“David, I cannot risk that much of the estate’s assets for any project. It’s about being cautious. Your passion for the mill blinds you to the chance that it might fail.”
“It will not fail!” Mia could contain herself no longer.
“Thank you, Mia,” David said, “Your confidence is—”
“David,” she interrupted him, since he was sure to say something annoying. She could tell by his tone of voice. “I will invest in your project. I will provide the other half of your financing.”
The two men stared at her.
“I am sorry, but it will take a while. I will not have control of my money until next year, but surely you can move ahead with the project with that promise in mind.” She nodded as if they would both agree without hesitation.
“I will not take your money,” David. “You need financial security.”
“But I will have it if I invest in your cotton mill.”
She looked at the duke.
He did smile, but then shook his head no. “A very sweet gesture, Mia, but acting on sentiment is a sure way to financial disaster.”
“It is very clear to me that you two have the same blood and were raised by the same hidebound antiquarian tutor.” And father. She was going to throw rotten fruit at the old duke’s bust if this did not work.
She walked up to David so that he had to look at her and not the duke. “If you will not use my money, then marry me and it will be your money to invest.”
“You’re proposing to me?” David looked and sounded dumbfounded.
“If that’s what it will take to convince you that I am serious about this investment.”
“Mia, I love your generosity and appreciate your faith in me, but to marry would mean a life considerably different from the one you have now.”
“It will be an adventure, and we can make love whenever we want.”
Her outrageous comment had the effect she had hoped for.
The duke broke in. “I will go and let the two of you resolve your differences.”
He could not leave fast enough. The room was quiet for a very long moment while Mia waited to see what David would say. Silence was often as good as action.
“Listen to me,” David said, taking her by the arm.
Of course the right action could never be underestimated, either, so before he could say any more, Mia kissed him.
David could not doubt the intensity of her feeling. Tumultuous, overwhelming, so intense that her body was shaking with need. They clung to each other with their mouths, their hands, their bodies admitting with each caress that they were so much better together than they were when split apart.
She leaned back in his arms and tried to catch her breath.
“I love you,” David said.
They were almost the most wonderful words Mia had ever heard, even if she didn’t understand his added “Damn the seesaw.”
“David, my dear and only lover, that sounds like an ultimatum rather than a declaration.” She kept her arms around his neck and kissed his chin.
A smile touched his lips. “I love you, Mia.”
“Much more loverlike and nearly perfect. And I love you.” She punctuated each word with a quick kiss and ended with a kiss that left him in no doubt.
He grinned, almost let loose a soft laugh. “Aha, so the seesaw is in balance.”
“What seesaw?”
He explained his theory to her.
“Why, it’s wonderful. It will be the way to measure our lives for years to come.”
She moved against him, seeking a different kind of balance. He started to untie the ribbons at her back. “Wait,” she said, and when he stilled his hands she asked, “David Pennistan, will you marry me?”
He laughed and kissed her. “Only if you will marry me.”
“Yes, of course. As soon as you wish.”
“If you want an adventure, we can elope to Gretna Green.”
How sweetly generous that was, but this was all the adventure she needed for a good long while. “To elope would only convince your whole family that conventions mean nothing to us.”
David laughed again, for as she spoke she led him into his bedroom, then walked over and locked his door.
“And while that may be true, we do not want our behavior to estrange you from your far more proper brother and my guardian, who would understand but take his side as is only right. Can we marry here?”
“Yes.”
She waited for more but he shook his head.
“Mia, my dear, you are living in a dream if you think I am going to abandon one-word sentences. They are so efficient.”
She narrowed her eyes and considered his statement. “Just as long as you’re prepared to hear the word no on a regular basis.”
“Not in bed,” he said as they helped each other undress.
“Never,” she agreed, and proceeded to demonstrate that where showing her love for him was concerned, the word no was not in her vocabulary.
Epilogue
THE NEXT MONTH passed in a haze of happiness. They argued regularly, and his taciturn answers and her nos were as much a part of their engagement as they had been a fixture of their unconventional courtship.
The night before their wedding was typical as they discussed whether she should stay behind while he found them a house in Birmingham. Absolutely not.
“You can be so practical. And unyielding.” But it also means that I can rely on you to always be there.
“Your liveliness is too much of a distraction.”
How sweet that he would not say it annoyed him.
“But you make me laugh. Mia, you truly make me laugh.”
“But making someone laugh is so frivolous, not that I’m fishing for compliments,” she added.
“It fills me with joy and I no longer see that as frivolous, any more than you are.”
She curled up alongside his body and kissed his chest.
“There is one more thing that drives me mad,” he said.
“Really?” She could guess what it was.
“You do talk too much.”
He loomed over her and she giggled. Neither one of them said another word that night.
MIA’S DECISION TO BE MARRIED at the church in Pennsford by Mr. Garrett surprised everyone.
