The Other Harlow Girl

by Lynn Messina

  For reasons she couldn’t begin to articulate, this revelation made her feel like crying. Knowing that would only make it worse, she took several deep breaths and nodded yes. Even without the tears, her mute response coupled with her bowed head had the unfortunate effect of making her false grief seem deeper.

  There was nothing to do, she realized, but to embrace the present as it existed. Wishing things were different would not make them so.

  With this in mind, she raised her head, looked directly into the Marquess of Huntly’s beautiful blue-green eyes and said with admirable calm, “I would like that, my lord. What do you propose?”

  His lordship smiled. “I would like to leave it as a surprise. If you will come with me?” he asked. “I assure you, it’s not a long drive and it won’t occupy your entire day.”

  Although Vinnie was suspicious of surprises, for usually they meant Emma was trying to hide something, she fell in with this plan and asked Huntly to wait while she fetched her pelisse and her maid. Once in the carriage, she tried to guess where they were going by observing the route, but she quickly found herself in an unfamiliar part of London, for the stately white houses and pretty green squares gave way to large factories. When they stopped in front of a tall gray building with dark windows, she thought for sure they were in the wrong place. What surprise could be waiting for her here? But Huntly smiled at her, his eyes bright with anticipation, and opened the door before his groom even got down from his seat.

  “After you, my dear,” he said.

  Warily, she climbed out of the coach, noting an acrid smell in the air, and looked up at the imposing edifice before her, still not convinced they were in the right place—or, if they were in the right place, not convinced this wasn’t another terrible prank on Huntly’s part.

  Then she read the name on the building and turned to him agog. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words formed. She was, for the first time in her life, simply too surprised to speak, for she was, to her utter amazement, standing in front of the Brill & Company shoe factory. It was here, in this very building, where Samuel Brill invented a method by which cloth could become waterproof, a method she had been trying without success to tailor to improve the elastication of the common watering hose for the garden.

  Vinnie’s shock at being there was twofold. Obviously, the first cause was the importance of the place itself and the knowledge she could acquire by simply being there. The thought of talking to Mr. Brill himself or consulting one of his assistants literally made her knees weak. Indeed, she had to hold on to the coach handle to retain her balance. But the second reason was equally destabilizing, for it humbled and astonished her that the Marquess of Huntly not only recalled her experiments and the trouble she was having but also thought enough of them to arrange this visit. She would not have believed him—or any man—to be that thoughtful.

  “Well?” he asked with an air of amused expectation.

  Striving for a little dignity, which of course meant not letting her jaw hang open, she said with a mildness she did not feel, “This is a very nice surprise, my lord, thank you.”

  Huntly smiled again, clearly gratified by her wide-eyed wonder. “Shall we go in?” he asked, offering his arm. “Mr. Brill is expecting us.”

  Her heart hitched at this announcement, and she gratefully accepted his escort to the building door, which was answered so promptly by the clerk it was clear the young man had been keeping an eye out for them. Mr. Peale was as excited by the visit as Vinnie, for, as he explained as he led them through the factory floor—past workstations and bolts of fabrics and hydraulic lifts—they had never welcomed a gentlewoman-inventor before. Naturally, Vinnie blushed to hear herself described so, and she rushed to explain that she was merely a horticulturalist who wanted to find a better way to water her plants. Huntly, disagreeing with this assessment, assured Mr. Peale that anyone who makes turpentine solutions was not a mere anything. Rather than demur further, Vinnie meekly accepted the description, and when Mr. Brill, a kindly man with a ferocious mane of white hair, made the same observation as his clerk, she graciously thanked him for sharing his time and expertise.

  “My pleasure, my pleasure,” Mr. Brill assured her. “Now, I’d arranged for us to have a spot of tea before we got down to the business of chemistry, but I can see from the way you are gazing all around you that that will never do. Let’s delay the tea until after we address your issue. You are attempting to use my method to increase the flexibility of the hose.”

  She nodded briskly. “Yes, sir. Inspired by your innovative use of India-rubber, I’ve been trying to make the watering hose more elasticated. I’ve tried several formulations—seven, in fact—and they have all ended in disaster.”

  “Some being more disastrous than others,” the marquess observed with a twitch of his lips, and Vinnie, noting the mild good-natured tone with which he made the observation, was again struck by the kindness of the gesture. He could not wish to be there, at a shoe factory in the middle of Acton Vale discussing turpentine. Surely, he had more important things to do. And yet he seemed almost as delighted as she. It was, she acknowledged, another point in his favor.

  “Good, good,” Mr. Brill said approvingly. “There is no progress without setbacks. If you had several hours, I could tell you about all my disasters.”

  Vinnie, of course, was about to assure the kindly gentleman that she did indeed have several hours—and more than that besides—but fortunately she realized that it wasn’t just her time being expended but Lord Huntly’s as well. He did not deserve to have his generosity repayed with such a cruel turn. No doubt when he envisioned this outing, he assumed it would last an hour or two.

