The Bashful Bride (Advertisements for Love Book 2)

by Vanessa Riley

  Jonesy popped up at his side. “Mr. Bex, you and Mrs. Bex ready to go?”

  “I’m leaving town after I get this young man a position as a groom. He’s loyal and dependable. He’d never lie or betray a trust.”

  “Jonesy is a good one, says Mr. Bex.”

  Mr. Croome rubbed his chin. “This fellow and I…have more in common…our good looks. Bex, come back for cake. Get us out trouble with Mrs. Croome…I’ll hire him.”

  The young man jumped up and down. “Go for cake, Mr. Bex. Jonesy likes cake and a good job.”

  Ester took hold of Arthur’s hand. His bare palm could feel her thin fingers sheathed in satin, melting into his. “Seems cake is a cause you can champion.”

  “Jonesy, help Mr. Croome into his carriage. Sir, I’ll follow in my phaeton with your daughter, unless she wants to ride with you.”

  Her father, with Jonesy’s help, climbed into his Berlin and slammed the door, but stuck his head out the window. “Cake before midnight.”

  The carriage started to move, and Croome’s wonderful team of horses streaked forward in the night with Jonesy whooping for joy on the back.

  Ester sighed. “Well, what do we do now?”

  He put her palm in the crook of his arm and started walking around to the mews where he and Jonesy had left his phaeton. “I suppose we head for cake.”

  In silence, he hitched up his horse as she sat along the rail. When he had everything ready, he put his arms about her waist and lifted her onto the seat. When he took his place beside her, she had the reins in her hand and started his horses before he could stop her.

  “You intend on driving me, Ester?”

  She didn’t say anything but kept the speed even.

  He sat back and studied her beautiful form. “Have you been practicing? Your hand is steadier.”

  “No, but I’ve more peace about me. I’m not fretting or rushing to be anywhere. I’m merely riding with you. Bex, thank you for my present. It was very thoughtful.”

  He folded his arms. “Just because you stopped loving me, didn’t mean I stopped loving you, or that I didn’t think about you every moment.”

  “Arthur Bex, I’ve loved you for two years. You think that went away because I was mad? It didn’t, just my hearing stopped. I didn’t give you a chance to explain. I’m sorry, very sorry.”

  “Ester, what did you say that wasn’t right? I take risks.”

  “A lot of things. I owed you a fair hearing. And yes, you face risks. In that cellar, many of them don’t want change. You’re in danger.”

  “Wilberforce has lived all these years. I’ll be fine. After cake, I intend to do some traveling, anyway, and let tensions cool.”

  “I won’t cool for you. My emotions have always been high-strung, irrational, really—all about you.”

  When they came closer to the Thames and the warehouse district, she slowed the gig, making the animals come to a complete stop. “I won’t be fine without you. I was too stubborn to admit how much I need you. Too stubborn to see that you were trying to hide me from the ugliness. You and Papa are very much alike. Maybe that is why I love you both so much.”

  His heart began to beat a little faster, but the things that drew them apart where still there. “I’m a flawed man, Ester, not one of the heroes I play on the stage. I don’t want to be the one to disappoint you. I can’t stop fighting for the causes I believe in. Maybe the cost for us to be together is too high.”

  She crawled into his arms and grabbed his lapel. “You listen to me Bex-Bexeley. You love me, and you know it, and that’s enough. I don’t want you to stop being you. I believe in us, and I know you have to fight. You just need to be prepared for me to be at your side. If you fight, I fight with you.”

  He wrapped her in his embrace, drawing her to that space reserved for her against his chest. “I’ll be as safe as I can be. I’ll think through things. I’ll prepare, even if it’s merely a trip across town. You are my bride. I won’t put lines on your forehead unnecessarily. I want to be with you forever, Ester. But I can’t promise to run from danger. Sometimes the cause of justice is dangerous.”

  “I know, Bex. I know.”

  “But know, Ester, I will be as safe as I can. I want to come home to you. Your love is the home I need. Can we start again?”

  “Yes. I’m saying yes to Arthur Bex-Bexeley. Yes, to us. I believe in us again. I found my faith to believe again.”

