All but Lydia. She took a few steps forward. “Emma? Mary?”
They both nodded.
“What kind of business have you with—”
“This is ridiculous. Who’s going to take the word of a prostitute for anything?” The mayor blubbered. “They’re the dregs of society—given to drink and tomfoolery and hissy fits. They’ve both spent time in jail this past year—multiple times, if I’m not mistaken. Where’s Officer Vincent?”
Moira put her hands on her hips. “The mayor’s only afraid I’ll tell you why his son visits me.” She sashayed a little ways down the room, looking the men up and down. “Same reason why Mr. Custer here and Mr. Jones—”
A red-faced Mrs. Jones slapped Moira across the cheek. “You . . . lying . . .” The string of words Mrs. Jones put together caused her husband to blush more than he had when Moira stopped in front of them.
Dirty Emma chuckled. “I’ll tell you why I’m in that book. Little busts me out of the clinker if I make myself available for free to some of his clients.” She grabbed a goblet of punch off an abandoned serving tray and drained it.
“As my father said, they’re nothing.” Sebastian still had his hands on his hips, but he seemed to be shaking.
Nicholas beckoned toward the kitchen again, and three men and a woman stepped out. “I’ve got the owners of the Pink Lady, the Red Hot Robin, the Charlatan, and the Dutch Tulip here. Two will testify that you fund some of their enterprises or provide them legal services in exchange for those they provide, and two of them say you help cover up the fact that they run a brothel without bothering to disguise it as anything but, even though you’re rather intent on fining me for doing so.”
“Again, I’m the mayor’s son, an upstanding citizen of Teaville, a lawyer—these men and women are scum. Their testimony against mine—”
“Then perhaps I can provide you with testimonies from your peers.” Nicholas waved his hand one last time. Mr. Falstaff led out a small group of men that included one police officer and a county commissioner.
Nicholas looked around the room, trying to catch the eyes of a few men who’d refused to join him this morning and a few he hadn’t yet talked to, who he hoped might be malleable depending on the direction of the wind. “Anyone else want to bolster our case? It’s the best time to get out from under the Littles—do it now, or it’ll never be done. They’ll bear down harder if they aren’t defeated now.”
About five other men crossed the room, cutting a wide path around where Sebastian and his father stood fuming.
Mayor Little gestured toward Judge Greenbriar. “Sir, what make you of this?”
“Frankly, I’m appalled. Seems to be rather extreme lengths to break off an engagement. Even if the accusations against Sebastian of dallying with prostitutes are true, there’s nothing out of the ordinary about that.”
Nicholas raised both his hands. “Perhaps we should ask Circuit Judge Williams if he heard anything worth trying that you didn’t.” Because of Greenbriar’s well-known friendship with the Littles, he’d spent the wee hours this morning racing to the next county to make sure there would be another judge in this room.
The tiny, well-dressed fellow who’d been standing near the entrance moved out into the crowd. “From the few men I talked to this afternoon combined with this display, I’d say there’s some likely cases of extortion and obstruction of the law that need to be heard. Maybe after hearing the testimony of these others—”
“How could you two!” Mrs. Little swaggered forward.
“What?” Mayor Little barked.
“I cannot believe my own son would undermine the work I do. To think, you’ve had me raising money for your campaigns—”
“Mother,” Sebastian snarled, “you’ve forgotten that Lydia’s accused you too. Don’t anger me or I’ll expose everything you’ve done to make the saloons pay for your—”
“I told you marrying her was a bad idea.” His mother glared up at him. “But no, a pretty face was all you wanted. Not your mother, who’s slaved for years to get you where you are.”
Mayor Little shoved his way between them. “Yes, Rebecca. If only we’d followed your plans . . .”
Nicholas pulled Lydia over to her mother and nodded at the officers he’d brought along to help. Since Lydia’s father had disappeared, he assisted Mrs. King from her chair, and then, with Lydia on his other arm, they marched out as the crowd’s racket buried the Littles’ shouting match.
