by Eliza Lloyd
No. He had never given a thought to anyone outside of his world and felt the worse for it. Imogene was a true diamond, rough and uncut, but her brilliance radiated in everything she did and said. The world would have fallen at her feet had she been born into the right circumstances.
He stood and reached for her hand. “Come with me.”
“Where?”
“To the desk.” He sat down in his chair and pulled her into his lap with her legs between his, bringing the ink well nearer.
“I don’t know.”
“Which hand would you use to pick up that quill?”
Imo reached for it with her right.
“So I’d say you favor your right hand. Now, let’s start with your name.”
She stiffened in his lap. “Jack, I don’t want to.”
“We’ll start with your name. That’s all they’ll ask for at the bank anyway. Hold this.” He handed her the quill and opened a lower desk drawer. He stacked a sheaf of papers on the desk, reaching around Imo with one hand. “Did anyone try to teach you before?”
“Danny did. Mam taught him before she died. Danny’s real smart, but we never had money for paper or ink, so mostly he’d point out a letter on a building or he’d carve our initials.”
“Do you know the alphabet?”
“I’ve heard it. Can’t put the sound to what I see on a piece of paper, though.”
He plucked the pen from her and dipped it in the ink before writing and printing her name. “I’m going to guess on the spelling of your last name.”
“Oh, I know that. I heard Danny say it before. Farrell. Two r’s. Two l’s. That’s just how he says it.”
“Good.” Jack finished her name with a flourish. “There it is. Imogene Farrell.”
She lifted the paper and held her head at an angle. “It’s pretty. Makes me look important.”
“Can you copy it? This one. The printing first.”
“Maybe.” She gripped the quill, dipped it in the ink and copied the first letter. “I know this is an i. Danny showed me that when he carved our names in Mrs. Bunton’s roof beam. And this one is the f.”
“Well, we’ve made progress already. Would you like me to hire someone to help you learn? I’d be happy to do it.”
Imogene’s large eyes stared into his. “You’ve done more than enough.”
He wondered at his motives. As a mistress, Imogene wasn’t the perfect partner if he considered she couldn’t be displayed openly as such. There was no question about Imogene’s beauty. While his betrothal was a factor, the inappropriateness of Imogene as a mistress was obvious to anyone who met her. Her mannerisms were boyish and rough. Her language simple and uneducated, but her appeal went beyond the outward signs of privilege and power. His last mistress was a lady—a widow of means and position who enjoyed having a younger lover on her arm at the opera or at the park. Imogene was nothing like her, but he was already more fond of her than he’d ever been of Ellen.
It was easy to sum up but hard to put into words anyone would believe.
Jack liked being with Imogene. He could be himself when he was with her.
Little things like teaching her the alphabet and opening an account at the Bank of England and providing a decent living after he was out of her life all seemed natural and right.
“Imogene, look at me.”
Everything she thought was displayed in the expressions on her face. The doubt that she’d ever be able to read or write. The embarrassment of telling him her secrets. The simple trust she’d placed in him not to humiliate her or hurt her or lie to her.
He’d been indifferent to the poor, his servants, the working classes his whole life. He wasn’t proud of it, thinking about it now, looking into Imogene’s pensive gaze.
“I want to do more for you. It seems only just, since I have the means to do so, and I think I would enjoy providing for you. I’ve always thought I had good character, but until I met you, I realize I have had no character at all, for I’ve gone through my life with blinders on and you’ve helped me to see a little more of my world. So you would do me a great privilege if you would allow me to help you.” To his ears, he sounded pompous and overbearing, which made the adoring look she gave him feel all the more undeserving.
As the adoring look turned into something more sensual, he cleared his throat rather than throw her onto the desk and ravish her. He’d been very undisciplined regarding the time he’d spent with Imogene in bed. “Now, back to writing.”
Imogene smiled briefly and then clutched the pen. She bent over the desk and started copying.
Her bottom warmed his lap. He stroked his hand along her back as she worked.
“Tell me about your past. Where were you born? What you did after your mother died. I want to hear about your life.”
“Nothing to tell, really. All the exciting things have happened since I met you.”
“Why didn’t your relatives take you in or send you to an orphanage? Isn’t that what happens to young children without parents?”
She chuckled but didn’t look at him. “I’ll bet you think I had food in my belly three times a day too.”
“Was it hard?”
“I don’t know. I remember some time with my mam. We were warm and clean and safe. After she died, it was like night.” She stopped speaking and touched the quill feather to her lips. “Danny kept us together. It was just me and Danny and Frank then. I didn’t realize the kind of sacrifices he’d had to make to keep us safe and fed. And together.”
Imogene scratched at the paper again. “We worked in the dust-yards. A workhouse might have been better. I don’t know. At night, we hid in alleys and behind buildings and curled up next to strangers who were as bad off as we were. I think Danny thought someone would steal me. He cut my hair. Since then I dressed as a boy.”
Jack plucked the quill from her hand and slid one arm around her waist. He pulled her close and her lithe body curled into his. She rested her head on his shoulder.
