Thornbrook Park (8 page)

“I'm pleased as well. I look forward to seeing you again tonight.”

***

Leaving the station, Eve felt disoriented. Marcus had pointed her on the way, but nothing looked as she remembered it. She might have managed to navigate Mayfair, but Cheapside? Shops had closed, new ones opened. How was she to find her way to Edgar Strump's office?

She walked along, careful to lift her skirts to avoid the mud that occasionally splattered up from the road, where a mix of carriages and cars shared the way. She knew that she had to walk away from St. Mary-le-Bow, cross the road, and continue down to the right. Or was it left? Ben would never have asked for directions. Not if his life depended on it, she suddenly recalled with a smile. But she'd never shared his hesitance to request help when in a bind. The problem was getting someone to stop long enough to pay her any mind.

After the fifth person she stopped gave her the information she needed, she followed his instructions to the address, only a few blocks from where she'd started. She might have missed it except for the small sign over the doorbell that read “Marsh, Phillips, and Strump.” She rang the bell to no avail, and eventually turned the knob and walked in.

She approached a man sitting at a desk not four feet from the door. “I'm Mrs. Kendal looking for Mr. Strump, please. We have business.”

The sandy-haired man with spectacles trailing down his nose got to his feet. “I'm Gibbs, Mr. Strump's assistant. Do you have an appointment?”

“No.” She'd been so eager to get on with the things that she'd never considered making one. “But please, ask him to make time for me. I've come from Yorkshire for the day.”

Gibbs sighed as if she'd asked for the moon. “I'll do my best. Please have a seat. Mrs. Kendal, you say?”

“He would be more aware of my husband, Captain Benjamin Kendal.”

“A moment, Mrs. Kendal.”

She did not take the offered seat in a row of dusty chairs lined up down the hall by the door. She paced, studying the certificates and portraits that hung on stark white walls. When Mr. Gibbs returned, a stocky, brown-haired man walked with him.

“Mrs. Kendal. Mr. Edgar Strump, Esquire, at your service. Come along to my office and we'll talk.”

Relief washed over Eve. “Thank you for seeing me.” She followed him down the hall to a crowded little room so stuffed full with shelves of books and papers that there was barely room for a desk and two chairs. She eased around the far side of the desk and wedged her way into the seat he indicated for her.

“Now, Mrs. Kendal, what can I do for you?”

“My husband, Captain Kendal, passed away last year, as you may be aware. Earthquake. In India.”

“Bad business, bad business. Yes, yes, of course. So sorry for your loss. So sorry.”

“Thank you. I've come to inquire into his investments. I believe he made arrangements with you?”

“Arrangements, arrangements.” Mr. Strump tented his fingers as if he was struggling to remember. “Yes, yes. We made arrangements. We did. We did.”

She wondered if she would suffer through Strump repeating himself all afternoon. “You did? I would like to know what arrangements. Where did he invest our money, and is it possible to get any of it? Are there dividends, perhaps? Anything of note?”

“Oh.” He flattened his hands on the desk. “It will take some time. It's all in my files. Some time, I say.”

She followed his stare to a cabinet in the corner of the room. Papers leaked out of every drawer, the cabinet so crammed that the drawers couldn't completely close. She inhaled deeply, a futile effort to draw patience from thin air. “How long, Mr. Strump? Tomorrow? Next week?”

“Oh, tomorrow. Tomorrow, to be sure. Come back in the morning, and I'll have it all sorted out.”

“Tomorrow, really?” Her mood brightened. It was more than she had hoped after seeing the state of Strump's office. “When you say sorted out, what exactly do you mean? Have you any idea where our money is? Is it simply a matter of tracking down the relevant accounts? Anything you can tell me now would be a help.”

“Finding the accounts, yes. The relevant accounts. But memory, too.” He tapped his forehead. “I remember Ben Kendal well, bless his soul. A good man. Most of your husband's money went into a diamond mine. Diamonds, good business. Strong investment. I introduced him to the owner of the mine right about the time I found a house for him in Raipur.”

“A diamond mine?” Ben had handled all the arrangements for their move without her, not wishing to trouble her with business. How she wished she had insisted on being part of the planning.

“In Golkonda. I have notes on the transaction around here somewhere. There might be some delay in actually retrieving your funds, but I think you should be very pleased. Very pleased.”

