get that Cheapside home, perhaps even Mayfair, if they’ll sell to Blackamoors.”
“Ester. I know you are still smarting from the letters you found.”
“Father’s letters to his mistress. Those letters?” Ester moved to the window and wrapped the heavy purple tapestry curtain betwixt her palms, dragging the ribbon trimmings through her fingers. She had wanted her voice to sound calm, but the rage and disappointment of it all ripped through her again. She sat on the sill. “I thought things were so perfect. That my mother and father had found each other. I wanted a love like theirs.”
“Ester, they love each other now. He’s giving her this wonderful party.”
“Perhaps, but I don’t want his kind of love. Not any part of it. I’d rather listen to Bex say my name. I can live in his voice.”
“What happens when the talking stops? It always does.” Theodosia sat on Mama’s couch, the side with no arm, and stretched out. “Whatever happened was a long time ago. You said yourself those letters were four or five years old.”
Rubbing her temples, Ester exhaled. Too much tension had invaded her chest. Those were the ones she’d found. How many more existed? “We’d just moved into Nineteen Fournier. Mother was in the middle of restoring it to make it her dream home. Why would she leave him when he’d put a new roof over our heads? She never even became angry with him. Not an outspoken word.”
“Nothing?” Theodosia cupped her elbows and rocked, as she did when she tried to figure things out. “Maybe you just didn’t see it. Your mother is a very private woman. But what does this have to do with you? You’re not marrying your father.”
Ester peered out to the street again. More carriages lined it. The link boys swung their torches like acrobats, big and bright and high. “Charles Jordan is just a younger, shorter version of Papa. Why are they forcing me to marry him?”
“Parents make choices for their children. They think they are doing the best.” Theodosia’s voice lowered, gaining a very solemn timbre. “Sometimes they make horrible choices, but that doesn’t mean you should make a bad one. You’ll know what it means someday, but don’t do something now that could put you in a bad situation. You can’t punish your father by doing something that could ruin you.”
“Marrying Bex won’t ruin me. It’s a dream come true. You and Frederica both have tried to get husbands by newspaper advertisements. This is a man who we all know. I couldn’t be any luckier than you finding Fitzwilliam again.”
Brushing at her brow as if Ester’s logic had given her a headache, Theodosia smiled. “We know of him, but nothing about what has made him the man he is. But I’ll support you. My love for you is endless, Ester. I just want you to take care.”
Coming close to the couch, she took Theodosia’s hand. “Help me wait until Bex comes. He will be here five after midnight.”
“The roads are so dangerous at night. When I sold flowers in town, I made sure to be off the streets by seven. I tried to be about my business during the daylight. Highwaymen are out there. Thieves and murderers prowl in the dark. You could be hurt.”
“Theodosia, I know your stories, but rest assured, I’ll not be alone. Bex will be with me. He’ll take care of me. But, will you help?”
“Yes, of course. We’ll even leave after you, so people think that you have left with us.”
Unable to stand falsehoods, Ester shook her head. “I don’t want you saying anything that is untrue. I can’t have you lying for me.”
“Ester, I won’t lie, but I can’t stop people from assuming you left with close friends.” Theodosia smoothed her skirt over her stomach, fluffing the delicate pleats in her bodice. “Why five after midnight?”
“Because dreams and fairy tales last until then. If Bex arrives after midnight, then I know this is true. Our marriage is meant to be.”
Theodosia rose slowly then linked arms with Ester. “Well, if the mysterious actor can keep this smile on your face, then he’ll do right by you. I haven’t seen you smiling so much since my wedding breakfast last year.”
Ester put her hands to her cheeks. Yes, she was smiling, big and wide, thinking of Bex coming for her. She had doubts about many of the things Theodosia and Fitzwilliam-Cecil had said, but not about their care for her. If Bex appeared at five after midnight, she’d never doubt that they could be happy.
That was if Bex arrived and proved this wasn’t a dream.
…
Arthur took a long breath as he leaned against the door of the stable, watching Jonesy prepare a second horse to harness to the phaeton he’d rented. The small carriage with four wheels and a roof should provide his bride the comfort they needed to make the long journey to Scotland, much better than his gig.
The mews was close to his Cheapside flat, so he was able to pack a bag and his longhand pages for the script to Antony and Cleopatra for this unexpected trip.
Away from the noise of the cellar and the harangues of Phineas, he sifted through his decision to take a bride after one meeting. Though given to taking the riskier path, he typically wasn’t a rash person. He prided himself on being methodical and thoughtful. The critics said it added depth to his portrayals, but it was also how Arthur lived. A snap decision to marry Miss Croome and elope tonight—it was uncharacteristic.
A loud whine and a slamming of a gate stirred Arthur from his doubts. He had to make it to Nineteen Fournier on time. He’d made a promise and wasn’t one to go back on his word, even if it cost him everything. The promise to a dying mother that he’d always do what was right, and the same to a father, the vicar of their Liverpool parish, who had perished a month later, were always top of mind. Though their proper names hadn’t left his tongue in years, these promises, like the ones he’d make to Miss Croome, were his bond.
“Not much longer, Mr. Bex,” Jonesy said as he led a beautiful pewter horse from a pen and into place leading his team. Jonesy was a boy of thirteen or fourteen with deep red freckles and an easy manner. When Arthur had learned the young man had been abandoned and lived at the stables, he was determined to help him, t
ipping him well, seeing about him. No one should be on their own at such a young age, not like Arthur.
“Trying to hurry, Mr. Bex.” The boy’s scarlet hair fell forward, covering his eyes as he mumbled more words through the cleft in his lip. “In a hurry to leave at this time of night. Family problems?”
“No, Jonesy. I don’t have a family, but I might soon.”
The young fellow looked up. “You a good one, Mr. Bex. Jonesy will be happy you not alone no more.”
Alone no more? The boy was concerned for Arthur. That’s why he liked him, and that sentiment, alone no more…maybe that’s why Arthur had agreed to elope. Unlike the countess, Miss Croome was shy. She wouldn’t seek headlines or gossip. She seemed genuine in wanting to marry him. There was no talk of fortunes, or income, or invitations he should seek—none of that. He knew it wasn’t because she wasn’t aware of these things. From the cut of her stylish clothes, she was used to fine things. She simply didn’t seem to care. That was refreshing.
And what a figure she cut in those clothes. Arthur strove to be an honorable man, but he was still a man. Miss Croome possessed a lovely bosom any husband would take pride in, a small waist worthy to take hold of, and a backside to admire and take a second or third look at. Her face was one of beauty—pretty eyes, generous lips. Her knowledge of Shakespeare rivaled his own—that was very intriguing to his soul. He’d never been drawn to someone outside of his race before, but he’d never met someone like Ester Croome.
“What is she like?”
“What, Jonesy?”
“Family begins with a woman. Jonesy knows that.”
How should he describe her aloud? “She’s pretty and has a sense of grace about her.”
“That sounds nice. Almost done, Mr. Bex.”
“Good.” Arthur was excited to see her again. That had to be a good thing, to be in want of her presence so soon after their first meeting. If his past stayed buried, they could be happy. “Jonesy, you think two horses will take me to Scotland in good time?”
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