What surprised them even more was when David and Mia announced that they would take a wedding trip to Manchester to see firsthand the Long Bank Mill, and spend a week or two at Sandleton before moving on to settle in Birmingham.
There were any number of risqué jokes bandied about at their wedding breakfast. It seemed everyone knew about the collection of erotic books in Sandleton’s library. The duke asked them to send one of their favorites to him. Elena looked as if she were about to take his wineglass away again.
Mia leaned close to David and whispered, “And this is the man who considered celibacy for the rest of his life.”
David burst out laughing. She watched the laugh lines deepen around his eyes and mouth and vowed to make them permanent. Then she noticed that all conversation had stopped and everyone was looking at the two of them, varying degrees of surprise on their faces.
“I’m sorry,” Mia said, “though I have no idea what I am apologizing for.”
They all relaxed, smiling again. Olivia leaned across the table. “It is just so wonderful to hear David happy. We have not heard him laugh for more years than I want to count.”
“But he laughs all the time with me. And sometimes at me.”
The duke raised his glass. “To David and Mia. Marriage will surely be their greatest adventure.”
Author’s Note
Quarry Bank Mill in Styal near Manchester is the inspiration for Long Bank Mill. Quarry Bank Mill is still in existence and is operated by the largest waterwheel in the world. It was built and originally owned by Samuel Greg, and by 1832 it was the largest cotton-spinning business in the U.K.
David Pennistan very much wanted to be part of that growth, but he founded
his own cotton mill, steam powered, in Birmingham instead. David’s (and Mia’s) success will be an element in my next book for Bantam.
In post-Waterloo England the country began to move toward the Industrial Revolution. Manufacturing was growing more important, with an increasing emphasis on city employment. Barges were still used to transport goods, but within twenty years trains would become essential to efficient movement of both raw and finished materials.
Another major change of the period was in the world of fashion. Around 1818 dresses became more fussy, edged with ribbons and ruffles around the skirt and neckline. The shoulders showed more of what we today call shoulder pads. Gone was the elegant simplicity associated with the early Regency, as waists lengthened and fashion headed toward the elaborate designs of the Victorian era.
Mia loved change in fashion, as most young women do. The more elaborate gowns suited her exotic beauty, and since she was older and could wear stronger colors, all was right in her world of fashion.
In case you were wondering, Mia did in fact become the proud owner of a poodle, whom she named Slubber, a word that still makes her laugh every time she says it. No wonder Slubber thinks his mistress is the happiest woman in the world. It’s true, though I suspect that David has more to do with that than Slubber does.
Lisa Reppert deserves special mention for her comment when I told her that Mia of Stranger’s Kiss was the heroine of Courtesan’s Kiss. “I can’t believe that vanity smurf Mia is going to be a heroine. I can’t wait to see how you do it.” I’m sure Lisa, at least, will let me know if I succeeded.
Also, please be assured that William Bendasbrook will find true love. I knew from the beginning that he and Mia would be better friends than lovers. I’m sorry if you were disappointed by their breakup.
My thanks, as always, go to my critique group, the Lifesavers, also known as Lavinia Kent, Marsha Nuccio, and Elaine Fox. They must share first place with editorial genius Shauna Summers and her talented assistant, Jessica Sebor. Their input always makes my books better.
Can’t wait for more riveting romance
from Mary Blayney?
Don’t miss her upcoming novel …
One More Kiss
Coming soon from Bantam Books
Turn the page to take a peek inside. …
We are so used to disguising ourselves from others
that we end up disguising ourselves from ourselves.
—François de La Rochefoucauld
Birmingham
May 1819
LYDIA CHERNOV DID NOT put on her cloak or gather her things until the hackney drew to a halt in front of the shop. Chernov Drapers might be on the best street of shops in Birmingham, but at dusk and beyond one could not be too careful.
Pulling the wool cloak over her gown, Lydia did her best to control the hum of excitement that made her heart beat a little bit faster, but she could feel herself smiling and knew that tonight could change everything.
She calmed herself by mentally running through the list of items: umbrella, satchel with periodicals, trim kit and reticule; then she stepped out into the evening, miserable as it was.
The fog hung just above the rooftops, turning to rain as it came closer to earth. Not a heavy rain, but enough to make protection necessary. Holding the umbrella and her bags, Lydia made short work of locking the door. She hurried to the conveyance stepping carefully, holding her skirts a little higher than proper, all to avoid the widening puddles.
Calling the direction to Mr. Leopold, she climbed into the cab. She settled back and considered the periodicals she had chosen. Lord David promised fabric that would be a delight to both eye and touch. His wife would be the perfect model for the new cottons. And Chernov Drapers would be the only shop to carry the yard goods. The trick would be to choose the designs that would show the fabrics to best advantage.
The hackney moved more quickly than usual and Lydia had to hold on so as not to lose her seat. With the streets wet and slick, speed seemed unwise.
Controlling a stab of alarm but not her annoyance, she was about to knock on the roof with her umbrella when the conveyance skidded to a halt. Before she could lean out and scold Mr. Leopold, the street-side door swung open.
