The Honorable Choice (Victorian Love Book 2)

by M. A. Nichols

  “I am afraid we haven’t seen Lucas in months,” said Mother. Her brows drew together, her expression tightening, but Father took her hand in his, and some of the tension eased from her, though not in its entirety. Conrad hid his scowl; there was no point in showing it here as the person who’d earned it was not in attendance.

  “But he said he was returning home. I wrote to him,” said Miss Jeffries. Though there was little to them, she sucked in her lips, biting down on them.

  Mother blinked a few times before straightening. “Yes, I do recall a few letters arriving for him, but I sent them on to London. He must have chosen to return there to find employment.”

  Turning his face away from the others, Conrad glanced at the wall beside him as he tried to loosen the tightness in his shoulders and school his expression. He had long ago given up guessing whether his mother said such things because she truly believed Lucas’s lies or because she needed to, but Conrad knew better. If Lucas intended to find employment, he would never go to London when he could sweep into Greater Edgerton and take the reins to the family mill whenever he pleased.

  “We will find Lucas, Mr. Jeffries, and sort out this whole business,” said Father, rising to his feet. With a few quick strides, he came to Conrad’s side and lowered his voice. “Send word to London and tell him to return immediately.”

  Leveling a flat look at his father, Conrad replied, “You know he will not do so if he does not wish to.”

  Father tugged at his sleeves, adjusting his jacket as the muscles in his jaw clenched. “Best to send word to Cousin Hatch as well. I do not wish to ask his help, but he will ensure Lucas returns posthaste.”

  Conrad nearly smiled at that thought. If anyone could ensure that, it would be his cousin-in-law, Jonathan Hatcher. Conrad was fairly certain no one stood against him and lived to tell the tale.

  “And send the telegraph from Rochester. The postmaster is more discreet,” added Father.

  “But do you truly believe Lucas married Miss Jeffries?” whispered Conrad.

  Father’s gaze dropped to the ground for a moment, and he stilled. When he met Conrad’s eyes again, he said, “I believe that Miss Jeffries is speaking truthfully. I do not sense any falsehood in her story, but beyond that, I have no answer.”

  Behind his father, Mother stood, insisting that the Jeffries stay with them while the whole business was sorted out. Conrad’s stomach clenched as he watched her smile and embrace Miss Jeffries, as though this was a blessed turn of events.

  “And I hope that Lucas was being honorable,” murmured his father. Ambrose Ashbrook was a man whose face was made to be animated. There was an energetic thrum to the fellow that enlivened everyone around him, and Conrad hated Lucas for filling their father’s expression with such sadness.

  Secrets scuttled through Conrad’s thoughts, whispering of all of Lucas’s indiscretions and sins. Of seductions and carousing. Of drinks and debts. Poor young women used and abandoned with little thought to their future once Lucas’s own needs were met. There were descriptors aplenty for Lucas’s behavior, but honorable was not among them; honor came at one’s own expense, and Lucas preferred excess to generosity. Pleasure to piety.

  But even as Conrad wished to let all these accusations loose, he could not bring himself to hurt Father further. Hatch would ensure Lucas returned, and it would be on his brother to explain—not Conrad. Not again.

  Chapter 2

  Leaning on her elbows, Mary Ashbrook turned her attention from the ledgers on the desk and stared out the window. There was a far more austere room the architect had intended to serve as the study, but Mary preferred using the library in that capacity. Memories filled this room, and Mary could not glance at a single part of it without some recollection making itself known. While so many homes focused on the parlor or sitting rooms, the heart of the Ashbrook household was centered on the library, the study, or whatever else they wished to call it.

  Books choked the shelves. They lined every wall, and Mary cast her eyes about, wondering if it was time to cull the herd, but it was impossible to decide which should go. Each one held memories of family. Hours spent curled before the fireplace, reading to the children and Ambrose. These books were as much a part of the family and her marriage as the house itself and were no easier to part with. Perhaps they might find space to put more shelves.

  “That is an excessively serious look, Miss Pert.”

