“I’m glad you weren’t there to experience any of that. It leaves scars.” Claire lifted her chin. “My own grief over the carriage accident that caused my parents’ death … even though I survived, paralyzed me on so many levels. But one thing I found is that if you can channel your grief into something beneficial for others, it helps relieve the heaviness.”
Emma nodded. “Over the last several months, I’ve been toying with an idea. I’m thinking of an institution that would allow women a means of creating financial independence. Allowing them a freedom so many are denied. A place where people like Aulton could never breach the walls.”
“What are you thinking?” Claire scooted up to the edge of her chair as best she could.
“A bank for women run by women. Based upon my research, I believe it’ll be wildly successful. I’ve prepared a prospectus including plans for repayment of the money I’ll need. Would you read it and give me your thoughts?”
“How remarkable. Of course I’ll review it.”
Emma nodded and let out her breath. An heiress in her own right, Claire possessed an acute business sense. If she thought the idea had merit, a tremendous weight would be taken off Emma’s shoulders.
Working hours on the plan had been a pleasant task as she considered the details. The population of London was experiencing a rapid growth, based upon her research from the 1811 census. She’d even attended “hiring fairs” where servants tried to find new employment. It helped gauge the need for such a bank. It wasn’t surprising to discover working-class women had little resources for escape when subjected to violence in the workplace or at home.
Emma couldn’t expect to be taken seriously unless she could present a precise and detailed proposal of its operation and the expected impact. The hardest task had been thinking of the possible objections her parents would have and her own counterarguments when she presented the idea.
“Perhaps, I’ll contribute to your bank. Truly, I love the idea.” Claire leaned over and kissed her on the cheek.
“Your time and thoughts mean the world to me.” Though the sentiment was unoriginal and timeworn, her family’s support could help her through this grief. She’d bear the onus of the hardest part, the guilt, then find a way to learn how to work through her own culpability.
Her first step to healing required she visit Lena’s maid, Mary Butler. If Mary confirmed her suspicions, Emma would bring her to London under her father’s protection to testify against Aulton. With Mary’s testimony and her father’s influence, Aulton would answer for Lena’s murder.
Her bank would be the next step to healing. She’d help others escape from brutal men. What she didn’t do for Lena, she would do for other women.
“Now, I want to discuss something else,” Claire said.
For the first time today, Emma found herself grinning. “You’ve listened to me all morning. It’d be my honor to return the favor.”
“Aunt Ginny and Uncle Sebastian are considering a marriage proposal for you from the Earl of LaTourell.” Her cousin blurted the news in an uncharacteristically hurried manner. “Next week—”
“Stop.” She held up her hand. Couldn’t she find any peace in her own home? “I refuse to discuss it. My feelings haven’t changed.”
“Emma … it’s best to be prepared,” Claire chided.
“My, it’s stuffy in here.” Ignoring her cousin, Emma rose from the chair and opened the French doors into the courtyard. The chill of the autumn wind swept around her, and she tilted her face to the sky. The sun refused to give up its warmth to autumn, a gentle reminder she never forget Lena or her own hopes and dreams to make a difference in this world. She’d not waste her time on marriage nonsense.
At the sound of deep masculine voices, Emma turned. Her oldest brother, Michael Cavensham, the Marquess of McCalpin and her father’s heir, strode into her personal domain, the family library. Behind him came Claire’s husband, Alex.
“Em, we’re going for—” McCalpin’s words stopped abruptly. He stood by the table and studied the letters she’d been reading. An undeniable pity darkened his gaze, but when he directed his attention to her, it was gone.
“Come with us on a walk with the twins.” Alex delivered a slight smile. His gray eyes flashed silver as he clasped an arm around Claire’s waist and drew her close.
After a rocky start to their marriage, Alex and Claire had to be one of the happiest couples in all of England. Proof miracles did exist if only under the rarest and most auspicious occasions—much like a Rose Moon.
“My son and daughter will revolt if their favorite godmother isn’t beside them after we promised them your company,” Alex prompted.
“I’m their only godmother.” Emma regarded Alex with a tentative smile. “Thank you, but I’d rather stay here.”
