Once a Fallen Lady

by Pendle, Eve

  The dismissal of a person’s finances made Alfred’s fingers curl involuntarily into fists. He held back from shouting to Sir Thomas that this man didn’t care about anything except lining his own pockets. Certainly not the welfare of Elmswell, and not even the profit of his employer.

  “I asked you to bring the papers, Mr. Johnson,” Sir Thomas said serenely, but a glint of misgiving had appeared in his eye. “I’m sure you can tell me what rent Mrs. Taylor pays.”

  Mr. Johnson muttered and opened his file, paper sliding out everywhere. “I couldn’t tell you the exact amount, it’s very reasonable though.” He dragged his fingers through his thin blond hair, tugging it into a more roguish rumpled appearance.

  “We can wait.” Sir Thomas stated.

  “I take it this man thinks he knows.” Mr. Johnson scrabbled ineffectually with his papers as he talked. “But he’s fibbing. Trying to get me down and ruin your reputation, Sir Thomas.”

  Sir Thomas’ eyes narrowed.

  “I’ve heard him calling you all-sorts of things, Sir Thomas,” Mr. Johnson said. “The nig–”

  “That’s enough.” Miss Streeting cut-in from the side of the room.

  “Well.” Mr. Johnson’s face was calming down as he relaxed into his accusation. “I’m just repeating–”

  “What is Mrs. Taylor’s rent?” Sir Thomas directed his question to Mr. Johnson.

  Alfred turned his head slightly to Lydia. She’d positioned herself behind him, as if to be protected from being seen or considered. Or noticed by Mr. Johnson, perhaps. He longed to reach for her hand and reassure her.

  Mr. Johnson shot Sir Thomas a sideways glance, evidently decided he was sincere, and shuffled his papers and eventually raised his chin. “Ten shillings. That’s just chicken feed prices. Cheap for that lovely house, roses around the door, you know. My father planted those roses himself and very fine they are too.”

  “Mrs. Taylor pays you twenty shillings a week,” Alfred said. “What happens to the other ten shillings?”

  The tension in the room had notched up, making the air thick.

  “That’s a lie, she pays me ten shillings and ten shillings only. See, it’s written down just here.” Mr. Johnson waved the top piece of paper vigorously.

  “I also have it written down,” Alfred replied.

  “It’s this little man’s word against mine.” Mr. Johnson looked down his nose at Alfred. “My father worked for this estate for years, many years. All his life. I’ve worked like a dog for you, every day and this vagrant teacher is accusing me of stealing.”

  Sir Thomas’ nodded thoughtfully. “We do have, thankfully, an authority on what Mrs. Taylor’s rent is, with us.” He paused for effect. “Mrs. Taylor.”

  It was only then that Mr. Johnson seemed to notice Lydia. He went white. Well, even more white than his usual pasty complexion.

  “Please pass me the account for Mrs. Taylor.” Sir Thomas held out his hand.

  “I don’t have it here.” Mr. Johnson said.

  “Please give me the paper you just read the amount of ten shillings from,” Sir Thomas replied with overstressed forbearance.

  Mr. Johnson made no move.

  From behind Mr. Johnson came Miss Streeting, who scooped up the top few papers from Mr. Johnson’s lap and had given them to her father before Mr. Johnson could do anything but make an impotent and indignant sound of protest.

  Sir Thomas regarded the numbers. “You live at Grove Cottage, is that right, Mrs. Taylor?”

  “Yes,” Lydia confirmed in a whisper.

  “And how much do you pay for your rent?”

  “Twenty shillings a week.”

  “That’s per fortnight,” protested Mr. Johnson.

  “It says here five shillings a week for Grove Cottage.” Sir Thomas scowled at Mr. Johnson like he’d defecated in the center of the room. “If ten shillings was a lie even by your own accounts, five shillings is surely also a lie.”

  “These accounts aren’t up to date. I’ll bring the latest ones,” Mr. Johnson spluttered.

  Sir Thomas ignored him. “What about Mrs. Cooper at number three Main Street?” He looked at Alfred.