  Mary closed her eyes, pinching her lips to hide the smile the endearment elicited. Turning to face her husband, she gave him an imperious raise of her eyebrow. “I am an excessively serious person, Mr. Ashbrook.”

  Coming to her side, Ambrose took her hand in his and lifted it to his lips, pressing a kiss to her palm. It had been thirty-four years since fate had thrust them together, and still, he looked at her as though she was that young lady he’d proposed to under a full moon. In those blissful days, Mary had believed her heart to be full of Ambrose, but where others were cursed with marriages that faded into bland nothingness, hers had grown deeper and more meaningful, making those early sentiments mere whispers of love and nothing to compare with the here and now.

  Mary could not understand what she had done to warrant the great blessing that was her husband.

  “Are you hiding from our guests?” he asked with a tone that robbed the words of any bite.

  A reply was unnecessary for such a question, so Mary gave him another arched brow intended to put the rogue in his place. Ambrose merely grinned at her.

  “The Jeffries are perfectly polite,” said Mary.

  “I cannot get enough words from Mrs. or Miss Jeffries to tell, and polite is hardly the word I would use for Mr. Jeffries. It has only been a few days since they arrived, and I’m already anxious for him to leave.” Ambrose cast his eyes to the books before his wife. “Conrad is quite capable of handling the ledgers on his own.”

  “I know, but I enjoy it. Though I cannot seem to focus of late,” said Mary, reaching over to shut the book. She’d hardly gotten anything done today, so there was little point in pretending any longer. Once the ledger was pushed aside, Ambrose took her hand and helped her to her feet before leading her to the sofa.

  “I am constantly looking at the clock,” said Mary, taking a seat beside her husband. “I wish Hatch had been more forthcoming in his telegraph.”

  “At least he gave us warning that he and Lucas are arriving this afternoon,” said Ambrose, tucking her arm through his and taking hold of her hand.

  There was something to his tone that gave Mary pause. “Are you anxious?”

  Ambrose took in a deep breath and sighed before answering. “I truly believe Miss Jeffries is being honest. She was too earnest in her recitation of their courtship and marriage for her words to be disbelieved, but I fear this will not resolve itself as cleanly as we hope and that our son is yet unchanged.”

  Turning her head to meet his eye, Mary shook her head. “Don’t you see the truth of their situation? Our efforts to lead him onto a better path may have come to naught, but having won his heart, Miss Jeffries will inspire him to greater heights. In return, he will give her warmth and life. They are the perfect complements of each other. Exactly like you and me.”

  He narrowed his eyes at that. “You were plenty warm before we met.”

  But Mary chose to ignore that blatant falsehood. “I must admit I was startled when the Jeffries appeared, but after spending a few days in Miss Jeffries’ company, I believe this will be the making of him. Of them both.”

  A smile crinkled at the edges of Ambrose’s eyes. It wasn’t one of his full-faced, broad grins that lightened the darkest room, but it rested in his gaze. Almost thirty-five years and Mary had never grown accustomed to seeing such a look directed at herself. At this point in her life, she had spent more of it with Ambrose than without, yet still, she struggled to believe that fate had been so kind to her and given her such a gift.

  “Darling…” she murmured, pressing a kiss to his lips.

&n
bsp; *

  Eavesdropping was terribly ill-mannered, but Ruby could not force her feet to move away from the library doorway. She stood in the hall, out of sight but not out of hearing, and marveled at the conversation between Mr. and Mrs. Ashbrook. Though they spoke in intelligible English, their words felt foreign. The endearments. The tender words. The earnest discussion.

  Ruby had read of it in poems. Had heard of it sermonized by vicars. She had felt it herself. Felt it growing inside her. But there was something fundamentally different from those examples and what she witnessed here. This was no mere emotion that took hold of one’s heart in a heated moment or a byproduct of kindness. This was trust. Mutual respect and admiration.

