Emily Baker (6 page)

She’d banished the nosegay he’d sent to thank her for her hospitality to the back of the others from her guests, almost out of sight, although she couldn’t quite bring herself to instruct Teresa to toss them into the ash can.

She accepted the teacup from the older woman and took a tentative sip of its savory contents, trying to order her thoughts.

“Ye have a lot on yer mind. Especially as ye try ta handle it all on yer own.”

“Nonsense.” Maura shook her head in denial. “I have you to help with the girls. Dorothy runs my house and Mr. Polhaven the store.”

She had help and advisors for every aspect of her life save the one for which she really needed guidance. The well-meaning sisters helped her run her house and her school, but there was no one she could turn to for counsel on her private affairs. No guide for wayward mistresses looking to avoid both heartbreak and loneliness.

The card party she’d hosted for Freddie two nights ago had shown her how ready she was to leave that part of her life behind her, but at the same time such bad elements as Harold Jameson ready to pounce on the new Baron Stanhope’s naïveté left her reluctant to break all ties with him, as though she alone could steer Freddie through all the pitfalls life had to offer.

She’d managed to avoid any further intimacies with Freddie since before his trip to his grandfather’s. Besides being too floored to do more than snore against the pillows their first time back together, he’d escorted his aunt to a musicale evening the first night after the party. She’d pleaded her monthly indisposition when he’d come to supper last night.

He’d stayed late into the evening playing chess with her by the fire. He’d been so charming as he entertained her with stories about his grandfather she’d almost relented a second time and let him stay the night. But in the end, common sense, and her “indisposition,” prevailed. She’d sent him on his way just before he launched into his latest marriage proposal.

Her need for companionship could not be allowed to drag him down. She cared too much to let that happen. She’d always cared unwisely, and that fault had set her feet on this path in the first place.

“Ye don’t fool me—”

Maura started and nearly sloshed tea into her saucer. She’d forgotten Katherine Polhaven was still in the room. Yet, there she stood, one hand still gripping the kettle and the other on her hip.

“—nor any of us. Dorothy is already beside herself because ye’ve hardly eaten a bite in three days.”

Katherine glanced about and then put the kettle down on a tile holding correspondence that Maura usually used for just that same purpose. She folded her hands across her apron and fixed a knowing look on Maura. “Ye do know ye gave Mr. Polhaven permission yesterday to purchase whatever he recommends from the list ye’ve been staring at this past hour or more, don’t ye?”

Heat crept over Maura’s cheeks. She was more scattered than she realized. Dorothy Kelly had fussed at her in much the same manner only a few hours before. Once she had a plan she’d feel better. Once she could see her way clear in a way that would not harm Freddie. She owed him that much at least. “You and your sister worry about me too much.”

“Well, with my Angela settled into her new life in America thanks ta ye, we have the luxury of giving ye the benefit of our attention.”

Maura bit back the observation that having both of their eyes fixed on her hardly felt like a benefit. She’d been too alone and too vulnerable when she’d arrived in Dublin not to value their loyalty and concern.

“How is Angela?” Perhaps she could divert Katherine’s attention. Changing the direction of your life seemed much more difficult under close scrutiny, even from well-meaning friends. “Did you get another letter?”

“Aye.” Katherine’s answer was accompanied by a genuine grin. As usual, mention of her daughter successfully distracted her. There’d be no such relief when she returned home to Dorothy Kelly, but that was hours from now and she’d worry about answering to her housekeeper then.

“She’s settled into her job with that new family in New York.” Katherine beamed her satisfaction. “With three daughters to marry off in the next few years and more ta come down the road, she has enough work to need an assistant. And the family even lets our granddaughter sit in on the tutor’s lessons for their younger children.”

Hearing how well Angela fared always warmed Maura and firmed her convictions the work she did was worth the other part of her life. Angela had been Maura’s first student, the first young woman Maura had been able to help after the poor girl had been turned out of her position without a recommendation when the mistress of the house found out her eldest son had impregnated her.