  He shifted and sank on one knee. “You proposed to me first, Ester, and now I propose to you. Love me. Love me like I love you. Every inch of my heart is yours. My voice, my body is yours. Be my wife for as long as we both shall live.

  She clasped his hands and kissed his thumbs. “I love you, your strength, and how you know me. I love how you let me be me, and I promise to let you be you. We’re better together.” She laid her forehead against his. “I’ll always want you, from this day forward for as long as we both shall live.”

  Who began the kiss, he wasn’t sure, didn’t truly care, but with her arms about his neck and access to her kissable throat, he was home. They’d found each other again, and this time he’d never let her go, never let anything but a blanket or a bathtub come between them.

  A bell tolled in the distance. Twelve long gongs. “Midnight, and we are still here, Ester. This love must be true, not make-believe.”

  “Midnight.” She bolted upright but stayed in the circle of his arms and took up the reins. “We have to get to Nineteen Fournier. I need to be home to cut the cake and you, you need to be at my side.”

  He sat, tilted back his hat, and let her take control of his phaeton. He’d take charge when it counted, when all the birthday guests were gone, when her parents had turned in and he and Mrs. Bex were quite alone.

  Epilogue

  Wearing her new salmon-pink birthday dress, Ester blinked a few times in a futile attempt to keep her eyes open while sitting on the couch on the parlor. She raised her arms and tried one more time to loop the thick wool yarn about her knitting needle. Tired from her long, long night, she yawned.

  She and Arthur had made it to Nineteen Fournier well after midnight, but Mama had waited for them and made a great deal of pomp of the newlyweds standing side-by-side, cutting the three-tier cake with bliss icing.

  Her mother had made it like a wedding cake, the one they’d missed by eloping. They had their first dance with real music, not merely to rhythms in her head or barge horns. Her husband was quite the dancer, something the papers had also reported wrong. But maybe he’d never had the right partner. For the twinkle in his eye had been perfect as he’d twirled her about the chalked floor. Then they’d disappeared to her room and made perfection.

  Absence made the heart fonder, and his hand had known exactly how to wander. She chuckled. The pink room was too feminine, but Bex had made the best of it, whispering her name with that deep timbre in his voice.

  What a wonder to have her own private concert with Bex, the hero of her dreams, and she willingly became his Juliet, his Katerine, and even Cleopatra—without all the betrayal and the dying. Ester felt blessed upon being blessed, to have the man she loved loving her, and she, all of him.

  “Hold the needle more stiffly,” Mrs. Fitterwall said as she refreshed the pot of tea. “Maybe if you get more sleep it would be easier for you.”

  The red-haired woman cast her a wicked smile before she scurried out the door.

  Cheeks warming, Ester tried again to loop the yarn to cast a stitch, but it slipped. “Another fallen one, Mama. I’ll never get this right. Mama?”

  The woman stared ahead for half a minute before turning and looking in Ester’s direction. “What?”

  “The stitch, Mama. I’m failing.”

  Her mother picked up the twist of yellow yarn that was supposed to be a woolen baby’s cap. “Good thing your friend’s lying-in is at the Yuletide. You’ve a few months to practice, or that baby will be hatless.”

  The noise of the front door opening sent a tingle up Ester’s spi
ne. Bex had gone with Papa to look at the raising of the warehouse, and she was anxious when the two most important men in her life left Nineteen Fournier. “Hopefully, Bex and Papa have returned early with no incidents.”

  “Your father is getting stronger, but having your husband here, I think, is good for him. Papa loves his girls, but he always wanted a son. Hopefully, you and Bex will stay. We’ve plenty of room.”

  Having Bex about was good for everyone, but he hadn’t said if he wanted to reside at Nineteen Fournier. “He lives in Cheapside. His flat is pretty nice.”

  “But can it compete with our bathtub? And you’ve no waiting for it here.”

  And the knowledge that everyone was safe within these protective walls. Yes, Ester wanted to live here. “Bex is considering it, as he decides what he’ll do next.”

  The door to the parlor flung open and in came Frederica, carried by Lord Hartwell. His emerald green frock coat flapped from side to side as he came close to the couch.