  Alfred read down his list until he found the relevant figure. “Seventeen shillings.”

  They traded name and rental amount, time after time, with Sir Thomas’ expression increasingly irate. Mr. Johnson looked like a schoolboy, caught with strawberry jam all over his face, lying that he hadn’t taken the Victoria sponge cake.

  “It seems there are some divergences you need to account for,” Sir Thomas said eventually, ringing the bell for the maid.

  “I can explain. There’s a perfectly logical reason for all of this–”

  The maid came in, bobbed a curtsey, and at Miss Streeting’s nod disappeared again.

  “You will explain to the court, Mr. Johnson. I will be presiding as the Magistrate in Elmswell next Thursday, and we will hear a full account. You will pay back the entirety of what you have stolen from the people of Elmswell. Until then, you will be confined to your bedroom quarters.”

  The maid returned with two well-built footmen with dark skin and leaf green uniforms. Their expressions were forbidding.

  Mr. Johnson glanced up at the footmen and sagged a little lower in his seat.

  “Please leave now.” Sir Thomas’ eyes narrowed.

  “You’re making a mistake,” Mr. Johnson blustered, but he rose, taking the papers with him.

  At Sir Thomas’ indication, one of the footmen removed the papers from Mr. Johnson’s hands and handed them to Miss Streeting as they led Mr. Johnson out of the room.

  There was a silence, interrupted only by Mr. Johnson’s heavy footsteps and complaints as he was taken upstairs.

  “I seem to be in need of a land agent to collect the rents.” Sir Thomas looked meaningfully at Mr. Lowe.

  “I can’t help you with that, sir. I’m a teacher and that’s my calling.” That and being Lydia’s husband.

  “Do you know anyone reliable?” Sir Thomas gaze flickered to Lydia.

  She shook her head.

  Alfred wasn’t surprised, but felt a little gratified, anyway. Perhaps it meant she had other ideas of future activities. Maybe his irrational behavior after the revelation of Markshall’s money hadn’t wasted their chance.

  “I’ll do it, father,” came a voice.

  They all turned to Miss Streeting.

  “I haven’t got any engagements planned and it will be good to refamiliarize myself with Elmswell,” she added.

  Sir Thomas looked skeptical. “I don’t know if that’s appropriate. The rents are collected in the public house.”

  “It’s a respectable place,” Lydia assured him.

  Alfred felt his heart swell at Lydia supporting Miss Streeting. If the young lady wanted an occupation, Lydia would know how important that was.

  Sir Thomas puckered his mouth, unconvinced.

  “Mr. Lowe and Mrs. Taylor, could I impose on you to accompany me for the first instance? That would be proper, wouldn’t it, father?”

  Lydia and Alfred exchanged a look. Lydia’s face had quiet approval.

  “We’d be glad to,” Alfred answered for them both.

  “Very well. I suppose your modern generation will be what you are.” Sir Thomas gave an indulgent sigh.

  “Thank you.” Miss Streeting came and kissed her father on the grey hair above his forehead.

  They made arrangements to meet the next week in the public house, and then they were walking out into the spring sunshine, victorious.

  * * *

  As they left the house, Lydia released her grin. They walked away from the house and down the lime tree-lined driveway before she dared glance at him. She found him grinning back at her.

  If they hadn’t been walking, she’d have fainted away at the intensity of his smile, like the August sun at noon, so bright and clear that she’d like to lie and bask in it.

  “You were spectacular,” he said when they were out of earshot. />
  She laughed, the relief bubbling out of her. “No, that was you. You were in control.” She wouldn’t have to pay so much rent. No-one was going to be conned by Mr. Johnson anymore. She had plenty of money now, but it was the principle. All thanks to Alfred Lowe, unprepossessing schoolteacher, and fine-looking man. Hers, if he would have her.

  “I couldn’t have done it without you. I wouldn’t have even known were it not for you. You were incredibly brave in there.” A hint of pride tinged his voice.

  “It was nothing. I wouldn’t have been able to do it unless you’d been there.” She waved away his comments, but she couldn’t help a secret place inside her chest expanding at the affection he implied.

