True of Heart (Regency Shakespeare Book 3)

by Martha Keyes

  “Would it, Henry?”

  She punched her brother in the arm. Every now and and again, he called her by the name their parents had chosen for what they had hoped would be twin boys. Her larger-than-average height did nothing but add fuel to the fire of his teasing, but she knew he resented being the shorter of the two.

  Ruth had never explicitly stated that the Swan was a man, but she hadn’t been terribly disappointed when people made the assumption. It was better for business, after all. And it was why, even when she accompanied him to the newspaper office, she always had Topher deal with the owner, Mr. Jolley. But she wondered whether the man had his suspicions.

  Topher rubbed his arm. “Of course this ‘O’ fellow would see you were a woman, but what if it wasn’t you who went?”

  Ruth laughed. “What, you?”

  “Why not?”

  She folded up the letter and handed it to him, directing a baleful stare at him. “There’s a reason I write the advice and not you, Topher. I am the one Papa taught. I am the one whose advice keeps The Weekly paying for the column. I am the one whose counsel creates success stories like that of this McQ.” She nodded at the second letter.

  “And I merely handle the correspondence,” he said in a childish voice. “I know. But it’s only for an hour, Ruth. Surely you could teach me enough of the basics to give good account of myself to Mr. O. Just think—twenty pounds for a mere hour!”

  Twenty pounds was a significant amount. She imagined how it would change the sum on the paper upstairs and chewed on her lip. How much were her scruples worth? “But it feels so…so…vulgar.”

  “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, sister, but”—he motioned to the bare parlor—“we are vulgar now.”

  “Topher!” she cried. “Not vulgar. We may be poor, but it is not the same thing at all.”

  He shrugged. “Fact is, we need money—and we need it sharpish. If you won’t respond to the fellow, I will.”

  Ruth’s eyes widened. She wasn’t entirely proud of her venture as the Swan, but neither did she want to trust Topher with the reputation she had taken care to cultivate.

  He noted her reaction and grinned. “What? You don’t believe me capable? Think I don’t know how to win over hearts?”

  Ruth gripped her lips together and took the letter from his hand. She ran her fingers over the broken seal, feeling a fluttering of nerves at the thought of agreeing to something so new for the Swan. It was so easy to write a weekly column, hiding behind paper. This was uncharted territory. “How should I know what you’re capable of when you refuse to talk to me at all about your own romantic ventures?”

  “I tell you as much as you tell me.” He sat on the chaise longue and rested one ankle over the other. The elegant piece of furniture belonged in the low-ceilinged room as much as Topher’s waistcoat did. It was one of the few pieces they’d brought with them from Dunburn. Ruth would have preferred two wooden chairs, honestly. She hated the unwelcome reminder—comfortable as it was—of all they’d had to leave behind.

  “That is only because I have no romantic ventures to speak of,” she said. “And don’t even begin to pretend the same is true for you. I am not stupid.”

  She had dreamed of romance. But that had been before all of this. The prospect of her own love story was yet another thing she’d had to leave behind at Dunburn. Love was a luxury she couldn’t afford. Now she merely helped other people find it.

  A knock sounded on the parlor door, and Ellen appeared in the doorway. “Shall I reheat last night’s soup, miss? If we wish for something else, I will just need to make a short trip to the market before dinner.”

  Ruth didn’t respond right away, keeping her eyes on the maid. This would be the third night in a row they’d had the soup. She could already hear George’s whining. She glanced at Topher, who indicated the coin bag on the parlor table with a significant raising of an eyebrow.

  “Give her one of the coins.” Ruth swallowed as Topher obediently took a coin from the bag and handed it to the maid. “See what you can find with that, Ellen.”

  The maid nodded and disappeared.

  Ruth stared at the door for a moment then sat down in the seat at the escritoire. “Let’s respond to this ‘O’ gentleman, then.”

  The Hawthorn children wouldn’t have soup five nights a week if Ruth had anything to say to the matter.

