Elyse Mady (2 page)

She was nothing to him, and she would do well to remember it.

* * *

Over the three years of their acquaintance, Thomas had found himself watching Hester Aspinall far more than was wise or even prudent. He was always very careful not to reveal his interest, for she had never given the least indication that she would reciprocate, and he did not wish to unsettle her. But whenever he came to the shop, and far too often for his peace of mind when he was driving or walking in the vicinity, he would search the faces of the passersby, hoping to spy a glimpse of her.

He could go months on end before catching sight of her and sometimes even longer between conversations, yet thoughts of her fine eyes and strong chin, of her dark, glossy hair, of her reticent but clever wit intruded far more often than he was comfortable admitting, even to himself.

It had seemed, for a moment, that Miss Aspinall was on the verge of relenting and would let him assist her. But as quickly as the thought had occurred to her, he had seen her strong reserve chasing the impulse away.

She’d retreated into herself.

“Your reluctance is a blow, Miss Aspinall,” he said in a teasing tone. “I have always considered myself quite the knight-errant. If you will not accept my aid for your brother’s sake, I pray you will accept it for mine.”

She smiled a little at his jest, her lips opening to reveal her neat, white teeth, and he felt an unwarranted surge of happiness at eliciting the modest gesture.

“You strike me as a man who has known great success in whatever enterprises you undertake, Mr. Ramsay. I will not believe you would encounter many reluctant heroines on your quest.”

She coloured, as though regretting her compliment. She studied the tips of her gloves, her feet shuffling awkwardly, but Thomas was thrilled. She thought him handsome and valiant? That she was reluctant to confess it mattered less than the fact she thought it at all.

“If you were the heroine,” he said, unable to keep his gaze from her downturned face, “I think I would endure quite a lot if offered the chance to carry your standard, Miss Aspinall.”

At his words, her feet slowed and she turned to face him, puzzled. “My standard, Mr. Ramsay? Surely not.” She said it with a complete lack of coquetry that delighted and frustrated him in equal measure. Any other woman of his acquaintance would have been cock-a-hoop to have elicited such an unguarded statement. Hester seemed oblivious to the charms she presented, her slim body neatly garbed in a plain day dress that downplayed all of her allurements, and her hair contained by her equally unbecoming bonnet.

It wasn’t, he thought, surveying her surreptitiously from the tip of her neat shoes to her smooth oval face, that she was a dowd. Her clothes were of a good quality and fashionable enough, but they did nothing to play up her features or her fine figure. She dressed like a spinster long past her last prayers, yet he knew her to be only two and twenty. Though she dressed like a matron, there was an innocence to her comportment that made her seem younger than her actual age.

He thought for a moment of the young lady next to whom he’d sat at dinner last night. Miss Fawcett was only just eighteen, yet she had surveyed him beneath her lowered lashes, flirting and simpering with a knowing moue about her mouth. A minx like that knew the business of lovemaking and flirtation inside and out.

He knew instinctively that Hester would not.

He fought against a ridiculous rush of jealousy at the thought of a faceless gentleman earning her regard and devotion. With her brother on the verge of marriage, he could not imagine it would be long before she would follow him likewise. Who could resist such a face and figure as she boasted, however subtly? Whoever he might be, he would be lucky indeed to claim Miss Aspinall as his wife.

Of course, it was not that Thomas wished that fate for himself. He was a wanderer, who had sailed to the four corners of the earth since he’d gone to sea a young man in search of far-flung exploits. A wife and offspring would only burden him and keep him from his true love: adventuring. His sojourns in London were always trying, his impatience to be back at sea difficult to reconcile with his obligations to the business he and his friend, Edward Hannay, had founded nearly ten years before. They employed a stalwart man of business who cared for their interests when they were abroad but had finally concluded that they must share the duties, taking turns travelling to the Orient and India.

All of these things prevented him from acting on his attraction to Hester Aspinall, and yet her draw did not seem to dissipate with time as most of these affairs usually did. God knew Hester wasn’t thrusting herself into his notice; she seemed instead to shrink from any situation that might put her before him.

He remembered the first time he’d ever laid eyes on her. Still in deepest mourning for her parents and recovering from an undisclosed illness when they’d first met. She’d been pale and wan. Even then he’d found himself caught by her fleeting smile and capable, economical movements. She’d put him in mind of a small, dark bird, the very simplicity of its plumage its greatest asset, for unlike the women who adorned themselves in so many frills and furbelows that their figures were nearly indistinguishable beneath the trimmings, Miss Aspinall’s pleasant form was all too easy for his eye to trace with well-disguised enjoyment.

