One of these days, she’d brave painting again and draw a line between the cherubs, forever binding them together. Now, she needed to consider the overheard conversation and the possibility Lord Spencer was the intended suitor. If he were the choice, why would Lady Bedham have told her the story about Lord Spencer’s father and his family’s complete lack of fortune? Were they trying to generate Ella’s sympathy, convincing her to save him?
Rolling her eyes although no one could see, she considered the possibility. Her fortune could save him from financial ruin, at least for a while, but with his habits, he wasn’t worth saving. A handsome package, she admitted, but too flawed.
Jim had no discernible flaws and the choice could be him, but questions still had to be answered. Why would Richard threaten to revoke her dowry if he admired Jim? Could this be the manipulation her mother mentioned during the conversation? Richard could be playing his part as the head of the family in order to test her loyalty to Jim and to make sure Jim wasn’t an opportunist. Of course, that was it. She sat up abruptly. Only Richard would be so paranoid, and if this was a test, she and Jim would pass.
****
Jim worked in the temporary shop behind Edmund and Annabelle’s London home, sanding a piece of white pine. Following the precise dimensions in his notebook, he gently shaped the wood to form the bow of The Iron Lady’s scale model. A day in the woodshop calmed him after the rush of the past few weeks. Time with wood, tools, and machines left him feeling peaceful.
A conversation with his sister during the trip to Bristol calmed him as well. Her dismissal of the turbulent past helped him put the future into perspective. After years of heartache about their parents and Heath, Belinda’s forays into the business world in Annabelle’s Bath shop renewed her faith in herself. Now, she appeared more assured of the future than he.
The ghosts of his past threatened to undo everything he’d labored to accomplish. Too much of which he couldn’t explain to Ella, and if he did, her reaction might sink him forever in her eyes. Spencer knew who he was, knew about his past, but wasn’t acting on it. At least not yet. Belinda’s steady confidence in him assuaged his fears of discovery temporarily.
But the impending loss of Ella’s love—he let himself call it love as she had—crippled him. Whatever their relationship was, it would end when she understood who he really was. His mind wandered to Ella’s face when she bid him goodbye. She believed in him as his sister did, but Ella’s assurances came with complications he didn’t know how to manage. He did know that he shouldn’t put his hands on her. Ever. Again.
Despite the sawdust grit on his fingers, the smoothness of Ella’s skin came back to them. Intentionally, he grazed his hand against a jagged piece of metal to erase the sensation. He wiped the blood on his rolled sleeve and returned to his task until he heard the rattle of a carriage in the yard outside signaling Ella’s arrival. He should continue working, but he was drawn to the window, wanting to catch a glimpse of her regardless of everything that kept them apart.
An ostentatiously large traveling coach came to a halt. One coachman in burgundy livery with gold braiding scrambled to open the door while others removed baggage and handed it to the household’s waiting servants. Edmund left for his family’s shipping office early in the morning, and Annabelle spent her days at her shop so no family member came out to greet Ella. He should, but it wasn’t his place and he didn’t want to make it his place.
She stepped down, tall and elegant in a deep green traveling dress. The autumn sun warmed the reddish tones in her chestnut hair and a fire of desire started deep in his belly. Suddenly he wanted to be the one to greet her, the one to welcome her home, to their home. But any home he provided wouldn’t have the luxuries she was accustomed to. He reminded himself of that when she gave the coachman a smile and greeted the servants before turning back to say something to Lady Bedham in the carriage.
As the coach left the yard, her eyes swept over the stables and shop. She caught the arm of the housekeeper, leaning close to the gray-headed woman to say something. The housekeeper gestured to the shop where he watched from a window, and Ella started toward him. Not wanting to be trapped alone with her, he hurried to open the door and stepped into the watery sunlight of the stable yard.
She crossed the short distance at a march, but stopped when she saw him in the doorway. The fire in his belly diffused through his veins when she smiled at him. But the arch of her eyebrow and amusingly pursed lips told him that she caught onto his plan to greet her in the open.
“No party to welcome me,” she said, stopping only when there was a hand’s width between them, “but you’ll do.”
Trapped in the doorway, he stood his ground. Retreat would invite her into the intimate space of the shop. Moving forward would bring them closer together. Both dangerous situations. “I’m glad you arrived safely,” he managed to say, wishing she were safely on the other side of London.
“Are you? Why?” She enjoyed making him uncomfortable. He could tell by the amused glint in her emerald eyes.
“The roads can be dangerous, especially with the recent rains.” It was a polite, generic reply, not at all what he was feeling.
“We had no difficulties. Lady Bedham’s carriage is heavy and comfortable. Perfect for traveling this time of year. I like taking the train, but that doesn’t suit Lady Bedham.”
“The train is more efficient,” he commented.
“Probably the steam engine. I assume that’s why you travel by train.”
“Since I don’t keep a carriage, it’s the cheapest and most convenient way for me to travel.” And he loved the steam engine, he admitted to himself. He took great pleasure in thousands of pounds of steel hurtling down the track.
“What are you doing out here?” She tried to see around him. “I imagined you and Edmund were still engaged in your secret meetings.”