  Chapter Four

  Mrs. Watts had chosen the perfect spring day for her al fresco party. Birds chirped happily, the skies were streaked with thin, white clouds, and people trailed steadily into the gardens of Redditch House.

  Philip glanced at the newest arrivals, hoping to see Finmore. It was a foolish hope—Finmore would no doubt stroll into the party twenty minutes before the end. He was rarely out of bed before eleven on a Saturday, and he could never abide being rushed.

  Reasoning that the one place Miss Devenish was sure to go was the refreshment tables, Philip positioned himself on the outskirts of the food tents, speaking with whoever addressed themselves to him, all the while keeping an eye on her. He was obliged to wait for some time, as, by all appearances, she was approached by every eligible man in attendance, some even bringing her offerings from the table so that Philip doubted she would even need to come there for herself.

  On all this attention her father looked with a watchful but not unkind eye. He seemed to be in little doubt what a treasure his daughter was.

  Just now, her petite hand was being bowed over by Robert Munroe, a man nearly old enough to be her father. And yet, she still accorded him the same polite smile as she did every other man. She seemed to show no preference at all between the dozen men who had greeted her. It was what Philip so liked about her—and also the thing which made him worry so for his own prospects.

  When she finally arrived at the refreshment table, Philip’s legs were fairly begging him to sit down or walk about, but he took the few steps over to the table and then feigned surprise.

  Her father greeted him and then excused himself as he was addressed by a man behind Philip.

  Philip smiled at Miss Devenish, but she was selecting a tart and seemed not to notice. “I see you come to the table with the same goal as me,” he said. “Sampling the lemon tarts before they have all been consumed.” He bit into one of the tarts.

  Miss Devenish raised her brows. “Oh. I thought I saw you eating one just a few minutes ago. You have been standing here for quite some time, so I imagined you’d had the opportunity to sample nearly everything you could wish to.”

  So she had noticed him. If he hadn’t just been caught in a lie, the realization might have been more gratifying. Feeling an explanation was called for, he said, “Oh, well, that is—” Crumbled lemon tart crust from his mouth flew onto Miss Devenish’s lovely lavender dress.

  Philip’s hand shot up to his mouth, eyes wide. He hurriedly chewed and reached for his handkerchief before continuing to speak. “I apologize, Miss Devenish. Allow me.” He began to reach his hand out, only to realize how entirely inappropriate it would be for him to remove the piece of tart from the fabric between Miss Devenish’s bosom and shoulder. “Here,” he said, thrusting the handkerchief at her.

  She took it, and Philip looked away while she removed the offending chunk of lemon curd. “I am not normally so clumsy,” he said with an uncomfortable laugh that would convince no one.

  She smiled up at him. “It is no matter, my lord.” She seemed to hesitate with the handkerchief in hand, as though unsure whether to return it to him.

  He waved a hand. “No need to return it to me. You may keep it.”

  She thanked him genuinely, slipping it into her reticule.

  “Rebecca,” her father said, coming up to them. “Mrs. Birch is in Town and was hoping to speak with you. I have just seen her arrive.”

  “Ah.” She looked out onto the grounds. “Yes, I see her.” She smiled up at Philip kindly. “If you will excuse us. Good day, my lord.”

  Philip sighed as he watched the Devenishe
s walk off, reliving every agonizing moment of the past two minutes in such vivid detail that he was hardly aware when someone came up beside him.

  “You’ll have to do better than that if you mean to have her.” Finmore reached for one of the sweetmeats on the tiered tray beside them. “Of course, one should take care when generalizing, but I am tolerably certain that women tend to regard being spat upon with disfavor.”

  “It was hardly done intentionally,” Philip said, a bite to his voice. Finmore would never commit such an error.

  “I’m afraid that, in something as delicate as the pursuit of women, such a distinction is rarely appreciated. Why you cannot show a little humility and ask for some help is beyond me.”

  Feeling unbearably hot, Philip removed his hat, sliding his hands along its rim as he considered whether to tell Finmore of his upcoming meeting with the Swan. But Philip didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he had taken his advice. He could be unbearable sometimes. “Thank you, Fin. But no.”

