by Diana Davis
“No, no. I don’t know I’m inclined to marry, and I’m not sure another lawyer would suit.”
They had had this discussion too many times to count, and Temperance still had not prevailed upon Patience that marriage was the only option society afforded them. Perhaps Papa would let her research cases until he died or sold his practice, but that would be the end for her.
Such a narrow existence. How did it hold appeal for her own blood?
“Temperance,” Patience tried again. “I don’t want to tell you something that ought to come from him, if anyone.”
“I understand.” She did not understand.
“So I hope it will suffice to say that you must be very, very careful with him.”
“What did you think I planned to do? Trample him with the coach?”
Patience allowed a little sound of amusement. “Be careful with his heart.”
“Oh, Patey, whatever gave you that idea?” Temperance dismissed it with a laugh, light and free. “There are no hearts involved, I assure you.”
Patience scrutinized her, utterly unconvinced. “You are using him to try to court Godfrey, aren’t you?”
“Using — why, no! Owen agreed to help me because he’s been my friend since we could count our ages on the fingers of one hand. Yes, he’s terribly handsome, but I could never think of him that way.”
“Are you certain he feels the same?”
“Yes, of course!” Temperance tried not to hear his voice echoing back to her from that party two weeks ago: I will thank you not to toy with — with him?
She wasn’t. After all, everyone knew emotions had no place in games of strategy. He was playing his part every bit as much as she was — better, perhaps. A lawyer’s advice being very dear? Miss Fortune? She’d had no idea he was a wit. And it had worked perfectly. The letter in her lap was proof.
But if she wasn’t toying with him, why had she felt so compelled to apologize when she left him?
“Patey.” Temperance pulled herself back from those darkened stairs outside the party, that moment in his arms. “Do you remember when we were nine, and Owen and I would charm Hepsy Bates into giving us Chelsea buns?”
“I remember you attempting to, and Owen asking nicely, and Hepsy giving him some for his sisters — and him giving his bun to you.”
“Precisely. This is exactly like that. You’ve worried yourself for nothing. Owen knows what he’s about.”
“Yes, he does. Do you?” Patience stood before Temperance had formed an answer.
Temperance watched Patience leave the room. What on earth was she trying to warn her about? She made it sound as though Owen were wasting away in front of their eyes and it was Temperance’s doing.
Everything was perfectly fine. Owen was her friend. He understood exactly what she was doing, and that was why he’d played his role perfectly, and hopefully, he’d finished his part.
She tapped the letter in her hands. Now it was Temperance’s turn to do what she did best.
She made quick work of her reply and flagged down a courier in the street. And while she was out, she had better check on Owen, if Patience was so concerned. She took the brisk walk to Papa’s law office and showed herself in.
Owen looked up instantly, but his eyes grew wary when he saw her. When Temperance smiled, however, he gave a tentative one in return. He stood, fetching his coat from the back of the chair. She held up a hand. “No need, I don’t mean to stay long.”
Owen glanced at the clerks working there, and Temperance motioned for them to step out to the front.
“Owen, I’m terribly sorry about the way I left things.” The words tumbled out as soon as the door shut behind him.
The concern fled his face. “Oh?”
“Yes, at the party, I — I shouldn’t have done that.” She couldn’t quite bring herself to allude directly to the incident on the stairs. Less embarrassing for them both this way.
He cocked his head. “You . . . shouldn’t have?”
“Can you forgive me?”
“Can you forgive me for losing my temper?”
Temperance laughed. “That was you losing your temper? A few short words? Let us pray you never see me lose mine.”
Owen smiled. “Oh, I already have. Many times.”
She suppressed the urge to cringe and changed back to his previous topic. “Well, never fear. There’s nothing to forgive, dear!” She took his hands in hers, just like she always had. “You were wonderful at the party. A delight.”
“Oh” was all Owen managed.
She studied his very, very blue eyes. “Then all is well? Between us? I couldn’t stand it if it weren’t.” Her gaze fell to their hands. “You mean so much to me.”
Owen took a moment to respond. “And you to me. All is fine between us.”
“Oh good!” She released his hands and threw her arms around his neck. He hugged her before she pulled back. “I’ll let you get back to all your very important clients. Are those cases going well?”
“So far. I’ve made a lot of headway with Sibbald’s suit.”
She took his face in her hands. “You’re brilliant.”
Owen blushed and demurred. “I’m no Patience.”
“No one else is.” She took her leave, both of them backing away without looking away from one another.
Patience might have been a formidable scholar of the law, but whatever she’d worried about with Owen was clearly wrong.
Saturday morning, Owen’s horse pawed the ground, and they both puffed out a cloud of condensation. Owen scratched his horse’s withers. He understood the restlessness, though the impending hunt was only one reason for his own feelings.
Would he ever understand Temperance Hayes? What did she mean, coming all the way to her father’s office and taking his hands — taking his face in her hands — and then saying . . . everything she’d said? She shouldn’t have done what, exactly?
He was relieved her heart was unhurt, but he was struggling to say the same.