Claire took her hand in hers and squeezed. “A little air would be good for you.”
“Come with us, Em,” McCalpin coaxed. “I’m leaving in a couple of days for Falmont.”
She cast one last glace at the letter to Audra. Emma owed it to Lena to enjoy her freedom and as much of life as she could. “Let me get my coat and gloves.”
But more, she owed it to Lena to bring Mary back to London. Now, after discovering that Aulton hunted for a new wife, it was more important than ever. Goodwin’s Book Emporium would be Emma’s first stop tomorrow. The bookshop’s owner, Mr. Goodwin, had sent a note. He’d found Lena’s maid in Portsmouth.
Chapter Three
“Come, Arial.” With her maid falling in step, Emma crossed the distance from the carriage to Goodwin’s Book Emporium.
The autumn sun broke through the gray clouds over London, a positive omen for her success. Emma grasped the shiny brass doorknob and stepped into the shabby little bookshop. The tinkle of a bell heralded her arrival. She stopped beside a towering stack of leather-bound books, but her skirts continued the forward motion as if coaxing her farther inside the mysterious worlds each volume offered.
A thin, middle-aged shopkeeper sprang from behind the counter much like a jack-in-the-box. He sketched a bow. What little remained of his hair fell forward revealing the bald crown of his head. “Good morning, my lady.”
“Truly a glorious morning, isn’t it, Mr. Goodwin?” She couldn’t hide the hope that colored her voice.
Carefully stepping around a stack of boxes in the middle of the aisle, Goodwin smiled, then walked the short distance to the back of the shop. He swept a ragtag curtain aside, creating an opening to the back storage room. “My lady, after you.”
“Wait here, Arial. I’m not certain how long we’ll stay,” Emma said.
“My lady, this is highly improper. There aren’t any other customers.” Her maid’s normally pleasant voice turned guttural, much like the growl of a cat when irritated—or fearful. Her sharp foot taps echoed through the shop and added a unique rhythm to the room’s acoustics. “What if the duchess finds out?”
“Shh! No one will discover we’re here. I’ll hurry.” She left her maid at the shop entrance and dared not dwell on the disapproving frown. The woman’s gift to inflict an air of censure was a true tribute to her Welsh upbringing. However, the effort would not dissuade Emma from today’s business. Failure was not an option.
At the doorway to the back room, she stilled. Her stomach dropped as if trying to find a way to escape. She had never ventured beyond the visible shop area. Drawing a deep breath and relying on her bold confidence—unfortunately, a trait declared unbecoming throughout the ton—Emma brushed the unease away much like a piece of lint on her sleeve and followed Mr. Goodwin. She was close to success. No amount of trepidation would ruin the day.
The musty smell of books hung heavy in the air while shadows loomed like highwaymen waiting for their next victim. She expected to hear the cry “Stand and deliver” any moment. With a tight tug of her gloves, she banished the image from her mind. Her insatiable habit of reading gothic novels late at night had to stop.
“Your assumptions were correct
. I sent an inquiry to friends of mine. Mr. and Mrs. Parker own a bookshop in Portsmouth. They’ve connections in that part of England similar to mine in London. They’ve verified Mary Butler recently returned to Lady Aulton’s childhood home. Her brother, the Earl of Sykeston, is still abroad fighting in France.” Mr. Goodwin’s forehead shone with little pebbled beads of perspiration, making the pockmarks on his face prominent.
“And your colleagues? Will they help me?” Emma ignored the dust motes that floated through a lone sunbeam’s path and focused on the shopkeeper.
“Indeed.” When he smiled, the effort narrowed his eyes until he resembled a mole. “They’re looking forward to meeting you. I have your lodging secured at the Ruby Crown Inn. The innkeeper, who’s also a friend of mine, has reserved a room for your stay. He’s expecting you the day after tomorrow.”
“Perfect,” Emma said. Truly, she couldn’t have asked for better timing as her parents and brothers were due to travel within the next several days.