Angela had sought shelter with her aunt Dorothy and in turn given new meaning to Maura’s own life and the choices she’d made. Angela’s success at starting her life over with a self-supporting skill as a seamstress had inspired Maura to purchase the draper’s shop and the house on the other end of the courtyard as a haven for girls in service whose employers had taken advantage of them.

The Polhavens gave up their dry goods store to come and help with the project. Part of their work involved establishing the young women in new positions far away from the shame that would attach to them if their pasts as the cast-off playthings of the nobility were ever revealed. Angela had chosen to accept placement in America as a widowed mother. The swell of pride on Katherine’s face was surely reflected on Maura’s right now.

“I’m so glad for her. And how is the young woman who came to us last week. Has she spoken to anyone yet? Did Dorothy’s calming potion help her?”

“Nay, poor thing.” Katherine sighed, her shoulders doing a slow rise and fall and her eyes taking on a hint of mist. “She jest sits and stares most time. Unless of course she catches sight of Mr. Polhaven or the doctor. Then she screams fer hours. The echoes can still be heard clear into the shop even though we moved her to the backmost bedroom. She was ill used, that’s all I know.”

“Is there anything else we can do for her? Anything she needs?”

“Jest time.” Katherine shook her head. “The doctor said it might be good to get her outside fer a bit of fresh air. So one of the other girls and I tried the courtyard, but she went rigid when she saw the sunlight yesterday afternoon.”

Maura stood and moved over to the window that overlooked the courtyard. She pulled back the lace undercurtains. There was grass and a nice, tall oak tree to provide shade. A small natural haven in the midst of the city. Plenty of room and a peaceful spot for the elocution exercises she had planned for today. “Perhaps I could hold lessons outdoors and you could try again while the rest of the girls are outside, too. That might make her feel safer.”

“Very good, ma’am.” Mrs. Polhaven stood and picked up her kettle. “I’ll tell the girls ta assemble in the courtyard directly after luncheon. They can bring their chairs.”

“And the children, too,” Maura added. “Perhaps Cook could supply some lemonade and sweetcakes. We’ll make it a party. No one is threatened by a party or children.”

“No one save their natural fathers.” Katherine sniffed her disapproval. About half the girls in residence at the Eagan School had bastard children by their former employers. “Sounds like a fine party and jest the thing that may coax poor little Mary out of her waking nightmare.”

“Mary?” That was the name of Katherine’s granddaughter in New York.

“Aye, I couldn’t keep calling her ‘poor wee thing’ so I named her after my own
gariníon.
I’d like ta think if something happened to Angela’s girl there in America, someone would take her in and be kind, too.”

“I think that’s a good name for our newest student. I’ll look forward to seeing her after lunch.” Maura blew a stray wisp of hair from in front of her eyes. “Until then I’d best move on from Mr. Polhaven’s list to something more productive.”

“And I’d best get back ta the school and make sure the girls are ready fer their afternoon.” Katherine closed the door behind her as she went about her duties.

Maura sat back at her table and picked up the order list again: bolts of damask and silk, linen and wools, all listed in orderly rows. Already approved. If only her own life could be so simple and orderly. As simple as it had been before she’d stepped outside the bounds of society, before she’d taken her position in the colonel’s household, before her Da had passed away.

“I am certain I can find the way myself.”

A commotion on the steps leading from the shop below her office broke her reverie. An irate customer? Not many got by Silas Polhaven. Not many had need to. The shop part of this enterprise seldom gave her pause thanks to his honest dealings with their customers and suppliers. She picked up her cup of tea for a bracing swallow before dealing with whatever was about to occur.

“My business is with the shop’s owner.” The man’s voice seemed oddly familiar, but she could not place him from among the local tradesmen or fabric merchants she dealt with from time to time when Silas Polhaven thought it prudent.

“Really, your shopgirl said I might find her at the top of these steps.”

The next thing Maura knew, her office door swung open and the arresting face that had haunted her since the card party peeked in at her. Garrett Lynch.

“Mrs. Eagan?”

For the first time since opening her school, her two worlds collided. The shock of it froze her in place as she gazed up into dark green eyes flashing an angry contradiction to the pleasant tone he employed.

