The Lady in the Coppergate Tower (Proper Romance)

by Nancy Campbell Allen

  More to the point, he had no legitimate reason to suspect a visiting nobleman of anything untoward. He had just decided to approach the cottage when the door opened and the nobleman stepped outside. Sam quietly slid his carriage window open an inch to better view Hazel, who stood in the doorway and conversed with her guest. Petrescu was speaking, Hazel nodding. She wasn’t smiling, though.

  Petrescu took his leave, climbing into an opulent carriage and disappearing into the night.

  Hazel closed her door without glancing in Sam’s direction, but why would she? She would hardly be expecting him to lurk outside her home. Feeling uncomfortably like a voyeur, he put on his hat, climbed out of the carriage, and turned to give Eugene instructions.

  “Oh, excellent, Doctor. You’ve decided to join me out here instead of inviting me into the carriage where it is warm and dry,” Eugene said before Sam could utter a word.

  Sam squinted up at him. “You require neither warmth nor dryness, Eugene. Regardless, you have that lovely canopy to keep you from getting wet.”

  “Except for when the wind blows.” As if summoned, a gust blew up the street and spattered the ’ton with rain. Eugene shot him a look.

  “Wait here. And while you’re waiting, use your processors to gather any information you can find on Dravor Petrescu.”

  “Perhaps I could wait inside the carriage.”

  “I’ll not be long.” Sam turned to the cottage, anxious about Hazel and irritated with his ’ton. “As though he needs to escape the elements . . .” Sam muttered when he reached the door and knocked. The house was hushed, and he felt churlish thinking the women may already be retiring for the evening.

  As he debated whether to leave, and growing wetter and colder by the moment, the door cracked open, and Hazel regarded him in surprise.

  “Sam?” She blinked, and the light from the small lamppost reflected in the golden hue of her irises. Golden eyes with flecks of green, golden hair with thick curls that felt like spun silk.

  “Sam.” She was frowning, now.

  He shook his head. “Apologies. I wanted to see personally that you are well.” Rain dripped from the brim of his hat into his eyes.

  She pulled the door open. “Come in from the weather, then.”

  He stepped over the threshold and removed the hat, raking a hand through his hair. He fought the urge to shake like a dog all over the small entry.

  “I am well,” Hazel said. “Thank you for looking after me. I have . . .” She glanced at the parlor, then lowered her voice. “I’ve received odd news.

  He edged forward and peered into the parlor, where Rowena stared into the hearth. She didn’t seem aware of anything beyond the dancing flames.

  Hazel cleared her throat and stood by the front door, placing her hand on the handle. “We’ve had a strange evening, and my mother needs me.”

  “Is she ill? What is it, Hazel? Let me help.”

  She sighed, and her eyes closed briefly. She looked infinitely weary, as though she carried the weight of the world’s troubles. “The Romanian count we met at the party? He is my uncle. Rowena adopted me—” She interrupted herself with a short laugh. “Purchased, really. And I have a sister, apparently, who is ill.”

  Sam stared at her. “Are you . . . are you certain the man speaks the truth?”

  Hazel nodded. “He does have odd proof, and my mother confirms his story. The parts of it she knew, at least. And now I have a sister in distress and a family I knew nothing about before tonight.” Her brows knit, and she lowered her voice. “And yet I did know. I knew about her.”

  “What? How?” Sam asked, his thoughts whirling in confusion.

  “I’ve been dreaming about her my whole life.”

  Sam shook his head. “What was his purpose in coming here?” Unease began to spread throughout his gut. He sensed she hadn’t told him everything yet.

  “He wants my help finding a solution to her illness. My sister. In Romania.”

  Sam exhaled. “Hazel, you cannot go anywhere with that man.”

  She looked at him sharply, her shoulders stiffening, and he inwardly groaned.

  “I most certainly am going,” she said. “If I can help Marit somehow, I would be selfish indeed not to make the attempt.”

  He felt sick, panic settling in his chest. “You cannot go alone.” He grasped her shoulders. “Hazel, you mustn’t go alone.”