A twitch appeared underneath Goodwin’s left eye. It gave the appearance he was repeatedly winking at her. “While Lord Sykeston is away, his library is undergoing a renovation. Mr. and Mrs. Parker have access to the house as they inventory the library’s collection. The Parkers are perfectly situated to watch the house, and Mary’s comings and goings. They’ll also secure a copy of the coroner’s inquest findings. Since Lady Aulton died at her husband’s home, it was relatively easy to acquire the information since Aulton Court is within four miles of Portsmouth.”
“I don’t know what I would have done without your help.” Emma searched her reticule for coins. “Thank you. Allow me—”
“Please, my lady, no thanks needed.” Mr. Goodwin actually blushed. “It’s a delightful task to help a fine young lady as yourself.” He leaned toward her as if sharing a great confidence. “You remind me of my missus. Always ready for an adventure and willing to help others.”
Emma’s heart fluttered at the kind words. “An adventure” was a mild understatement. It was only natural she’d approach Mr. Goodwin. His connections throughout England were legendary. Within weeks of her request, he’d verified Mary’s location.
“You’re too kind, Mr. Goodwin,” she said. She searched his face for any hint of disapproval or doubt, but found understanding.
“One other thing. The innkeeper, Mr. Fenton, has made arrangements for your trip to the cliffs at sunset.” Mr. Goodwin picked up a package. “It’s a wonderful way to remember your friend. She was lucky to have you.”
“She was special in so many ways.” Emma had promised herself she’d not become maudlin. Lena would have hated it. “Please arrange the remaining details.”
“Yes, my lady. I’ll send word.” The shopkeeper beamed as he held out a wrapped package tied with twine. “I think you’ll enjoy these novels on the trip down.”
“Thank you.” Little took her by surprise anymore, but today marked one of those rare occasions. Mr. Goodwin was truly a thoughtful and very sweet man. “I must be going.”
The chime of a bell joined the noise of Arial’s perpetual foot taps. The package in her hands would be the perfect peace treaty to diffuse her maid’s ire. Arial loved to borrow her books and would have something to while away her time as Emma finished her plans for travel.
She made her way to the front of the shop between the narrow aisles while thoughts of her journey percolated. She bowed her head and traced the creases of the neatly folded brown paper surrounding the package in her hands.
“Arial, I have news—” Before another word escaped, she rammed headfirst into a brick wall.
“Ow!” She raised her hand to soothe the pain radiating from her poor nose and tried to take a step back, but an iron grip thwarted her effort. Instinctively, she pushed against the obstacle. Her fingers collided with a warm, felt waistcoat accompanied by a rich scent of bay rum cologne and leather.
Somerton.
Her eyes watered, but Emma lifted her head to ascertain if her suspicions were correct.
Blast it. She gritted her teeth to keep from swearing aloud. Never for one second did she think this catastrophe would happen. Now, she’d never make it to Portsmouth in this lifetime or the next. She shook her head in annoyance at her own negativity. She was going to Portsmouth.
“Are you all right?” A familiar, low rumble greeted her. The concerned look from an exquisite pair of turquoise eyes made Emma stop her retreat. His large hands slid down her arms to steady her.
“Yes, I believe so.” Her eyes still teared in rebellion from the lingering sting.
Of all the people to run into, she was mortified to find Lord Somerton before her. She bristled as the earl’s look of concern transformed into curiosity.
If the floor wasn’t so filthy, she’d have melted into the wooden planks. Somerton would want to know her business. Then he’d tell Pembrooke, who would tell Claire. If her parents got a whiff of her plans, she’d have a greater chance of wearing the crown as the next queen of England than of making it to Portsmouth. It was humiliating. She was twenty-five years old and still subject to her parents’ whims and concerns for proper chaperones.
Bother.
Emma might as well take out a full-page advertisement in tomorrow’s The Midnight Cryer. It would have the same effect.
She should be used to his presence by now. As godparents to Alex and Claire’s twins, they interacted quite frequently. At family events, he always seemed to be included. After their infamous kiss three years ago, he hardly gave her any notice, which was fine, as she hardly gave him any either.
Liar.