Disregarding her last remark, he said, “Just some work for the company.”
“I was surprised when I heard that you left Bristol so quickly. You didn’t mention London was your ultimate destination when we parted.”
He preferred not to recall their parting scene, especially with her so close. “Edmund and I have business in town.”
“But you’re not going to tell me what that is.” She rose on tiptoe to see over his shoulder.
“No.” He reached his arm across the open door to bar her entrance, his hand against the wood frame.
“You’re bleeding.” She pointed to the seeping wound on his hand. He moved to wipe it off, bringing his bloodstained sleeve into view. Grasping his arm, she pushed his already rolled sleeve up to check for other wounds.
“Just my hand. It’s nothing.” He tried to shrug her off, but she clung to him, her cheeks pale. “You don’t faint at the sight of blood, do you?”
“Of course not. I’m not some weak female.”
“I’ve seen grown men hit the floor for that reason.”
“Well, I won’t. I just don’t like to see you hurt. Let me bandage it for you before you get dirt in it.” Her delicate fingers pulled back the edge of the cut to inspect it. “Too late. Do you have a wash basin in here?”
Before he could prevent her, she pushed past him into the workshop where his scale model lay in pieces on the bench. He didn’t want her to see it, but it was too late. Her quick glance took in his work but lighted on a pitcher of water and waved him to follow her.
“Give me your hand,” she ordered. This serious side of Ella was new to him. He’d seen many aspects of her personality but not this one. She commanded and he complied. Taking his hand, she placed it over the basin and poured the water, which immediately turned a rusty red from dirt and blood. “You could get an infection from this,” she commented, working the grime from the wound with her fingers. “I hope whatever you cut it on wasn’t too filthy.”
“Piece of metal,” he admitted.
She grunted at him, annoyed. “Were there metal shavings on it?”
“I don�
��t think so.”
“Did you look?”
“No.”
She dug a handkerchief from some hidden pocket of her gown and blotted his hand dry. Leaning over it, she inspected the cut closely, tugging and pulling at his skin. “I can’t see anything in there,” she finally declared after torturing him with her touch and the whisper of her breath on his skin.
“Good.” He yanked away from her, wanting distance. “Thank you.” Rolling down his sleeves and buttoning the cuffs kept him from returning the gaze she focused on him. “How do you know about that type of wound?” He’d seen what metal slivers could do in a cut as they festered their way to the surface. One of his workmen at Bristol lost a finger to an infection like that in the summer.
“I’ve been doing some reading about common manufacturing injuries. There were several articles in the Times last month. It’s frightening.”
“Strange reading for a young lady. I thought you read novels.”
“I do and I enjoy them. But I like to be prepared.”
“For what?”
“I want to know what to expect when we’re mar….”
“Stop.” It was his turn to command; he doubted she’d comply. Still, he didn’t want her to get the word married out. “You know that can’t be.”
“Because I won’t have a dowry if we marry?” She shot at him.
“I don’t give a damn about your dowry.” He spoke before he could think better of it and mentally cursed in a way that made damn sound like tea party chatter.
“That’s what I thought.” The self-satisfied smile on her face signaled trouble for him. “I’m glad to have that clear so early in my visit.”
“It doesn’t change the fact that we are completely incompatible.”
Unexpectedly, she circled around him to the bench where the pieces of The Iron Lady lay waiting to be assembled. “Tell me about this.”
“I can’t.”
“Seems to be the pieces of a ship. A very tiny ship. Are you sailing it in the bathtub?”
“It’s a scale model.” He closed the small notebook with the dimensions and placed it in his pocket.
“So I assumed. Of what? A new ship you and Edmund plan to build?” She reached to pick up a piece, but he caught her hand.
“The glue is still drying.” Putting her hand down flat on the bench, he withdrew his. Did she have any idea how much she complicated his life? It wasn’t safe to share his work with her for multiple reasons. The real fear of her knowing too much about the project combined with his personal fear of allowing her too close to his heart. All good reasons to hurry her into the house. “I’m sure you want to rest after your journey.”
“I’m not tired.” She continued to stare at the pieces. “It must be a specific kind of ship or there wouldn’t be so much secrecy surrounding it. If I saw the model assembled, would I know what makes it so special?”
“Perhaps.” With HMS Iron Lady painted on the bow, it’d be hard not to know.
“It’s certainly taken much of your time of late. And, of course, it must be the reason you’re in London. I wish you had a thousand secret ships to build if it keeps us under the same roof.” She moved toward the door, the scent of her rosy perfume drifting behind her. “What part of London did you say you were from?” She paused to ask, a slight wrinkle in her brow. “Piccadilly somewhere?”
“That’s right.” She probably knew, so there was no point in trying to delude her. Besides Piccadilly was a fairly large area, she wouldn’t find his little neighborhood, especially with the inn gone.
“Are you happy to be in London?” she asked.
“I’m here on business. That’s all.” Being in London made him nervous. The tick under his left eye came throbbing to life. Too easy for someone to recognize him here or call him by the wrong name, but she didn’t need to know any of that.