“Mrs. Eagan? If I might have a moment of your time, I have an offer for you.”

“Sir, sir.” The elderly gentleman peered at Garrett over tall stacks of colored fabric puffed high along the table in front of him. “May I help you?”

“I’m here to see Mrs. Eagan.” Garrett answered without stopping as he wove his way between a half-dozen tables similarly stacked and headed toward the stairs at the back of the shop. Fueling his speed was the realization that a bit of his heart yet held on to the hope his men and the information they had gathered had been wrong—that the woman he’d observed the other night had been just what she’d seemed, genuinely attached to Stanhope and not a practiced deceiver who could conduct herself in this manner. He would know for certain in a moment.

“Mrs. Eagan? Oh, sir, ye canna interrupt her without an appointment.” The older man’s voice trailed off in unhappy protest as Garrett ignored him and took the steps two at a time.

Seamus’s time spent sweet-talking one of the shopgirls yesterday to learn the routine and who worked in what area at Eagan’s Draper Shop would provide Garrett the element of surprise and a little privacy. Confronting her alone in her office was preferable to accosting her on the street or within the bosom of her home, whatever way the conversation led. If it turned out truly to be her.

Right up until the moment he opened the door and saw her behind the long table piled with ledgers and papers, calmly sipping tea, Garrett hadn’t realized how very much he’d hoped Seamus Granger had been wrong. The woman posing as Mrs. Maureen Eagan, widow, late of County Meath, was indeed Maura Fitzgerald, current mistress of Frederick Vaughn, newly named Baron Stanhope and heir to the Earl of Clancare.

Yet there she was. Anger sluiced, white hot, and unexpected.

There she was in the flesh—the proprietress of a thriving draper’s business on Hawkins Street backed by a discreet courtyard with a second building providing shelter to a variety of young women few of the neighbors knew anything about.

“Mrs. Eagan?” He managed the inquiry in an even tone despite his reactions, even as his mind poured over the information his men had gathered during their discreet investigation of the surrounding streets. Again and again, this woman had been described as honest, kind, and generous to a fault. The ideal businesswoman and neighbor. And easy on the eyes to boot. His fists clenched at his sides.

Their inquiries unearthed the little-known fact that the saintly Widow Eagan ran a school of some sort for girls in reduced circumstances, taking them in and teaching them a trade. Maura Fitzgerald or Maureen Eagan, or whatever she styled herself, was a paramour, draper, and schoolmistress? He could have laughed. Just what exactly was she teaching the girls she took in out of the goodness of her soul?

Rage swirled within him, barely held in check, as he confronted proof of her deception. It was unreasoned. It was unnecessary. It was uncharacteristic. And it was almost beyond his control. Dare he call her the name by which she’d already been introduced or should he partner in her deceptions and pretend he never met her? Either option galled him out of proportion with the task at hand.

Which would she choose?

At least she possessed enough grace to blanch white and stay perfectly still in the breathless minute after their gazes locked. Small comfort there, and it did nothing to vanquish his reactions.

He drew another breath finally and struggled to keep anger out of his voice.

“Mrs. . . .
Eagan
?” He hesitated deliberately, stressing the name again slightly, as if stunned at seeing someone unexpected. He did not want her to realize he possessed any clue before he ascended the stairs who might be waiting at the top.

“If . . . if I might have a moment of your time, I have an offer for you.” Attempting to appear as if he were recovering himself after a shock, he doffed his hat and placed it in the crook of his arm as he awaited her reaction.

“I am so sorry for the interruption, Mrs. Eagan.” The shopkeeper had managed to catch up with Garrett, paunch and age notwithstanding as he gasped for breath.

“Please, sir.” He put his hand on Garrett’s sleeve. “If ye’ll accompany me to my office below, I’m sure I can assist ye. Or ye can make an appointment to return and meet with both Mrs. Eagan and myself at a more convenient time.”

“I really need to speak to Mrs. . . .
Eagan
,” Garrett insisted, pausing to highlight her use of this different name once again.

