by Aria Norton
Thomasarrived at the street where Filmore lived a few minutes later. He called for the coachman to stop a few doors down. Exiting the coach, he instructed them to wait for him.
Making his way down the bustling street, he went up the front steps and peered through the window into the front parlour. His heart skipped a beat as his eyes alighted on Sarah's serene face. Age had only enhanced her beauty. Now, at nineteen years of age, she was a veritable Venus. No wonder Filmore had wanted to snatch her up, for she was rich as she was beautiful.
Sarah turned the page in the book she was reading, sighing contentedly. How he longed to go inside and rescue her from the danger she did not even realise she was in. It was too late, however. She had made her choice.
A stray curl fell out of place and came to rest on her cheek. How many times had he tucked her hair behind her ear? How he wished he could do so now, gather her into his arms and kiss her...
Turning away, he chided himself for being so weak. He should turn away and never look back, but some unseen power held him there. He glanced back up through the window, alarmed when he saw Filmore at Sarah's side. Instinctively, he took a step back and tried to hide. He did not want to risk discovery. Sarah closed her book and looked up into Filmore's eyes. He leaned down and kissed her as he stood behind the sofa.
Burning with jealousy, Thomas turned away and quickly bounded down the steps. He did not stop walking until he heard his coachman calling from behind. He had not even realised he'd passed the carriage.
"I will walk home, Gregory. You may go." Thomas turned without another word, not trusting himself to be civil. The pain wreaking havoc on his heart was almost too much to bear. How could Sarah do this to him? All the pain of the last week came crashing over his head anew. Shoving his hands into his jacket pockets, he pushed through the crowds, not caring who he bumped into.
He did his best not to think of Sarah, trying to push the apparition from his mind. Everything he thought he'd known about her had been a lie. She was not honorable or meek or truthful. How could she be and treat him thus?
No, Sarah was quickly becoming a woman who he no longer knew. Perhaps that was the most painful reality of all. He had built her up as an angel, perfect in every way. He had put too much pressure on her to be perfect. When she had fallen, as she was bound to, her fall had been complete.
Unbidden, Abigail came to his mind like a breath of fresh air out of a wasteland. His luncheon with her, albeit unconventional, had served to show him what kind of woman he had hired to help him win his revenge against Filmore.
He coloured at the thought of his outburst earlier that afternoon. When she had called herself plain, he had simply spoken his mind. It was true that she was not a fair beauty like Sarah was, Abigail had a beauty all her own. Her appeal lay in her candor, at least for him. But he was loathe to even think of starting another relationship after the hell he had been through the last few days. Sarah had hurt him more than she would ever know.
Hardening himself against the thought of pursuing Abigail, he chose to focus on the task at hand. Without realising what he was doing, he ended up back on Abigail's street. He went to the door and looked through the window.
He had not really expected to see her, but there she was, sitting at the pianoforte. The instrument must have been a family heirloom. He was sure that the brother and sister would not have been able to afford such an expensive piece of furniture in their present situation.
Abigail sat straight-backed as she turned the sheet music and alighted on the tune of her fancy. She rested her rounded hands over the ebonies and began to play. The song was at once sweet and melancholy. Music floated out towards him from the open window, beckoning him inside. He wished he could go in and speak with her, but at the same time, he was reluctant to interrupt her. She looked so peaceful.
Turning away, he hurried down the steps and back up the street the way he had come. Abigail deserved better than a man who would stoop to exacting vengeance on his enemies the way Thomas was doing. Better to spare her the heartache.
***
The hair on Abigail's neck rose as she sat at the pianoforte later that afternoon. She had a distinct feeling that she was being watched. Heart pounding, she slowly turned as she continued to play. Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw Lord Brampton hurrying away from their house.
Her hands faltered and she stood, making her way quickly to the window. The man was too far away to tell for sure who it was now, but something about him was familiar. Shaking her head, she went back to the piano bench. Surely Lord Brampton would not come all the way back to her home without a good reason.
"You were mistaken, Abigail. You are growing paranoid with this endeavor at espionage." She went back to playing her song, pushing the strange occurrence out of her mind.
Chapter 13
Sitting next to her maid in a hired hackney coach, Abigail rehearsed the questions she wanted to ask the ladies during her various calls. She had made appointments to visit several of the politicians’ wives the day after her meeting with Lord Brampton. Joshua had introduced her to several of the ladies already.
In the past, Abigail had seen no reason to call on them socially, except when she was called upon to host a dinner party. However, her assignment from Lord Brampton demanded that she move about in their circle more frequently, despite her aversion to gossips.