  Philip’s pride—the thing that told him he was capable of anything he set his mind to—balked at admitting he would be employing the services of a stranger to aid him in something that should have been easy for him to accomplish. But he clearly needed that assistance.

  That and to stay far away from lemon tart.

  Chapter Five

  Ruth’s heart pounded as she approached the door to her house. She put an anxious hand up to her neck, feeling how it prickled her fingers and tightening her bonnet ribbons. A silly gesture, of course. At best, it would delay the inevitable.

  She straightened her shoulders. It was done, and it hardly mattered. All that signified was the money she carried in the pocket of her pelisse. Not as much as she had hoped for, but it would afford them the post-chaise to London. Topher had insisted they had an image to maintain, and she couldn’t deny he was right. Who would wish to take love advice from someone arriving on the stage or the Mail Coach? Thank heaven they didn’t live far from Town.

  She opened the creaking door, slipping into the kitchen so that her back faced whoever might be sitting at the table.

  Her legs were quickly enveloped in a pair of small arms, and she smiled as she reached down to pick up George. “Hello, my love!” She planted a wet kiss on his cheek, causing him to crinkle his nose and wipe at it with the back of his hand. His eyes widened as he peered under the lip of her bonnet.

  “Your hair, Ruthie!”

  “What of it?” She put him down on the floor and avoided the gazes of her siblings.

  George pointed at her head. “It’s all gone.”

  Ruth forced a laugh. “Not all of it, silly!” She paused a moment. But this was as good a time as any other, and she tugged at the ribbons before pulling her bonnet off. Her neck felt naked, and she reached a cupped hand to the back of her head, her heart startling again at the mere inches of hair, cropped close to her head, much like Topher’s, only much straighter and darker.

  Gasps sounded from every single one of her six siblings, accompanied by wide-eyed stares of horror.

  “Ruth!”

  “Now she really looks like a boy!”

  “Shh! She does not.”

  Heat rose into Ruth’s cheeks. She knew it was just teasing, but what she didn’t know was how much truth lay behind it.

  Topher was the only one who had yet to say something, and he walked over wordlessly, putting a hand to Ruth’s short, dark hair then looking at her for an explanation.

  She lifted her shoulders with the best nonchalant smile she could muster. “You may go hire our chaise now.”

  Topher’s cravat moved up and down as he swallowed. “You ninny,” he said softly. “What were you thinking?”

  “It’s not much, but between this and a bit of what you earned the other day, it should get us there and give us enough for lodgings.”

  “Hire a chaise?” their brother Charlie said. “To where?”

  “Ruthie and Topher are going to London!” Joanna said excitedly as she came up to them. “Aren’t you?”

  Ruth nodded, taking her sister’s grubby hand. “We are indeed.”

  “Sophia said that women go to London to make a smart match. If you do, shall we be able to go back to Dunburn?”

  Ruth opened her mouth to respond, but she was overruled.

  “She can’t make a match like that.” Ruth’s eight-year-old sister Penny pointed at her hair, nose wrinkled. “She looks too much like a man.”

  “She’s not strong enough to be a man,” said an affronted John, Ruth’s ten-year-old brother. “Plus, she’s got girly eyes. Just look how long her eyelashes are.”

  “Yeah, almost as long as yours,” Charlie said with a jab at John.

  Topher shooed the young ones away with both hands, telling them to go wash up for dinner, and Ruth busied herself with removing her pelisse, not wanting to meet her brother’s eye. She was secretly bruised by her siblings’ comments.

  But it didn’t matter how she looked, as long as her siblings had food on the table and opportunities to better themselves.

  Topher walked over to her and put an arm around her shoulders. “We don’t deserve you, Ruthie.” He ruffled her hair with a teasing hand.

  Ruth could see her mother eying her close-cropped hair with a sort of wistful sadness, and she hurried to put on her bonnet. She had been trying not to think about her hair since cutting it. In many ways, it was a welcome change. Ruth had always been impatient with her hair—particularly when she was young and Topher was already outside playing, while she had to sit and wait for her hair to be tamed. She merely needed to think of her current hairstyle as a childhood dream finally realized.

