Different Tides (14 page)

‘Did you tell her the title wasn’t yours?’

‘No, I didn’t think it wise when the children weren’t mentioned. It struck me as odd that the Sheridans didn’t mention them to the old man. Alexandra is aiming high, and they may have traded on that.’

‘There is very little in life higher than your fortune and your ability to earn it and manage it. There are also rumours you might be due an honour for your work amongst the poor. Also, as things stand, the title might be yours by right if there’s any doubt about Edward’s paternity,’ John said. ‘You’d do well to remember that.’

‘A title can be a liability, and I doubt if Alexandra knows the extent of my fortune. I think I could help her in her marriage quest though.’

‘By offering to be her groom?’

‘Perish the thought. She is personable though, and I could put her in the position of being noticed. I could hold a social evening to introduce her.’

‘Miss Tate seems like a polite, but determined young woman.’ John gave a soft laugh. ‘You do realize she’s as badly off as Clementine was … though her social graces are an improvement.’

‘As with Clementine, Alexandra’s appearance can be improved with the right wardrobe. It will be worth outfitting her, you’ll see. When her foster father has passed on – something that appears imminent – I will see what can be arranged for her. Perhaps I can find her something useful to do – like Clementine, who is not afraid of getting her hands dirty and enjoys the little she has in life.’

‘Clementine was raised in a situation where physical effort was a requirement. There’s no shame in that. You know, Zachariah … I think we should arrange to speak to Clementine again. Give me a short time to compare the papers.’

‘I’ve promised the children I’ll visit Martingale House halfway through December. As with Clementine, I’d welcome Julia’s opinion on Alexandra Tate if you could spare her for ladies’ matters and wardrobe duties.’

‘I’m sure Julia would be delighted to spend more of your money, but she will only look for the good in the girl, so ultimately you’ll have to trust your own judgement.’

Zachariah nodded. ‘Did you notice the discrepancy in the recording of Howard Morris’s death? They were a week apart.’

‘He died at the height of battle … it would have been difficult to be entirely accurate amongst such chaos, and his name may have been entered on two lists. I will get someone else to look through his records and double check my findings, since I may have missed something.’

‘Personally, I’m looking forward to seeing the interaction between the two young women when they meet each other.’

‘On your own head be it then, friend Zachariah, for they are chalk and cheese. Alexandra is much more the lady.’

‘And Miss Clemmie more the woman.’

To which John raised an eyebrow.

‘Don’t read anything into that. More pressing is the problem of the children. If your friends in Australia can discover the whereabouts of my brother’s family, and whether there were any children who survived, I would be grateful. Edward mentioned an orphanage, but he clams up when you push him.’

‘Ah yes … the children. What will you do if you discover them to be imposters?’

Unease flooded though Zachariah. ‘I don’t know, John, I really don’t know.’

‘Then I’ll pray you have the wisdom to deal with the problem in a fair and compassionate manner.’ Giving his horse a gentle nudge, John forged ahead, leaving Zachariah to follow.

Alexandra was grateful for the money Zachariah had left. It had been a generous act, though from what she’d heard he wouldn’t miss such a small sum – the equivalent of her papa’s life savings. She gave a wry smile.

Zachariah Fleet seemed to be a cautious man, one who gave very little of his thoughts away. She didn’t know whether she liked him or not, but she liked what she’d already learned – that he was a wealthy self-made man with a shady past, one of considerable wealth. She wondered if he’d made his fortune honestly, though he had a reputation of fair dealing; this she’d learned from her papa’s acquaintances when they’d gossiped over their chess games every Wednesday.

She smoothed his handkerchief on her knee. The square of fine white linen had one initial embroidered in the corner. Z. There was no second letter, as though he’d discarded it.

They said he gave a portion of his income to charity every year. She’d put that down as unlikely until she’d met him. The man with him, John Beck, had the look and the manner of a Quaker. Zachariah Fleet did not. She recalled a tale that he’d been plucked from the streets by a Quaker family. Some of their ways would probably have rubbed off on him. He was civil, but barely, and appeared indifferent to her looks. She’d been praised often, and to the point of vanity over her looks. Being ignored smarted a bit.