The small cab pulled up in front of Mrs. Jeremiah Bunting's home at half-past two, in time for afternoon tea. She could hear a few other ladies chatting in the parlour when the butler opened the door to her. Instructing Mazzie to join the other maids in the kitchen, Abigail entered the room. She swallowed a lump in her throat. She was not used to being around such high-society women without her brother. Some looked down on her because she was from the country, having rarely spent time in the city until moving there a year before.
"Ahh, Miss Abigail. How good of you to come. Ladies, this is my new friend, Miss Abigail Staton. I'm sure most of you have met her brother, Mr. Joshua Staton, who is up for election to the Commons?"
The ladies greeted her warmly as she was seated near the window. She let out a relieved sigh. They seemed to accept her with Mrs. Bunting's introduction.
"How long have you been in the capitol, Miss Abigail?" one of the ladies asked, after introducing herself as Mrs. Diana Suthers.
"I moved to town shortly after my father died, near a year ago." Abigail felt more at ease, grateful that Mrs. Suthers had struck up a conversation with her.
"Oh, I am sorry to hear about your father. I lost my own parents when I was about your age. At least you have your brother to keep you company. Not married yet, I presume?"
"No, Madam. I am not married."
"Well, we must remedy that, my dear. My husband has a cousin that has newly arrived to town, quite handsome..."
"Mrs. Suthers, please. Miss Abigail has only just joined our circle. We might at least give her some time to catch her breath before marrying her off," Mrs. Bunting scolded good-naturedly. "Tell us, Miss Abigail. How is your brother doing with his campaign?"
Abigail let out a breath, plunging into her plan. "He is not doing well, I'm afraid. His opponent is winning the debates, but I believe he is not a savory sort of fellow. Perhaps you may know of him? Sir Ezra Filmore?"
A general whisper of disapproval circulated the room. All five of the older ladies shook their heads and gave displeased tsks. "That man is a black mark on humanity." Mrs. Bunting frowned. "I am sorry your brother has to run against him, for I am convinced he will lie, cheat, and even kill to get elected to the post."
"He should be run out of England, if you ask me," Mrs. Genevieve Sparrow replied, her face flushed with anger.
"Why, what has he done?" Abigail felt a surge of excitement. She had thought it would be challenging to get the other wives to give up information on the man. This was turning out to be easier than she had expected.
"I heard that he broke many hearts when he was residing in Bath
. It seems that he seduced a young woman of family and no little fortune to run away with him and elope. He wrote a ransom note of sorts to her father, saying that he should send the dowry before he would wed his daughter."
"And did he? I mean did the father send the dowry?" Miss Elizabeth Bunting asked. She sat next to her mother, spellbound by the scandal.
"He did. But a few days later their daughter returned home, penniless and unmarried. It was told that she was found to be with child several weeks later."
"How dreadful! How has this information not been brought forward to the public? To think that this man wants a seat in the House of Commons. It cannot be bourn!" Mrs. Bunting looked over at her daughter nervously, no doubt wishing she could be spared such talk. Instead of asking her daughter to leave, however, she asked another question about the odious Sir Filmore. "What became of the young woman?"
Mrs. Sparrow leaned forward in a conspiratorial manner. "Her parents threw her out of the house when it was confirmed by the doctor that she was expecting. She was forced to go to the workhouse, I imagine."
"My goodness, what a dreadful story. I am sure I never want to encounter the blaggard." Mrs. Suthers took a sip of her tea after the pronouncement, her sentiments echoed by all the other ladies.
"Where does he hail from? My brother says no one knows where he comes from or if he has any family." Abigail snuck in another comment, trying to fan the flames of gossip so she might find out more.
"He has no family as far as I know. He appeared in London shortly after the incident I just related. But no one seems to know anything about his history." Mrs. Sparrow shuddered. "He made his living as a 'man-about-town,' courting rich women and then robbing them blind. It is a wonder he has not been caught yet and sent to prison."
Abigail pondered this for a moment. She did not feel quite as guilty about Lord Brampton's plan to ruin Sir Filmore after finding out this information. Of course, much of it was hearsay. Nevertheless, from all the accounts Joshua had given of Filmore, his heart was every bit as black as Mrs. Sparrow was saying.
"I'm sure justice will prevail in the end. My heart goes out to the poor woman in Bath. I wonder what ever became of her," Abigail said quietly.
Mrs. Suthers took her hand and gave it a light pat. "Don't worry, my dear. I'm sure her parents came around and allowed her back into the house after their grandchild arrived."