“We must agree then to disagree on the matter,” he said, keeping his eyes fixed on her face to ensure he resisted the temptation of gazing any lower. “May I ask if you have heard anything from your brother’s intended today? Or her family?”

Hester’s brow wrinkled. “Heard from Charlotte? No, I have not.”

“I do not mean to distress you, Miss Aspinall,” he said, helping her negotiate across the busy thoroughfare. The hand resting on his arm stiffened, and he strove to keep his voice even and unthreatening. “But is it possible that your brother’s vagueness as to his whereabouts was not an oversight but a deliberate plan?”

“I do not understand.” Her hand was withdrawn completely, the better to clench angrily around her modest reticule. “Robert would not act in an underhanded manner…”

“A deliberate plan,” Thomas continued, “to disguise a flight north from the city?”

“Now you imagine my brother to have left London? Was it not you who chastened me for allowing my imagination to outstrip reality? What, pray, do you consider this?”

The colour suffusing her face only highlighted her beauty. Forcing himself to remain impassive, he drew her aside, where their conversation could not be overheard.

“I do not mean to distress you, but it is important that we consider all possible reasons for your brother’s uncharacteristic absence. If, for instance, he and Miss Stroud were to have…
anticipated
…their marriage vows in a fashion that would make a precipitous voyage a necessity, is it possible they would have absconded to Gretna Green?”

Hester gaped at him indignantly, and he felt ashamed at his blunt words. In the normal course of things, a gentleman would never dream of discussing such matters with a respectable young woman. But his tenant was a tall, hale young man and Miss Stroud, in the two fleeting glimpses that Thomas had had of her, a very pretty girl. Hester was surely too innocent to comprehend what a young couple, newly engaged, might be tempted to engage in. If Thomas’s suppositions were correct, the results of that temptation might be reason enough for a young couple to travel north in advance of a more traditional ceremony.

“What you are suggesting is an impossibility,” Hester said fiercely, blushing hotly. “Even if I did not know Robert to be the soul of rectitude and utterly opposed to such behaviour, for you to imagine that my dear friend would so forget herself is unfathomable.”

“You may not realize it, but a man and woman, in the heat of passion, may be drawn to forget themselves in a fashion they would never imagine during their more rational moments. It is not an indictment, only an observation.”

He had meant the words as calming, but Hester’s eyes flashed and she drew herself up to her full height. She snatched her arm from his and crossed them beneath her breasts. Thomas tried not to look, but not even her fichu could disguise their shape. He diverted his eyes but could not stop his ears.

“You have no idea what I may or may not have experienced, Mr. Ramsay, but I will not believe such a thing of my brother.”

He tried to control his excitement, not allowing himself to remember the numerous occasions when he had discreditably fantasized about sharing such activities with Hester. She was angry and did not know how her words could be construed.

“Your loyalty does you credit.” He was proud his voice conveyed none of the turmoil he felt.

“Loyalty?” she scoffed. “It is not merely loyalty that prompts me to speak thus. It is a knowledge of his character developed through a lifetime as his sister. He would not dishonour the woman he intended to marry in the way you so imply. He abhors such wanton behaviour and always has.” A trace of some emotion Thomas could not identify flitted across her face Whatever memory it entailed, he doubted it was a pleasant one. But as quickly as it came, it departed, and she was once more his calm-faced opponent.

“I must bow to your greater knowledge of him. But may I suggest that in the interim, we proceed to my offices? They are but a short distance away. We will be better able to talk there about how we might go about locating Mr. Aspinall. I will have one of my clerks relay an enquiry to the Strouds. If I am correct, they may be able to give us a better idea of when the couple departed. If you are correct, Miss Stroud may still have valuable information as to your brother’s whereabouts.”

Her lips tightened in disapproval of his plan.

“I am well able to walk. You need not send a member of your staff on such a trivial matter for it would mean I impose even further—”

“It is not an imposition,” he snapped, sighing at her stubbornness. The women of his general acquaintance were wont to flutter graciously and melt obligingly whenever an offer of assistance was proffered for the meanest of tasks. Why could Miss Aspinall not do the same? He changed tacks. “I too have an interest in your brother’s well-being. After all, he is my tenant. Would you deny that it is in a landlord’s best interest to ensure a long-standing business arrangement continues uninterrupted?”

