I stopped in front of it and pulled my shawl even tighter. There was a rough stone pathway winding around rich green plants, struggling to keep their color. Two peaks characterized the roof and met in the middle in a straight line with red tile slats between. The entire facade was mottled gray, like charcoal streaked on wood. It matched the sky. I squinted up at the stiff, intimidating home and found that it suited its inhabitant quite nicely.
Gathering my fortitude, I picked up my steps and took myself to the porch. Without hesitation, I rapped my knuckles against the door. I waited, hearing nothing inside. The house wasn’t large. Surely he had heard me. I raised my fist to knock again, when the door was pulled open so abruptly I felt my heart skip. I quickly lowered my fist but not before it went unnoticed. A cocked eyebrow from Mr. Wortham was my chagrin.
“Miss Lyons.” He looked surprised to see me. “What brings you here on this fine morning?” He grinned as rain continued to fall from the sky.
I didn’t know if I was more surprised by his appearance or that he had addressed me properly. He was dressed … well. He wore a waistcoat, clean breeches, and a cravat—loosely tied, but cleaned and starched. The waistcoat was pale green, embossed with silver strands. My eyes flickered to the book he held in his hand.
“You—you can … read?” I asked. My voice was flat, not the smooth purr I usually employed around gentlemen. But Mr. Wortham wasn’t a gentleman. He was a dirty, uneducated scoundrel. Yes. That was it.
“No. I merely use this book as a coaster for my jug of brandy.”
I remained silent.
There was a sardonic smile on Mr. Wortham’s lips that told me he had been jesting. “Of course I can read. I’ve known how to read since I was very young.” He looked down at me with a stern brow, as if expecting me to challenge him.
“But you are a fisherman—er—tradesman, costermonger …” My words trailed off. What was his profession exactly? I remembered the shilling piece he had offered that poor man on the street. No fisherman would sacrifice that much of their wage so freely. And his speech. It was rough to the untrained ear, but significantly more refined than that of the other men I’d observed in town.
I was distracted by my thoughts—I didn’t notice Mr. Wortham lean his head closer. “There’s a great deal you don’t know about me.”
I studied his face for one second longer and tucked my questions away to analyze later. I realized with embarrassment that I hadn’t told him why I was here. I hurried the words from my mouth, annoyed with myself for allowing this man to dishevel me.
“I have come to attempt to thank you for the assistance you have given my sister and me. It is much appreciated. I am very grateful, and would now venture to ask if you would be willing to share the information we so desperately need.” I tried one more time at a coy smile and glanced up at him as my lashes fluttered downward.
He held the door open wider and ushered me inside, hardly glancing at me as he did. “I’ll dismiss that obvious flirting as a desperate attempt to avoid your end of the bargain.” He flashed me a smile. “Come in. We will discuss the matter inside before you drown.”
I fought back a frustrated scowl as I stepped into the entryway and followed him to a room that looked like a small library. My nose was greeted with the smell of parchment, wood, and something masculine I couldn’t name. Bookshelves bordered the room, stacked full and orderly with books. There was a round desk to one side near a low-burning fireplace. I sat on one side of the table and Mr. Wortham took his place across from me.
“Remind me of your inquiries,” he said, leaning over to replace his book on a nearby shelf.
I narrowed my eyes. I had no doubt that he remembered perfectly. “Suitable employment and information pertaining to Lord Trowbridge. I have been told you know him well.”
“Indeed, I do.” He drummed his fingers on the table, staring at my face for several seconds. “For information on both subjects I require you to tell me where you came from, and also why. Craster is not London. Rarely do we have lovely young ladies storming our gates.”
I searched frantically for a response. I could not tell him of our entire situation. My plan had been to inform him of the vague details, but I didn’t trust him with any information that could spread to Lord Trowbridge and ruin my chance of winning him. It was already a remote chance, and I didn’t want it to shrink.
