by Diana Davis
David tried unsuccessfully to hold back his glee. “I think it’s a girl. I just think of Cassandra and Helen — her sister — they’re very close, and I’d want that for Elizabeth.”
“Do you have siblings?”
“Two brothers, much older. Never saw much of them.” David pulled out his watch and frowned at it. “I must be off.”
At the door, David checked the drawing room and turned back to him. “If you were wondering, Temperance isn’t out there.”
“Thank you.” Then she’d left. Obviously because of him. He ought to feel better about that, but he didn’t.
“See you at drills in the morning?” David asked.
Owen saluted, and David returned the gesture. He’d never had a brother himself. Until now, he supposed.
The evening after Owen’s dinner with Papa, Temperance lost at checkers. Worse, she lost at checkers to Verity, and by the next morning everyone from Polly to Papa knew something was deeply, terribly wrong. She paced the length of the bedroom, trying to figure out what to say to her parents, how to say it, how to minimize the impact of her words.
It shouldn’t be that difficult. Patience had refused a half-dozen suitors, and they’d long since given up asking why or wondering if they needed to find someone to defend her honor.
But Temperance wasn’t Patience. She wouldn’t be able to explain her reasons, not without mentioning Owen. And she did not wish to mention Owen.
That would only lead to more difficult questions and even harder answers.
Her parents already knew how mercenary she was when it came to marriage. They were under no delusions when she’d begun to pursue Godfrey, though she hadn’t said a word to them about her intentions. For all she knew, they still believed all she wanted from a marriage was money. What she’d really wanted was what money would guarantee: safety.
And now she understood what she actually needed: love. And her options seemed mutually exclusive.
All because of Owen and his talk of rights. That sort of thinking was ridiculous. Everyone knew they had all the rights they needed.
At least, Papa knew the importance of the English constitution, and the awful things that had already been done in the name of the Crown. What did Temperance really know? Perhaps the king had abandoned them? She hadn’t read his speech.
Temperance stopped short in her pacing. She had always admired Owen for standing up for what was right. Could he be right now?
This was one thing she couldn’t puzzle out on her own. And she knew precisely who she ought to talk to about it.
Temperance rushed down the stairs and donned her cloak before she could think better of it. The walk to Papa’s office was cold but quick. Not short enough that she didn’t worry about seeing Owen, but brief enough that she didn’t give up first.
He wasn’t in the office. Temperance marched straight back to Papa’s study. Fortunately, he wasn’t with a client.
“Oh, good afternoon, my dear,” he greeted her. “Are you well?”
Temperance managed a weak smile. She closed the door and seated herself in the same leather chair she’d used when meeting with Owen — and when she’d shown him how to read as children. “Papa, shall we go to war?”
“You and I, dear?” His eyes twinkled. “I wouldn’t dare.”
She traded her smile for an expectant look. She had come here for an answer.
“I hope not,” Papa finally said. “Is this what’s had you out of sorts?”
“In a way.” She contemplated her hands. “Why did you go to war?”
He sighed. “Glory, honor. All the romantic stories we’d heard of battle growing up.” He fell silent. “The wrong reasons.”
“Are there right reasons?”
His soft features took on a pensive cast. “A few.”
“Do we have them?”
“Depends on whom you ask. But we’re closer to them than we were thirty years ago.” His gaze slipped away, and that same pain she’d seen on his face months ago crept back.
She hadn’t meant to bring up painful memories, but there was no way to talk about this subject with Papa without those memories. “Thank you for speaking to me.”
Outside the door to his study, she paused. Owen was still not in the front room — and her mind was still not settled. Closer to the right reasons? Would there ever be right reasons?
Obviously there was someone else she could ask about this, someone right in front of her nose. Temperance swallowed against a dry mouth. She’d spent over a year avoiding them, doing everything she could to undermine or disrespect them. She didn’t deserve their help.
And yet she knew they would give it, immediately.
Temperance ascended the stairs and knocked on the door to the flat. Lord — David’s valet showed her to the drawing room.
She had just enough time to scan the room. It felt so sunny with the yellow walls. Nothing like the place she remembered from childhood.
Westing brought Cassandra and David in, and Cassandra instantly took in her overwrought state. “Temperance, what’s the matter?”
She folded her arms across her middle. “I’ve treated you both very ill since Winthrop died, and I —” Her voice hitched, and she took a moment to collect herself. “I’m so very sorry for it.”
Cassandra hugged her almost before she’d finished. “We know it was hard for you.”
“I was only trying to help, last fall,” David said. His wife shot him a sideways glance. “I didn’t take any pleasure in it, you know that.”
“Only because I wouldn’t let you stay,” Cassandra muttered.
“And you were wise to do so.” David kissed his wife. “I hate to run off, but I have to make sure everything is in order to host that Bellamy man next week.”
Temperance caught his elbow. “I’m especially sorry to you, David.”
He seemed surprised she’d addressed him — without his title — and caught her in a quick embrace. “I never meant to hurt you, cousin.”