“Danny stole sometimes. Frank too. They wouldn’t let me ’cause I was too scared. Mam’s friend Mrs. FitzPatrick finally found us. She didn’t know Mam had died, but when she found out, she looked for us for months. Then she helped us find a place to live—at Mrs. Bunton’s—and sometimes she gave us money. We only ate when we had money. We found Charlie about two years ago and we made him our brother. Somebody treated him real bad. But he’s ours now.”
“So you have no relatives that know about your situation?”
“I think Mam had a brother, but don’t know nothing about him. Maybe Danny does. He must not care or he’d of come looking, don’t ya think so?”
“I’m sorry. It shouldn’t have been like that for you.”
“Danny says there are families like us all over London, with nobody. We’re no different. I think Charlie’s prayers are what saved us. They brought Mrs. FitzPatrick at the right time. And his prayers brought me you.”
“I’ve never been the answer to anyone’s prayers before.” He cleared his throat and sat her up. “Now, you are dressed and we have business to attend. Regardless of your feelings on the matter, you must come along. I promise you won’t be embarrassed, but I want this resolved so I can sleep at night and not worry that a tragedy would befall a second time. I would hate to be involved in a carriage accident this evening and not have provided for you. And since you’re going to have Charlie stop praying for me, I think it best we go now.”
“I haven’t told him yet. And I won’t. I promise he’ll pray for you ’til he dies.”
* * * * *
“So every three months, I can go to the bank and get nearly four pounds and I don’t have to do anything?” Four pounds! She’d never go hungry again. None of them would. And she’d still have all of her money. “How many farthings is four pounds?”
Jack’s gaze focused on the carriage ceiling as he calculated, “Four thousand, eight hundred.”
“I’m rich,” she said. She tried to imagine a pile of money with
that many farthings. Imogene’s heart beat wildly for the sheer joy of having money for the rest of her life. Dreams she’d kept hidden seemed to burst inside her mind. Someday she would have her home near the water with trees and clean air.
Or in Paris! Mam had told her stories of Paris, though she’d never been there.
He merely smiled at her statement but didn’t say anything to spoil her fairy-tale vision.
“Can the bank lose my money?”
“Yes, but it seems unlikely. Safer than anything, except maybe land or a home.”
“Maybe I should do that,” she said. “It will be all right, won’t it?”
“For now you’ll be fine.” Jack was assured and confident. He’d probably never lost anything in his life.
Imogene was still confounded by the time they’d spent at the bank. The man who’d helped Jack fawned all over him, nearly kissing his feet. And when he’d turned his gaze to Imogene, he’d never suspected she was anything but some fine lady of London. She wasn’t going to ruin it by opening her mouth and uttering some stupidity that would embarrass Jack and identify her as an imposter. The clerk seemed dazzled enough by a smile now and again.
Except for Jack, it was the first time she’d ever been treated as anything other than a bother. The feeling of consequence was irresistibly appealing.
Walking in and out of the bank, she’d even shortened her steps so it didn’t seem as though she was running. Where her hand had rested on his arm, Jack had placed his free hand over the top and whispered, “Everything will be fine. You’ll see.”
He’d even smoothed over her fear of writing her name by suggesting they take the account papers with them for review.
She turned unaccountably surly when he said the experience was good for her, since someday she would need to manage her own affairs. He felt the need to remind her he wasn’t going to be with her forever.
If she uttered I love you again, would he change his mind?
Jack interrupted her private reverie. “You understand you can’t take the principal for at least five years?”
“Why would I want to? Oh, I can’t buy anything yet.”
“I just want to be clear.”
“Why did you tell him I was your ward and not your mistress?”
“Because he understood what I was saying without saying it. And a gentleman must always protect a lady’s reputation.”
“So he knew I was a whore. Why don’t people just say what they mean?”
“You stay around me long enough, you’ll understand why. And to your point, he didn’t think you were a whore, just my mistress.”
“Same thing.”
“Not to most people.”
“So you’ve done this for other women? Been their guardian?” she asked with not a little mockery. Again she felt cheeky and irritated about his providing for a lifetime of comfort when he’d be out of her life in less than two months.
“I already told you.”
“Tell me again.”
“There was one other. And she didn’t drive such a hard bargain as you did.”
“Good. I wouldn’t like being second best.”
“You’re not.”
“What was her name?”
“Her name is irrelevant and she’s in the past.”
“You don’t think about her?”
“Never.”
“Will you think about me?”
He leaned forward and glanced out the coach window but she saw the draw of his brows, as if he actually thought about the question. “We’re here.”
“Twenty Acres?” Imogene sighed, sank into the squabs and let her head rest on the cushion. The sound of the docks penetrated her senses. The barking dogs. The crying gulls. And the people. This had been her home for years. Their playground and their workplace.
“Vernon’s on the runner. He will see you are safe here while I conduct some quick business.”
“I’m not staying inside. I’m coming with you.” Now that they were here, she wanted to see the place. Would it feel the same? Would anyone recognize her?
“Look out the window only. This isn’t a safe place for a woman. I brought you along because it was quicker than taking you back to the house.”
“I’m not just any woman, Jack. I know each rock in the cobble. I know every pickpocket and whore.”