I settled on telling half the truth. “We came from Canterbury to escape the disgrace of a relative.” When he raised his brows for me to continue, I added, “A gentleman would not pry into the subject.”
He dropped his head and chuckled.
“What do you find so amusing?” Anger clenched my fists.
He raised his eyes to mine. “You never considered me a gentleman before today. So why should I be one now? When I ran after your stolen reticule, or fed you for a week, I was not a gentleman because I wasn’t dressed in the latest fashion, strutting about like a peacock in search of spectators. It is your prejudice I find so amusing, Charlotte.”
The way he emphasized my Christian name hardened my resolve to give this man nothing that he wanted. He was hateful and disagreeable, and I could not stand him. “It is a precaution.”
He shook his head. “It is blinding. Think of what you might miss if you overlook so many people. If you assume the worst, you will never see the best. Wealth and title are on the surface, easily seen and easily desired.” Something in his face looked … sad. But it was quickly shaken away with a smile, and the subject change felt disjointed. “But I assure you, anything you tell me in confidence will remain discreet.”
“Why do you wish to know so badly?”
“It is a precaution.” He echoed my words with a smirk. “For an acquaintance of mine.”
I was now even more confused. “Do explain.”
His eyes bore into mine as he leaned across the table. “It would not be the first time this acquaintance has been pursued for his title and fortune—when beautiful ladies come to steal his heart with no interest in giving him one in return.”
My stomach dropped. Did he suspect my true motive? I swallowed and smoothed my loose curls over my shoulders. I didn’t know if it was a nervous habit or an attempt to look my best under his unwavering gaze. “You assume that is why I have come to this tragic place?” I kept my voice even. “How ridiculous.”
He studied me carefully, and I managed to hold his eyes. After a moment, the firm line of his mouth lifted into a soft smile. “You came from a household of high regard, did you not?”
I nodded, so subtly I wasn’t sure he noticed.
“You were sent alone. With just your sister? No parents?” His voice had lowered.
I was angry that he was prying into my life and asking so many questions. But the gentleness in his eyes undid the threads tying my delicate emotions together. A tear fell from my eye. Then two. Then three. I felt my lip quiver and imagined how pathetic I must have appeared. I thought my anger would counteract every emotion, but it seemed to only propel me into an even more uncollected state. I swatted at my wet cheeks.
With a sigh, he reached into his jacket and withdrew a handkerchief. As he extended it across the table to me, a small square of parchment fluttered out of its folds and landed directly in front of me.
Mr. Wortham noticed it quickly, a look of panic widening his eyes. Seizing the opportunity, and acting out of strange instinct, I snatched it off the table and stood, taking a step back. He stood too, making the table shake as he pushed away from it. I clutched the square in one hand. I stared at him. Silence lingered thick between us like a tangible thing.
“Give that to me, please.” His eyes were fixed on the parchment, and I thought I detected a flush to his cheeks. Out of rage or embarrassment, I couldn’t tell.
My heart beat quickly in my chest. I was hesitant to look away from Mr. Wortham, expecting him to rush at me at any moment. But too curious, I dared to flick my gaze at the parchment I held. It was distressed at the creases, as if
it had been folded and unfolded many times. Small tears marred the edges like trim. I could see marks of ink showing through, writing evident within. Why was he so protective of this document? I smiled inwardly. This could be the thing I had been searching for—a way to gain the upper hand.
I took two more steps back and hastily unfolded the square.
He walked around the table, uncollected in a way I had never seen before. “That’s personal,” he grumbled.
But my eyes were already skimming the words on the paper. I didn’t have time to read the whole thing, but I noticed the handwriting was decidedly masculine, and I caught several words that piqued my interest. ‘Love,’ ‘dearly,’ ‘heart,’ ‘beauty.’ Mr. Wortham must have written it. Forgetting my tears, I grinned like a cat after catching a long awaited prey.
“A love note?” I laughed loudly in triumph. “To whom?” I scanned the top, but found that it was addressed vaguely as, My love. I snorted back another giggle.
