Romancing the Past

by Darcy Burke

  “I won’t be here tomorrow afternoon,” Richard stated. He never asked Howard to leave. Only when he could work. “I need the freedom to visit Miriam.”

  Howard fisted his hands in his hair, standing it on end. “I need you here,” his friend responded slowly. “You saw nothing in the crate I asked you to move. There is another shipment of equally invisible, delicate goods arriving tomorrow. We are packed to the rafters. I need your help moving this nonexistent box uptown.”

  In the excitement of Miriam’s visit, Richard had forgotten about the crate with the loose top and the trick board. “Who are they?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t need to, and neither do you,” Howard replied curtly.

  Richard contemplated his friend for a moment. “They’re slaves, aren’t they?”

  “Not anymore,” Howard replied with bitter satisfaction. “Now, they are free, as all humans should be.”

  “I always thought it strange how a country that prides itself on freedom subjects an entire race to bondage,” Richard mused.

  “And I’ve always considered it equally peculiar that a nation that holds itself above slavery never blinks at the source of its cotton and sugar, its tea and tobacco.” Howard pounded the desk with a closed fist. He sliced Richard with a glare. “You Englishmen benefit from the same stolen labor. Where do you think your wealth comes from? But you won’t deign to acknowledge the fact.”

  Richard stood in uncomfortable silence like a boy before the headmaster at school. He had been that boy, many times. Resentment eddied and swirled through him. He couldn’t be held responsible for the leaders of a foreign country’s shortcomings. He couldn’t be accountable for his own…yet he could, in a sense. Who but peers and the king had had the power to change it? Sweat trickled down his naked torso as he considered the meaning of Howard’s words.

  After a moment, his discomfort ebbed. In its wake was a bedrock layer of resolve. Richard had lived thirty-one years without feeling this inner steel of conviction. Injustice and unfairness bothered him immensely—when they affected him. How unfair it had been that he was a second son, unable to inherit. Never mind how he’d never once been bothered by the fact that his youngest brother was similarly cut off from inherited privileged. Until the fire that had killed his father, Richard had wasted his life on self-pity and indulgence.

  No.

  Until Miriam.

  His sister-in-law, Harper Forsythe, now the countess of Briarcliff, had irked him greatly. He had hated her from the start because that mousy woman had dared to pursue a mission, one that directly contradicted Richard’s interests. Her purpose had made Richard feel as if he were the victim of unfortunate circumstances, when in fact he’d been anything but.

  This was why his brother had sent him away from England. To earn this self-knowledge. To experience true hardship and stop wallowing in self-pity—to grow. Not because Edward hated him. The realization sank into his gut.

  “You have a point,” Richard replied haltingly after a long silence. “I promise I will help you. Them. The children.”

  “Tomorrow, it may not be children,” Howard responded, pacing the scant empty distance of his office. “I don’t know who will appear on my ship or when. It’s how we keep ourselves safe from discovery. Each link in the chain is anonymous. I only know the woman who sends a coded message about when to expect the next refugees. I take them upriver and ensure they get to the encampment north of Manhattan. The slave village. From there, I don’t know where they go.”

  “What is the risk if we’re caught?” Richard asked. Even in the stale air of the cramped office a cold air of fear chilled his naked skin.

  “Nothing near so bad as what happens to those who have escaped,” Howard chuckled humorlessly. “Under the Fugitive Slave Act, slave hunters may claim any Black-skinned person is an escaped slave and drag them south on the slightest pretext. If I had won my freedom by running, I wouldn’t remain in this country if I had any choice.”

  Richard’s skin prickled with fear. “That is an outrage,” he spat angrily. “How is this legal?”

  Howard shrugged in weary resignation. “Laws are not easy to change.”

  “I ask again, what are the risks to us?” Richard almost didn’t want to know. “As I am going to aid and abet your ostensible crime.”

  “That depends upon where I am caught, if I am caught. Here in the north, I might face a fine. Further south, I could lose the ships, the shipyards, and be thrown in prison. Depending on how great an example the judge wishes to make of me.” Howard explained the stakes calmly, as if he’d given them do consideration and decided they were of no import instead of utterly ruinous. “As my partner, you could also lose everything.”