But for the moment, he needed to focus on the hunt. He was here to hopefully find another client. With a little more success, he might be able to change Temperance’s mind about him. She certainly seemed impressed enough with Sibbald as his client.
Owen guided his horse over to Beaufort. They’d practiced four times over the last two weeks — time he could hardly spare, though he made up for it at night, huddled by the fire to pore over depositions.
“Ready?” Beaufort asked him.
Owen shrugged. Working up to a full-height fence had only taken two sessions, and he hadn’t fallen yet, but he couldn’t ignore the nerves crawling in his middle.
Beaufort patted his own horse as if that would encourage Owen. “You’ll be fine.”
At the very least, he wouldn’t have to compare with the best and brightest in the colonies with all the delegates gone home. No one here looked like a competent equestrian compared to Beaufort.
“Mordecai!” Beaufort called. The man looked up, and Beaufort waved him over. Once again, Beaufort introduced Owen to Joshua Mordecai as Hayes’s top apprentice.
Mordecai, a very tall, very thin man, turned to Owen. “Would you happen to have any experience with business contracts? I’m having a devil of a time negotiating.”
“Actually, yes.”
“I shall have to call on you.”
The horn sounded before they went into any further detail and before Owen could thank Beaufort. Now there was but one tricky point: if Owen fell and broke his neck. Or simply looked the fool, and Mordecai changed his mind.
The hunters took off after the pack. Owen was lucky; the fox had taken a different route this time, giving him plenty of time to get comfortable before the fence.
And then it was upon them. He made sure his heels were down, his weight forward and balanced, his entire body practically hovering over the horse.
The horse sailed over the fence. The landing was harder than it
should have been, but they were both unhurt. Owen rubbed his horse’s neck and then urged it faster.
He was relieved the fox was run to ground again, and far too soon, they adjourned to the coffeehouse. He couldn’t help but revel in the feeling of being at a table with Beaufort, Sibbald slapping him on the back, Mordecai coming to him for advice.
“Randolph,” Sibbald said as the other hunters began to filter out, “come to dinner Monday, won’t you?”
“Certainly.”
Was that the first time Sibbald had actually used his name? The man — his client — walked away, and Owen checked Beaufort’s reaction: he seemed every bit as excited as Owen felt. Beaufort clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Well done today.”
Owen shrugged off the compliment. But he couldn’t forget the look on the other man’s face — his friend’s face. As though he truly wanted Owen to be here.
As though Owen belonged here.
Monday afternoon, Temperance reached over and took Godfrey’s hand where it lay on the table. Did his fingers always have to feel so cold? She squeezed them anyway before returning to her soup. “Tell me, Mr. Sibbald,” she addressed him, “what do you do in your father’s business?”
“Oh, I have nothing to do with all that.” He scrunched his nose, which made him downright unattractive.
Despite what her sisters and friends might think, Temperance was not a fool. She didn’t have to marry someone dashingly handsome to be happy. Though it would be nice to marry a man who wasn’t completely revolting.
Godfrey wasn’t quite completely revolting. Certainly, the way his skin stretched across the bones of his face was excessively tight, and his pallor made him seem rather sickly. She was fairly sure his hair was only that white because of hair powder. It would certainly help things if he didn’t wear such a pale shade of blue, and that was one point she could easily remedy once they were married.
The family’s manservant entered the dining room to announce another guest: “Mr. Owen Randolph.”
He walked in, and Temperance’s heart lifted. Owen had been invited here? Wonderful! She caught his gaze and beamed at him.
His entire countenance transformed with that genuine smile of his. She watched him take his seat at the far end of the table. She’d neglected to thank him for helping her get this invitation last week, and she’d have to rectify that.
“Do you know him well?” Godfrey asked.
Oh, she had better reassure him. She squeezed his frigid fingers again. “You remember Mr. Randolph.”
“Indeed I do.”
“Owen and I have been friends since we were children. He’s studied law under my father for three years now. I’m told he’s quite good at it.”
“Ah.” Godfrey craned his neck to stare down the table to where Owen sat chatting with Godfrey’s father. “My father has been quite impressed with him.”
“Oh, really? How delightful.” She caught herself hoping Owen might look their way so she could give him another encouraging smile. From here, she could tell that he’d been practicing what she’d taught him: not fidgeting, conversing easily with his companions, shoulders straight, head held high.
Why did they have to seat him so far away? Certainly she was happy for him that he could be closer to his client, but she wanted to pass along what Godfrey had just told her, and they could both celebrate their small victories.
It would almost be like that one afternoon when she had found a farthing in the alley, and he had found a ha’penny. She still didn’t know how or why he’d managed to convince her that they should trade so she could have the more valuable coin, but obviously his skills of persuasion were still operating in full force.
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so proud of anyone.
“Is he from Philadelphia then?” Godfrey asked.
“Ah, yes, we both are.” Immediately, protective defenses raised in her mind. She couldn’t humiliate Owen by mentioning his humble upbringing here. “I’m not certain what part,” she lied.
It wasn’t exactly a lie. He couldn’t possibly live in that same tiny flat any longer, not with his sisters nearly grown. Where would they sleep?