“I cannot.”

“Then let us cease this senseless bickering. I will send a clerk to enquire at the Strouds. You will wait for their information in my offices. Once we have their reply, we can discuss our next course of action. Are we finally agreed?”

Hester nodded. She took his arm again when he held it out but her reluctance was clear. Meanwhile, he tried to ignore the tempting heat radiating from her small hand, knowing it to be an impossibility that he could feel such a thing through the many layers that separated them. But he could not resist the urge to draw her a little closer to his side, ostensibly to protect her from the jostling passersby. He was ridiculously pleased when she did not draw away. A small victory, that, and hopefully, he found himself thinking with a degree of surprise, not the first.

“Your plan makes sense, Mr. Ramsay,” Hester said, pausing to acknowledge a neighbouring shopkeeper as they passed. “I will pen a note to Charlotte directly.”

Chapter Two

As she sat in Thomas Ramsay’s handsome office, sipping a cup of very fine Darjeeling and watching him interact with his staff, Hester felt again the wisdom of her brother’s warnings.

Early in their acquaintance, Robert had admonished her not to let her head be turned by their landlord, after he had come to their shop shortly after its opening. He’d inspected the modest space and introduced himself to Hester in polite and friendly tones. There had been nothing improper in either his manner or his speech and after he had left, Hester had returned to folding the woollen broadcloth she’d been occupied with before his arrival but her brother had been distracted and short-tempered.

“I know your propensity for flirtations with a well-looking face,” Robert had finally blurted, sitting cross-legged on his workbench, a half-sewn jacket spread across his lap. “But I would beg you to remember the gulf between Mr. Ramsay and ourselves. Remember how Jamie—”

Hester still had trouble hearing her dead intended’s name, especially used in the dismissive tone her brother used.

“Your imaginings are ridiculous and unfair,” she’d said sharply, anger and grief warring for supremacy. “I was pleasant to our guest, as befits a man of his station but nothing more did I intend or expect.” She’d paused, smoothing the soft fabric beneath her hand. “And I wish you would not speak of Jamie. You know it distresses me to hear you speak of him thus.”

Robert had frowned and then relented. He’d climbed down from his tailor’s platform and swept her into a fierce embrace.

“I’m sorry, Hessie,” he’d apologized. “I do not mean to vex you. But you must know that this venture is far from assured. London boasts a thousand tailors, and if we’re to have any chance of making a go of it, we must marshal our resources as best we can. We can’t squander what little fortune we have inherited.”

“I know, Robert, I know. You must forgive me too, for speaking so sharply just now. You have nothing to worry on that account. Jamie is dead. I want no other.”

The tears that had filled her eyes had been sharp and bitter but time had eased the worst of her grief. When she thought of her young, laughing fiancé, the pain was eased by remembrances of his liveliness and charm, the heart-wrenching results of their final heedless parting a dull, ill-defined ache.

Now, Thomas sat across from her, sipping his own cup of tea as they awaited news of her brother. It was impossible, even in an office as airy and comfortably appointed as this, to avoid meeting his eye. Try as she might, again and again, Hester found herself drawn to her host’s face, tracing the strong lines of his face, so different from the features of her lost love. The morning sun filled the office with a clear, unflinching light. It revealed a thin, white scar across his temple and a few scattered grey hairs amongst the otherwise dark brown strands. These flaws did not detract from his person, merely acted to temper what would have been an overwhelming masculine beauty too perfect for anything but a Vauxhall fresco.

He did not look up and she continued to study him, even as she berated herself for her forward behaviour. She wondered if, in time, Jamie would have come to look like this man too, marks of character and travel distinguishing his visage? Once upon a time, she had been unable to close her eyes at night without seeing Jamie, but now his ghostly features had grown worryingly indistinct, as though they could not compete with the heady vitality of the man sitting opposite her.

As if finally sensing her interest, Ramsay’s eyes met hers and for a long moment, the air between them seemed to heat to a degree that should have been impossible given the already sweltering temperatures.

She blushed fiercely and lowered her eyes, watching the small motes of tea as they shifted and sank towards the bottom of the thin china cup. A knock distracted her from her recriminations. A tall, stooped man stood at the door, a curious expression on his face, and an unaccountable sense of impending disaster stole over her body at the sight of him.