  Ester leaped up, dropping her foul needles. “Frederica, what happened?”

  “I’m fine.” Her friend’s cheeks seemed flushed like she had a fever. “I am such a ninny to be spooked on my horse. I’m not a schoolgirl.”

  “She won’t let me check her ankle,” Hartwell said. “I think she needs a physician.”

  Tall Frederica looked so tiny in the man’s big arms. Her deep ocean-blue riding habit had mud stains.

  Lord Hartwell seemed very concerned, his face a riddle of fretful lines. “I escorted my father to the Duke of Simone’s for an early meeting, when I saw this lady riding like a crazed rabbit. You looked very scared, Miss Burghley, barely able to hold on to your seat.”

  She pushed at her dark bonnet with its point like a pirate captain’s hat. “Thank you, Lord Hartwell. You can put me down now.”

  The man startled, as if the concept was foreign to him, then eased her onto the couch. “You’re lucky I am quick on my feet. I was able to borrow a horse and catch you, but not before your gelding tossed you into those bushes. Ladies, she demanded I bring her here and not to her father’s.”

  “It was only a couple of miles.” She blew at her falling curls. “Maybe ten.”

  The man frowned and sighed at the same time. “Miss Burghley.”

  Frederica yanked leaves from the gold braid trimming her sleeves. “I don’t want the duke to be concerned. He spent a great deal on my lessons. He’ll be so upset to know I was thrown. I’m such a ninny.” She tugged on her lapels as if that would right how disheveled she appeared. “You won’t tell him, will you, my lord?”

  “I’ll keep your confidence, Miss Burghley, if you’ll seek medical attention.”

  “I’m fine.” Frederica rose, as if to prove him wrong, but wobbled like a lame pony.

  The viscount folded his arms. “See how much worse it has become with the thirty-minute ride over here? I shouldn’t have listened to you.”

  “It’s my powers of persuasion, my lord.” Frederica flopped into the side chair. “I’m good at persuasion. I just need to rest. Please don’t tell the duke. I don’t want him to be concerned. And don’t tell your brother. Theodosia can’t be upset.”

  Tucking his hands into his coat, he nodded. “As you wish. However, if you do not send me a note in a few days telling me you’re dancing on the moon again, I’ll consult your father.” He nodded his head. “Mrs. Bex, Mrs. Croome. Send a note, Miss Burghley.”

  At the sound of the outer door closing, vibrating, Frederica sank fully into the chair, as if a pin had pricked and deflated her, letting all the hot air out.

  “Dear, you look quite ill.” Mama moved to her and put a hand on her forehead. “You feel warm. Let me send for a doctor.”

  “Please, Mrs. Croome—

  Waggling her finger, Mama was already out of the parlor.

  “Frederica, you’re in Croome territory, so sit back and take it. My mother rules here. The strong woman knows best.” Ester picked up the yarn again before putting the tangled strings on the table. “You’re such a good rider. What happened?”

  “I think,” Frederica said, her voice sounding low. “Someone wants to kill me.”

  “What?”

  Her friend lifted her swollen ankle up onto the table. “Well, he didn’t exactly say those words, but something to the effect of if he couldn’t have me, no one would.”

  “Did you hit your head, Frederica? That’s not funny.”

  She rubbed at her brow. “Someone vicious is answering my newspaper advertisement. I received another threatening note saying he’s watching me. The note described the dress I wore to yesterday’s outing at the Burlingame Arcade. He had it perfectly, down to the gold pins in my hair.”

  “Someone is having fun. Since my marriage to Bex is more public, I think any of us Blackamoors that straddle the classes are gaining more attention. You saw Gilroy’s awful cartoon of yesterday’s meeting in the cellar.” She held the picture up, resisting the urge to shred it. “I could laugh off Bex and I with a half-black, half-white baby, or even Wilberforce with a Blackamoor woman on his lap, but showing Papa on a table playing his cane as if it were a fiddle… That’s outrageous.”

  “Horrible. How did Mr. Croome take it?”

  “Papa hasn’t seen it, but Mama has, and she’s been very quiet. You being here will give her a distraction.”

  Frederica put her head back. “I’m glad my life crisis can be of use. Has your husband seen that dribble?”