Abigail smiled weakly at her. Stories like that rarely ended happily.
"Enough of this depressing subject. Tell us about yourself, Miss Abigail. You say you have recently moved to town? Where did your family live before?"
"My father was a doctor. He treated many well-to-do families in Dover. My mother went to live with my aunt after my father died."
"Is your mother still in good health?"
That was not a question Abigail wanted to dive into, so she gave the polite answer. "She is, thank you. Living by the sea suits her."
"It did not suit you?"
Abigail nearly choked on her tea at the bold question. She cleared her throat and lowered her teacup to her lap. "No. I much prefer the city."
"It is a wonder we have not become acquainted with you until now. You must come and join our parties every week from now on."
Abigail blushed, touched by Mrs. Bunting's invitation. "Thank you, I will. You are most kind, Mrs. Bunting."
"Do not mention it. It must be very lonely in a bachelor’s house, with nothing else to amuse you."
Abigail nodded. Their home was far from dull, now that she was helping Lord Brampton with his mission to destroy Filmore. "My brother had one of his colleagues come to the house a few nights ago, a Lord Brampton. Do you know him?"
Mrs. Bunting smiled knowingly. "Ahh, Lord Brampton. He is a fine-looking man, is he not?"
Abigail baulked. She did not want to give away any of their plans. However, it would not hurt to find out a little bit more about the man. "He is, indeed," she replied, knowing that the colour was rising in her cheeks. "What is he like?"
"What do you want to know, my dear?"
"I am only curious because he has offered to help my brother in his career. How old is he, where did he go to school, what are his interests? Those sorts of things."
"He is twenty-five, I believe. Or is it twenty-six?" Mrs. Bunting looked to her daughter for confirmation.
"Twenty-five," Elizabeth replied.
"He went to Eton and then on to Cambridge. He had to leave university when his father died and take over the running of his estate. His mother passed away a few months later."
"How sad," Abigail said. She had sensed his melancholy when he'd told her of his parents’ death.
"Yes, it is rather. He keeps himself busy, though. You will not find a more avid sportsman and athletic. The man is always riding or hunting or fishing when he has the chance. He has a shining political career ahead of him."
Letting all this sink in, Abigail remained thoughtful while the ladies steered the conversation elsewhere. What would it be like to be courted by such a man as Lord Thomas Harborough? He was more than just a handsome dandy. Abigail sensed a depth in him, unlike other gentlemen she had met, most of whom were greedy and callous and arrogant.
When she returned home later that afternoon, she found Joshua sitting by himself in his study. An empty glass stood by on the corner of the desk. She took a steadying breath as she entered the room, hoping that he had not spent the afternoon drinking.
"Hello, Joshua." She greeted him cheerily as she sat down in front of the desk.
"Where have you been all afternoon?" He looked up at her, his eyes glazed.
"I went out to call on Mrs. Bunting. She invited me to tea with a few of her friends. I did not think you would mind."
"Not at all. Not at all. I'm sorry if I sounded cross just now."
"What's the matter, Joshua? You look exhausted."
"It's that scoundrel, Sir Filmore. He's bested me in a debate again. I don't know how he does it. His speech was good, too."
"What happened?" Abigail watched her brother and stand and pace.
"He's stolen my idea to appeal to the poor. He even handed out bread at the rally. The people were falling down at his feet." Abigail frowned. The idea had been hers, in all reality, and she did not care for Sir Filmore stealing their strategy.
The butler appeared at the door, knocking as he entered. "Lord Brampton to see you, sir."
Joshua raked his hand through his hair. "This is all I need! I'm sure he wants a report and I have nothing to give him on Filmore."
"Calm down, brother. I've found out some information that I'm sure Lord Brampton can use."
"I should never have taken his money. I should have listened to you. Lord Brampton is not going to get what he needs to bring down Filmore and then you and I will be ruined!" Joshua paced to the study door and peered out nervously.
Abigail went to him, taking his arm and drawing him away from the door. "Don't fret, Joshua. Everything is going to be alright. We'll go into some of the poorer areas of the city tomorrow and you can mingle with the people." She gave him a rueful smile, "But you'll have to change out of that stuffy suit." She straightened his collar and brushed her hands over his shoulders.
"Do you really think it will work? To go and mingle with the people, as you say?"
"People want to know that the men set over them to make decisions for the nation to understand them, that they know their needs. What better way could there be than to spend time with them? Talk to them and really listen, Joshua. You cannot go wrong with that."