Owen glanced down the table and immediately found her eyes. His smile this time wasn’t as broad or unrestrained as when he’d first seen her. In fact, it was almost like a secret they shared, and that moment with a dozen people between them was somehow intimate. She found her lips reflexively returning that small smile.
Sibbald demanded Owen’s attention again, and he turned away. Temperance returned her attention to Godfrey, who was still watching his father. “Does Mr. Randolph have many clients?” he asked.
“Ah, I believe so. Your father is quite fortunate to have found an opening in his schedule.”
“Indeed.”
Temperance spent the rest of the meal trying to distract herself — and Godfrey — from focusing on the conversation at the other end of the table. Hopefully Owen intended to stay for cards and they would all end up at the same table.
After the second course, they began to adjourn for games. Temperance watched Owen to see if she could maneuver them together, but he headed for the door. A servant stopped him, and Sibbald approached. He gave Owen a purse. Owen’s jaw dropped — not the refined manner they’d worked on, but she certainly couldn’t begrudge him his astonished delight. He shook Sibbald’s hand with enthusiasm and turned for the door again.
Temperance took Godfrey’s hand. “Be a dear and save me a seat at your table, won’t you? I want to see my friend off, if you’ll excuse me.”
“Send him my best wishes, won’t you?”
She appreciated his joke, though the mirth didn’t come nearly as easily as it had for Owen’s humor. She caught Owen in the hallway before he reached the front door. “Do you have news?” she asked.
His eyes positively glowed, and he glanced around. He was right that this was still a bit too public, so Temperance pulled him into the drawing room off the corridor.
“Sibbald’s opponent agreed to settle the suit on the terms I proposed,” Owen announced, giddy as if he were still a boy.
“Oh, that’s wonderful. Sibbald was pleased?”
“Very. He just paid me —” Owen cut off before he stated a number. He was right that it was crass, but if he was this excited, she wanted to share, so she urged him to finish. “Thirty pounds!”
“Owen! That’s quite the sum!” That had to be three weeks’ full salary for a well-paid lawyer, all from a single client.
“And I’ve another client, Joshua Mordecai.”
His fortunes had reversed so quickly, and he was so terribly happy. Temperance kissed him on both cheeks and threw her arms around his neck. He picked her up and spun her around until they both dissolved into laughter.
“Owen!” She took his face in her hands. “I’m so proud of you! I know Papa will be, too.”
“Let me be the one to tell him.”
“Of course, dear.”
He grinned at her, and he was so purely, beautifully delighted, she couldn’t help but kiss him on both cheeks again. “I love you so happy.”
She hadn’t thought it possible, but the joy in his countenance doubled, and he swung her around again. He set her down and she leaned into his chest to steady herself. All this spinning was divine, but she was getting quite dizzy.
She stepped back and took both his hands. “Are you not staying to play cards with us, then?”
“I have so much work to do.” Weariness suffused his features as if all the strength was sapped from him in an instant.
That wouldn’t do at all. “Do you not enjoy the law?” she asked.
“I do, actually. All this contract work isn’t my preference, but it does pay well.” He released one of her hands to pat his waistcoat pocket and grinned.
“I’ll let you get to your work.” She couldn’t help herself — he wasn’t aglow any longer, but even this grin was so good to see o
n him, she kissed his cheek once more.
He beamed at her again. “Enjoy your cards.”
“Enjoy your work.” She held onto him until they reached the hallway again, giving his hand a final squeeze before finally relinquishing it. At the end of the corridor, before she rejoined the party, Temperance tried to catch one last glimpse of Owen.
He was standing at the door, looking back at her. That smile of his. She had no choice but to return it.
If she did care to marry a dazzlingly handsome man, she could not have done better than Owen Randolph.
She gave him a little curtsy and he offered a tiny bow, as if they were sharing another private joke, and he left with one last glance at her.
As she returned to the games, she realized she’d never told him her own good news. But obviously he’d seen her here with Godfrey. She found him at a table with an empty seat to his right, not cards but a board game laid out displaying a map of the Old World. “Oh, what are we playing?” she asked, trailing her fingers across Godfrey’s shoulders as she passed behind him.
“A Journey Through Europe,” Godfrey informed her.
“Excellent. I love this game.” She selected her piece and placed it at the starting point of London. She met Godfrey’s gaze. “Though I must warn you, darling: I always play to win.”
Owen was fairly certain his feet didn’t touch the cobblestone streets the entire way home.
He’d intended to go straight back to the office, but somehow he couldn’t bear the thought of sitting at a table just then.
Had that really just happened? Temperance had kissed him. She’d kissed him before, he knew, as a thank you, as a sweet gesture.
But five times? Throwing her arms around him twice? Telling him I love you?
He was not a complete dunderhead. He knew she had said I love you so happy. He knew that was not the same thing.
But he also knew what he’d seen in her eyes as she’d said it.
Two weeks ago, he was certain he would never, ever have seen that expression from Temperance Hayes. If that moment of sheer torment on the stairs had changed the way she saw him, however, it had been well worth it.