The morning was warm, signifying that the afternoon would likely prove sweltering in the tiny confines of his office. It was days such as these that Joshua longed to help all those in need at his proper office off Bond Street. However, those less fortunate, the ones who needed to work every waking hour to keep the pantry stocked, the butcher paid, and the tallow burning, hadn’t the time nor the funds to journey across town to the solicitor’s office Joshua’s uncle had opened nearly thirty-five years ago.
Joshua took his key from his pocket and slipped it into the hole, noting not for the first time the resistance when he turned it. With a bit more force, the key turned, and Joshua entered his building. The bell he’d hung overhead rang as the door swung closed behind him.
His assistant, Henry Portstall, was not due in to work for another hour or so. It was Joshua’s routine to arrive early, sort through his tasks for the day, and spend a few minutes alone before the day grew hectic.
Unlike his Bond Street office, this small room, and the even smaller back office cluttered with client folders and reference volumes, was his sanctuary away from everything he found distasteful about the lives of his beau monde counterparts.
Here in Cheapside, Joshua was known merely as Mr. Joshua Stuart, Solicitor.
He was not the son of a duke, nor a lord above his neighbors and other small shop owners, in Cheapside.
Those who lived within walking distance came to him for contracts, negotiations, and many times, simply for advice. Tenants wronged by a landlord. A shop owner seeking the proper dowry befitting his daughter. Or a young, unwed mother needing information on education for her son. In all matters, Joshua was confident he could help those who sought out his help. And he did.
Joshua relished the days he was free to spend away from Bond Street. These were the people who really needed his help.
Pausing to light the several candles lining the front room, Joshua smiled as he made his way to the back office where he kept his desk. Shelving units lined the walls, holding his pocket watch collection and an assortment of large books dedicated to the study of English law.
His uncle, Lord Michael Stuart, had always droned on and on about the one thing a man could never get back: time. Time to spend with his family. Time to pursue passions and activities he enjoyed. And, most importantly, time for the betterment of others and the world at large.
It was the sole reason Joshua had opened the small office here after his uncle’s passing three years prior. He’d visited the area often for business matters, and when the small building had become available for purchase, he’d leapt at the opportunity. Never once had he regretted the decision or the financial investment he’d made.
Along with both offices, his uncle had entrusted him with his priceless watch collection. . Joshua stored most of them at his townhouse, but he kept a few less valuable, yet no less meaningful, pieces in Cheapside to remind him of the path he’d chosen in life.
An existence of servitude to those in need.
Starkly different than the life of luxury and leisure his elder brother, and their father before him, had chosen. Joshua silently chided himself. He gained nothing from dwelling on his family’s excessive lifestyle, nor reminding them of those who lived lives so much less fortunate than they did.
The bell chimed above the front door.
“Good morn,” Joshua called. “Please, have a seat. I will be with you momentarily.”
He picked up the sheet of paper Henry left on his desk each evening and scanned the list of appointments scheduled for the day. Oddly, his first meeting wasn’t until just before noon, though Joshua never turned away an unexpected client when time allowed.
Returning to the front, a courier waited patiently inside the door, clutching a familiar envelope.
It was the same as it had been since he’d taken the position with his uncle’s office. Every three months, a courier arrived with an envelope to be delivered to Vicar and Mrs. Elliott at their residence in Cheapside. Their home was located above a small schoolroom, a few doors down from the vicar’s parish church. It was how Joshua had stumbled across his current office in the first place.
That had been five years ago when he first met Vicar Elliott, his wife, and their daughter, Miss Katherina Elliott—or as the young woman preferred, just Kate.
“Missive for you, my lord.” The courier handed the envelope to him and disappeared out the door once more, his satchel, heavy with his daily deliveries, slung over his shoulder.
