The Lodestone (50 page)

Garnett looked up to see her in the window and he called out at the top of his lungs, “Edwina Landshire Paresi, you are the woman I love and I will not accept your refusal. I’ll love you until the day I die and I must have you for my wife. Get down here and accept me, for I’ll not leave until you do, not if takes the rest of the summer, and autumn and winter as well. You will see me picketing in the snow, pressing my suit, I swear it!”

Laughing and crying all at once, she flew out of the room, down the stairs, through the door and into his arms. “Yes, yes, yes!” she sang, and the crowd erupted in cheers and applause as she kissed him.

**

“Show her in,” Oliver told John as he settled himself in front of the fire. Autumn had been mild but a harsh winter was coming on. He could feel it in his old bones.

“Well, I must say, it’s about time you received me.” Moira Landshire sniffed disdainfully. “Where is my darling girl? I insist on seeing her at once.”

“Sit down, Moira,” Oliver commanded. “You’re looking well.”

“Thank you.” It did not escape the barrister that her gown and cloak were of the latest fashion and her hair was dressed impeccably under an ornate bonnet, probably one of her own design. “Where is Edwina? You cannot keep me from her any longer, Oliver. You would not be so cruel.”

“You would know all about cruelty, for it is all you ever showed the girl.”

“Nonsense. I took very good care of her, as your brother knew I would.”

“I always thought it was a mistake for Edwin to marry you when his mistress died in childbirth, and allow you to raise her child as your own. She would have been better off with me.”

“You forget that Madelaine was my best friend. She wanted your brother to marry me, and for me to devote myself to her child, which I have done.”

“You devoted yourself to using Edwina for your own greedy purpose. But that is over.” He reached for the papers on the table beside him. “Edwina has no wish to see you.”

“What? Doesn’t the ungrateful girl realize that without me, she would not have made so successful a match? Why, she has inherited a fortune! I deserve some reward.”

“She has made provisions for you, which is more than I would have done.”

A light sparked to life in her eyes, but she kept her voice even. “There. You see. At least
she
appreciates what I’ve sacrificed for her. How much?”

“She has paid off the mortgage on your home and instructed me to hire one maid to help you maintain it, and one to help in your shop—”

“What?” she interrupted, her voice shrill with disbelief. “Shop? What are you talking about?”

“A hat shop. Since you are so skilled in the design and manufacture of hats, you’ll be able to make a living for yourself.” He handed her the papers. “Here is the lease and a bank draft that will see you furnished with supplies and sustenance for one year. If you succeed, you will be quite comfortable. But you’ll have to work at it.”

“She has married again and has gone down to Easton Place to be with her husband and his family. If you try to see her, I’ll tell her of her true beginnings and she’ll see that she has no obligation to you whatsoever. You’ll have nothing.”

“You wouldn’t!” Fear shadowed Moira’s face. “You mustn’t!”

“On the condition that you stay out of her life for good. Are we agreed?”

He could tell that she knew she had lost. “Agreed,” she said, accepting the papers and stuffing them into her reticule. “And I shall stay out of
your
life as well!”

“That, I assure you, madam, is no loss,” he said with a satisfied smile.

**

“You must not go today, my dear,” Oliver protested. “London is not safe anymore. There’s talk of violence in every corner.”

“It’s as safe as it ever was, and they do so look forward to it,” Cleome argued, leaning back in the comfortable old chair in front of his desk. “Many of them have taken the lessons to heart, and Oliver, there’s no greater joy than seeing a woman sign her own name instead of making a demoralizing mark.” In the year since her return from Italy, Cleome had immersed herself in her charity work.

“What you’ve done for your more unfortunate sisters is admirable,” her solicitor said. “But you really must start to take better care of yourself.” He reached across his battered desk and patted her hand. “Stay here today and keep me company. With Edwina and my adorable grandniece down at Easton Place, my life is quite lacking.”

“I cannot,” she replied sympathetically. “But I promise to return tomorrow. Oliver, you must know that teaching is the primary joy of my life.”