48
Lydia couldn’t control her trembling, and the crisp December air wasn’t helping. Accusing Sebastian and his family had turned her insides to jelly. Even Nicholas’s presence—though very welcome—hadn’t kept the involuntary tremors from escalating.
His arm tightened around hers. “You should buy yourself a thicker coat.”
Yes, that was what she was worried about now—coats. “I’ll burrow under a quilt once we get home.” And hide there for a year.
Nicholas stopped suddenly, and Mama, still attached to his other arm, stumbled forward.
“I’m so sorry, Mrs. King.” He steadied Mama and repositioned her thick shawl.
She waved her hand. “Don’t apologize. I’m still standing.”
“I didn’t mean to stop so suddenly, but I realized your daughter can’t go directly home—she needs to go to my place. My lawyer wants to talk to the witnesses. I’ve got to go back in and gather up everyone I can. Then I’ll meet you at the mansion. We’ll have to move quickly, because the Littles and Judge Greenbriar will surely start working to stop us once they get out of the hotel. And I’m afraid they’ll do anything to save themselves.”
Was their threat on her life still a possibility? Lydia shuddered even more. Would she ever be safe at home? Would Mama? She looked back over her shoulder. “Where’s Papa? He should escort Mama home.”
Nicholas cleared his throat. “He’s probably helping put out fires.”
“He’s not helping put out anyone’s fires other than his own.” Mama huffed, then shifted her weight, leaning heavily on Nicholas’s arm.
“I’ll have Mr. Parker take you home, Mrs. King, freeing your hired carriage to take Lydia to—”
“It was Sebastian’s hired carriage.” Despite the weight on her heart, Lydia surrendered to a small chuckle. “I doubt he’d be thrilled to pay my way to your place. Though I’d like to see his face if someone handed him such a bill.”
Nicholas only smiled a little. “As funny as that’d be, he’d only forward it to you, and I don’t want you dealing with him more than necessary.” When his own vehicle turned the corner, he stepped closer to the curb. “So I’ll hire you another.”
She frowned. She wasn’t a charity case—not yet anyway. And did he not want her to ride with him?
Of course, rescuing her was enough. He’d helped her escape Sebastian, just as she’d prayed.
I’m so sorry I haven’t even thanked you. You got me out of my predicament, and yet here I am wanting more. Forgive me and thank you.
“You’ve done plenty for us,” Lydia said, trying to smile though her dissatisfied heart rebelled. “We can pay for the coach.”
Nicholas eyed her. “When a rich man offers to pay, you should say, ‘Thank you, sir.’”
“Sir?”
His face remained serious, except for the tilt of an eyebrow. “Unless there’s something else you’d rather call me?” The lightness of his voice made her hair prickle on her arms, heightening the effects of the goose flesh caused by the cold wind seeping into her coat.
Surely he wasn’t flirting with her. “Thank you, Mr. Lowe.”
His eyebrow lost its elevation, and his lips almost formed a childish pout.
Had he wanted her to use his Christian name in front of her mother? They had called each other by their first names while whisking about town for the last two months, but it was against all propriety. And the sound of his name on her lips would likely clue Mama into her feelings for him. Worrying about her spinster daughter’s enemies was enough for he
r dying mother to fret about. Lydia didn’t want Mama also pitying her for loving someone out of her reach.
Nicholas closed his eyes, shaking his head a little.
Mr. Parker set his brake and jumped down.
“Will you be all right at home alone?” Lydia resituated Mama’s slipping shawl.
“I’ll be fine.” She patted her daughter’s arm. “You tell them everything you know, no matter how long it takes. I doubt I’ll die tonight.”
Lydia kissed her before Mr. Parker helped her into Nicholas’s fanciest coach. Lydia waved good-bye to Mama while Nicholas hailed one of his hotel employees.
A young man in a fancy black suit and yellow-cord frogs jogged toward them.
“Run to the livery and procure a carriage or whatever’s available, as long as it’s covered.”