  Mindful of this, Vinnie readily agreed when Mr. Brill proposed they visit first the distillation laboratory, a long narrow room with bare walls and windows, and she wasted no time in raising pertinent questions. Although she had never imagined this meeting, she knew exactly what she wanted to ask. Hours devoted to tinkering with his method, making incremental changes to her formulations in hopes of finding the perfect solution, had left her with a concise understanding of what she didn’t understand. The information she had obtained about his process, cobbled together from patent forms and a report for investors, was limited, and the ability to get answers directly from the source was thrilling.

  Mr. Brill, who was surely as busy as Huntly, with his factory of more than three hundred workers to run, answered her questions in remarkable detail, pausing on more than one occasion to marvel at her astuteness.

  In his admiring presence, Vinnie didn’t just bloom; she blossomed. Her eyes glittered, her cheeks glowed, and her entire countenance seemed to shine with the bright light of understanding. It was not her own understanding—and this was the important thing to comprehend—but Mr. Brill’s, for her joy was the kind that came from being in the company of another human being who was in perfect sympathy with one. She had experienced it before, with Emma, of course, since they were very small children and, more recently, with Trent, who treated her as an equal in every respect, but she had never felt so fully appreciated for her knowledge and so certain of acquiring more.

  It was a heady feeling.

  While she and Mr. Brill discussed the intricacies of working with India-rubber, a challenging ingredient, to be sure, Huntly stood quietly to the side, determined, it seemed to Vinnie, to remain removed from the discussion, which could hold no interest for him. But out of either consideration for his host or genuine interest in the topic, he sauntered to the table to observe Mr. Brill’s calculations. He even asked questions, some of which were quite perceptive for a novice.

  By all accounts, the Brill Improved Method for Waterproofing was simple: One merely dissolved India-rubber in spirits of turpentine and then spread the mixture by manner of a brush onto the cloth or other material. Amending the process to increase the elasticity of the product was the complicated part, and Vinnie knew the challenge lay in mastering the details: how much turpentine, how much Indi
a-rubber, how long to let the mixture stand, how to identify the ideal texture of the mixture. That Huntly quickly grasped these particulars impressed her immensely. His interest was such that he asked Mr. Brill about the impetus for his invention, which Vinnie, who was consumed by the science, never even wondered about.

  All in all, the visit to the distillation lab was a stunning success, and when Mr. Brill suggested they return to his office for tea, Vinnie happily agreed. She did not know if she would be able to attain the dearly wished for results when she got home, but failure would no longer be for want of information.

  A lovely sitting area had been arranged in Mr. Brill’s office, which was not often the site of such frivolity, and Vinnie gratefully partook of the congenial serving of cheeses and bread, for now that she had sat down, she realized she was quite frightfully hungry.

  Although Mr. Brill had intended to enjoy the light repast with them, he was quickly called away to attend to what his clerk described as an unexpected shoemaking incident.

  “Oh, dear, oh, dear,” he said, setting his teacup down on the table with a clang. “An incident. That’s our internal description of a code red, which is very serious indeed. Please excuse me. I shall say my good-byes now, for I don’t expect you to linger long. It has been an absolute pleasure, Miss Harlow, and I regret that I have to be the one to end our little meeting of the minds.”

  Touched again by his kindness, Vinnie thanked him wholeheartedly for opening his factory doors to her and assured him that she quite understood his need to rush off—though, in fact, both code red and unexpected shoemaking incident escaped her understanding entirely and she itched to discover their true meaning. Huntly was intrigued, too, for as soon as Mr. Brill closed the door behind him, he began to speculate as to what they could indicate.

  “I know nothing of the finer points of manufacturing shoes, but given the size and complexity of some of the machines we saw, I can easily imagine an operator losing an arm or a leg,” he observed mildly. “In which case, blood could be the red in code red. Or maybe the event is considerably less intricate and decidedly more common, for example, two laborers coming to fisticuffs. That begs the question, of course, over what would shoemaking laborers come to blows? Could it be the shine on the shoes? Is that something that can move the pugilist spirit? Having never shined a shoe, I can’t say, but I must admit that seeing mud caked on my Hessians has been known to put me in a belligerent mood. Either way, I must admit, I’m fascinated.”

  Vinnie, caught somewhere between a giggle and a laugh, emitted an amused sound that could only be described as a gurgle. It was not so much the marquess’s words that set her off but his tone of academic conjecture, as if trying to decipher how the Great Pyramids of Egypt were constructed.

  If the gurgle sounded strange to him, he did not indicate with a look or comment, but it certainly drew his attention, for he quickly added, “I must also admit that I entered into this outing with the spine of a Spartan, determined to get through it without a single complaint but not actually expecting to derive any joy from the experience. I have not only failed to not enjoy it, I’ve found it a true pleasure. Thank you.”

  Although Vinnie knew that it was she who should be offering her thanks again and again (and again), she could do nothing in the face of such sincere graciousness than to say, “You’re welcome.”