“Bah! You’re too young to say such a ridiculous thing, much less believe it.” He added, with a twinkle in his eyes, “It’s rumored at Stoneham House that Drake will soon return to England.”

Cleome rose and drew on her gloves. “Drake’s affairs are of no interest to me,” she declared. “I refuse to entertain a foolish maiden’s daydreams. The last time I saw him, he made it quite clear what he thinks of me.”

“A lover’s quarrel. When he learns Edwina and Garnett are married, he’ll see how wrong he was. You must explain it to him.”

“As you recall, my dear, he gave me no opportunity.”

“But there is more to life than teaching poor factory women, commendable as it is,” Oliver stated flatly, his old heart hurting for her broken one.

“Believe me,” she countered sincerely, “I do it more for myself than for them. Now, I must be off. They’re expecting me and I will not disappoint them.”

Walking along, enjoying the return of summer, Cleome contemplated her situation. The pleasure of imparting knowledge to her eager students was its own reward, and the thanks she received sometimes lifted the heaviness that had weighed upon her since the unforgettable cribbage game with Drake at the opening of his club. Their adventure in Italy, with all the passion it had invoked, was but a brief respite. The vacuous ache that filled her heart before was much worse since her return. It haunted her when she was awake and invaded her dreams when she tried to sleep.

She was still in love with Drake Stoneham. She had been in love with him since that first agonizing interview he had conducted in his bedroom so long ago, the night he had won her home in a card game; and she knew she would love him until she ceased to breathe. She also knew she had lost him. For so long, she had refused to understand and forgive his reasons for withholding her father’s simple legacy. She had at last decided to absolve him from blame—but it was an absolution he knew nothing about. Before she’d had a chance to tell him, he had seen her with Garnett and without allowing her to explain, he had rushed away.

At first, she had been angry with Drake. For him to think her capable of giving herself to another man made her absolutely furious. She had realized on the island, in the lilac bedroom, that she would never allow another man to take the liberties with her body that Drake had. She couldn’t have borne another man’s hands on her in that intimate way. What had transpired there she had tolerated—no, she amended, she had relished—because it was Drake. For him not to know that made him the worst kind of cad. But then, losing him after his caresses had taken her so close to paradise made her start to see it in a different light.

Edwina remained Drake’s staunch defender and begged Cleome to consider her own behavior towards him. Cleome couldn’t deny the way she had turned on him after the cribbage game, and how close she had been to Garnett, and the fact that the young lord was constantly declaring his love for her. Edwina made her see that perhaps Drake had good reason for his harsh judgment of her. At least he
thought
he had good reason. That’s how human emotion worked. After all, Edwina pointed out, Cleome had sorely misjudged the situation with Mignon. She and Drake were both victims of their own foolish, stubborn pride and as soon as Cleome realized that simple truth, she had wanted to tell him. She had longed to make things right with him.

Edwina’s wedding to Garnett was a small affair, with only Cleome and Oliver for witnesses, as the bride and groom wanted to depart for Oakham immediately after the ceremony. Edwina had insisted to Garnett that they both deserved to enjoy Paolo’s fortune after what he had done to them. She bought the townhouse in London back from the man who’d won it from Sir Laurence, and then she and Garnett restored Easton Place to what it had been.

“Since we love and trust each other, whatever we bring into our marriage belongs to both of us,” she explained to Cleome, adding, “I’ve seen nothing but kindness in Drake Stoneham. And you know, Cleo, his expertise in business can make you even wealthier. Garnett wants only to be a gentleman farmer. He swears he has no head for numbers or business and he wants Uncle Oliver and me to see to all that. I have asked his father’s advice, as well.” She laughed. “That quite won over Sir Laurence.”

Cleome looked at her with admiration. “How did you get to be so wise, little one?” she asked.

“It is love,” Edwina replied. “Not wisdom.”