“Whatever your business with our shop, I can assure ye I am authorized ta make all decisions or accommodations deemed necessary. I am ready ta offer ye the full range of services Eagan’s can provide.”

Although clearly outmatched, the man also looked ready to throw himself physically between Garrett and his employer if deemed necessary. Garrett’s eyebrow edged upward as he looked from the man to Maura Eagan–Fitzgerald.

“It’s all right, Mr. Polhaven. I will see Mr. Lynch. You have no need to worry.” She stood up.

“Please come in, Mr. Lynch. This is an . . . unexpected . . . pleasure.” Her tone struggled to make her greeting ring true.

“Would ye like me ta stay, Mum?” Her protector cast a sharp eye on Garrett. “Or I can send fer Mrs. Polhaven?”

This brought a smile to her lips as she shook her head. “Really. I will be all right in this gentleman’s company. I do not need a chaperone. I know you are very busy taking inventory. Pray do not trouble yourself any further on my account.”

“Very well.” Polhaven looked less than satisfied as he retreated toward the steps. “Ring if ye have need of anything. One of us will be up in a whipstitch.”

“I will.” Her eyes stayed fixed on the point where his head disappeared as he returned to his duties below.

“Anything.” Polhaven’s determined voice echoed back up the stairway for emphasis.

She took a deep breath. The set of her shoulders and the firm line of her lip when her gaze met Garrett’s again told him she meant to brazen things out for as long as possible. He couldn’t help but admire her spirit despite himself. Meeting him head on showed character.

“Thank you for seeing me without an appointment, Mrs. . . . ?” He left her title dangle, forcing her to acknowledge her deception one more time, trying to knock or keep her off balance.

“
Eagan,
Mr. Lynch. I use Eagan in connection to my business affairs.” The faintest hint of color stained her cheeks as she gestured to the pair of rushed armchairs on the opposite side of the table from her work area. “Please, will you sit down and tell me what brings you to my shop?”

The rushes squeaked a protest as he settled on the offered chair. He stripped off his gloves and placed the pair and his hat on the edge of the table in front of him.

Folding his hands together, he looked at them for a moment as if trying to collect his thoughts after receiving the shock of meeting someone he knew, in such an unexpected place. With a deliberate grimace, he then fixed her with a piercing look.

“This is very awkward. Had I . . . had I . . . realized . . . I should probably take up this matter with Stanhope.”

Her eyes narrowed as he stumbled along with his tongue-tied pose.

“But even he and I are barely acquainted.” He let out a deep sigh and let his shoulders sag ever so slightly.

“Baron Stanhope has nothing to do with this enterprise,” she assured him in a even tone as she took her seat.

Sunlight from the window caressed the top of her braided chignon, bringing out the chestnut highlights shining within its dark depths. She certainly knew how to use her assets to distraction. Her crisp white blouse enhanced the creaminess of her complexion. The deep Mexican blue of the work apron she wore gave a steely glint to her gray eyes. Her rose-colored lips were enticing, despite the firm line she set them in.

She leaned forward and folded her hands on the desk. “I can assure you, whatever you have to say can be said to me. Stanhope knows nothing about choosing fabrics for upholstery or drapes, let alone lesser household goods.”

“Lesser goods?”

“Tea towels. Table linens. The aprons your servants wear. Someone has to provide them to Dublin’s households. Eagan’s is striving to become one of the major sources. From curtains to bed linens. What can we supply for you, Mr. Lynch?”

Looking the way she did, and running the sideline business he suspected, he was quite certain she should not have included mention of bed linens in the recitation of her inventory. Images of the entertainments she could offer within that line of wares sprang too easily to mind. Or perhaps that was part of her pitch, dangle the thought and then see if the customer was interested in exactly that sort of pursuit?

In either case, it was wasted on him despite her personal appeal. Most nights, like last night which he spent bedded down in a barn avoiding English patrols, or the one in her drawing room two nights before, he never even saw a bed, let alone needed linens. And women had been few and far between, an unfortunate side effect of his Green Dragon responsibilities.

“I believe you are mistaken in my intent.” He fumbled in the breast pocket of his jacket and pulled out a handkerchief to mop his brow. Then he met her frowning gaze once more.