Scrawled on the outside of the missive was:
Miss Katherina Elliott
C/O Lord Joshua Stuart, Solicitor
After Miss Kate’s parents had passed away, her father only six months after her mother, the envelopes had come addressed to Kate, the surviving Elliott. He’d always known the parcel held pound notes, but from whom and for what purpose, he did not dare ask. It was not his concern, something his uncle had reminded him of often.
However, it was Joshua’s responsibility to see the envelope delivered in a timely manner and unopened. And so, when he arranged his new office, Joshua had instructed the courier to deliver the quarterly parcels to Cheapside for a swifter delivery to Miss Kate.
His uncle had been a meticulous recordkeeper, and Joshua suspected if he truly wanted to know who the parcels came from and what their purpose was, he could find out. However, privacy and confidentiality were things born and bred into any man who took his position as a solicitor to heart. Which Joshua certainly had since his days at Oxford, learning the law from many great men who’d taken their oath to serve.
He glanced out the front window and across the street. A tall, light-haired man, finely dressed for Cheapside, loitered outside the cobbler’s shop. His attention seemed focused on a stack of papers clutched in his hands as he read, nearly leaning against the building, but straight enough as to not sully his coat.
Two shops down from the man, the door to Miss Kate’s schoolroom was open, and two young boys entered for their daily tutelage, a girl carrying a jug of milk not far behind. After her mother had passed away, Kate had taken over teaching the local children, those blessed with the opportunity to attend school instead of working alongside their families. In return, in lieu of tuition, her pupils gave their teacher fresh eggs, milk, bread, and fabric.
Slipping the envelope under his arm, Joshua left his office, locking up behind himself, and started across the street. The stranger did not turn in his direction nor notice the butcher’s wife who’d exited her shop to sweep the walk.
Joshua straightened his jacket lapel and checked that his hair was not ruffled with his free hand.
To say that having Miss Kate Elliott close was an added benefit to renting the building in Cheapside was not worth dwelling on. The elusive draw that always had him staring out the front window in hopes of gaining even the tiniest of glimpses of her was beyond his ability—out of his control—and something Joshua could not deny himself.
He’d longed to invite her to join him for a meal or perhaps a carriage ride to Hyde Park. The friendship they maintained was not to that level. More’s the pity. They’d been acquainted through his uncle’s solicitor’s firm for years, and neighbors after he’d rented his office across the street from her schoolroom, but neither had dared to go any further.
A wave. An afternoon chat. Once or twice a shared cup of tea while her students worked, but never more.
That did not stop Joshua from taking every opportunity to speak with Miss Kate. To ask after her day, to offer help with her students, or to simply be near her. Even if that meant visiting the cobbler next door to her schoolroom in the hopes of catching her eye as he walked past and having her invite him inside for a few moments while the children attended to their lessons or read books in silence.
Voices rose from within the schoolroom housed below Miss Kate’s small residence that she’d once shared with her parents, though it wasn’t the laughter or conversation of her pupils.
One most certainly belonged to M
iss Kate, but the other was deep, loud, and…angry?
It was not the raised, happy voices of children Joshua was used to hearing floating on the breeze or in through his open office windows and door.
Joshua quickened his steps, peering into the darkened schoolroom as his eyes adjusted to the dim interior.
The children who’d entered as he departed his office wiggled past him and headed back outside. The milk from the jug the girl carried sloshed over the top and nearly splashed the leg of Joshua’s trousers, but it saturated the front stoop instead.
“Sorry, Mr. Stuart,” Sally Ann said, dipping her head.
“No worries, little miss.” He chuckled. “They can be washed as easily as the floor. Who is with Miss Kate?”
“Ol’ man Cuttlebottom. And he be right miffed, he is.”
Joshua glanced around the schoolroom but Miss Kate and Cuttlebottom, the cobbler from next door, had moved out of sight into the back area. The spare space was used as a storeroom of sorts for supplies and other learning necessities.
