Margaret Moore (5 page)

“Why do they call him ‘heartless’?”

“Because he doesn’t appear to possess one. Nothing but a legal brain, or so people say who’ve met him.”

Vivienne thought of the man she had kissed. He had been kind and sympathetic and so much more; there could be no doubt he had a heart. Indeed, she had felt it beating when he held her in his arms. “Do you know of any others?”

“I don’t even know him, except by reputation,” Lettice said, obviously affronted by the notion that she would consort with mere solicitors, who were, after all, not barristers. “My dear papa oversaw my settlement,” she continued, “and I am glad he did. I would have been bored beyond belief with all that legal talk.”

Deciding she had spent quite enough time being bored herself, and without learning anything helpful about Sir Philip, Vivienne rose. “Oh, dear! I just realized how long I have been here.”

That wasn’t exactly a lie. Every minute had seemed an hour. “I had best be on my way.”

“There is no need to rush off,” Lettice protested. “I have yet to tell you what dear Lady Rowhampton said. It is so very droll!”

“I’m sorry, Lettice, but I really must leave.”

Vivienne hurried to the door, wishing she had spent an hour on the rack instead of coming to visit Lettice.

As it was, she had endured an afternoon of giggled gossip and thinly disguised boasting to no avail.

Rob scanned the large withdrawing room belonging to the uncle of Sir Philip’s intended bride, a room that was above a large and bustling silk business.

Rob’s gaze roved over the fine dark furnishings newly made, probably in the Netherlands. It would take two men to carry the sideboard. One could likely manage the chairs. The family portraits on the wall were worthless to anybody but the family, while the silver candlesticks on the mantelpiece could fetch twenty-five pounds at least. A thief could pocket those and be out the mullioned window in an instant.

The windows sported excellent locks, though, which said something for Mr. Burroughs’s intelligence, as the size and furnishings of this room did for his wealth.

A family of ten paupers would account themselves lucky to have so much space, Rob reflected as he glanced at his client, who was impatiently pacing up and down the carpet.

Even now, Rob could not get used to seeing somebody step on a carpet as if the expensive item were not there.

A door beside the mantel opened, and a man every inch the prosperous tradesman entered. He wore a jacket and breeches of a navy blue fabric that gleamed in the light. Silk, probably, Rob thought, although he himself had little knowledge of such a luxurious fabric. The man’s jacket sported no trim, except for large, no doubt expensive silver buttons. His peruke, the hair glossy brown and curled, framed a plump face that bespoke fine meals, and none ever missed.

His shirt and hose were gleaming white, and his shoe buckles also made of silver. One of them could probably feed that poor family of ten for weeks.

“Ah, Sir Philip!” the man cried as he came forward and bowed to his guest. “Delighted to see you again, sir,
de
-lighted!”

Sir Philip surreptitiously tugged his jacket sleeve over his dingy cuffs as he made a considerably smaller bow to the taller man. “Your servant, sir.” He turned toward Rob and gestured for him to come forward. “Mr. Burroughs, allow me to present my solicitor, Mr. Robert Harding.”

“What, not Heartless Harding?” Mr. Burroughs cried, his tone pleasantly surprised—but there was no corresponding delight in his eyes.

Because of Rob’s reputation in legal matters, or something else?

“I heard about you after you got that hundred pounds out of Millton,” Mr. Burroughs said after Rob endured another moment’s scrutiny.

“Mr. Millton was in breach of contract.”

“So you say.”

“So the law says, sir.”

“Well, so the judge decided, at any rate, and Millton was most put out about it, most put out.”

Rob said nothing. What was there to say? He had won the case, and Mr. Burroughs’s friend had lost.

“As I have said,” Sir Philip said smoothly, “I like the best. Given our conversation the other evening, I thought to save us both some time by having my solicitor draw up the first draft of the settlement.”

Mr. Burroughs’s lips twitched in a little smile, and Rob realized he wasn’t taken in by this explanation. Sir Philip wanted to make the preliminary agreement to give him the advantage by committing the first negotiations on paper. Once things were committed to paper, Rob had discovered, many people considered them sacrosanct.