He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Something like that. Now give it back to me. Now.” He took another step forward.
I held the letter behind my back. “Why was it never delivered?”
A muscle jumped in his jaw and I took it as a warning that I should have left the subject untouched. “Would you prefer that I wrestle it from you?” His voice was an eerie calm.
I gasped and raised an eyebrow in reprimand. “You wouldn’t.”
“Do you really believe that?” He moved even closer.
I skirted around him and stood in the doorway of the room, prepared to make an escape if needed. This letter was a lifeline, and I didn’t plan to let it leave my grasp. “Just answer my question.”
He remained silent, evidently grinding his teeth to keep from saying something awful.
“It is much easier to pry into the business of others, isn’t it?”
His eyes flashed. “It was never delivered because she married someone else.” He spit out the words as if they were poisoned. He crossed his arms tightly, as if to hold himself together. “She married a man of wealth and title. So forgive me, Charlotte, if I have suspected the worst of you. When your heart is broken by an act, it is never one you soon forget, and though I am not hunted for such a thing as fortune, I can imagine it is an equal folly to be loved for your holdings rather than your heart.”
I pieced his words together in my mind, trying to make sense of them. “You cannot suspect I am here to secure Lord Trowbridge. He was a friend of my father’s and I wish to meet him.” I knew the lie was pathetic, but I no longer cared. I had an item of leverage in my hands now, and I knew precisely how I intended to use it.
He uncrossed his arms and fixed me with a look of reprimand. “I do hope that is true.”
It took much effort, but I didn’t look away from his intense gaze. That seemed to be answer enough, because his posture relaxed. His eyes returned to the letter, and I instinctively gripped it tighter. “Now, James,” I appreciated the slight roll of his eyes, “I intend to keep this letter. And unless you provide me the information I seek, I will send it to Lucy Abbot and her father, binding you in honor to marry her.” My heart pounded.
He watched me with scrutiny, his stare cold as ice. “You wouldn’t do such a thing.”
“I’m afraid there is a great deal you don’t know about me.” I repeated his words with a look of triumph.
I turned around and walked out the door, knowing he would follow me. I stepped into the crisp, wet air, and tucked the letter beneath my shawl to keep it from becoming soaked. Turning around, I watched James trudge toward me, an unforgiving look in his eyes.
I smiled. “I do not seek your good opinion. I am simply doing what needs to be done to receive what I want.”
He approached tentatively. Every line of his face was drawn out in exasperation and irritation. When he stopped, he was only two feet away. “You would willingly ruin my life for a few pieces of trivial information?” His eyes seemed to touch my soul, and I knew he was expecting an answer. I found myself suddenly uncomfortable under his gaze.
Weeks before I wouldn’t have hesitated to say yes. But something inside of me had begun to change, something I didn’t dare examine for fear of what I might find. There was vulnerability in the answer “no,” so without knowing for certain, I answered what Charlotte from Canterbury would say.
“Of course.”
He ran a hand over his hair and muttered something I didn’t quite catch. After standing for several moments in silence, he said, “Very well. Come with me.” He didn’t wait to see if I would follow, but walked up the path without turning his head. I took the opportunity to slip the letter in my boot unnoticed.
I caught up to him, struggling to keep up with his long strides. We walked in silence for several minutes, and soon I could see the rooftop of Lord Trowbridge’s home, peeking out between flat dark clouds and emerald-green land.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
James gave me a look out of the corner of his eye that was more glare than glance. “As it turns out, both your demands come intertwined. You wish to know more about the mysterious Lord Trowbridge, and you are in desperate need of suitable employ. I hoped to know of your past before I recommended you for the job, but it seems I have no choice in the matter now.” Another barbed look was cast my way. “Lord Trowbridge is seeking a governess for his young daughter, and I am taking you there to meet them.”
I almost stopped walking. A governess? I didn’t even know Lord Trowbridge had a daughter! Working in his household while trying to win his heart would be vastly improper. “Should—should you not call before barging on his door?”