Her traitorous gaze quickly surveyed the length of his body. What was a woman to do when a golden-haired Adonis stood before her? Dressed in a tight-fitting black morning coat that framed his broad shoulders and gray breeches that molded every well-toned muscle of his long legs, he was perfection incarnate.
If she were the Queen of England, maybe she’d command the handsome earl to follow her to the royal yacht in Portsmouth. She’d make him strip to his lawn shirt and work the rigging while she watched his muscles swell and flex.…
With a deep sigh, Emma imagined Lena laughing at her antics. A grin tugged at her lips. Somerton leaned close, and a hint of mischief blazed from his eyes, layered with an unwelcomed inquisitiveness.
She wasn’t a queen and had better think of a plausible reason why she was in a back-alley bookshop with only Arial as her escort. Perhaps she could borrow a portion of a queen’s majestic bravado, though.
She boldly surveyed his body again. There was no padding in his clothing, much to her delight. The view was quite spectacular.
“Are you finished with your examination, or shall I turn around so you can study my backside?” Somerton challenged her with a raised eyebrow.
“If it wouldn’t be a bother? I’ve had my fill of the front.” She dared to stare straight into his eyes. It was madness to bait him this way, but she had to protect her travel plans from becoming public knowledge. Any sign of discomposure on his part would help shift their conversation away from her reasons for being at the bookshop.
He wasn’t offended as evidenced by his sudden slight grin. “Lady Emma, what a surprise to find you at Mr. Goodwin’s this morning. Did anyone accompany you besides your maid?”
“I won’t trouble you with the boring, banal details.” The situation had turned into one she fervently hoped to manage, but it was doubtful. Designed to strip away her defenses, his sudden infectious smile turned blinding. She enhanced her grin into what she prayed was an enchanting smile. Somerton clasped his hands behind his back and slowly scrutinized her. A tingle crept up her spine like a slow, meandering spider, but she refused to succumb to her unease. She raised her chin and straightened to her full height.
The earl stepped closer and motioned to an isolated corner in the bookshop. “I’d like a private word.”
Somerton’s demand for a tête-à-tête did not bode well for a quick exit. With shoulders squared, she was d
etermined to meet her fate with as much aplomb as a ship’s captain walking the plank.
He maneuvered her into a corner with a natural grace. “You shouldn’t be in this part of town”—he closed the distance between them—“or a shop of dubious repute such as Goodwin’s. When I walked in, you spoke to Arial about news. Whatever is this news you wanted to share with your maid?”
Her grin melted as she juggled the package of books in her hands. Her smile hadn’t had any impact. He towered over her with an expression she couldn’t quite identify. Clearly, he was immune to her charms—what little she possessed. Perhaps he was irritated she’d discovered him at Goodwin’s.
“I’m merely shopping. Arial is always interested in my books.” She presented the parcel in her hands as if evidence to clear her of any wrongdoing. With a quarter turn, she took a step, but he blocked any means of escape with his long, lean body and one arm resting on a bookshelf. Trapped and forced to make conversation, Emma met his gaze. “I understand you’ll be at Langham Hall next week for my mother’s dinner party.”
“Don’t change the subject.” His breath caressed her cheek. The delicious scent of cinnamon and coffee wrapped around her. “What are you doing here?”
She leaned forward until she was less than an inch from his warm body. If his words weren’t so bothersome, she’d stay in this spot all day. Nonetheless, she was close to accomplishing everything she needed for Portsmouth, and no random meeting would stop her. “Let’s not mention we saw each other here.”
His chiseled cheeks and brow remained frozen much like the marble statue of Apollo that lorded over the entry hall of her home. His lack of agreement left her little choice but to raise the stakes.
“Otherwise, I’d hate to start the rumor you’re showing interest in me. You visit my home often enough.” When he flinched at the words, she didn’t ignore the opportunity. “Good day, Somerton.”
With a quick movement she had mastered years ago when she needed to escape from her two older brothers, she ducked under his arm and walked to her maid. The fiery heat of his gaze bored into her back. “Come along, Arial.”
The Bride Who Got Lucky Page 4