Cleome had made up her mind, then, to go and see Drake; and for once and all, to set things straight. If he rejected her even after she declared her love for him, at least it would be an honest rejection. But then, she chanced to meet Richard one day in a street near Stoneham House and the young footman told her his master had gone away to America. The fair Mignon had married her Mr. Collins and they wanted a fresh start, so Drake had gone with them to see them settled on the plantation he had given them as a wedding present. And no, the master had not said when he would return. Oliver, who was charged with looking after Stoneham House during Drake’s absence, had confirmed it.

When it was time for Edwina’s baby to be born, Cleome and Oliver had gone to Easton Place. The infant was the image of her doting grandmother, and Lady Easton was so delighted with the way things had turned out, Edwina told Cleome, that she even wanted her daughter-in-law to give her piano lessons. The baby was christened Elizabeth Cleomis and called Liza, and when she was a month old, Cleome returned to London.

She could sympathize with Oliver’s loneliness. Although happy for Edwina, she missed her dearest friend. She retreated into her books and busied herself with writing or teaching. Most of the time her efforts were rewarded and the agony within her became a dull but bearable ache. At other times, she was consumed with memories of her trip with Drake to rescue Edwina . . . of sharing close quarters with him throughout their journey . . . and the heated passion she had known at his hands all along the way, and especially in Paolo’s lilac bedroom.

**

Although her heart was heavy, the lessons went well, even with the air of tension about the entrance to the factory school that Cleome had set up in a vacant storeroom. The women repeated the stories their husbands brought home regarding the slow progress of the Reform Bill and the dire consequences if it did not gain passage. It was all Cleome could do to keep their attention when more than a score of women and girls marched past them in the street, rattling their lunch pails and shaking their fists in rage.

“They be cuttin’ back again, milady,” a child of thirteen told her. “I be the only one in me whole brood with a job. Wi’out the fair wages you pay, we’d be livin’ in the street. But ye cannot employ everyone in London, and there be trouble comin’, I wager.”

With such distraction, there was no point in going on with the lesson that afternoon. Cleome trudged wearily homeward, paying no heed to the man who watched her from the shadows and taking little notice of the coach that followed her back to her townhouse, where she had spent the winter and spring. With Drake out of the country, there was no need to hide herself away at Houghton Hall, and it was too far from the factories to make daily lessons a feasible endeavor.

That evening, Jacqueline came in from the marketplace with news of more trouble at the sweatshops down in the East End. Mobs of hungry, unemployed men and women marched on the hiring office and constables had moved in with their clubs and were smashing heads. Cleome ordered Mary and Jacqueline to make up bandages as quickly as possible and then meet her in the Strand. By the time Cleome set out on her mission of mercy it was quite dark, and too late she questioned the wisdom of walking unaccompanied along the Haymarket toward Shire Lane. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see a rough-looking man following her. Instinctively, she quickened her step. He walked faster. When she slowed her pace, he did likewise.

As she reached Butcher’s Row, a narrow street of shops that merged into the Strand, a carriage pulled to a stop across the alley, blocking her path. The doors opened and two burly men got out. They signaled to the man who had followed her on foot and he turned and ran off in the direction of St. James Street. As one man circled around to stand behind Cleome, the other stood in front of her to bar her way.

“Better get in,” the larger of her assailants advised. “And come along quietly.”

“Not until I know who you are and why you’re following me,” she declared, her voice shaking and her heart pounding. “If you attempt to harm me, I shall scream.”

“In that case,” he retorted, “beg pardon, milady, but we’ve got no choice.”

Though massive in size, he was as nimble as a spider and seemed to possess as many appendages with which to restrain her. Before she knew how it happened, he’d pinned Cleome’s arms to her sides and used one grimy hand to cover her mouth. Then he lifted her easily and dumped her onto the richly carpeted floor of the coach.

“’Ere now, mate,” cautioned the smaller man. “’E said we might shake ’er up a bit but we’re not to bruise the merchandise. I wager ’e’s got somethin’ special planned for this ’un.” He chortled at his own vile speculation that, fortunately, he did not feel compelled to share with Cleome.