She remembered Ben taking a trip to Golkonda shortly after their arrival, but a diamond mine? A practical man, he would have had to be convinced of the security of such an investment. “Thank you. I will be back in the morning, then.”

“In the morning,” the solicitor parroted. “A new day, Mrs. Kendal. A new day.” He walked her to the front door.

“I certainly hope so, Mr. Strump. Until tomorrow, then.” Filled with hope, she walked out into the cloudy afternoon. Her business concluded earlier than planned, she thought perhaps she would have some tea and do some shopping, maybe buy a new dress for her dinner with Captain Thorne.

Marcus felt vaguely unsettled as he left Eve Kendal to make his way to the Cooper flat. Without the soothing effects of her influence, the prickling under his skin had returned. Being back in London should have brightened his mood, but perhaps a visit with the Coopers would improve his state of mind.

They weren't expecting him. He hoped a visit wouldn't be an imposition. Prudence was far too good-natured to say so if it were. He stopped at a cart to buy some flowers on the way. With few windows, no electricity, and Prudence's thrift limiting even their use of candles, the little five-room flat that housed the Coopers could get dreary. Flowers would brighten it up a bit. He made a second stop for the tea cakes that Anna and little Emily adored. Deciding that wasn't enough, couldn't possibly be enough, he made a few more stops and arranged for a fat goose and some baskets of fresh fruit and vegetables to be delivered later in the day, too late for Prudence to attempt any refusal of his generosity.

Only then—armed with flowers, pastries, and the knowledge that any meal she tried to feed him would be replaced in her pantry after his departure—did he walk up the three flights to knock on Prudence Cooper's door.

“Marcus! What a lovely surprise. Do come in. Never mind your boots.” She stopped him when he stooped to remove his boots. “Children, come and see who is here.”

He found her good cheer contagious. Such was her nature. She was a pleasant-looking woman with a round face and ready smile, the sort that made one feel at home.

Her green dress was clean, faded but not frayed. Her house was immaculate, making him wish he'd ignored her and removed his boots. Not a half minute after she closed the door behind him, the children came running to greet him. Emily and Anna, the two girls, and Finn, the youngest, who was now nearly as tall as Emily, trailing behind.

“Are those tea cakes?” Emily spied the brown-paper-wrapped parcel in his hands before he even had a chance to greet her properly.

“What, this here?” He held the parcel out by the string. “Cakes? No, just some old fish. Do you like old fish?”

Emily darted forth to give him the requisite hug, reaching for the cakes before her sister could get them.

“I get the almond ones,” Anna declared, stepping forward. How much she had grown. At nearly thirteen, she was no longer a slip of a girl. She'd begun to develop her mother's curves. Before long, she would be courted and married, properly if he could arrange it. Once he got them to the farm, he might encourage Sophia to introduce the girl to a wider circle of acquaintances.

“They're all almond,” he pronounced before the girls commenced fighting over them. He remembered which they'd favored last time.

“You're becoming wise to the ways of parenting, Captain Thorne.”

“Too wise, perhaps.” He shrugged out of his coat and ignored her reach for it to go to the corner and hang it himself. “Where's Brandon?”

She blushed. “Brandon's just gone off with some friends. Boys, you know.”

“He hasn't come home,” Finn offered proudly, perhaps not aware that he was causing his idol brother trouble in his haste to report any and all information. “After supper, it was his turn to clean up, but he called Mum a shrew and ran off.”

“Is this true, Prudence?” Marcus turned to her, unable to mask the concern in his eyes. “Did he speak to you in such a manner? And he hasn't returned?”

“It's nothing, Marcus. He's at an age, no longer a boy but not yet a man. You must remember what it was like.”

“I never disrespected my parents.” Though, God knows, he had come close with his father at times. “You can't stand for this, Prue. I won't stand for it. I'm going out to bring him home.”

“I have no idea where he might have gone.” Prudence twisted her hand in the chain at her throat, the one that she never removed. It held a charm shaped like a key, from William. The key to William's heart. Marcus ached for her.

“I have an idea. I'll bring him home, Prudence. And I'll make sure he never disrespects you again.”

Less than an hour later, Marcus had Brandon in his sights in an alley a few blocks from the Hog and Hound. Bent over dice, the little bounder remained ignorant of Marcus's presence until Marcus pulled him up by the collar. The other lads scattered to the alley corners, all except for one, who hauled himself to full height behind Brandon.

“We have a score to settle,” Marcus informed Brandon from between clenched teeth as he turned the lad to face him. “Like men.”