  He stopped walking. Lydia turned in consternation. They were at the edge of Sir Thomas’ estate now, a high wall just visible beyond the screen of rambling rhododendron bushes with purple flowers that hid them from the road. The trees of the drive screened them from the house. The light was dappled, casting patches of light and dark on Alfred’s face. His expression was serious.

  “Then be with me.”

  His face was so dear to her, and somehow the light made him unfamiliar and yet so achingly lovely. His dark hair reflected gold and was coal black in the shadow. Every part of her was waiting for him to continue and yet, in the warm afternoon air under the trees, when they’d just won a victory against injustice that was unthinkable only a week ago, she also wanted to stay exactly as they were. Right now. Two people with nothing but the heady rush of success and each other.

  “I know it’s too soon, Lydia. I know it seems unsurpassable for us to get married if we can’t read the banns. But.” He reached into the pocket of his coat and slid down to one knee. In a fluid motion, he offered up his palm to her. In it lay a small gold ring with filigree work in a swirling pattern, inset with a turquoise. It wasn’t showy, or expensive, though it was a rich yellow gold that must have been 24-carat. The turquoise wasn’t as costly as a sapphire, ruby or emerald. It wasn’t even a quality turquoise, not being green enough.

  “The blue reminded me of your eyes. Pale blue.”

  “It’s.” She choked up. It was perfect.

  “I’ll talk to Father Didcot. He trusts me, I’ve been living in his house for two years. He’s known you for much longer. If I give him a little extra for the ordinary license and we explain we’re seizing the day after Annie has been ill, that he’ll marry us without the certificate.”

  “I have something I should show you.” She’d been keeping the piece of paper, precious as it was, in her reticule since it had arrived yesterday. The first thing she’d bought with the extravagance of money Markshall had given her wasn’t even legal. A forged document.

  Closing his fingers around the little ring, he took the proffered paper and opened it out. And she could see the moment when he realized the implication of reading the words, Certificate of Death, and the name, Captain Mark Taylor. His mouth opened, then curved into a smile, and when he lifted his gaze to hers his brown eyes were sparkling with happiness. The ring and the precious certificate disappeared into his coat pockets.

  He rose slowly, smoothly closing the gap between them, giving her plenty of time to pull away if she’d wanted to. She didn’t. She just allowed the anticipation to build, watching the light play across his skin, her heart beating powerfully. Regarding his mouth was temptation itself. Lips so warm and soft looking, moistened by his tongue. His lashes were outrageously long and thick, making his eyes appear even bigger and setting off his thick brows. She let him come to her, aware of each inch as it disappeared between them.

  Her hand moved of its own volition toward his face, to smooth those eyebrows, but caught on his arm on its way. At the same infinitesimal pace, she snagged her wrists over his shoulders and his face approached hers.

  The first touch of his lips to hers was a butterfly of desire. His mouth was open to hers, gently coaxing a response. His hands found the small of her back, settling at first, then pressing her into him. He was lean and solid and strong. Lydia was intoxicated by the feel of him and the taste of his kiss. Like fresh tea with sugar, sharp and earthy and sweet.

  They stood in each other’s arms, kissing for a long time. Lydia stroked the downy hair at the back of his head and his moan shot heat between her legs. She’d learned the lesson of inviting a man inside of you without the formalities of a marriage, but she almost wanted to ignore her own advice. She could drag him into the gap always found within rhododendron bushes and give herself to him, body and soul. He’d make good his offer of marriage, she knew he would. She also knew he wouldn’t make love to her until they were married, and he’d want to do it properly.

  “You don’t mind about the money?” she asked when they paused their kiss. “The fifty thousand from…” She tailed off. He’d seemed so upset the evening she told him.

  “It’s your money.” He smiled and kept holding her tight. “I felt uncomfortable because I thought of it as his money, but it’s not. It’s no less than you are entitled to. What you do with it is your business.”

  “I choose to use it to make a life with you.” Her body vibrated with joy. “A public school, open to all, with no regard to religion, race, or money, just academic talent.”