  “Partner,” Richard scoffed. “I’m no partner, Howard. I’ve made you a few social contracts. You pay me for the time I spent hauling goods when you’re in funds. If this is important to you, I will help. It’s a small thing I can do to repay the friendship you’ve shown me. It…” Truthfulness billowed up from the part of him that could no longer lie to himself. “It is the right thing to do. The risk to me is small, no?”

  Howard’s rangy, muscular body relaxed fractionally. His mop of blond hair flopped about his face. “There’s no need to repay friendship. I don’t trust many men, Lord Northcote.”

  He spoke the title mockingly. Richard bristled. When had his appellation begun to grate on his ears? When Lizzie, curse her soul, had purred it into his ear, when all the while she’d been twisting him around her fingers until he was like a marionette dancing to her warped tune?

  Howard riffled through the stacks of papers until he located a battered ledger covered in his distinctive cramped scrawl. “Here. This is your portion of the profits earned since you started working with my concern a year and a half ago. For every investment you’ve brought me, I have faithfully set aside your commission. When you’ve worked on the docks for me without requesting your pay, I have deposited your wages into the same account. The sum is more than a thousand dollars.”

  Richard scanned the ledger in disbelief. A dozen large figures supplemented with more frequent, smaller amounts led to just shy of eleven hundred dollars.

  “If this is my portion for helping out a friend, you must be wealthy indeed,” Richard observed as he tried to process the implications. He looked at his friend, at the pathetic lodgings hardly fit for a dog’s bed. “Why do you wear rags and live here when you can afford better?”

  Howard lifted one shoulder and let it drop. “I’ve no need for fancy clothes or lodgings. I was born a wharf rat. I never got used to better. Which means that if I should lose it all for helping runaway slaves, my life won’t change much. Prison would be a bother, but I will survive it and rebuild when I’m released. The African people, however, may well not survive slavery. They won’t have a chance to build any kind of life at all.” His expression softened, turning pensive again. “Truly, it is not much of a sacrifice for me. I hope you’ll feel the same.”

  Richard swallowed. In two days, Miriam would depart for the countryside. Longing clenched his chest. Staying away from her had been the hardest thing he’d ever done. For the first time in his life Richard had denied himself something he wanted. The unfamiliar sense of noble sacrifice had offset his misery. It was for her own good that he’d left her alone. Lizzie’s terrifying plan was too real, too achievable.

  But from the way they had kissed a scant half-hour ago, the attraction between them was the one light of truth of Richard’s whole existence. He had one chance to keep her. One opportunity to save his unsuspecting love from the woman she believed was a friend but who plotted to benefit from her death.

  He would take Miriam away. First, he had to win her hand. Livingston Walsh was a formidable block, but Richard could win the man over. Livingston prized persistence and hard work. The outlines of a plan rapidly formed in his brain.

  “I need an hour tomorrow afternoon. I may need more time later,” he said.

  “What are you t
hinking?” Howard asked skeptically.

  “Expansion,” Richard raised his arms toward the ceiling, palms upturned. “A transatlantic shipping concern, with secret passage to Europe for escaped slaves who want it.”

  “No.” Howard shook his great mane. “I’ve no captains with sea experience. I’ve no contacts on distant shores. The risk is too great for the reward.”

  “You said you wanted to expand overseas. What happened to good trade with London and Paris?” Richard needed Howard’s participation to make his plan work. If one could call it a plan, and not a foolish impulse. He had the same feeling now as he’d once had at the gambling tables in London. The sense of limitless opportunity. As if he were a marble on a roulette table bouncing between numbers—and this was his time to win.

  “What if we mitigated the risk with outside investors?” he pressed. Howard rubbed his face. The man stank. He needed a bath. They both did.

  “Are you a partner in this new venture?” Howard asked skeptically.

  “Yes. I’ll stake everything in that secret account you’ve been saving for me.”