Not him, of course, and he doubted Mr. Burroughs would think so, either. Rob suspected it would be a rare fellow who ever got the better of Mr. Burroughs in a bargain. The negotiations were Rob’s job, however, and he also suspected that Mr. Burroughs would very likely underestimate him. Most men who knew of his history did.

That was their error. There had been days when a ha’penny was worth an hour’s haggling to him, and so he had learned to bargain well, a talent which stood him in good stead in his profession.

Let Mr. Burroughs beware, and his solicitor, too, who was probably the person opening the other door this very moment.

Rob half turned, wondering who his legal opponent was going to be.

The first thing he saw was a gown of pale pink fabric, like the bud of a rose. And then her face, the unforgettable face of the young woman he had kissed in Bankside, with her periwinkle blue eyes and memorable, delightful, querying eyebrows that now rose with blatant surprise.

I
t could not be! It
must
not be.

Maybe she was not the bride. Maybe the bride was a sister or cousin or friend. Please let her be a sister or a cousin or a friend!

“What do you want, Vivienne?” Mr. Burroughs demanded.

Vivienne. Her name was Vivienne.

“I told you Sir Philip was coming,” Mr. Burroughs continued, obviously putting his own interpretation on her reaction as Rob struggled to regain his inner equilibrium.

And control the blood coursing through his body, rampaging in his veins.

Sir Philip smiled at her in an insolent, possessive way that made Rob want to strike him, then said, “Your uncle has given me leave to talk of a marriage settlement, so I have brought Mr. Harding, my solicitor. I am counting the hours until we can be wed.”

Oh, dear God in heaven, she was the bride. It took every measure of self-control to keep Rob from groaning with dismay.

He immediately considered excusing himself from this business. For heaven’s sake, he had advised the bride on how to delay and possibly avoid the marriage entirely.

And they had kissed—oh, how they had kissed! He could not bear the thought of her marriage to a man like Sir Philip Martlebury.

But if he excused himself, he would have to say why. What might happen to Vivienne then, if they heard she had tried to thwart their plans? He could guess, and it would not be good.

He thought of giving another reason to be excused. Or giving no reason at all. He could simply say he was unable to continue as Sir Philip’s solicitor.

But again the question of Vivienne’s fate arose.

Even as his heart bemoaned this horrid twist of fate, he realized there was one thing he could do for Vivienne Burroughs.

He could make sure she had a good marriage settlement. Otherwise, how long would even a large dowry last in Sir Philip’s hands? A year, maybe two, unless it was protected by the law.

He had no qualms about doing that, for he believed in fairness, not the sort of legal maneuvering aimed at vanquishing the other party completely He had seen too many people left ruined and destitute by such legal wrangling, often because they were too ignorant and poor to be able to fight for what was theirs by right of law.

Burroughs was a well-to-do merchant; surely there would be enough money to satisfy Sir Philip and provide for her separate use, too. He could see that it was so.

If, in fact, the marriage took place at all. He could believe that Vivienne Burroughs was quite capable of following his advice, so perhaps all talk of a marriage settlement would prove to be moot.

Sir Philip would be out of pocket for the time Rob had spent on the settlement to that point, but the man could always use it as a rough draft the next time he sought a young woman’s hand in marriage, so he would not be paying for nothing.

“Your solicitor?” Vivienne Burroughs repeated, turning to regard him gravely.

“Sir Philip engaged my services yesterday.”

“Ah, only yesterday?” she said as a beautiful smile of comprehension dawned on her face.

He noted with relief that she was acting as if they had never met, which was the best thing for her to do. “Are you the one they call Heartless Harding?”

A hope he had not dared to acknowledge slowly died within him. If she knew what people called him about the courts, what else did she know about him? “Yes. You have heard of me?”

“I was talking with a friend about solicitors, and your name was mentioned.”

He would have given all he had to know exactly what had been said about him. The truth was bad enough; the rumors and gossip infinitely worse.

“As I told your uncle, I like the best,” Sir Philip remarked.

“So you keep saying, and I gather Mr. Harding is.”

“I do my best for my clients, mistress.”

“I’m sure your advice is excellent.” She turned toward her uncle. “I was not aware we had reached this stage.”