He shook his head swiftly as the house came into clearer view. “I am always welcome.”
I scrunched my forehead in confusion. “How did you come to know him so well?” We were in front of the enormous house now, and James moved forward, undaunted, up to the front steps. I followed, wondering if he had even heard my question.
I was about to ask again, when he rapped his knuckles against the door and answered, “I know him so well, Charlotte, because he is my brother.”
Chapter 8
“To unpathed waters and undreamed shores.”
There was little time to register his words. My mouth dropped open but I quickly forced it shut again. How could James be Lord Trowbridge’s brother? The door swung open to reveal a butler, starched and neat, with a prim, ghostly face that sent chills up my arms.
“Mr. Wortham, I welcome you. Master Trowbridge will surely be glad for your visit.” His eyes flicked to me.
James offered a smile only I could tell was still pinched. “Good day, Benson. This is Miss Charlotte Lyons. Please inform my brother that she is here in interest of taking on the responsibility of governess to Sophia.”
The butler nodded and welcomed us into the drawing room. I immediately noticed a beautiful pianoforte in the corner of the room. It reminded me of the instruments I had played so often at lovely homes like this one. I knew it was not my place to play here, so to quiet my longing, I reminded myself I could play at the Abbots’ the following day.
James had taken his seat on a sofa angled away from me. I cleared my throat loudly, calling his eyes. “How long did you plan to conceal this relation from me?”
He slid his arm over the top of the sofa and leaned back. One corner of his mouth lifted in a sardonic smile. “It is common knowledge around this town. You would have learned of it eventually without my help. You may blame your ignorance on a pompous inability to communicate with those below your station.”
I glared at him. “Why did you pretend you were below your own station?”
“I didn’t.”
My forehead creased. “Then why do you work with the fishermen? Despite being a younger son, surely you have a better occupation than that.”
“Fishing is a favorite pastime of mine, and it puts enough food on the table. I am not rich, you know.” He straightened his cravat with a wide grin. “Besi
des, the men respect me.”
I rolled my eyes. “How could you possibly enjoy fishing?”
“I invite you to try it sometime. Lowering a trap and later emptying it, pulling a net weighed down by fish, exercising patience. Wearing a lovely pair of breeches.” He winked.
I shook my head. “Never.”
“Would you attempt fishing? Purely for the joy in it?”
My nose wrinkled in distaste. “It is a man’s sport.”
He sat up straighter. “Oh? You find yourself incapable? I would have to agree.”
“Surely it takes little expertise. Why should I try it just to prove you wrong?” The very idea was ridiculous.
“Because until then, I will presume you can only thread a needle through fabric and plink meaningless melodies on the pianoforte.”
I looked away from him, crossing my arms. I was exasperated by his efforts to vex me. Without meeting his eyes, I said, “Might I remind you I have your love letter. If you wish to keep it from the hands of Lucy Abbot, then I suggest you stop teasing me.” My face was shrouded in heat. He didn’t know me. He didn’t know how much the pianoforte meant to me. I had half a mind to just send the letter regardless of his fulfillment of the bargain.
The door to the room cracked open and a round, long-lashed eye came into view. Slowly the door eased open wider and a head of carrot-hued curls entered the room, followed by the rest of a tiny girl in a frilly purple dress. She could not have been older than six.
“Uncle Jamesy!” The girl ran forward and into James’s arms.
He grinned, lifting her up with ease and setting her on his lap. “Oh, Sophia, you have become even bigger since I saw you last week.”
She giggled, a high trill that made me smile. “So have you.”
He frowned. “When you are all grown up, it is no longer a compliment to have become ‘bigger.’”
She laughed as he poked his own stomach. James glanced at me, and I quickly tried to hide my smile, but he saw it.
“Who is that lady?” Sophia asked him, threading her little arms around his neck and frowning in my direction.
Lies and Letters Page 7