  “Who else?” demanded Howard reluctantly, as if he couldn’t help himself. Like Miriam, the man had been born with an instinct for making money.

  “Miriam’s father.”

  Howard groaned. “That is a terrible idea. What if the ship sinks and we lose everything?”

  “We’ll insure it. Lloyds of London insures anything. I shall write to my brother and ask him to underwrite the expense.”

  “Even with his approval and support, it’s unwise to include your lady love in a new venture,” Howard observed.

  “I’m going to marry her.”

  Howard raised his gaze to the ceiling, then dropped his forehead into one large hand. “You can’t do this. You’re playing right into Lizzie’s hands.”

  “You don’t understand, Howard. I plan to take Miriam to England, marry her, and make her a lady in truth. Lizzie will never follow us that far. She can’t. She’s married. Sneaking around behind her husband’s back for months isn’t the same as up and leaving him to follow a man who doesn’t want her. Pride alone would keep her from following.” He didn’t mention the title. For one thing, Richard didn’t know what was in store for him. Edward had been cryptic on that count. For another, he doubted Howard cared.

  “The number of things that woman supposedly can’t do but does anyway are legion,” grumbled Howard. “Fine. If you can line up financing, I’ll get opinions on whether the Thetis is worthy of a sea voyage. She’s our largest ship and might suit as a transatlantic packet. I’ll need to seek out a new captain with seafaring experience. The only reason I’ll do this is for them, of course.”

  “Right. Making more money than Croesus has nothing to do with it,” joked Richard. His friend snorted in derision. “Pure motives, through and through.”

  “Get out of my office. I hear a woman pining for your kiss all the way from Canal Street,” Howard joked, giving Richard’s shoulder a shove.

  Richard grinned. “Take a bath, Howard. You’re too ripe for company.”

  The afternoon beckoned with possibility.

  Chapter 14

  “I thought I told you never to darken my doorstep again, after what happened with my daughter.”

  There was no mistaking the foreboding storm cloud in Livingston Walsh’s scowl.

  “You did. Yet, I am here.”

  Livingston’s scowl deepened. “Is there any reason I shouldn’t shoot you for intruding on my property?”

  “You don’t have a gun,” Richard pointed out. To his immediate chagrin, Livingston produced a pistol from the small of his back and aimed it at Richard’s chest. “I stand corrected,” Richard said, staring the man down. “Let me in because you love your daughter, and so do I. Miriam would not want to see me shot dead on her doorstep.”

  Livingston cocked the hammer. “I, however, might enjoy the sight.”

  “She’s watching us,” Richard observed. “You wouldn’t force Miriam to witness her beau’s murder, would you?”

  “Miriam can’t see the street from her room.” Livingston’s left eyebrow arched. His gaze and his pistol never wavered.

  “She isn’t in her room. Your daughter is directly behind you.” Richard gestured behind the man. Livingston lowered the pistol and whirled. Miriam rushed past her father and into Richard’s waiting arms.

  “You’re here,” she breathed against him. Richard winked at Livingston over her shoulder. The man rolled his eyes skyward.

  “Absence makes the heart grow fonder,” Livingston observed with chagrin. “I suppose running you off was a tactical error. You may as well come inside, Lord Northcote.”

  “Are you well, Miri?” Richard asked, squeezing her shoulders as they entered the dark entryway. Mrs. Kent banged around in the kitchen, clearly displeased at his arrival.

  “I am. My attacks are frightening, I know, but when they are over, I’m right as rain.” Miriam’s naturally pale skin glowed with health and her cheeks were flushed with color. Her eyes were bright with happiness, not fever. Richard relaxed for the first time in a week.

  “I was so glad to see you yesterday,” he murmured. Miriam shifted closer to him despite the warm afternoon flooding in through the wall of windows at the rear, steaming the air like the conservatory at Briarcliff. Her body brushed his, a hint of breast, a definite shoulder, knuckles and fingertips sliding over naked skin. Richard’s body became an inferno, forcing him to conjure thoughts of his grandmother’s perfume to prevent his body from staging a rebellion.