Zachariah Fleet was a man of few words – one who didn’t suffer fools. His appearance was elegant rather than showy; his coat was cut from the finest of materials, his boots were fashioned from supple leather and he wore his clothes well.

She stood, balling the handkerchief in her palm as she watched him ride away. She’d considered he hadn’t been particularly friendly. He would be a man who found it hard to trust people, and those he did would probably have to earn that trust. That she intended to do. He might not trust or like her now, but she hoped he would eventually.

Taxed by the meeting, her papa was almost asleep in his chair. She examined his face, still finding it hard to believe that this man she’d always loved, and who’d given her his all for her future, was not her father. The recent severing of the ties had been too quick, too unexpected for her fully to grasp. She felt twice abandoned, and angry that he hadn’t told her before. Yet she kissed his forehead, saying quietly, ‘I’m going to the market for some provisions.’

His eyes opened a little as he whispered, ‘I wish I was strong enough to accompany you. Be careful, and don’t encourage any strangers.’

‘No, Papa. I might visit Mrs Elliot. I’ve heard that she hasn’t been well.’

‘Ask her to give my regards to Roland, and tell him I’m pleased to hear the boy is doing so well.’

Roland Elliot had been her father’s student and was hardly a boy now. Alexandra had always found him to be a bit forward. He’d always gazed at her a certain way, his admiration clear on his face. She’d teased him now and again, allowing him the liberty of a kiss or a secretive touch. She smiled. It was satisfying, and exciting to know he was in love with her.

When she was outside, her basket over her arm and a little velvet jacket over her bodice for the sparse amount of warmth it provided, she experienced a moment of freedom. She had drawn a shabby cloak over the top for warmth.

What was her half-sister like, she wondered – if indeed there was one? Zachariah Fleet had smiled when he’d mentioned her, as if the thought of her had amused him.

Or perhaps it was the thought of Howard Morris being married to two women at the same time. She hoped it didn’t get out and stain her character, which would spoil her chances of making a good marriage. She wondered about her own character. There was a recklessness inside her that drove her to visit Roland despite her resolve. Sometimes it was hard to control and she couldn’t hide her smile. So was Roland sometimes.

When she arrived Roland was in the back room of the shop. He had his own business, selling china for one of the potteries – and indeed, he designed patterns to transfer on to most of them. Samples of the patterns were displayed on shelves. The delicacy of the designs, when coming from such large hands, never failed to delight her.

He pulled on his jacket when he came through, summoned by the tinkle of the bell. A pair of wintery grey eyes examined her. ‘Miss Tate, what a pleasant surprise.’

His shirt was open and unbuttoned at the neck, where the hint of a curl was on display. She wanted to reach out and wrap it around her finger. ‘Hello Roland. I’ve come to visit your mother.’

He tugged his sleeves down over strong, muscled wrists. ‘Of course you have, but you’ve forgotten this is her afternoon for playing cards.’

‘Yes … I had. I’m sorry I disturbed you.’ She gazed around her, pleased by what she saw. ‘Your shop is so pretty.’

He smiled. ‘So are you. I was just about to relax and take some tea before I started work on a new design. Will you join me?’

Alexandra hesitated. Roland was a handsome man with an attractive roguishness to him. She’d never been entertained by him without his mother present before. There was a sense of danger about it.

‘I have some gingerbread we can share. It’s your favourite, as I recall.’

She supposed it wouldn’t hurt, just this once. After all, nobody but themselves would know.

She jumped when he reached past her to turn the key in the lock. ‘That will prevent us from being disturbed. There’s nothing worse than being interrupted when you’re entertaining a lady.’

Her heartbeat picked up speed. ‘Is that what you’re doing?’

‘Unless you intend to buy a dinner set painted to one of my designs, it seems so. How is your father?’

‘Unwell. The doctor says he won’t survive much longer. He sends you his fondest regards.’

Roland nodded. ‘I’m sorry. He’s a good man. What will you do then?’

Zachariah Fleet came into her mind. ‘Oh … I’ve made some plans. It’s possible I might marry.’

‘So you’ve found yourself a naval officer who would make you a worthy husband.’