“Mr. Ramsay, sir?”

“Mr. Larkin. Is Abbott returned then? Had he any information at the Strouds?”

“No. But I found something in today’s paper that might shed some light on the man you’re seeking. His name was Aspinall, wasn’t it? He’s a tenant of the firm, is he not?”

With difficulty, Hester maintained her seat. “You have news?”

The clerk unfolded a broadsheet which he had tucked beneath his arm.

“After a fashion, miss.”

This time there was no denying his abruptness. Thomas frowned at his clerk’s intransigence and the man seemed to recollect himself, schooling his pale features into something approaching civility. Hester held out a trembling hand but Larkin ignored her, handing the paper to his employer before pointing out a small article on the front page.

As Thomas scanned the paper, his face darkened and his hands clenched but beyond a terse utterance of disbelief, he said nothing for quite some time. Finally, he finished the article and sat back in his chair, his eyes wary, his face troubled.

“What? What news have you? Good or bad, I must know,” Hester cried, darting to stand beside the desk.

“Please, Miss Aspinall, you must calm yourself,” he began, rising to take her hand solicitously. Larkin scowled at the gesture and Thomas’s voice was icy at the slight. “Thank you, Mr. Larkin. That will be all for now.”

Fairly bristling with ill will, the clerk made his way to the door.

“And I would ask that you keep the contents of the article—and your feelings—to yourself for now. Do you understand?”

“I don’t hold with—”

Thomas’s tone bit with the crack of a whip. “What you hold or do not hold with is of no account to me. My only concerns at present are Miss Aspinall’s peace of mind and her brother’s welfare. If you disagree, you are free to take your services and your employment elsewhere. Do I make myself understood?”

The manager looked shaken, as though his employer’s threat was a departure so extraordinary as to instil real fear. “I beg your pardon, miss, for anything I might have said out of turn.”

“I accept your apology on Miss Aspinall’s behalf, Mr. Larkin. Now, I would have you send a note to the livery to ready my horses and carriage. I have immediate need of them.”

Throughout the volatile exchange, Hester stood rooted to the spot. It was impossible, even at this proximity, to read the paper beneath Thomas’s solidly planted hand. The small print blurred before her eyes, as she strained to pick out a word that might give her some clue.

Was Robert dead? What else could occasion such a precipitous reaction? For surely if he had met with an accident, it would not merit mention on the front page of a Fleet Street daily. The door closed and at last they were alone.

“Please. Tell me what has happened.”

“Your brother has been taken into custody.”

Whatever ill fate she had imagined befalling Robert, it was not this.

“I beg your pardon?” The room seemed to darken momentarily, and she found herself swaying dangerously. A warm touch steadied her and led her to a nearby chair. He knelt beside her, taking her chilled hands between his own.

“He was taken into the custody of the Bow Street police last night. It has been reported that the group—”

“The group? So he was not alone?”

Something about the nature of her question seemed to discompose Thomas. His hands clenched around hers momentarily and then he stood and strode to the windows.

“No, he was not alone when the arrest took place. The group were taken to the watchhouse in St. Clement Danes last night and then removed early this morning to Bow Street under the protection of a large number of the constabulary.”

“The police are involved?” Hester’s mind was reeling, trying to make sense of these impossible facts.

“Yes. I’m afraid they are. According to the details recounted in the notice Mr. Larkin found, he has been brought to the bar before the magistrate at the Bow Street court. His name has been recorded and charges laid.”

A cry of dismay escaped her lips and when she lifted a hand to stay the sound, she was surprised to find it was trembling.

“What was the charge?” she asked through strangely numb lips.

Thomas turned towards her, concern marking every feature of his handsome face. “I do not think you would wish to know.”

His flat tone terrified her. What had her brother done to elicit such a reaction, first from Larkin, now from Thomas Ramsay? Murder? Highway robbery? An assault? She made her way across the fine oriental carpet to stand before him.

“Tell me. What did he do, Thomas?”

So fraught with panic was she, his given name slipped from her lips without conscious thought. He did not seem to notice her lapse and continued to stare at her, his eyes troubled, his thick brows caught in a deep frown. His shoulders sank, and she knew she had won.

He held out the paper and she snatched it from him. She scanned it, ignoring the ink staining her glovetips, until she found the article she sought.