  “And who shall I take with me?” she demanded. “My mother? Impossible. Isla and Lucy are out of town. Emme . . .” She paused. “Emme would go with me.”

  Her announcement brought on a greater sense of alarm. He gave her shoulders a little shake. “You cannot take Emme O’Shea! Not only will she be unable to protect you, she will find trouble!”

  Her shoulders slumped, and she stepped away. “I do not know what else to do, Sam. I cannot remain here, not now that I’m aware of my sister and that she needs help. I have talents, you know I do, and perhaps I may be effective in finding a cure.”

  He took a deep breath and tried to still the inexplicable panic that filled him at the thought of her facing possible danger alone. The notion that she was leaving him fought for equal footing, but surely that was no reason for him to be frantic.

  “Let me go with you, then.”

  She stared at him, slack-jawed. He was nearly as stunned by the suggestion, himself.

  “I cannot, in good conscience, see you do this thing alone.”

  Her expression softened into a sad smile. “Sam, you have too much here that requires your attention. Surgeries are scheduled; you have meetings with the patent board. You cannot leave.”

  He leaned toward her, his fingers itching to pull her into his arms. Bewildered by the sudden urge, he shoved his hands into his pockets but remained close, gratified that she didn’t move away.

  “The surgeries can be referred to colleagues, and the patents have been filed. I’ve needed some time away, and this is the perfect opportunity.”

  “Sam, I—”

  “Hazel.”

  Her eyes flew to his, bright with unshed tears.

  He lifted the corner of his mouth. “If you refuse, I shall be forced to petition my good friend Count Petrescu for an invitation. I’d much rather be your guest than his.”

  She laughed and sniffed. “We would both be his guests; I do not see the difference ultimately.”

  “The difference is night and day to me.” He smiled and reached for a handkerchief. He handed the square of linen to her, and she dabbed at her eyes and nose.

  “Truly, I am grateful for the offer, but I would feel incredibly selfish.” She smiled, but he wasn’t fooled by it. “I shall be completely fine. The count is a . . . wonderful person.”

  He chuckled. “You and I both know that to be a generous assessment. You’re an astute judge of character, one of the finest I know, and you’ll never convince me you feel at ease with him.”

  She lifted a shoulder, but didn’t disagree.

  “Let me go with you,” he said softly.

  “I cannot keep you from it.”

  “You certainly can. I’ll not bully my way into your affairs, so I am hoping you think well enough of me to allow it.”

  “You are not fighting fairly. As though this is a privilege I would deny you.” She frowned, but he sensed a crack in her resolve.

  “It is indeed a privilege. I’d not rest easy knowing you are far away and at the mercy of a complete stranger. One I do not trust.”

  “Why? Why would you do this?”

  Why, indeed? He had money enough to hire an army of security to accompany her. He didn’t need to go along. He looked down at her, at the gown that fit to perfection and the curls on her head that gleamed gold in the lamplight. He saw her as she’d been earlier at Lady Hadley’s. She’d been uncomfortable there, but he had been amazed it hadn’t shown in her face
or demeanor. She possessed more substance than anyone in that ballroom.

  “You are my esteemed colleague,” he said, “and more to the point, a dear friend. It would be an honor to help you.”

  She bit her lip and looked away, her eyes again suspiciously bright. “I—” She cleared her throat. “Thank you, Sam. I welcome the help and am grateful to you, more than I can express.”

  He smiled, relieved. He exhaled softly, realizing he’d been holding his breath. “When shall I be ready to depart?”

  She raised her brows and again caught her lip between her teeth. “Tomorrow evening.”

  He blinked. “Well. Not wasting any time, is he?”

  She shook her head. “This is madness. It’s too sudden, and you could never make arrangements in time—”

  He held up his hand. “Not a word. I have people at my disposal to make any and all arrangements necessary. You’ll not put me off so easily.”

  She flushed, which he found adorable. “I meant nothing of the sort, I—”

  “Hazel, do not fret.” He ducked to catch her eye. “All right, then?”