The young man changed direction midstep just as the thin, high clouds above them decided to loose miniscule bits of ice.
Nicholas raked his hand through his hair, displacing the little white crystals decorating his wavy locks. Was it that long ago in his lumberyard office that she’d been tempted to brush the sawdust from his hair despite being incensed he’d refused to listen to her request for a donation?
He cleared his throat and stared off down the brick street, which was quickly being covered with shimmering icy slivers. “I wish all this could have happened less publicly, for your family’s sake.”
She shrugged. Nothing could be done about it now. She tightened the collar about her neck to ward off the chill, not only from the weather but also from the awkwardness between them. Hopefully she was the only one who felt it. If she hadn’t realized she was in love with him on the carriage ride to the hotel, she’d feel nothing but overwhelming gratefulness for his rescue. “Thank you for coming when you did. If you hadn’t shown up . . .” But maybe she was still in trouble. What if Sebastian wiggled out of this?
Nicholas kept his hands firmly in his pockets. “If you were brave enough to accuse Sebastian in public, the least I could do was gather support for your case. I should’ve done more in the past to stop the Littles, but I figured I didn’t have enough evidence—and I hadn’t the motivation to find any. Besides, no one seemed to care. Many still don’t, or are too cowed to admit what they know.”
“I was more foolish than courageous.”
“There’s often a fine line between those two.” Nicholas stared off in the distance again and cleared his throat.
Before he could say anything else, a carriage turned the corner and stopped in front of them.
A young, acne-scarred man leapt down from his high seat. “Are you Mr. Lowe?”
“I am.”
“Mighty chilly out here, isn’t it?” The driver opened the side door of his vehicle.
Lydia couldn’t help but wish he’d kept right on driving. How many more times would she be alone with Nicholas before life separated them completely?
Nicholas took her hand to help her in. “I’d say it’s more than chilly, considering the lady’s fingers are like ice.” He dropped her hand before she could step in and stuck his head into the interior. “I hope you have lap robes in here.”
Without his fingers around hers, they really did feel cold.
After the driver helped him pull out a few robes from under the seats, Nicholas paid him. “I have business to attend to before I can leave. So take her to my place and escort her inside personally. If you’ve the time, my housekeeper should have coffee and pastries awaiting the crowd. Feel free to have some before you return to work.”
“Obliged.” He pulled out change, but Nicholas held out his hand.
“Keep it, and take care to avoid the ruts.”
The young man smiled at the large bill in his hand before stuffing it in his pocket. “Yes, sir.”
Nicholas’s eyes twinkled when he looked back at her. “See? When a rich man offers you something, you say, ‘Yes, sir.’”
The driver held out his hand for hers with a flourish. “M’lady.”
If she weren’t so miserable, she’d have smiled at the man’s courtier-like gesture and terrible English accent.
Nicholas stood back a little.
He wasn’t going to help her into the carriage?
Whether one man helped her inside or another, there was nothing special about the gesture either man would have extended to a woman, be she thirteen or eighty. Though that knowledge somehow didn’t keep her from wishing Nicholas had stepped forward.
She sniffed before taking the driver’s offered hand and climbed in.
Dragging the fur onto her lap in the empty coach, she tried to thwart the threatening tears by not allowing herself to blink. There was no reason to cry. She was better off alone than with Sebastian.
The coach rocked a bit as the driver climbed onto his seat.
But before he called to his team, Nicholas opened the door and popped his head in. “Don’t leave my place until we’ve talked.”
She swallowed, but her throat was too tight to do anything but nod. She wouldn’t cry in front of him; she only had to hold off a few more minutes until he disappeared.
He looked at her far too intently. “It’ll be all right, Lydia.”
She’d begun to think Nicholas was right about most everything, but he certainly wasn’t right about that.
Reaching over, he cupped the side of her head and rubbed his thumb against the corner of her eye, wiping away a traitorous tear. “I’ll take care of everything.”
And then he was gone.