  “No, but he will. We have no secrets.”

  Leaning forward, her friend sat up, her mouth falling open. “None? Not even something for convenience?”

  “None, Frederica.”

  She flopped again into the chair. “What am I going to do? This note wasn’t in my box at Burlingame. It came to my father’s house this morning. The duke will find out.”

  Ester stood and took hold of Frederica’s palm. “Whatever this is, we’ll face it. No one’s going to hurt you.”

  Frederica shook her head, sending her tight ringlets jiggling. “The scandalmongers will ruin me. My father will disown me and make a new family with Miss Stevens.”

  Giving Frederica a big hug, Ester picked straw from her golden curls. “You’re overreacting. This is some horrible joke. It’ll pass. Stay here for the next few days. All will calm down.”

  Mrs. Fitterwall and Mama returned.

  “Come on, Miss Burghley.” They came on either side of her.

  The housekeeper had Frederica lean more upon her. “Upstairs with you and soak that foot. The physician will be here soon.”

  Ester arose to help, but Mama’s icy stare made her sit back down. “Miss Burghley will be down for dinner. You two can begin your scheming then. Jonesy says that the carriage has pulled up. You need to see if your husband will commit to living here. That’s your one task. Ruth and her son will be coming at the end of the month. My family will be whole. That’s my wish.”

  There was no out-talking Mama. “Yes, ma’am.” Ester sat back down and took up the horrible knitting needle again as the women helped her friend out of the parlor.

  In a couple of minutes, the sounds of laughter came from the hall, loud, deep masculine voices.

  Bex opened the door to the parlor. “Sir, you want to come inside here or to your study?”

  “I’m going to let…you two have pri…be alone.” He offered a big smile to her. “Daughter.”

  Ester smiled big, too. One of her heroes was walking a little better. The other gave her a smile that would melt icehouses.

  Papa slid off his coat and handed it to Jonesy, then pushed his hat to the boy, too.

  Jonesy stood proud, grinning in his new shiny blue livery as he loaded up his arms with their outer gear before dashing off.

  Clancy shook his head. He didn’t look happy, but he didn’t look sad, either. Maybe he’d get used to all the additions to Nineteen Fournier.

  “Clancy,” Papa said, “help me to my study. Chess later, Bex. I…look forward.”


  “Yes, sir,” her husband said. “It’ll be my pleasure.”

  Ester laughed as Bex closed the door. “You know Papa will keep you busy until you tell him what he wants.”

  “What could that be?” He tugged at his cream and gold waistcoat as he sat beside her, yanking at his dark blue breeches, yawning loud and long.

  She wasn’t the only one who was sleepy, and that made her smile grow wider. “He wants you to agree to live here.”

  His face became serious with a hint of a frown as he picked up her awful needlework. “Well, you said you weren’t a couch woman who could knit. You were truthful. What is it?”

  “A cap for Theodosia’s new baby-to-be.”

  He twirled the yellow thing about his pinky. “Yes, I can see that now. Will the baby have one tiny head or four?”

  She gave him an elbow. “No. Don’t even think that about a sweet baby.”

  Bex picked up the newspaper. “Well, you’re already bored with me. Tsk. Checking the advertisement section for someone new?”

  He flipped the paper open before she could stop him, and he landed on the fold with Gilroy’s caricature of the abolitionist meeting last night. His expression became dour. “That woman looks nothing like you. Your curves are larger and more delightful. But you do look very well in your birthday…dress.”

  Face fevering, she shook her head.

  He sighed. “Ester, I didn’t want you and your father bandied about in the papers.” He dumped the pages back to the table. “I’m more trouble than I am worth.”

  “Not possible.” She reached for him, loving the scent of chamomile and honey on his breath. When she kissed his frown away, she leaned her head on his chest, that spot made for her. “Absolutely worth it. So much so that both my parents want to know if you will live here.”

  “You think you can butter me up, kissing me with the softest lips I’ve ever known?”

  She smiled up at him, staring at him with confidence in their love. “Yes.”

  “Keep trying, then, Ester. It may help me come to a decision about something. The weather. Dinner? Something.”