“Marcus.” Brandon's brown eyes, so like his father's, widened in surprise. “When did you come to town?”

“This morning.”

Brandon dusted himself off, leaned in, and said quietly, “You've been to see Mum?”

Marcus smiled ruefully. “What do you think?”

“He's got something to settle with me first.” The foolhardy lad who remained close to Brandon stepped forward and held a hand out. “Pay up.”

“Pay? Does Brandon Cooper owe you money?” Marcus stepped forward, nudging Brandon behind him.

“A bob.” The rotter nodded. “'E's not going anywhere 'til I get paid, then, 'ey?”

Marcus laughed. “You don't say. And I suppose you won this money gambling with dice in the streets? Which is illegal.”

“I'll get my money.” The rotter was a bold one, moving into Marcus's personal space and waving his arms dangerously close to Marcus.

“You will, but it's the last you'll see of it from Brandon Cooper.” Suspecting that Brandon didn't have means to pay the debt, Marcus tossed the little rotter a bob. “Off with you, then.”

Once Brandon's associates moved along, Brandon turned to Marcus. “You've ruined everything. One more round and I'd have had him, double or nothing.”

“And I can beat Smithy Harris with one hand behind my back.”

Brandon laughed. “That'll be the day.”

“Exactly.” Marcus turned to the boy and looked him in the eye. “That's the trouble with gambling. You're leaving your fate to chance. One more round, and he might have realized you couldn't honor your wager and beaten you senseless. Don't worry. You're going to earn back every penny of the debt and more.”

“Are you fighting tonight, then?” Brandon's eyes brightened at the prospect. “Smithy Harris? Last time, I earned a florin betting against you.”

Marcus sighed. Was it his fault that Brandon had caught the gambling bug? The excitement of wagering on the fights? “I have a surefire way for you to repay me, and it doesn't involve making risky bets. You, Brandon Cooper, are about to learn the value of hard work.”

“But Mum doesn't want me going back to the millinery.”

“Not the millinery. I have a better idea, and I'm fairly certain your mum will approve. How do you feel about breathing some nice, clean country air?”

Brandon froze in his tracks. “You're shipping me off to the army?”

“Not the army. I'm talking about life on the farm.”

“I don't know anything about farming.”

Marcus rumpled the lad's hair. “And you're just at the right age to learn. You'll come with me when I go back to Thornbrook Park, and I'll put you to work for a friend of mine, Mrs. Dennehy, on Tilly Meadow Farm. She has sheep, cows. You can ride horses. I pitched in some myself there when I was your age in exchange for all the apples I could eat. It's good solid work and plenty of adventure for a young man off on his own.”

“I don't know. Getting paid in apples for hard labor? I'm not all that keen on apples. I found a worm in one, once. Well, half a worm.” He pulled a sick face and rubbed his stomach.

“I know you like cheese. You'll never taste any better than Mrs. Dennehy's cheddar. Besides, you don't have much choice. You owe me a bob.”

“What did you mean, a young man on my own? Won't Mrs. Dennehy be looking after me?” He cocked a brow, so like William Cooper.

“She's a farmer, not a nursemaid. She'll put you to work in exchange for room, board, and wages.” At least, Marcus hoped she would. He would have to bargain with Mrs. Dennehy to take young Cooper on. And after he established Brandon on the farm, perhaps he could convince Mrs. Dennehy of the merits of retirement in favor of letting the whole Cooper family take over at Tilly Meadow. It was a good start.

“Wages? I'll earn some money to send home to Mum?”

“If it all goes well.” Marcus put his arm around him. “Come on, boy. It's time we made you a man.”

***

As she made her way to Averford House, Eve had an uneasy feeling that she was being followed. It had started with a queer tingling down her spine as she'd sipped her tea, staring out the window of Wilson's Tearoom at the crowds passing on the street. She'd noticed a man in a dark suit and black bowler hat who had passed the window and, after a time, had passed back again.

She walked faster now, suddenly very glad that she would soon be reunited with Marcus. It wasn't that she needed a man or was incapable of finding her way alone, but there was an added sense of safety in numbers.

Preoccupied as she turned a corner, she ran right into a man coming from the opposite direction. On instinct, her hand went up between them to cushion the blow and she nearly dropped her parcel.

“Fancy meeting you like this,” he said, tipping his hat. “I hope I didn't hurt you.”

