The Lodestone (32 page)

“Sporting of you to go along with it, m’dear,” Lord Easton offered, surprising Cleome with his sudden tolerance of her. “A bit of mischief, to be sure; but you’re no worse for it now the truth is out.”

Elizabeth fairly chirped her agreement. “In fact, you are
quite
in demand. As soon as your period of mourning is over, you’ll be invited
everywhere
. Oh, and Drake also told us how you had your mother’s marriage recognized by the church.”

“Did he?”

Elizabeth nodded, smiling. “How splendid of you, Cleome. He said once you’d found the marriage certificate, you took it straight to the parson. But, how
ever
did you get it?”

“I suppose that’s true,” Elizabeth agreed, happy to turn her attention to something that was for her more interesting. “We must order a mourning wardrobe for you, my dear. I shall send word to your dressmaker straightaway.”

“No.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I do not intend to observe a long period of mourning.” Cleome was firm. “I’ll not parade my feelings in awesome, black splendor before strangers who did not even know my mother, and would have refused her company if they did.”

“Cleome, you must consider convention,” Lady Easton tried to reason.

“No,” Cleome replied. “Ramona Parker grieved enough in her lifetime for both of us. She had an empty childhood with a mother who couldn’t stand the thought of having borne the offspring of a lowly tavern keeper. And her husband was denied her because of the same well-bred disdain. My mother would hate to know I’m going around, for an entire year, draped in morbid, solemn black and shutting myself away from sunshine and laughter. She would not bequeath me such sorrow.”

“But my dear—”

“There’s no use arguing with her,” Lord Easton said, at last losing patience. “Can you not see she has made up that damned stubborn mind of hers.”

“Well, if you’re not going to observe the year, I suppose we can continue with our plans for the ball?” Lady Easton queried.

“I think not,” Cleome answered. “I do not wish to be introduced to society . . . not in that way. If I’m to be accepted, Lady Easton, I’ll do it on my terms or not at all.”

So instead of the grand debut that Lady Easton had planned, Cleome had a simple party to open Houghton Hall. She invited a mix of the more interesting people she had already met, important business contacts and some of Oliver Landshire’s intellectual friends. She arranged for Edwina to sit across the table at supper from Garnett; and as a favor to Elizabeth, Cleome included the disdainful Count Paolo in the party. Paolo devoted much of his attention to Lady Easton and he seemed to have a close alliance with Moira Landshire. She was such a plain woman that Cleome had to wonder at their relationship.

Mary and Jacqueline were thrilled with the huge, old mansion and Higgins was delighted when Cleome left the hiring of the remainder of the household staff up to him. Cleome applied herself to learning everything she could about managing the wealth she had inherited. In addition to copper and coal and a few factories, her holdings included property in Cornwall, the West Indies and Ireland, a shipping line and even a sizeable investment in railroads. In three short months, Oliver declared her ready to look after her own affairs, saying that not even the most experienced man of business could find fault with her good, common sense.

In spite of the void in Cleome’s heart, left by the passing of those she loved and the absence of one with whom she had shared a brief but fiery passion, she found she had developed a yearning for knowledge. And the more she got, the more she wanted.

**

Cleome had been back in London for several weeks before she saw Drake again, and then it was from a distance. She and Garnett were walking along the Mall with Edwina, who looked longingly at the young laird while he filled their ears with good-humored nonsense. Garnett could always make Cleome laugh, and she had looked up with a broad smile to see Drake’s carriage approaching. The dark, lovely Mignon, immaculately groomed, her dress the height of fashion, sat beside him. She was spectacular, and as the attractive couple passed Cleome and her friends, Drake tipped his hat and nodded. Then he signaled for his driver to hasten.

Cleome’s heart sank in disappointment, and she was horrified to learn that even now, she was drawn to him. She had to wonder at her incompatible emotions, but oh, how she longed for him; and how the memory of their last embrace haunted her every waking moment.

The sudden recollection of Drake’s mouth on hers assaulted her anew, and the words of passion he had whispered to her that night set her to shivering. He attracted her like a magnet, like a lodestone would a musket ball. That last hour together, he had commanded her without an ounce of shame on her part, for it was what she had wanted at that moment more than anything in the world . . . and what she wanted still.

Chapter Fourteen

Garnett disapproved of Cleome’s charitable endeavors and Elizabeth warned her repeatedly against ruining her eyesight, her health and her complexion but Cleome would not listen. Work was her refuge from heartache and loneliness so she filled her days with it. During the week, she stayed in her townhouse in London so that every other afternoon, she could read Mr. Cobbett’s newspaper to women who toiled in the factories. She took over an empty storeroom in one of her own establishments and turned it into a school, and she tried to persuade other factory owners to adopt the improvements she had implemented for her own workers.

In the evenings, she went to concerts and plays with Edwina who, although younger, possessed great wisdom. When Cleome confessed to her friend that she’d almost taken Drake Stoneham as her lover, Edwina listened with sympathy and without judgment. She comforted Cleome and complained in turn about her mother’s endless quest for a wealthy son-in-law. She even suggested to Cleome that they make a pact never to marry, unless it was for a love so compelling they could not live without it.

Spring burst upon them like a vengeful lion, blowing cold and blustery instead of warm and promising, and it made Cleome more restless than usual
.
On Edwina’s eighteenth birthday, when she and Oliver were walking home from Moira’s modest celebration of the event, Cleome confessed to Oliver her growing discontent.

“You’re not finding fulfillment with your charity work?” he asked.