  Her first impression of the Marquess of Huntly had been of a peer whose sense of propriety outweighed his sense of humanity. His good manners seemed to extend from a desire not so much as to impress other people as to impress himself. This attitude was not surprising, as she had encountered it many times since her come out and understood the value of it. But although she supported noblesse oblige in theory, in practice, when it was directed at her, she found it insulting and demoralizing. She would rather be treated rudely as an equal than kindly as a subordinate.

  But there, in the confines of Mr. Brill’s mahogany office in a shoemaking factory in Acton Vale, she formed an entirely different opinion. This Marquess of Huntly wasn’t merely personable but likeable as well. His questions to Mr. Brill revealed a lively and interested mind, and his actions demonstrated an unprecedented level of thoughtfulness. He was funny, sincere, patient and kind—an entirely human human being.

  As if to prove how thoroughly inaccurate Vinnie’s original impression had been, Huntly added, “My experience with chemicals is limited to the blending of snuff, at which, I will admit, I am merely proficient, unlike Trent, who has the devil’s own nose, but if you require assistance with your next formulation, I would be happy to lend mine.”

  The proposal was so implausible, Vinnie assumed she hadn’t heard him correctly. “You would like to help me make my next mixture?” she asked, a wrinkle of confusion between her brows.

  Huntly nodded as he took a sip of tea. “Having heard all about the process, I would like to see it firsthand. As a naturalist, I do have a scientific bent, you know, and, as such, recognize and accept all the risks involved. If the hose explodes on me again, I will accept full responsibility.”

  Vinnie could hardly believe the offer was in earnest—imagine, the Marquess of Huntly in his waistcoat measuring out turpentine—and immediately dismissed it as unworthy of comment. Even if he had meant it, she could not accept. As a sensible young woman with a steady head, Miss Lavinia Harlow was not given to fits of nerves or waves of anxiety, and yet she feared having Huntly working alongside her would discompose her entirely. It was not merely that she was accustomed to toiling alone, although that circumstance was, of course, a contributing factor, but also that she suddenly found Huntly to be uncomfortably appealing. Sitting next to him now, she discovered her heart beat a little faster and her breath came a little swifter.

  Despite the fact that she’d been engaged for more than a month and had, upon occasion, entered into intimate embraces with her fiancé, Vinnie had never experienced anything like a racing heart or shallow breaths. Her relationship with Sir Windbourne had been predicated on a different set of criteria—most significantly, his interest in her. Other men had shown her attention, but he was the first one to persist, pursuing her with zeal as if she were irresistible, which, in turn, made her feel as if she was. Of course, he had other traits that appealed to her. His confidence, for one, was inspiring, and she liked being around someone who knew his own mind so well, he didn’t hesitate to speak it freely—so freely, in fact, that it relieved her of the obligation of speech.

  Her sister, recognizing his tendency to pontificate as the boorish behavior it was, immediately dubbed him Sir Windbag, and it was upon this foundation that her dislike of him was based. Although Emma’s aversion turned out to be prescient, even she could not have imagined him for the traitor, spy and murderer he revealed himself to be.

  As much as Vinnie hated to recall her dead fiancé, she expected such unpleasant thoughts would have a beneficial effect on her present state by calming her unsettled nerves. But Lord Huntly contrasted so sharply with Sir Windbourne all his memory did was underscore the marquess’s positive attributes, making her even more keenly aware of his appeal.

  Absurd, she thought, unsettled by an emotion she couldn’t describe. You are absolutely absurd.

  Determined to rise above these sudden and irrational feelings, she searched for something innocuous to say, and recalling his last comment about shouldering all the blame should the hose fail again, observed that he had accepted full responsibility last time.

  Recalling how he had indeed stood in the conservatory with water dripping off his nose and insisted the dousing was his fault made Huntly laugh. “I did, didn’t I?” he said thoughtfully. “What to do when one is doused by an exploding hose was not a topic covered by my nanny or tutors, and it seemed to me the safest route was simply to take the blame. I find as a general rule in society that the best way to handle a disconcerting event is to claim responsibility and apologize.”

  At the bright, crisp sound of his laughter, Vinnie’s heart hitched, and she s
tared at him, arrested by the pure delight in his eyes. It was that look, she decided later, that pushed her over the edge—first the visit, then the offer, then the laughter and finally the unholy amusement in his gorgeous aquamarine eyes. How could she resist it? How could anyone?

  Acting on instinct, her mind lulled by the impossible beauty of his eyes, she leaned forward and pressed her lips against his. It was a soft brushing, more like a gentle caress than an actual kiss, and as soon as she felt the wonderful warmth of his lips, her heart rolled over. Dazed and oddly content, she pulled back and stared at him. She waited for the horror to come, a mortification a hundred times worse than anything she’d experienced before, but as she gazed into his eyes, all she felt was an inexplicable peacefulness.

  Huntly’s mood was harder to decipher, though he did not seem entirely repulsed by her act, and she was thoroughly puzzled by his seriousness when he said softly, “I’m sorry.”

  Vinnie smiled because she recalled his inclination to accept blame regardless of culpability, and finding she couldn’t let him take responsibility for a deed that was utterly her own, said, “That was my fault.”

  Now Huntly smiled. “Not for that,” he said, lowering his head. “For this.”