  She nodded. “All right.”

  They lingered. She swayed slightly, and he wondered if she was aware of it. Her eyes flickered from his own, to his mouth, and back again. Awareness flared in his chest, something dormant that woke with a familiar need.

  “Hazel?” Rowena’s voice sounded from the parlor.

  Sam breathed deeply, close enough to Hazel to note the soft lavender scent he’d come to associate with her. Kissing her suddenly seemed the most natural thing in the world to do, so he straightened, putting a respectable distance between them.

  He exhaled quietly again, noting her flushed cheeks and beautifully large, golden-green eyes that held a hint of wariness and something else he wasn’t sure he could define.

  “Please give my apologies to your mother for the lateness of my visit,” he said, still watching Hazel. “I’ll take my leave.”

  “This excursion will be unseemly,” she murmured. “People will talk.”

  “I shall bring Eugene. Properly chaperoned—all problems solved.”

  She laughed softly. “Eugene is the answer to any dilemma.”

  He donned his hat and rolled his eyes. “Never let him hear you say such a thing. He will become unspeakably smug.”

  “He already is unspeakably smug.”

  Sam turned the door handle, but paused. “Tomorrow, then. I’ll contact the count and then call again here.”

  The door closed quietly behind him, and he jogged across the wet cobblestones to his carriage. He looked up through the rain, which had grown to a steady downpour, to see the driver seat empty. A quick glance inside the carriage showed Eugene, who touched two fingers to his brow in a salute.

  Sam opened the door with unnecessary force and jerked his thumb to the side. “Out. We have a week’s worth of details to arrange before morning.”

  The next morning, Hazel finished dressing and sat at her vanity, trying to muscle her curls into submission.

  “You mustn’t go,” Rowena said for the fifth time. “I knew when we took you as an infant that returning to that wretched place would mean your peril. I do not know this man, and I do not know if he is trustworthy in the least.” She took a hairpin from Hazel, who was trying in vain to anchor it into her coiffure. “We have nobody to look after your interests, no one to keep you safe.” She bit her lip and met Hazel’s eyes in the vanity mirror. “I cannot even afford to hire someone.” Rowena’s eyes shone with tears, and Hazel shook her head. “I used all of our savings to send you to school, and—”

  “Mother, no, I am fine.” Hazel spoke quickly. Once Rowena wandered into crying wilderness, the recovery mission would take hours. “Please do not fret. Isla taught me to handle my ray gun, and that which I cannot accomplish with brawn I shall manage with my brain.” She smiled, but it felt and looked strained.

  “What sort of mother would I be if I allowed such madness?” Rowena sniffled, and the tears continued gathering.

  Hazel turned in her seat to grasp her mother’s hands. “Please, please no theatrics this morning. I shall be fine.”

  “I shall accompany you.” Rowena’s jaw set, and Hazel inwardly groaned. If she didn’t say something, her mother would anchor herself to the proverbial spot and refuse to move.

  Hazel sighed. “Dr. MacInnes has offered to accompany me.”

  Rowena’s face brightened. “Oh, yes! Yes, that’s very good.” She wiped her eyes and nodded. “I tell his mother constantly she has no need to hide her head in shame that her second son chose the life of a simple doctor rather than the military. I mean, he did spend time at war and all, but he didn’t remain in service to Queen and Country and rise through the ranks as do most respectable second sons.”

  Hazel blinked. “And you tell his mother that her brilliant son is no cause for shame—her son who is a surgeon and a pioneering medical inventor who is literally performing miraculous feats with limb and organ replacement?”

  “I am aware it is hardly traditional, Hazel, but you must learn to broaden your horizons. The man has given you gainful employment, after all, and I am surprised you would be a harsh judge. Prejudice does not become you.”

  Hazel closed her eyes.

  “I sincerely hope you’ll not embarrass me to Lady MacInnes by slighting him. Just because you now keep company with Countess Blackwell does not mean you ought to forget your own humble roots—”

  Hazel stood and put an arm around her mother and propelled her to the door. “I believe I hear Celina at the front door. We must have guests.”