“All the more reason for you to stay inside. No sense courting danger.”
“I won’t leave your side. I promise,” she said, meaning it but not meaning it. What would it hurt to have a look-see at her old hideouts and haunts?
Jack descended from the carriage and turned to address her. “I’m sorry. No.”
The door shut in her face with a sharp snap. Imogene’s expression fell at the definitive rebuff. She pushed her head through the window opening. “You can’t make me.”
“Vernon,” he said, glancing up at the footman, “see that Miss Farrell remains safely inside.”
“Yes, sir.”
Vernon jumped from the carriage seat, rocking the conveyance. His broad back then blocked her view and her way out of the carriage.
Imogene’s guard was stationed before she had a chance to protest the imprisonment. Instead, she flung herself against the seat cushions again and crossed her arms over her chest. “Thinks he can order me around like...like... Well, he can’t.”
She grabbed the low bodice of her dress and wriggled her chest, trying to get her breasts to show better. After another glance out the window to make sure Jack wasn’t anywhere near, she gripped the door handle. He was just disappearing inside the offices of Deaver and Son. The front of their building was now painted a bright blue with bold, black letters.
She had to see everything. What had changed? What was the same? Who would be the first person she recognized?
She wrenched the door open.
“Vernon, would you be a dear and help me down?” she said in her best Mrs. Holland imitation. She leaned forward so her breasts nearly spilled to the ground and held out her hand, all the while smiling wide and showing every tooth in her mouth.
Vernon’s feet tangled as he scrambled toward her. Just as his hand brushed hers, he said, “Oh, but I can’t, Miss Farrell. Mr. Davenport gave me an order to keep you in the carriage.”
She laughed. “He didn’t mean for me to be trapped inside while the sun is shining. I’ll just stand out there with you. No one would dare accost me with such a fine strapping fellow like yourself at my side. You’ll protect me.” The last seemed to satisfy him.
“All right, but please don’t move once you get outside. And please get back in the carriage when I tell you. And don’t tell Mr. Davenport or he’ll dismiss me without a reference.”
“He’ll do no such thing.” Imogene knew full well she could outrun the lanky man had she not been trapped in her corset and yards of skirt. She would be satisfied with a glimpse of her old life. Months had passed since she’d even allowed the thought of returning to her old haunts. Tiny’s men were still a threat, but they wouldn’t see her. They would be looking for a boy and were too stupid to see past a well-dressed lady with a footman and a fancy coach behind her.
Fetid air assailed her nostrils. So familiar at one time, she wrinkled her nose as she identified the smell of horseshit. She glanced down and saw the hem of her dress brush against a steaming pile of crap. “Oh no!” She grabbed the hem of her dress and stepped back. It was on the bottom of her brown shoes too!
“Let me get that for you.” Vernon pulled out a hanky and squatted in front of her. His hand slid around her ankle and then he wiped at the side and bottom of her shoe.
“Thank you. You are so sweet and kind.”
“You’re welcome, Imogene.”
She would never have thought it possible, but she had an epiphany regarding Jack’s concern about respect and behavior. She had to stop playing the part of whore and start being someone the other servants respected. And then maybe Jack would as well. “It’s Miss Farrell,” she said with swee
t emphasis.
“Oh. Yes. I’m sorry.”
Piles of manure, streams of running filth, old straw, lanky weeds seeking sunlight and the dirty cobble lined the thoroughfare along the docks. Imo thought she could make her way forward without ruining her dress but should she?
A large coach and four, fancier than Jack’s, rolled by and came to a stop near their carriage, but on the opposite side of the street. A pack of dogs and a boy with a stick ran between them. Filthy little beggar, she thought. She would never allow, had never allowed, her face to be that dirty.
She glanced at her fine dress. Had she changed so much?
Imo wanted to go home. To Jack’s house. This wasn’t what she remembered. Maybe it wasn’t the same because her brothers weren’t with her. Maybe it wasn’t the same because she was no longer free or carefree. Now she had concerns. Her dresses for one. Jack’s reputation about having her for a mistress another. And Frank. And Danny.
And what about Charlie, with no real family but them?
What had she turned into? A fussy pretender who was afraid to step in horseshit? A woman who thought more of her lover than she did of her family?
“So the bird of paradise has come home to roost.” The booming Scottish lilt echoed across the distance. McGreggor took long steps across the cobble and reached her side, standing a head and hand taller than Imogene.
Vernon moved closer to Imogene’s side, an impotent gesture considering what Imo knew about the Scot. Too late to climb back into the carriage. She straightened and dared to look him in the eye. “McGreggor.”
“Imogene, you’ve been transformed before my verra eyes. Yer looking bonnie for a dead woman.”
“I’m still me. Resurrected you might say.” Danny had spread word weeks ago she was supposed to be dead. She’d forgotten that.
“So who was the lucky one who plucked our little treasure from beneath the verra noses of her people?”
“Someone who could afford me.”
McGreggor’s laughter boomed. He stuck his thumb in his waistcoat. “When he’s done with you, you still have a place with me. Dinna forget that, pretty little girl. Why did you run away? I promised you protection.”