Cold wet air was not the only intrusion. A man jumped aboard. At the same moment the hackney began moving again and Lydia felt affront and an even stronger dose of alarm. Thank God she was not the type to be paralyzed by fear.
“What do you think you are doing?” She tried for indignation and held tight to her umbrella, quite prepared to use it as a weapon. “Mr. Leopold!” she called. “Do you have your pistol?” She had no idea if he carried one or not but hoped the question would give the intruder second thoughts.
The man, a very large man, laughed and settled in with his feet propped against one door and his back against the other so that she could not reach either handle. “Leopold is counting his bribe money and heading for the whorehouse.” The man made himself more comfortable but still blocked the doors.
“Mr. Chernov wants to see you.” He spoke with an all-too-familiar accent.
“My husband?” That was not possible.
“If you wish to call him your husband.” He spoke the word as if it were a nickname and not a state blessed by God and the church.
“Mr. Chernov is not in England and I have no travel papers with me.” Which would hardly matter if he intended to force her to go abroad.
The man shrugged. “No papers will be needed where we are going.”
Her mind worked as fast as the machine at the new cotton mill. Lydia was sure that Mr. Chernov was dead. He would have found her much sooner than this if he still breathed. The shop, after all, bore his name. But even dead, a line of those who wanted something from him would wind around the block. This man thought to use her to find him.
Lydia had made a vow that she would not become embroiled in his problems. Not ever again. “This is a kidnapping. I will not go with you willingly.”
“Call it what you will, you are coming with me.” The man took out a large knife and pretended he needed to clean his fingernails.
The knife erased her fear, replacing it with a cold truth. Her mind moved at double speed. She would rather die. Yes, and leave Paul an orphan, than obey this man. If she went along with his demands she might never see the boy again anyway.
The carriage was still in the city, nowhere near the river but surely headed that way. Once they were out of Birmingham it would be more difficult to find help.
Lifting her umbrella, holding it by the tip, she used the curled handle to hit him where it would hurt the most. The man bent double, cursing in Russian, and Lydia grabbed the moment to open the door and leap from the hackney, dragging her invaluable bags with her.
Stumbling on the wet cobblestones, she twisted her ankle and cursed a little herself. Ignoring the pain and without the slightest idea of where she was, she headed for the noise coming from the one lighted building glimmering through the fog.
Within a few yards of safety a man stepped out of the shadows. She ran full into him. Raising the satchel holding the periodicals with strength born of desperation, Lydia beaned him before his words registered.
“Do you need help, miss?” was followed by a sound between an oof and ow.
“What in the world did you hit me with?” He stepped back and looked about for his hat but showed no sign of abandoning her. Finding his hat, he brushed it off, seemingly unaware of the scoundrel from the hackney hurtling down the street, his knife raised, all the more menacing for silent dispatch.
With his hand firmly on his head, the man from the shadows stepped in front of her, easing her anxiety enough that she could breathe again.
In an instant her rescuer released a sword that was sheathed in his walking stick. What was a gentleman doing on the streets at this hour?
“Begone, you villainous thug. Leave this woman alone.”
Lydia almost laughed, as inappropriate as it was. The words could have c
ome straight out of a Minerva Press novel.
“She’s my wife and trying to run off with her lover.”
“I am not his wife!” Lydia hoped she was stating the obvious.
“Of course not. No woman with your taste and manner would ever be seen with a pig like this.”
The pig lurched forward, and without a moment of hesitation her rescuer stuck him in the arm with his sword.
Bleeding like his namesake, the pig stumbled back, tossing his knife into his other hand but making no move to attack. “You’ll pay for this!” The venom in his voice made payment sound life threatening.
“Ah, but first you have to find out who I am.” Her rescuer wiped the blade with a bit of linen and held it at the ready again.
“Not you, you dandy-headed fop. The bitch, Mrs. Chernov, will pay. I’ll see to that.”
The rescuer glanced at her, apparently taken aback for the first time since the encounter began. For her part, Lydia had no idea what was afoot, other than the mention of her husband’s name, and that was as puzzling as knowing nothing.
The gentleman nodded as if she had spoken her confusion aloud. He took several steps closer to the thug, holding his sword in front of him.
“If you so much as come near her again, I will butcher you and leave you for the dogs. I have my ways and my contacts in Birmingham—I can find the likes of you, Novokov, without a moment’s trouble.”
Novokov’s startled expression showed his shock at being named.
“Begone!” the man shouted again, causing both Lydia and Novokov to jump.
“I’ll find you. I’ll find you both!”
“Empty threat, Novokov. Mrs. Chernov is now under my protection. You know better than to challenge me.”
Did he? Who was this man? At the moment he sounded almost as threatening as Novokov.
“Damn you both to hell!” Novokov called out as he stumbled backward and away from them.
Mary Blayney - [Pennistan 04] Page 29