She caught a glimpse of Nicholas out the window striding toward the hotel’s front doors before her coach lurched forward.
The driver turned a corner, and she stuffed her cold hands under the lap robe, wishing herself as warm and happy as she should be after narrowly escaping a life filled with listening to a criminal’s dissatisfaction with his apple cobbler.
She’d not make a good match for Nicholas anyhow, no matter how she wished it to be different. What could she bring to any kind of relationship that would help him be better than he already was? Her pretty blue eyes had been the only thing her father thought would capture a man, and Nicholas could have his pick of pretty blue eyes. Miss Renfroe’s were more vivid than hers, anyway. Some days they looked a deep teal, others a rich blue. Much prettier than her glassy blue ones by miles.
Being in love with him didn’t change the fact that he was out of her reach.
Lydia leaned her head against the upholstered interior and tried not to think of Nicholas being engaged to someone else one day. She had enough of a headache—no reason to aggravate it with tears that wouldn’t change a thing.
49
Leading Mr. Morris from the office to his front door, Nicholas turned and gave his lawyer a weary smile. “Thank you for staying until the end. This took much longer than I anticipated.”
The much shorter man shrugged on his coat. “That’s just how it goes sometimes, but the more information we get while emotions run high, the better.”
“And I’m sure after their arrest this afternoon, Roger and Sebastian will make this as messy as possible.”
“If only they hadn’t been allowed to post bail. Seems wrong that two people who’ve inflicted misery upon so many get to sleep comfortably in their own beds.” Mr. Morris pulled his hat down farther to cover his ears.
Nicholas opened the door for his lawyer, who buried his hands into his coat pockets and scuffled out into the darkness toward his awaiting ride. Falling snow diffused the light of the lanterns on his vehicle.
“See you tomorrow.” Nicholas waved, then slipped back into his warm house and headed toward the last place he’d seen Lydia.
But his music room was empty. Had someone given her a ride home while he’d been in the middle of a conversation? He ran a hand through his hair and sighed.
Keeping his attention on the men who’d gathered at the mansion after the confrontation with the Littles had proven arduous with her in his house. The only thing that had gotten him through
the men’s lengthy debate over how to get a conviction to stick to the Littles was Lydia sitting quietly in the corner, waiting for him. Or so he’d thought.
His housekeeper walked in and gathered a handful of dirty glasses off the end table.
“Who did Lydia leave with? Didn’t I tell you I wanted her to stay?”
Caroline swiped her brow with the back of her sleeve and mumbled—no, more like muttered things he was probably glad he couldn’t hear.
“I’m sorry, it’s not your fault she left.” He collected an armload of glassware from his weary friend. “And let me help you.”
Why hadn’t Lydia told him she was leaving? Or at least made eye contact and waved good-bye? Probably because she knew he would demand she stay—regardless of how late it was.
How had she left without him noticing?
He couldn’t go over to her house in the middle of the night. Or could he?
No. Not appropriate.
He sighed and picked up another dirty glass. The least he could do was help clean up before turning in. Caroline had to be just as tired as he was since Sadie, Josephine, and Effie hadn’t been here to help with the house and the serving of the guests. He turned to her. “Why don’t you hire a maid tomorrow—a nonprostitute one.”
“Better yet”—she snatched the glasses from his hand and plunked them back down onto the table—“we leave the mess for the morning, I commandeer your huge bathtub for an hour, and you go apologize to Lydia.”
“I can hardly apologize so late at night.” Though if it had been summer, he would have had plenty of daylight left. He frowned. “And what am I supposed to apologize for?” Hadn’t he just saved her?
“You broke that woman’s heart and then made her sit in your presence all evening without saying a word to her.”
He straightened. “I didn’t do anything to break her heart.”
“She certainly didn’t look happy.” Caroline’s eyes narrowed, as if she could discover whatever it was he’d done wrong inscribed across his face.
No, Lydia certainly hadn’t looked happy, but surely that wasn’t his fault.
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