  “Let’s get married today,” he whispered into her mouth. “Tomorrow. As soon as you like. There’s nothing stopping us now.”

  “We should wait for the banns.” She must show him her trust. It had been too long since she’d allowed another person to be close.

  “Can’t you feel how hard that will be me for me?” He shifted his hips against hers, his erection pressing into her lower belly.

  Her stomach lurched with excitement. She wanted him, and evidently he wanted her. It was entirely the wrong way to do anything, but she couldn’t help thinking of it. They could take their pleasure together, as naturally as two innocents. Afterward would take care of itself. Pulling his clothes off would be easy and given how slick she was between her thighs his thrust inside her would be effortless.

  “I thought you wanted to wait for the banns.” she said.

  “I thought you couldn’t rely on me to not desert you?”

  “You have all my confidence.” And all her love too. His doubt over the money from Markshall was understandable but over. If he could overcome his pride, she could beat her fear.

  “What changed your mind?” He caressed her back from hip to shoulder.

  His kisses. “The flowers.”

  He laughed exultantly and brushed his nose against hers, tightening his grip around her waist. Feathering a kiss on her lips, he whispered, “Not the chocolates?”

  It had been when he’d taken on the local bully, an authority no-one even questioned, and won. And how he’d brought her with him so she was part of the feat. “The chocolates helped.”

  And how kind he’d been to Annie. He deserved her trust. “We should ask Father Didcot to publish the banns this Sunday.” She punctuated every other word with a kiss. “You should come back to my house. No one else need know.”

  “Mm.” He made a teasing sound of pleasure. “Are you suggesting fornication, my love?”

  “Yes.”

  He released her and reached into his pocket, pulling out the little ring and the certificate, slipping the latter into her reticule. He regarded her with somber brown eyes. “Will you wear this ring?”

  “Will you indulge me?” Now she’d freed herself to want him, it was a driving need in her.

  “Not until you wear the ring,” he said in a singsong.

  She allowed him to take her left hand in both of his and slip the ring onto her fourth finger. Raising her hand, he leaned over and kissed her knuckles before he turned her wrist and placed the softest of kisses into her palm. Lydia felt another surge of craving.

  “Now, let’s go to the vicarage and arrange to be married immediately.”

  “But you said...?” She pouted as seductively as she dared.

  “If you think I’m going to do
anything more than kiss you senseless in the public road, when we’re not yet married, you have sorely misjudged me.” His eyes gleamed. “I mean for us to be together, not be caught like naughty youngsters.”

  Her delighted laughter rang out across the field.

  Chapter Sixteen

  They were married in the parish church. Lydia had produced the death certificate for Father Didcot before he’d call the first banns with all the nonchalance of one who hadn’t acquired the paper illegally only days ago.

  Annie was incandescent as her bridesmaid, taking the role very seriously, even as she struggled to stand properly. Elizabeth was still looking after her, holding Annie’s hand as she walked down the aisle behind Lydia. The whole village was there, but Lydia only saw one person. Alfred.

  Once, she’d been a middle-class girl with aspirations of marrying an earl. Now, coming from poverty to live with a darling man, she saw lucidly. This was her Cinderella story. A modest teacher was her prince charming. Better still, whenever she caught Alfred’s eye, his gaze was full of promise and heat.

  In the parlor they talked about plans. The improvements to the house or whether to move to a larger one, where to find suitable premises for the school, and what to do about Mail Coach becoming excessively noisy. Alfred’s gaze flicked between her and the clock. And the knowledge he was waiting, nay willing, it to be late enough for them to go to bed warmed her. Eventually, Annie had gone to bed and it was time.

  Alfred offered her his hand as they ascended the stairs. His arms were around her as soon as the bedroom door clicked behind them. His mouth was hot and demanding and he pulled her body flush with his. She reached up to his shoulders, strong and lean under her palms, and dragged him to her with equal force.

  All their restraint went. He kissed her ferociously, his hands exploring her back, her waist, and growling with frustration at the encumbrance of her skirts.

  “My wife, finally,” he groaned. “Let me touch you. I want…”