POLICE
BOW-STREET

The existence of a Club, or Society, for a purpose so detestable and repugnant to the common feelings of our nature, that by no word can it be described without committing an outrage upon decency, has for some time been suspected by the Magistrates of Bow-street; who, cautiously concealing the odious secret, abstained from taking any steps on the information they had received, until an opportunity should offer of surprising the whole gang. About 11 o’clock last Sunday evening, three separate parties of the patrole, attended by constables, were detached from Bow-street upon this service; and such was the secrecy observed, that the object of their pursuit was unknown, even at that moment, to all but the confidential agents of Mr. Read, who headed the respective parties. The enterprize was completely successful.—We regret most deeply, that the information given at the office was found to be so accurate, that the Officers felt themselves justified in seizing no fewer than 23 individuals, at a public-house, called the White Swan, in Vere-Street, Clare-market.

The report then listed all of the men who had been detained. She could scarcely decipher the small print, it wavered so before her eyes, but she could not miss seeing Robert’s name amongst them. Just as Thomas had said.

Impetuously, she tore the paper in half and threw it down. “This is insupportable. Nonsense. What has he done that is so bad it cannot be printed in a paper? They have printed everything else, it seems. His name. His address and trade.”

Thomas’s face was grim. “He has been charged with the crime of sodomy, Hester. Do you know what that is?”

She shook her head and he sighed, his reluctance to illuminate her obvious. He hesitated for a long while, as though weighing his words. “It is a carnal act between…between men. Robert was discovered having relations with a man. That’s why he has been arrested.”

“I beg…I beg your pardon?” She understood the words. They were simple enough.
Carnal. Act. With. A. Man.
Separately they made sense, but together she could not seem to draw meaning from them. “This is not possible. It must be an error. The paper has misprinted the details of the crime. Robert could not be involved in such a thing. You must see that it is not possible!”

“The details are quite convincing,” Thomas said gently, taking her hands once more between his. “It is not only his name but profession and your directions that are printed. You must acknowledge the faint likelihood of there being two such individuals with the same particulars, both missing in London at the same time.”

Tears filled her eyes, pricking and stinging as she tried to blink them back. “He is to be married, Mr. Ramsay. To have such lies printed about him, only weeks before he is to be wed… What will this mean to his reputation? To his shop and custom? Of course he is innocent, but there are many who will readily believe such vile gossip.” She began to cry, covering her face, then blotting her tears with the warm, scented handkerchief he gave her.

When his arms crept around her, she ought to have protested and drawn away in outrage. She had imagined all sorts of calamities befalling her brother but never this. Never. The shocking unfairness of it all overset her hard-won calm and she wept unrestrainedly.

* * *

“Hush,” Thomas murmured, rubbing her back as one would to reassure a small child, with careful, calming strokes. “Do not take on so. It may yet be a misunderstanding, a nine-days wonder that will be forgotten by the time he appears at the altar.”

“Truly?” she said, looking up at him, her eyes puffy and her face moist. He had meant to comfort her but now, her lips only inches from his own, he could not deny the surge of awareness that swept over him.

“Anything is possible,” he said, releasing her abruptly and striding to the window. He kept his gaze fixed on the street below, ashamed of his weakness and how near he had come to kissing her. She was sitting down, hunched against the misery he had inflicted and all he’d been able to think of was how soft and appealing she felt, gathered in his arms like that.

He did not think he could bear it if she began to weep again; all he wanted to do was to sweep her up and promise her the moon, if only to make her smile again. Of course, he could not do that, and regret made his voice harsh. “Come, Miss Aspinall. I am sure that the carriage is ready by now. I will drive you to Bow Street, and we will discover for ourselves your brother’s situation.”

“I am well able to walk.” She stood, holding out his linen, neatly folded.

He ignored her offering. “And I’m well able to insist on my way in this. Covent Garden is no place for a young lady such as yourself, even when the theatres are dark midday. Not without someone to accompany you.”

She blinked, and another tear rolled down her face. She did not seem inclined to wipe it away, leaving it to dry a fine trail against her pale skin. “Fine,” she said, taking a shuddering breath. She stood taller, straightening to her full height before tucking his handkerchief in her reticule and sliding on her gloves with a resolute gesture. “I’m grateful for the aid you offer my brother. I only hope these ridiculous charges can be put behind us as soon as possible. Robert will be mortified to have been caught up in this faradiddle and eager to prove his innocence.”