  Rowena’s eyes widened, and she nearly took Hazel’s bedroom door from its hinges in her haste downstairs. Her voice echoed back up as she gave Celina instructions for tea.

  Hazel released a breath and quietly closed her door, leaning against it. Her mother had raised her, though she would probably never truly understand her.

  Hazel’s life was predictable, rather staid, and for all that she’d unwittingly tried to face her fears over the last year, nothing had changed, not really. Nothing except that a dashing, devastatingly handsome and charming man had once saved her life and then insinuated himself into it so neatly that her heart would be torn when he married another.

  While Sam’s solicitous concern was kindness on his part, a sort of patient benevolence, she knew her heart was in line behind dozens of others whose private dreams included capturing the affections of the paragon with blond hair, deep blue eyes, and an impressive physique.

  He was so much more than merely handsome to Hazel. He was funny and kind and intelligent. He brightened the energy in the room, drew others to him as moths to a flame. Hazel understood she was one of many moths, and she flew dangerously close to that flame. Her wings were already singed, and every ounce of self-preservation screamed at her to fly away, and quickly.

  It was one thing to see him during work hours and the occasional social event. It was another entirely to spend hours on end in his company, traveling to strange places—with strangers—and growing ever closer to him because he was the only familiar thing there.

  She pushed herself off the door and sat at her vanity. She scanned her packing list and picked up her fountain pen, scratching off the items she’d already stowed in her trunk. Cupping her chin in her hand, she absently flipped through her notebook, which was thick with letters from friends, quotations from her favorite books, lists of tasks, dreams, disappointments, and the mundane. She’d clipped in playbills from the theater and receipts from café visits with notations about the company and the conversation.

  She traced her finger along one page, absently registering voices downstairs in the parlor but shutting it out. She didn’t want anything more complicated in her life than the list before her, though her current situation might be the very definition of the word. Her eyes drifted across the
letters, her head jumbled with thoughts of a newly discovered uncle, a sister she’d never met, and a man she loved with her whole heart.

  A soft knock at her door startled her, and she opened it, surprised to see Emme on the other side. “The count and your mother are exchanging words in the parlor, and you would not believe the rumors I have heard this morning. I ought to have braved Detective-Inspector Reed’s interrogation and remained at the Hadleys’. What on earth is happening? Are you Romanian royalty?”

  Hazel smiled and opened the door wider, glancing around her room, viewing it through another’s eyes. Various items of clothing—different colored corsets and blouses, trousers, skirts, netting overlays, bustles, belts and accessories—were strewn across her bed and hanging from wardrobe doors. “Pardon the mess. I will explain as much as I know.”

  Emme sat on a stuffed ottoman next to Hazel’s vanity. “Tell me everything.”

  Hazel sat at the vanity and recounted what had transpired from the time Emme had left the ball.

  Her eyes grew wider as Hazel spoke, her expressive face giving away her every thought, and she finally smiled, smug. “Well, well. Lady Hazel. What I wouldn’t give to see Lady Hadley and her ilk this morning.”

  Hazel shrugged. “Nothing will change, except that I’ll be labeled an ‘upstart’ now.”

  “Apparently you’ve not read the society pages yet today. Your uncle, the count, has legitimized your birth and status. He also exonerated Rowena and implied she saved your life in a time of peril.”

  Hazel’s mouth slackened. “What . . . what does this mean for me?”

  Emme smiled. “It means whatever you would like it to mean. You’re free to move about in loftier circles with every claim to that right. Nobody can argue that you aren’t ‘old money,’ even. I’ve felt those barbs, although I couldn’t care less.”

  The significance of Emme’s words penetrated some of the fog around Hazel’s brain, but she wondered if her life truly would change. She was already on the fringes of high society, and she wasn’t certain her uncle’s legitimizing efforts would alter people’s perceptions much. “Is it odd that, beyond the friends I already have, I do not crave association with my social ‘betters’?”