  She could not think of a time when she’d ever heard her parents speak to one another in such a manner. The conversation that continued was benign, filled with all the many nothings that filled their lives, but it was so much more to Ruby. Mr. and Mrs. Ashbrook spoke of their eldest daughter, her husband, and their growing brood who lived in the south, and of their sons and the lives they were each building. A family that was shifting into a new phase of life and expanding.

  A glimpse of the future. A hope that she would build such a union with Lucas.

  Ruby’s heart fluttered, a warm flush seeping through her veins at the thought of seeing him once more. Lucas should be there any moment. Her husband was returning.

  Just thinking the word still shocked her. Having been denied the honor of using it aloud, “husband” still sounded odd, though she had proof of their union growing inside her. Pressing a hand to where her child lay, Ruby felt positively giddy at the prospect of telling him the news. Such things were too delicate to write, and the pleasure of that tender surprise had been building inside her.

  Yet a shadow lingered in the back recesses of her mind. It was a silly little thing that would not break its hold on her and whispered that something was not right. Lucas had not done as they’d planned. If he’d been where he’d promised he’d be then they would already be reunited. The news of their forthcoming joy would be shared. But Lucas had been in London and not Lancashire.

  Shaking her head at her own ridiculous thoughts, Ruby stepped away from the door and made her way to the parlor. Something had altered his plans. Nothing more. Getting a letter into the Jeffries’ home was far more complicated than smuggling one out, and they’d known their communication would be one-sided; Lucas’s silence was of no consequence.

  Silently, she stepped into the parlor and took her seat beside her mother. Ruby’s sewing box lay beside the sofa where she’d abandoned it earlier, and she pulled it open, retrieving the christening gown. With a few efficient moves, she had her sewing implements at the ready and began her work. The flowers edging the hem crawled up the fabric, and Ruby wondered if she ought to stop, but she could not bring herself to set it aside. There were still more flourishes and embellishments to add; each petal and leaf was steeped in her love and anticipation, and Ruby wanted to wrap her babe in it.

  “That is lovely,” said Mama, pausing in her work to admire Ruby’s. Reaching forward, the lady took the hem and examined the intricate stitches. “Quite possibly the best of your fancywork.”

  Ruby ducked her face to hide the grin that came at the praise. “I am quite pleased with it.”

  “As you should be.” Mama released the fabric and reached into her sewing box to retrieve a red leather case and hand it to her daughter. It was no bigger than her palm and looked as though it might house an ornate ring or set of earrings, but when Ruby pulled it open, she found something far better.

  Nestled on the velvet cushion was perhaps the most gorgeous thimble Ruby had ever seen. Made of gold, the head was much as one would expect of such an implement, but the base was etched with delicate vines and scrollwork. It was a marriage of utility and beauty, begging to be both admired and used. Ruby had not seen it in years, but holding it in her hand brought back a wealth of memories—sitting beside Mama and Grandmama as the ladies taught her the proper manner in which to angle the needle, the best knots to finish the work, and the many nuances they’d learned over a lifetime of work.

  “Your grandmama left strict instructions to give this to you when you married, and I despaired that I would ever get the opportunity.” Mama reached forward to take Ruby’s free hands in hers and sighed. “I cannot say I am pleased with the manner in which you married nor the scandal it is likely to cause, but I am happy for you both. You will be the making of your husband.”

  Ruby nodded, a warm smile filling her face. “I hope so.”

  “I do not doubt it. When we were first married, your father was so hard and unyielding that I struggled to find any happiness in our marriage, but under my guidance, he has softened so very much. Both your husband and his family need the good, steady influence you can provide.”

  Mama’s brows pinched together with a delicate frown. “When you said his family owned a mill, I had supposed they were a genteel family, but it is shocking to see how much of a part they take in running it.”

  Leaning forward, the lady whispered, “You can hardly tell them apart from those in trade.”

  With another squeeze of Ruby’s hands, Mama gave a pleased smile. “But I am certain you will help them to remember their place despite this little misstep you’ve taken. Even a bad start can be righted if handled appropriately.”

  Ruby gave another nod, but a creak of the door opening had Mama straightening, her hand releasing Ruby’s as she turned back to her work.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Jeffries,” said Mama.