“What is he upset about?” Joshua knew that children, though seemingly unobservant, listened intently when they suspected that something was afoot. Joshua had done much the same when he was young, especially when his father and grandmother embarked on one of their loud rows.
“He comes all the time to call and pester Miss Kate,” Sally Ann whispered. “And he smells worse than the butcher shop.”
True enough. There was a slightly pungent aroma in the room.
One of the boys tugged at Joshua’s jacket. “He be want’n Miss Kate’s schoolroom for hisself. I be have’n half a mind to thump the old bloke somethin’ good.”
Joshua stared at the children who’d gathered around him, silently waiting for him to handle the situation. He recognized some of the young ones by name, and others only by sight.
“The lot of you wait here.” He gave the group a reassuring smile. “I am certain I can settle the matter for Miss Kate and Mr. Cuttlebottom.”
Kate had never told Joshua that she was having an issue with anyone, let alone the cobbler. And wanting Kate’s schoolroom and residence? Bloody hell, Cuttlebottom had been Vicar Elliott’s close friend, and his grandchildren had grown up attending this very schoolroom.
Joshua made his way around the rows of tables with their benches pushed in, Cuttlebottom’s voice growing noisier and harsher as he neared.
When he stepped into the back room, Miss Kate stood facing him, her hair swept high atop her head in a severe knot with a few stray curls escaping, her hands on her hips. Cuttlebottom shook his fist in her face, and Kate’s bluish-grey eyes sizzled with warning as she took a step toward the old man.
“What is going on here?” Joshua demanded, moving between the pair. Cuttlebottom had no other option but to take a step back, his face molten red with fury. “Miss Kate”—he held up the parcel in hopes of defusing whatever had been transpiring between the pair— “I came to deliver this. The children said Mr. Cuttlebottom had come to visit you.”
Her hands fell from her hips, and her expression morphed into her familiar, welcoming smile. Only Joshua feared it was a mask that she donned to diminish the severity of the situation he’d interrupted. “Thank you, Mr. Stuart. Mr. Cuttlebottom was readying to depart. He knows I teach class in the mornings.”
“Shall I walk you out, Mr. Cuttlebottom?” Joshua offered when the man made no move to leave.
His glare remained focused on Kate as he said, “I know my way out, Solicitor.” Cuttlebottom spit out the word as if he’d rather have called Joshua a colorful expletive. “But this is by no means over, girl.”
The cobbler spun around, nearly tripping over his own feet as he rushed from the room in a huff, slamming the door to the schoolroom behind him.
“Thank you,” Kate mumbled, busying herself with collecting a stack of primers from the shelf next to her. “Mr. Cuttlebottom can become quite nettled when the occasion strikes him.”
“What was he enraged over?” Joshua paused before adding, “if you do not mind my asking.”
Kate scurried past him, her arms full, and her gaze fixed on the uneven wood planked floor in front of her. “It is nothing. Truly.”
His interest was further piqued by her avoidance of the subject. “It did not seem like nothing.”
“He thinks my father should have sold the building to him before he passed away, that is all.”
Joshua followed her into the main room as the door opened, and a dozen children flooded in. “And leave you homeless and without means to support yourself?”
“He claims my father promised him the building to expand his shop, but the paperwork wasn’t finalized before my father’s death.”
Confusion must have been evident on Joshua’s face because she asked, “What?”
“I handled all your father’s legal dealings. He never spoke of selling the building to Cuttlebottom, or anyone, for that matter.” Joshua thought back to his many dealings with the vicar. “He made arrangements for the building and all his holdings to transfer to you, along with a suitable allowance, until you wed.” Joshua’s body heated at the thought of Kate wedding.
She set the stack of books on the nearest table and called for Sally Ann to pass them out, before turning back to Joshua. “Until I wed.” She laughed. “He was always a man of the old world, was he not?”
Joshua chuckled along with Kate, relishing the sound of her light laughter. His laugh was particularly light-hearted because Kate seemed put off by the preposterous thought of herself wedded to someone.