‘Stop teasing. I’m beginning to change my mind about that since naval officers are always away at sea. Besides, it’s possible that I’m entitled to claim a legacy, though I shouldn’t really talk about it because there is another claimant. It will serve as a dowry … make me more attractive.’ She wasn’t going to tell anyone about her sister until she’d met the woman, since they were rivals for the money.

‘Perhaps you should put me on that husband list of yours. You know I love you, Lexie. I find you attractive, even without the addition of a dowry. I always have. In fact, I recall that you accepted my proposal of marriage years ago.’

She couldn’t help but smile at the thought. ‘We were children. I was eleven and you were sixteen, and just about to be apprenticed to your uncle.’

‘And you allowed me to touch your breasts when nobody was there to watch. You laughed and said it tickled.’

Something she’d never forgotten, though she felt flustered at such an intimate memory he held of her. ‘A gentleman wouldn’t recall such a thing.’

He chuckled. ‘I’m no gentleman, just a hardworking tradesman. You were young, and they were too small to register … a disappointment really.’

She would not disappoint him now.

He held aside the curtain to the back room and as she passed he kissed her ear. She gave a little shiver and pretended not to notice as she went through into his workshop, where paints, pencils, inks and other instruments of his profession littered a bench. Her relieved her of her cloak and threw it on a chair.

In front of the far window there was an easel with a blank canvas on it.

‘I didn’t know you painted pictures.’

‘It’s a commission. I’m working on a design for a gentleman.’

‘Can I see it?’

He hesitated for a moment. ‘It would probably shock you.’

‘Why would it?’

‘It’s a naked woman.’

She shrugged, successfully hiding the thrill of shock she did feel. She didn’t want him to think she was unsophisticated. ‘I have seen myself unclothed.’

‘Not in this pose, you haven’t.’

He took a role of paper from a shelf and slowly unwrapped it, smoothing his hands over it to prevent it from creasing. A pair of feet appeared, and then legs. One leg had a stocking wrinkled around the ankle. The other stocking was tied around a plump thigh with ribbons.

He stopped, grinning at her. ‘You’re blushing. Are you sure you want to see more?’

She was longing to see more. ‘I’m not a child, Roland.’

‘So I’ve noticed.’ He unrolled it further, revealing a wisp of sheer cloth kept in place by a ringed hand. One finger divided the shadowy darkness of the loin beneath. The very same spot on her own body began to tingle so she wanted to stroke it.

She couldn’t hold back the tiny gasp she gave. Sometimes being a woman was unbearably frustrating. It must be easier for a man who could indulge himself in matters of the flesh without restriction, while an unmarried woman could only imagine the delights of union, and was obliged to find relief in a private exercise that was never talked of. But then, perhaps other women didn’t suffer from such afflictions as she did.

‘I’ve seen paintings of naked ladies before – in books.’

‘So, you’re an expert. Would you like to see the rest of her?’

‘I told you. It doesn’t worry me.’

He unrolled the rest. The model was young, her hair was dishevelled and her eyes had a sleepy warmth to them. He became matter-of-fact. ‘I haven’t got her breasts right. Perhaps you could advise me.’

‘You mean that some hussy posed for it … and without clothing on?’

‘It was the lady friend of the gentleman who commissioned it. He chaperoned her. She was sulky because she was cold, and she whined until he took her home, and before I’d captured her breasts properly.’

What an odd way of putting it. Captured her breasts? As though they were running away from him, like a couple of energetic puppies.

‘You’re a woman, Alexandra. Tell me … where have I gone wrong?’

She tried to be as dispassionate as he was, though her heart was racing as she imagined her breasts being cupped by Roland’s hands. ‘The tips are only tight like that when it’s cold. When it’s warm they are smoother when they reach … well … the peak.’

‘Ah … yes, the peak.’ His glance went to her breasts, which unaccountably surged against her body. ‘Perhaps you should pose for me.’

‘I’d hate to disappoint you again, Roland,’ she said drily.

‘I doubt if you would … Your body is craving love and I know exactly how to love you.’

‘Do you, Roland?’

He reached out and placed his hands against the velvet bodice. His thumbs found her nipples and gently caressed. ‘You’re so exquisite that I can’t help loving you. Marry me, Lexie.’