  The door opened, and Topher walked in, wearing the finest pieces of clothing he owned. “The chaise is waiting for us at The Red Lion. We should go.”

  Ruth nodded, swallowing the lump of nerves in her throat.

  “Will you bring me back a doll, Ruthie? Oh, please.” Joanna grasped her hand and looked up at her with so much hope Ruth could hardly bear it. “Sophia said that her doll was made specially in London.”

  It had been more than a year since Joanna had seen her friend Sophia McCausland, but she had a very good memory.

  Ruth crouched so she was at eye level with her sister. “We shan’t be in London for very long at all, my love.” She tucked a hair behind Joanna’s ear, watching as the girl nodded bravely, eyes filling with tears. “I will keep an eye out, though.” She wrapped Joanna in a full embrace and then rose to bid her mother goodbye. Her protestations against Ruth and Topher’s plans had been milder than expected. She obviously knew they needed the money, even though it meant her children stooping to levels that pained her.

  Ruth kissed her mother on a floured cheek. “Goodbye, Mama.”

  “Hurry, Ruth,” Topher said, still standing in the open doorway, his packed belongings at his feet, and a sealed letter in hand. Their younger maid Lucy stood quietly by, holding Ruth’s portmanteau.

  “Are you certain you can spare Lucy?” Ruth asked her mother.

  She nodded and put a hand to the pieces of hair peeking out of Ruth’s bonnet. She rubbed a short lock between her fingers. “Ellen and I will manage. She and Lucy took some time to prepare things for the week last night. And Charlie has already promised to help where needed. I feel easier knowing you have someone with you. I wish I could chaperone you myself, as it should be.” Ruth had already considered that option, but George couldn’t be deprived of both Ruth and his mother simultaneously.

  “We shall be back before you know it.”

  Topher kept a quick pace on the way to the inn where the post-chaise awaited, only slowing for a quick stop in the offices of The Marsbrooke Weekly to deliver the column for the coming week. Ruth and Lucy waited, keeping watch over his portmanteau and valise as he delivered the paper. Ruth frowned at her brother’s belongings.

  “Surely you don’t need all of that for a short stay in London,” Ruth said as he picked up the valise.

>   “You yourself said we have an image to maintain, didn’t you?”

  She raised a brow at him. “You were the one who said that. Why in the world would you need two hats? Or two pairs of boots?”

  He looked astounded. “I cannot wear my riding boots with my Wellington. You must surely see that.”

  She didn’t at all see it, but she held her tongue, feeling it to be wasted energy—and not wishing to spend hours in a carriage with a moody Topher.

  By the time they arrived at The Red Lion, the horses were fidgeting, their muscular haunches gleaming in the springtime sunshine.

  Ruth stopped in the inn yard and stared at the equipage, biting her lip and hardly noticing when the postilion took her portmanteau and set it on the platform. She was certain this had not been what her father had in mind with all he had taught her about love.

  “Come, Ruthie,” Topher said, gesturing to her from the steps of the chaise. “Let’s not dilly dally.”

  He was anxious to get to London. Their father had fallen ill just as Topher was meant to accompany him to Town for the first time on business—the same business that had gone terribly awry soon after. Ruth couldn’t help wondering how much of Topher’s desire to meet with Mr. O was simply a wish to see however much of London he could. She couldn’t blame him for wanting an escape.

  Topher stepped back down to the ground, coming over and putting a hand on her arm. “What is it?”

  She shook her head, watching as the postilion assisted Lucy onto the seat behind the rear wheel. “Nothing.” She smiled. “Just my missish scruples again. I can’t rid myself of the notion that what we are about to do is not very genteel.”

  Topher cocked a brow. “Have you not been telling me to stop dressing as though we were genteel?”

  “No, I have been telling you to stop dressing like a fop.” She elbowed his bright waistcoat, from which a pocket watch chain dangled—a pocket watch chain with no pocket watch at the end. But only Ruth and Topher knew that.