“I don’t know how you can forgive me,” Temperance murmured.
“We’re family.” Cassandra took Temperance’s hand. “We love you.”
Owen’s sister Rose poked her head into the drawing room, and David stole Elizabeth from her arms to toss her in the air. She screeched with delight when he caught her and pointed at the ceiling, as if signaling she wanted a repeat performance. David obliged her before passing her off to the Rose again. “I’ll be back shortly,” he reassured them.
Temperance drew a bracing breath. That was done with — and even better that David had had to rush off.
“Would you like to hold her?” Rose offered.
Temperance accepted. The little girl was over a year old now, and Temperance hadn’t held her once. She held out her arms to Elizabeth, and the little girl practically leapt at her. “How do you do, little one?” Temperance murmured. Elizabeth looked up at her with wide blue eyes. “You do have your papa’s eyes, don’t you?”
“Baba,” Elizabeth said.
Cassandra sighed. “You know she’s never said that for him? He’s been coaching her for months, but she’ll only say Mama.”
“Mama!” Elizabeth clapped.
Temperance couldn’t help a laugh. “Well, we’ll have to see if we can fix that when he returns.”
“Come, sit,” Cassandra invited her. “Let’s don’t be strangers.”
Once Temperance had settled on the couch, Elizabeth squirmed out of her grasp and scooted along the edge of the couch to take one uncertain step toward her mother. “Someone is getting brave!” Rose declared.
And that wasn’t Temperance. Not yet, anyway. She turned to her cousin. “You’re in favor of independence, aren’t you?”
Cassandra scrutinized her; Temperance couldn’t blame her. She hadn’t exactly been supportive of the Beauforts’ politics. “We all hope to avoid a war,” Cassandra walked the fine line of diplomacy, “but if it becomes necessary, yes,
I think we had better be independently governed.”
Temperance nodded slowly. “Can you tell me why?”
Again, Cassandra hesitated, but for once, Temperance had no stratagem behind her words. She genuinely wanted to know. If this was that important to Owen, even if she could never marry him, she wanted to understand this. Understand him.
“Here, let me go get my favorite pamphlets. They explain it better than I could.”
“Thank you,” Temperance said. She tickled Elizabeth’s belly, and the girl gave a delightful giggle.
Another safe, warm, happy home with a loving family. On some level, she’d expected to find at least a semblance of that with Winthrop. Clearly that was not part of Godfrey’s proposal.
And clearly it was not in store for her anyway.
Owen had spent the day trying very hard to forget the smallest glimpse of Temperance the day before, and he’d nearly succeeded. The walk back to the office with Hayes had sparked an idea that had kept him running about like a madman all morning.
Now, he approached the law office for the first time that day. He still needed to work on the case, but at the moment, he had another mission: finding David. He climbed the narrow stairs to the flat and knocked. Westing informed him that David would return shortly and offered to let him sit in the drawing room.
He agreed, hoping to work on his arguments while he waited. He was not expecting Westing to announce him to Rose and Elizabeth — and least of all Temperance. “Oh” was all he could manage.
Temperance lifted her chin the same way she’d coached him to do months ago. “Good afternoon.”
“Afternoon.”
Rose glanced between them and down at Elizabeth. “Seems someone needs their dinner!” She scooped up the baby and ducked out.
Owen remained just inside the doorway, uncertain of where to go. Well, no — certain that he should go no closer to Temperance. At least he’d taken the time to change out of his uniform coat after this morning’s drills. That could only upset her.
“How does your family?” Temperance asked.
“Well. How does your fiancé?”
Temperance arched an eyebrow, a look he recognized from her calculated pursuit of Godfrey. “Whom?”
“Godfrey. I assume you’ve accepted by now.”
“Hm. You believe I could be party to that?” Her entire expression grew arch, and she folded her hands in her lap.
Owen resisted the urge to throw himself at her feet and beg her to understand. Actually, that was easier than he’d thought it would be. Perhaps because he’d known Temperance for twenty years, and he knew how little effect such pleas would have. “I’ll wait downstairs for David.”
“David, is it now?”
“Yes, he doesn’t care to use his title. Brings up painful memories.”
Temperance looked away. “The past often does.”
“I’m sorry,” Owen said before he could stop himself. Perhaps he wasn’t quite as strong as he’d thought.
“For what?” she demanded.
He hesitated. He wasn’t sorry for joining the Light Horse. He wasn’t sorry he was born poor. He wasn’t sorry for those things that made him so reprehensible to her.
He was sorry that he’d ever kissed her, because he was fairly certain he would never again feel the way he had that night, holding her.
But what good would it do to say that?
“I’m sorry for taking my leave so abruptly,” he finally said. “Good day.” He turned to leave, but as he entered the hallway, a squeal to his right drew his attention. There, just out of sight of the drawing room, stood Rose with Elizabeth — alongside Mrs. Beaufort.
“We taught you better manners than that, duckling,” Owen said.
“I should say the same to you,” she shot back.
He addressed Mrs. Beaufort. “Is that your influence on her?”