“I am impatient to become your husband, my love,” Sir Philip said.

Her eyes flashed angrily as she looked at him. “I am not your love.”

“Leave us, Vivienne,” her uncle commanded.

Her expression altered to one of apparent contrition—but the anger still smoldered in her eyes if one looked for it. “Forgive me, Sir Philip. I should say, you do not love me
yet.”
She faced her uncle. “Shouldn’t I stay for this discussion? It is my marriage settlement, too, after all.”

Rob was glad to hear she was following his advice.

“It’s business, and women have no need to listen to business,” Mr. Burroughs declared with obvious finality.

“Very well, Uncle,” she said, wisely not pressing the issue.

She was as intelligent as he had believed that first night.

“It is a fine afternoon,” she said, “and I believe I shall take a stroll around the mercer’s garden. Perhaps Sir Philip might find a moment to join me there? You can tell me all about your estates in the country and your friends there.”

Wise woman, to think of finding out about his acquaintances outside of London, too.

“I’m sure Mr. Harding doesn’t need me at this point in the discussion,” Sir Philip said as he hurried toward Vivienne and captured her arm. “We have already talked about the settlement. Come along, my dear.”

He led her from the room and Rob told himself that was for the best. He needed to concentrate on the business at hand, and he could not do that while she, and her rose perfume and soft pink dress, were in the room.

“Let’s go to the offices below,” Mr. Burroughs suggested. “That’s the place for business.”

“Even this kind?”

“Especially this kind,” the silk merchant replied with a throaty chortle. “I leave the sentiment to the couple. It is my job to consider the practicalities, and I always do that better below.”

Rob nodded his acquiescence. No doubt there would be no lingering scent of roses in the offices, either.

“Enough!” Mr. Burroughs declared some time later. “I am famished and dying for a drink of wine. Will you join me in the withdrawing room?”

He put his fleshy hands on his desk, which was covered in receipts, swatches of fabric and bits of ribbon, and heaved himself to his feet.

“I thank you for the invitation, Mr. Burroughs,” Rob said as he carefully sprinkled sand over the portions of his notes where the ink was still damp, “but I should return to my chambers. I have other clients to see today.”

And the less time he spent near Mr. Burroughs, the less he was likely to encounter Vivienne. He must avoid her, and the feelings she aroused that had no future, at all costs.

“I have enough with the first draft of the settlement,” Rob continued. “When I have completed it, Sir Philip will read it and let me know what needs to be amended. Then I shall return to you for more discussion. Or perhaps I should consult with your solicitor?”

“I don’t intend to pay one of your fellows for this. I know how to read a contract, by God.”

Judging by what had just passed, Rob could believe he did indeed know as much about contracts as any solicitor.

“If you change your mind,” Mr. Burroughs said as he went to the door, “ask one of the clerks to show you upstairs.”

Rob nodded and began to gather his things. As he put them in his worn leather pouch, he surveyed the silk merchant’s office. His gaze passed over the whitewashed walls decorated with small pieces of silk affixed with sealing wax, the shelves bearing bolts of unfinished material, the dyed bolts leaning against the wall and the black and gray fabric farther back upon the shelves, a reminder of the grim days of Cromwell, perhaps. He couldn’t see any sign of light pink fabric.

Then, as if his thoughts had somehow taken material form, he smelled roses. Straightening abruptly, he saw Vivienne standing on the threshold.

She wore a cloak, the same cloak she had worn that night in Bankside. The hood was up around her face, but now that he had seen her, he could perceive her features in the shadow it made.

She smiled. “Mr. Harding, I am delighted to see you again, even under these unusual circumstances.”

As she came inside, he made his face as stern and cold as he could. There could never be anything more between them. “Your uncle has gone upstairs to the withdrawing room, mistress.”

She drew back her hood.

He wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her with that same passion they had shared before.

But he could not. He didn’t dare touch her ever again. Simply being in the same room with her was torment enough.

He was basely born and poor. She was neither.

He could only ever be a solicitor who helped her, and he must do so in secret, for both their sakes. Nobody, and especially not Sir Philip, could ever know his feelings for her, or what he had done because of those feelings.