“Not as much as I’d hoped. Oliver, I must do more, if I’m to improve the lot of my class, my true class. I’m so painfully ignorant. If only I could go to university.”

“Yes, well. Some thresholds remain still to be crossed, and there are more realistic ways to bring about progress,” he advised her. “Garnett is sure to be a Member of Parliament when his own education is complete, and when he’s had some experience. You know his feelings for you, I daresay. He would make you a devoted husband, Cleome. That’s not to be taken lightly.”

“What would you have me do?” she teased. “Employ what my sisters in the struggle are calling legalized prostitution, in my efforts at reform?”

“Worse tactics have been used by less devout revolutionaries,” he returned. “And I am concerned about you, Cleome. If you’ll permit an old man’s observation, Nature has not made you the sort of woman to finish her days a lonely old spinster. Garnett is not so objectionable, is he? And he quite adores you.”

“Garnett doesn’t know the meaning of work and I wager he hasn’t the slightest idea how to run an estate. Indeed, if there’s one left to run. His father has suffered considerable losses lately.”

“At Stoneham House?” she had to ask.

“No. At Crockford’s. It is rumored that Drake has put a limit on his gaming at Stoneham House. Seems Lord Easton has been drinking a bit, too. Enough to cloud his judgment, according to Drake. How is it you’re not aware of the latest gossip, milady? Since you’re not in mourning, you must not refuse so many invitations.”

“So I’m to die of boredom instead of frustration?” she asked with a deep sigh. “Oliver, I cannot stay in London much longer. I fear I shall go mad.”

“I’ve seen this coming,” he replied, looking at her with fatherly concern. “But you cannot think to leave us for good. Perhaps a short trip would cheer you up?”

“Perhaps. Will you to do something for me?”

“You have but to ask. You know that.”

“I want to find my father’s family.” Stubbornly, she held back her tears. “There must be
some
place I belong, some folk who will claim me as kin.”

“Have you any information about them?”

“Not much,” she said. “I do know from Reverend Jefferson—not the most reliable source, I admit—that a few years ago, a family of Parkers removed themselves from Oakham. He believes they settled up near Manchester.”

“If they can be found, we’ll find them,” Oliver assured her. “But my dear, they may not be so glad to hear of you as you might think. One never knows, when there’s not been any communication. Will you not consider another cure for your restlessness?”
“And what would that be?”

“Is there no way to mend things with Drake?”

“What do you mean?” She tried to avert her face but he cupped her chin with his gnarled fist and stared into her eyes.

“Never believed for a minute that story he put out about the cribbage game,” he declared. “There was somewhat more going on between you and Drake that night—and has been for a time, I wager.”

“Well, you have other prospects, of course. Garnett adores you. And there’s Count Paolo, who makes it no secret he wants a wife. Would you like to be a contessa?”

“No, thank you,” she responded with a smile. “One title is quite enough, I assure you. And Paolo makes me so uncomfortable. I’d not be able to sleep a wink in his grand Villa Paresi, knowing that he’s lurking about somewhere.”

“You’re right, of course. His reputation is questioned, even among the reckless chaps who call themselves young Easton’s friends.” He paused before asking carefully, “I don’t suppose you’d reconsider trying to clear things up with Drake?”

“No!” she snapped, and then added more gently, “Please, Oliver. Do not speak of him to me, unless . . .” Suddenly her heart was pounding as she continued, “Unless Drake asked you to intercede. Did he?”

“Oh, dear. No. He’s even more stubborn than you are. I dare not raise the subject with him.”

**

Long after the last guest had gone, Drake sat at the ivory-inlaid cribbage table at Stoneham House—the very table where he had won Cleome’s horse. Ordering the sleepy maitre d’ to bring him one more brandy before locking up the liquor, he stared morosely out the window into the promising new light of a brilliant spring morning.

It would be cold but fair, perfect weather for traveling. He told himself he had business in Manchester, and since the manager he had hired through Oliver Landshire could run the club in his absence, there was nothing to keep Drake in London. He was anxious to get away, to escape the restlessness that gnawed at him, and the haunting memory of the beautiful, sad face of the only woman he would ever love. How stupid he’d been, to withhold her father’s legacy. Stupid, careless and insensitive—and he cursed himself daily for it.

**

Oliver’s note arrived a fortnight later, when Cleome and Edwina were attempting to make a cake in Cleome’s well-stocked kitchen. He’d written only that he had found some Parkers in Manchester. Half an hour later, they burst excitedly into the barrister’s office.

“You have found them already?” Cleome cried joyfully.

“Now, my dear. You must be patient,” he said, sorting through his mail as Cleome leaned over his shoulder. “I have a letter—ah, here it is!” He arched his eyebrows, which allowed the spectacles propped on his forehead to fall upon the bridge of his nose. “Now, come and sit down and we’ll see where things stand. Sit. Sit!” he urged. “I cannot concentrate with you hanging onto my very ears.” She gave him a quick peck on the cheek and ran around the desk, sedately taking the chair opposite him. “It appears my investigator, Mr. Jameson, has found a clan of Parkers near Manchester,” he said, scanning the report.

“He did not speak to them?”

“No,” Oliver murmured, his eyes returning to the letter. “He followed your instructions.” He looked at her and added gravely, “They are very poor, Cleome. The men and boys work down the pit—one of Lord Dunwelle’s coal mines. Mr. Jameson says there’s been a rash of strikes. Most miners are off more than they are on.”