“I am here to make some inquiries regarding your other enterprise.”

She continued to frown. Storm clouds gathered in the depths of her gray eyes. “My . . . other . . . enterprise?”

He nodded once.

Her jaw worked for a moment. “Is that why you wanted to involve Stanhope? Because you wished to discuss my . . . other enterprise?”

She stood, her chin raised and shoulders straight, clasping her hands in front of her. “I fail to see what you would have to discuss with me that might involve Baron Stanhope.”

She schooled her voice very carefully. Her self-righteous indignation was almost believable as a result. “I have made all my own decisions for quite some time.”

“I meant no offense. I just assumed . . . given the nature . . . given your relationship . . . that—”

Her gaze narrowed further. “—that I depend upon him in all things? That may or may not be so. The nature of my relationship with Baron Stanhope is no one else’s business but the baron’s and mine.”

She really was indignant. And headed in the wrong direction for today’s conversation. The earl’s dictum to separate his grandson from his mistress notwithstanding, today Garrett was concentrating on the girl she had mentioned to her housekeeper.

Whether Maura Fitzgerald had Stanhope in fact by the leading strings, as his mother and grandfather feared, was a lesser concern than exploring every avenue toward finding the admiral’s daughter, no matter how far-fetched. Mrs. Fitzgerald’s ties to Stanhope would be broken in due course. Jane Fuller and the release of the prisoners in Newgate Gaol were his current priority over rescuing Clancare’s heir from a pair of scheming arms.

“Again, I apologize. I truly meant no offense. Especially since we are apparently talking at cross-purposes.” He mopped his forehead again. “I’ve been so overset since I got the news.”

“What news?” She folded her arms in front of her as she eyed him through suspicion.

He took a deep breath as he rose to his feet to face her across the table. “My poor little cousin. She’s run away from her home in County Meath. She’s only seventeen.”

She took a breath and looked at him for a moment longer. “Oh, I am sorry. How very unfortunate.”

Genuine sympathy softened the mistrust in her eyes.

He nodded. “One day she sent her grieving parents a note saying she was bored with country life and was going to the city to make her fortune. They haven’t heard from her since.”

“Does your cousin have any other relations or acquaintances here in Dublin who could have offered her shelter?”

He shook his head. “She knows no one here, save myself. And I am but the merest whisker of a relation, being a second cousin to her mother.”

“I do not wish to sound harsh over what is obviously a family tragedy.” She unfolded her arms and moved a step closer to the end of her table. “But what has your cousin’s disappearance to do with me?”

“Surely you can understand how frantic her parents must be.” He raked his hand through his hair. “And living the life I do, I know all too well the dangers that lurk in the city. Especially for the young and innocent. I have done my best to seek her out for them.”

“I have no way of knowing the life you lead, but that still does not tell me why you are here.” Another step left her just a few scant feet from him. The tantalizing scent of newly opened roses drifted to him.

Here goes.
“I’m at my wit’s end. She is but seventeen. How can a child of her years survive in the city? I was about to write to her family to expect the worst. Then someone told me of a woman from County Meath who owned a shop on Hawkins Street, a draper who sometimes took in girls to teach them a skill.”

“Which brought you here? To see if your cousin was among my students?” A look of concern flitted across her face. “Not many people know about my school.”

Did Stanhope? Perhaps that was the impetus for her earlier upset. The man paying her bills had no idea how she was putting his funds to use?

He took a deep breath. “I realize how outside the normal borders of society this is, but would you please let me see if my cousin is here?”

She was already shaking her head. “I am sorry. I cannot.”

“Cannot or will not?” Anger touched his voice despite himself.

“Both.” She admitted readily enough as she continued to study him.

“You would take away my last hope? How can you be so cruel?”

“For many of the same reasons you fear for your cousin.” She turned away from him and stepped over to the window to look toward the rear of her property. “Most of the girls who make it to this door have not had a good time of it. Some have been forced to work under intolerable circumstances. Some have been beaten. Others cruelly used, then coldly turned aside.”