  “Mrs. Jeffries,” mumbled Papa with a nod before taking his place in an armchair. He unfolded a newspaper and glanced at Ruby. “Mrs. Ashbrook,” he added before disappearing behind it.

  The sound of her newly acquired name sent a shiver of delight running down Ruby’s spine to settle in her stomach. Mrs. Ashbrook. Papa had spoken the name with begrudging acceptance, but no one else deigned to speak it, so she relished hearing it in any manner.

  Ruby began her work and listened to the ticking of the clock. The rest of the house was silent. Even Papa turned the pages of his newspaper with barely a whisper of sound. Having been in the Ashbrooks’ home for only two days, she was hardly an expert on their household routine, but it struck her as odd that the building was so still.

  There was an energy to this family. Ruby had seen it in Lucas’s whirlwind of activity; the fellow hardly remained still for long. Even his expression was animated, moving with a life and vitality that left her in awe. Clearly, he’d inherited it from his family—most especially his father—for they were so often engaged in some activity or conversation. Oak Hall was never silent for long.

  In contrast, Tulketh Court reverberated with the slightest sound as there was no other noise to mask it. Papa did enjoy the odd outing, but he was not one for idle socializing, and Mama preferred a small sitting room to a crowded ballroom; Ruby did not fault them for such pastimes, but there was something to the Ashbrooks’ lifestyle that she envied.

  True, Mr. and Mrs. Ashbrook's intimacy was scandalous at times, but their open adoration was enticing. Ruby’s cheeks heated at the memories of Lucas’s touch and the passion they’d shared in private, and she wondered what it would be like to publicly acknowledge their affection. Considering Mama and Papa’s views on polite society, Ruby knew they would never display such vulgarity, but had they ever shared such tenderness privately?

  A buzz of activity came from the hall, and Ruby strained her ears to discern the source of the commotion. When she heard his voice, Ruby abandoned her sewing beside the sofa and rose to greet her husband with a smile blossoming on her face.

  Standing, Mama reached over to take Ruby’s hand in hers, giving her daughter a faint smile before turning her attention to the others as they stepped into the parlor.

  “Why not simply ask me to return rather than sending Hatcher to fetch me home like some errant schoolboy?” asked Lucas, his voice tinged with annoyance. “And I canno
t understand what all the secrecy is about.”

  Mr. Ashbrook stepped through the parlor doorway with his wife, ushering in the rest of the group as Lucas continued to vent his curiosity and frustration. Ruby forced herself to calm, though she longed to stretch up onto her toes to see past them. Her heartbeat gave a rapid patter in her chest, and when Lucas strode through, it ceased beating altogether.

  Lucas Ashbrook was a handsome man, and it startled Ruby every time she laid eyes on him. She neither understood nor cared why he affected her so, but Nature had sculpted him to perfection, making him painfully attractive to her, drawing her gaze to him even as her chest tightened.

  Ruby remembered the feel of his brown hair between her fingers and the ghost of a beard in the morning that scratched against her cheek when she kissed him. The laughter that sparked in his eyes. The warmth that filled her at even a hint of his smile directed at her.

  But there was no smile on his face or in his eyes as he stepped into the parlor and stared at her.

  “Ease off, Hatcher,” grumbled Lucas, glowering at the large man who nudged him forward. Mr. Hatcher leveled a dark look in reply as he stepped in behind Lucas.

  The others moved, gathering together in the parlor, but Ruby hardly noticed it. Staring at her husband, she took a step forward, her hands reaching for him, but at the touch of her mother’s hand, Ruby came to her senses and regained her composure.

  “Good afternoon,” murmured Ruby with a curtsy. The words were silly and small, but they were all she could form at the moment. Lucas gave no reply and no longer met her gaze; Ruby did not know him well enough to be considered an expert in discerning his moods, but it felt dismissive, and there was a tension to his posture with a pinch to his expression that gave her pause.

  Mr. Hatcher nudged him again, but Lucas glowered over his shoulder in response. “Do not lay another finger on me, you brute.”