  Mrs. Kent banged a tea service onto the table, startling them apart. “Welcome back, your lordship.”

  “Don’t mind her,” Miriam said quickly. “She and father have agreed to tolerate your presence, but I’m afraid you can’t expect pleasantness.”

  “Mrs. Kent,” Richard called out. The woman’s back stiffened.

  “Yes?” she asked without turning around.

  “I should like to learn the treatments you gave Miriam during her attack.”

  “You would?” The woman half-turned, suspicious to the core.

  “Surely two people who know how to recognize the signs of an asthma attack, and how to treat it, would increase Miriam’s safety?”

  Mrs. Kent sniffed. “Perhaps. If you stick around.” She stomped away, though Richard thought he detected a note of acquiescence in her step.

  “That was a smart thing to ask for,” Miriam told him as she poured tea. “Though if she shows you, you must be careful not to let her think her position is in danger. Where I go, Mrs. Kent goes.”

  A warning, and a fair one.

  “I promise I shall never attempt to interfere with your relationship with your companion,” Richard replied. Miriam entwined her fingers with his, raised his hand and brushed the knuckles with her lips. Richard’s cock jerked in his trousers. He inhaled deeply and willed his arousal away. No matter how little he deserved her, Richard wanted her.

  “Will you come with us to Cliffside?” Miriam pleaded. “I know it is fast of me to invite you, but the thought of enduring six weeks until we return is unbearable.”

  The memory of a small, thin arm darting out from a loose crate board for a cup of water flashed in his memory. Richard scooped sugar into his tea and imagined brown hands that had toiled to bring him this small pleasure of good tea and a bit of sweetness. He understood now why Howard couldn’t stop. Once you had seen how it affected people you couldn’t look away. Anything one did was insufficient but doing nothing was no longer possible.

  “How far away is your country seat?” he asked.

  “Seat?” Miriam asked, confused.

  “House. I used an English term for a country estate,” Richard clarified with some embarrassment. He didn’t relinquish her small, soft hand. But the flood of new emotion dampened his arousal and for that he received it with gratitude. It occurred to Richard that listening to his emotions instead of trying to drown them in spirits made him feel better t
han he ever had in his life. Maybe feelings were to be embraced, not feared.

  “I see.” Miriam squeezed his hand and let go. “Cliffside is far grander than this. It is about two hours upriver in the Palisades. Ordinarily we spend all summer there. My father has had business in the city, and I chose to join him for I get bored while stuck in the country.”

  Richard mentally noted that he would have to bring Miriam to London for regular socializing. Once he was made… Richard hadn’t told her about the title yet. Thanks to Edward’s cryptic note he didn’t know what title he might be elevated to. For now, it was best to keep that information to himself.

  “Is that why you started investing?” Richard asked, returning his thoughts to the woman before him.

  “How do you know about that?” Miriam demanded, her gray eyes wide with disbelief.

  Richard could have smacked his forehead at the slip. Lizzie had told him, of course. “You hinted at it,” Richard lied. “I guessed the rest. Is it true?”

  “Yes.” Miriam grinned. “Based upon the results, I daresay I’ve a knack for it.”

  Richard’s grin spread across his face to match hers. “Interesting. I’m considering investing in a new concern of Howard’s. I’d be glad of your advice.”

  This truth-telling felt freeing. Richard had never contemplated how much effort it took to maintain falsehoods until he stopped doing it.

  “The advice of a woman?” Miriam arched her eyebrows in mock astonishment. “Never say so.”

  “In full honesty, I have a checkered past with managing funds,” Richard replied with more honesty than he’d intended. This truth-telling business didn’t come naturally to him. It was much easier to weave the fabrications in with the truth. Yet each time he admitted a failing, it felt as if a chain had loosened. He was freer. Richard had been so accustomed to thinking about power as something you were granted, like a title, that the concept of owning it felt strange to him.

  “In fact,” he continued. “I am hesitant to invest where I don’t know anything about the fundamentals. Might you consider looking it over and advising me?”