“Of course,” she sent him a reassuring smile, “I shall see you at dinner.”
From the window, he watched her walk across the yard and disappear into the house. If she had checked to see if he noticed the sway of her hips, she wouldn’t have been disappointed. He couldn’t stop himself nor could he prevent the thoughts that assailed him as her rosy scent temporarily masked the smell of the workshop.
He picked up the tools scattered on the bench, tossing them into the wooden box on the floor with a satisfying clunk. Tools, sketches, models, and machines he handled with skill, even finesse. Until Ella stripped him of his ability to manage anything.
Chapter Nine
Ella slipped in the back door of Lady Annabelle’s Finery two mornings after her arrival in London. The buzz of the beehive greeted her before she cleared the flight of steps to the busy workroom. Ella loved coming to Annabelle’s shop. It was full of beautiful things and engaging conversation. Today, she needed both.
“Lady Ella,” Katie, the workroom manager greeted her, “it’s good to see you.”
“Good morning, what pretties are you making today?” Ella had asked the same question every time she’d visited since the shop opened four years ago.
“Two ball gowns in progress for the little season.” Katie gestured to a creamy white satin gown on a dressmaker’s dummy and a pile of copper fabric on the cutting table.
“I haven’t even thought about the little season yet.” The little season would be underway in a few weeks and last until the end of November. Ella might attend a few social functions while in town if she could persuade Jim to escort her, but as he hadn’t said more than twenty words to her in two days, she doubted her success. “What else?”
“With the cooler weather this week, several capes and matching hats were ordered.” Katie led her to a corner table where two girls sewed trim to capes. One of deep green wool caught her eye, and she planned to convince Annabelle to make her one for the little season.
Annabelle entered the hive from the staircase leading to the showroom below. “What are you doing here? I thought you had visits to pay this morning.”
“I went to a few, but I’m tired of drinking tea and chatting. I want something to do.”
“You want a task?”
“Yes. Please.” Cursed with too much energy her entire life, she’d driven her mother half mad trying to keep her occupied. Now with the anxiety about Jim ever prevalent, she could hardly sit.
“You hate sewing.” Despite Annabelle’s best efforts, Ella could only do quick repair work and a passable embroidery stitch.
“I could work in the showroom, greeting customers.” Socializing with a purpose was better than drinking tea and talking of nothing.
“Mother and Richard would both have an apoplectic fit if I let you work where the public could see.”
“Then find me something up here. Do you have letters to write? Correspondence is my finest skill. Even Richard lets me write an occasional letter for him.”
“Come into my office.” Annabelle’s office was a small room nearly in the center of the hive. Two tables crowded the space. One was heaped with pattern pieces and swatches of fabric. The other was more organized with heavy leather bound account books, writing paper, ink, and a hefty stack of receipts. “I’m behind in entering the daily sales in the journal. You could start with that after you tell me what’s wrong.”
The heavy, dramatic sigh sounded pathetic even to her, but she couldn’t stop it. “Jim.”
“Obviously,” Annabelle said crisply, a sign she was in business mode. “And?”
“He’s ignoring me.”
“He and Edmund are busy. Men work. If you’re interested in that type of man, you have to accept that.”
“I notice that Edmund comes to dinner and spends at least some time in the evening with you.” Peevish, she knew, but her sister’s happy, balanced marriage was exactly what she wanted.
“That’s different.”
“How?”
“We’re married.”
“Obviously.” Her turn to use the word.
“And Edmund isn’t the front man on
their project. Jim is.”
“What is the project? You must know.” As far as Ella could tell, there were no secrets between Annabelle and her husband.
“I can’t say, but I can say this. Much more is riding on this than just a ship. Edmund has offered Jim a partnership in the steam works.”
“That’s wonderful.” A partnership was a sign of coming up in the world, making Jim a better possibility for her in the eyes of her family. But there must be a catch. “If this project is successful?”
“That’s Jim’s stipulation. Edmund wants him to be partner regardless.”
“But Jim wants to earn it?” Silly man turning down a partnership, but she admired him for his desire to earn it anyway.
“Do you see how important it is to him?”
“Yes, but….”
“You want him to pay attention to you.”
“Is that so bad?”
“No. Tonight he’ll have no choice. Edmund has convinced Jim to go to the theatre with us. You’ll have his undivided attention for three hours. Make the most of it.”
“He’s going?” A quiver of excitement raced through her. “What shall I wear?”
“The sea-green silk gown I made for you last month. I sent your maid to pick it up at Harwich House and press it. I suggest your winter white cape with the beaded capelet.” Leave it to Annabelle to already have her evening fashion in order.
“Delightful! Now you have to give me something to do, or I’ll be an uncontrolled bundle of energy all day.”
“Accounting for all these receipts should be appropriately boring and will get you through the day. I hate that part of the business. Glad to have someone else do it.”
The morning passed while Ella worked her way to the bottom of a pile of sales receipts, carefully logging each item sold and the cost in the journal. With that task complete, she tackled entering the incoming supplies in the inventory and made a list of needed items out of Annabelle’s collection of notes. Katie brought her a bowl of soup for lunch, which she ate while she worked.
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