“He always said you were a man to trust, Mr. Stuart.” She sobered, patting a young boy on the head as he took the seat closest to her. “He’d say, Joshua—savior, deliverer, salvation—how can a man of God not think highly of a solicitor christened with the name Joshua?”
“I can find no reason to fault your father’s logic, Miss Kate,” Joshua responded. “Speaking of delivery, as I mentioned, this parcel arrived for you today.”
She eyed the envelope as he held it out to her. Her shoulders tensed, and she scrutinized the package before taking it from his grasp. She did the same each time he delivered one—as her mother had before her—and he reminded himself that it was not his place to question its contents or sender.
He cleared his throat, pushing his hand through his hair, likely mussing it. “I can speak with Mr. Cuttlebottom and seek a resolution on your behalf.”
Kate’s dark brows arched high. “A resolution?” she asked. “A resolution implies there is a problem or an issue that needs remedying.”
“Seeing the man’s anger moments ago would lead me to believe there is an issue at hand.”
“Mr. Stuart…” She smiled, but it did not reach her eyes, and her tone turned severe, any hint of their earlier laughter fleeing. “It is a lark Mr. Cuttlebottom and I embark on every fortnight or so. He comes to my schoolroom, full of bluster, and shouts for a few minutes. Eventually, he calms down, says things are not over, and then leaves. He is old, and I dare say it is his way of expressing his feelings for the loss of his friend—my father.”
Joshua glanced around the room as the children looked upon them with nervous energy. In no way did he feel that the situation between Miss Kate and the cobbler was simply a lark they played, no matter the tale Kate spun to distract him.
“He is a harmless aging man.” She set her hand on his arm and squeezed gently. “Soon enough, he will forget it all and cease bothering me. Please, leave the matter alone.”
Joshua inclined his head. “If you insist, Miss Kate.”
“I do.” Moving on from the topic at hand, she turned to address the class. “Children, what have you to say to Mr. Stuart?”
“Good morning, Mr. Stuart,” they sang in unison.
The matter with Mr. Cuttlebottom was far from being settled, at least in Joshua’s opinion. While he respected Kate’s wishes, he did not trust the cobbler. No man had the right to badger or intimidate a woman, especially a fine lady as kind
and selfless as Miss Katherina Elliott. Joshua would keep watch over the situation. If things changed—or progressed—he’d step in.
“A fine day to you all,” Joshua responded. “I shall leave you to your studies. Please, listen to your teacher and apply yourselves to your learning.”
“And mayhap,” Kate called her students’ attention back to her, “one day, some of you will study law and become a solicitor yourselves.”
The children laughed and applauded, opening their primers to begin their lesson.
With one final glance at Kate, Joshua hesitated, uncertain whether or not he should leave the schoolroom with Cuttlebottom only next door. Kate was utterly alone in the world; her parents gone, and with no other family to speak of. He felt a measure of responsibility to see that no harm came to her. She spent every day in the service of others: teaching, counseling, and helping the children of Cheapside. She didn’t need Cuttlebottom’s threats shadowing her days. Nor did she deserve the cobbler’s harassing visits.
It was a simple enough matter to handle. Joshua could pay Cuttlebottom a visit, have a few words and explain that as Vicar Elliott’s solicitor—and now Miss Kate’s—the cobbler could, and should, speak with him regarding matters such as the property belonging solely to Miss Kate. He would not discuss the specifics of Cuttlebottom’s presence at the schoolroom nor demand he leave the woman be. Therefore, Joshua was not specifically going against Miss Kate’s wishes, only notifying the cobbler that Miss Kate retained Joshua as her solicitor in all legal matters.
Joshua had made such calls before, both in person and via letter with his company signature. This was no different.
Kate slipped the envelope into the front of her apron, opened a book, and began reading to her pupils as each and every little face tuned into her every word.
Miss Fortune’s First Kiss Page 14