Her only reply to his barb was a droll smile. “If you don’t see David before I do, I’ll let him know you want him.”
“Thank you.” That was better than he deserved after such a snide remark.
“I’m sorry,” Rose ventured. “I just thought I should give you —”
He managed to not glance back at Temperance. “You really oughtn’t hope. I shall see you both soon.” He bowed and headed downstairs to await David’s return. And not Temperance’s departure. Hopefully he would be gone or otherwise occupied by the time she left. He’d have to sit with his back to the stairs.
At the foot of the stairs, he encountered the object of his quest.
“Ah, Owen,” David said, “we meet again.”
“Well met. I was just looking for you.”
David craned his neck up the stairs behind Owen. “I should hope that would be the reason I find you leaving my home,” he joked.
Owen laughed. “I have a business proposition for you.”
“Oh?” David pointed up. “Shall we?”
“No, the drawing room is engaged.” Owen scanned the office, but there was nowhere to afford them privacy from the clerks, and Hayes was surely in his study today.
“Shall we walk, then?”
Owen accepted, and they stepped into the pebblestone street.
“So, a business proposition?” David asked. “Is this on behalf of a client?”
“No, no.” One or two of his business clients had come by word of mouth, but the rest were all direct associates of David’s. Surely they would have gone right to him. “I suppose it’s more of a charity.”
Owen tried to surreptitiously gauge David’s reaction. He seemed intrigued. “And what cause are we supporting? Surely not the Randolph family dowries.”
“I would not say no,” Owen jested right back. “If you could find someone to take my sisters off my hands, that is.”
“I can certainly try. I hear Godfrey Sibbald is still wanting for a wife.”
Owen gaped at him for a moment. Could that be right? “Is he not engaged to Temperance?”
“Ambrose tells me she has made no reply. It’s been two weeks.”
Perhaps he’d been hasty to judge her that harshly. “I see. Well, my sisters are all too good for him.”
“Yes, they are, and I can hardly afford to have to find another nursemaid.” They turned off High Street before they reached the market. “Now, what is this noble cause you’re raising funds for?”
Owen realized it would be best to work up to the actual subject. He didn’t wish to appear ungrateful right before he asked for more help. “I want to thank you for introducing me to so many clients first,” he said.
“Of course.”
“Unfortunately, the more work I’ve done in business and contract law, the more I realize that isn’t what I want to do.”
“Oh?”
“I mean to help people,” he said. “So many criminal defendants don’t have the resources to prepare a proper defense, and with the courts as corrupt as they are, they end up jailed or worse.”
David slowed to a more contemplative pace as they passed under the skeletal trees. He’d certainly been victim to that corruption when Governor Morley made the unfounded accusation of murder against him. The only reason nothing had come of it was that David was rich and influential. Owen’s clients had neither of those in their favor.
“The English constitution supports fair trials, but these people can’t afford a proper lawyer through no fault of their own,” Owen continued. “Rather than let the system trample their rights, I wish to find a way for them to find a good lawyer — without putting my family in the almshouse.”
David nodded. “This is where I come in.”
“Not just you — I wouldn’t ask you to foot the bill for everyone pleading in forma pauperis. But you certainly know enough people who might contribute to a private fund that we might be able to compensate legal representation properly.”
David clasped his hands behind him, drawing his cloak back to reveal a red coat embroider
ed with an intricate ears of wheat pattern. “You’ve given this a lot of thought, I see.”
“In a short amount of time,” Owen admitted. In an effort to not put the man on the spot, Owen stared at the brick rowhouses and bare trees. Was it his imagination, or were they already beginning to bud?
“And who would be in charge of executing this programme?” David asked.
“I haven’t gotten quite that far. But we’d of course have some sort of charter, with guidelines for who we’d help and how much we could pay.”
David motioned to Owen. “I nominate you to captain this, and I’ve a notion you’re the man to write that charter.”
He was agreeing? “As soon as I get some of these cases you’ve sent my way handled, rest assured I shall get right to it.”
“Let me know how much you need, and I’ll make it happen.”
This felt all too easy. Yes, David had brought him income in the form of clients, and he obviously was not asking for a handout, but everything else he’d gained in life, he’d wrested from the begrudging fist of Providence. Could that divine power actually be smiling on his efforts now?
He knew better than to take that for granted. He offered a hand to David, and his friend shook.
He had nearly everything he wanted. Everything he could hope for. And yet, that same, stupid part of him still hoped.
He really oughtn’t hope.
Temperance laid in her bed and reread the favorite lines she’d copied out of A Full Vindication of the Measures of the Congress for the third time in as many minutes. That Americans are intitled to freedom, is incontestible upon every rational principle. . . . We are determined to shew them, that we know the value of freedom; nor shall their rapacity extort, that inestimable jewel from us, without a manly and virtuous struggle. . . . Will you give up your freedom, or, which is the same thing, will you resign all security for your life and property, rather than endure some small present inconveniencies?
She knew plenty about the price of freedom.
“Temperance?” Mercy called.