His hand curled around her waist as if to steady her, but it stayed there. She felt the hard planes of his chest under her palms. She stepped back.

“Not at all.” She smoothed her coat, as if to show that all was well. Hearing his voice instantly calmed her nerves. “I seem to keep bumping into you, Captain Thorne.”

“As habits go, it's not a bad one to get into.” He took her hand and tucked it into the crook of his arm, another habit that could become all too comfortable. They looked like a couple. If a man followed her for any reason, it would do well to appear as if she had a man looking after her. A large and capable man.

Instead of setting off as expected, Marcus paused and turned. Had he been followed, too?

“Marcus?” Eve asked. “Something amiss?”

“There you are, Brandon,” he said, looking behind him. “Try to keep up. Averford House isn't much farther up the road.”

Brandon? A young man with shaggy brown hair joined them.

“Mrs. Kendal, might I present my young charge, Brandon Cooper? He will be joining us for the evening and returning with us to Thornbrook Park tomorrow.”

“Brandon.” She tipped her head in greeting and turned her gaze back to Marcus. “Your young charge?” Was this what had kept Marcus in London and away from Thornbrook Park? He had a “young charge?” A ward? Or—

“Brandon's father and I were at war together,” Marcus began, somewhat awkwardly.

“Father didn't make it home,” Brandon interrupted.

“I'm very sorry for your loss,” Eve offered, pieces falling into place. Marcus had served with Brandon's father and somehow had assumed responsibility for his friend's child. Wouldn't Gabriel be surprised to learn of his brother's philanthropy?

“I'm going to work on a farm,” Brandon boasted with enthusiasm, avoiding further acknowledgment of her sympathetic words. She understood, having become tired of finding pity in the eyes of friends and strangers alike when they learned of her widowhood.

“Tilly Meadow, with Mrs. Dennehy,” Marcus clarified. “If all goes according to plan.”

If
. He still had to clear it with Gabriel, she supposed, and who knew how that would go? He must care a great deal about Brandon Cooper to put himself in a position to ask for something from his brother.

She stole a glance at him. “Oh my, you have a bruise. What happened?”

Marcus's inflamed cheek sported a purplish-black mark, and his lip seemed a tad fuller than usual. “Ah, yes. The marks of manhood, my dear. Nothing to fret over. Brandon and I did some sparring, blowing off steam after obtaining permission from his mother for his immediate departure.”

She looked at Brandon, not a mark on him. Marcus had probably gone easy on the boy. “Congratulations, Brandon. You must have been the victor.”

Brandon smiled, pride in his chocolate brown eyes.

“Hold on. I think, yes, Marcus, you're bleeding.” She stopped, took out her handkerchief, and dabbed at the blood on his lip where it split ever so slightly.

Her knees shook. A rush of heat surged through her bloodstream and pooled between her thighs. The urge to kiss him was suddenly so overwhelming that it was all she could do not to cover his lush lips with her own. Nearly. She stepped back and tucked her kerchief away. It certainly wouldn't do when they had a child present. “There. All better.”

She wanted him, she realized, biting her lip. She wanted Captain Marcus Thorne, a man meant for Sophia's sister, a man she couldn't have. Where had the sudden wave of longing come from? More importantly, how could she make it go away? A lump rose in her throat. Perhaps better that Brandon had joined them than that they found themselves alone. All night.

“Thank you, Eve. Sutton's a good sport most of the time, but blood at the dinner table might put him over the edge.”

“We'll have time to change before dinner, I hope,” she said, hugging her parcel to her chest. She'd found a glorious gown on the rack, half price, because some baroness had ordered it and had never come back for it. As luck would have it, it fit Eve perfectly. She hadn't even had to pay for alterations. She'd also bought a skirt in the new shortened style, perfect for the modern woman who made frequent use of trains. Stepping up to board would be much easier without the cumbersome length of her usual skirts.

“We'll make time. It's all up to us. Can I carry that for you?” he asked, as if just making note of her parcel.

“Oh no. Thank you. It's not heavy.” She willed herself to move on, just keep walking, just keep making conversation, pretend to be completely unaffected by the man at her side who made her pulse race every time she stole a glance at him. “A new dress. Sophia keeps insisting I need some, but I haven't had time to bother. Must keep up appearances, she says. I used to think so, too, but I suppose India transformed my sensibilities. I no longer care about wearing the right clothes as much as wearing what I like.”