He stared at her before giving a curt nod and picking up his knife and fork. ‘Then I’ll do all I can in the hope you aren’t forced into militant action.’
The softer tone of his voice spoke of his care. Of intimacy.
Esther looked to her food and speared a small piece of potato. She could not encourage his care. She needed his support and help, but not his care. That would mean they had traversed the line between associates and friends. She wasn’t sure that either of them should step over that line. At least, not yet.
‘And I thank you, but you barely know me. The Cause and what it means to you should be your only interest.’ She lifted her eyes to his. ‘What do you have in mind to contribute?’
‘I’ve hosted fundraising events for many different causes as well as helping to fund the Votes For Women newspaper. I’m also a member of the Men’s League for Women’s suffrage, an active role… but a peaceful one.’
Esther could only stare at him. To happen upon a man in the street admonishing his daughter for wanting a cricket set and making such a snap judgement of his character was shaming.
She shook her head. ‘I misjudged you very badly indeed, didn’t I?’
He smiled. ‘You did.’
‘I’m sorry, Lawrence. Truly. I sometimes allow my passions to run away with me. My father considered that to the detriment of my character, whereas I’d like to think it a virtue, but that doesn’t mean our meeting hasn’t made me realise the folly of quick and mistaken judgement.’
He ran his gaze over her face, lingering a moment on her mouth. ‘I would hate to see you change in any way. There are many men out there who, like me, believe it will only be a positive step forward for women to have the vote. Let’s try to achieve that without causing harm to anyone or anything.’
Esther ate another bite of lamb. How could she think less of him for his care? Think less of him for believing there would be a peaceful breakthrough. But how was she, Lawrence or the Society supposed to achieve such a thing? Still she failed to come up with an intervention that would lead to success. As one of the leading group members, many of the women looked not only to Louise for guidance and inspiration, but Esther, too. Yet, as more and more time passed, she felt herself failing them.
Would the government eventually agree to the women’s demands through speech only? She couldn’t believe it to be true.
She laid down her fork and picked up her water glass. ‘Women have resourcefulness, courage and endurance to match that of any man. Do men not resort to war eventually? Battle lines will be drawn, Lawrence, no matter how much you or I might not want that.’ She inhaled and slowly released a breath, suddenly wanting him to understand how much she had already revolted against. How she’d learned to stand tall and strong alone. Frustration seeped into Lawrence’s expression and unease whispered through her, causing her defences to rise. ‘Why are you looking at me that way? Have I said something you don’t like? Something to make you think asking me to dinner is the very last thing you should’ve done?’
‘You misread me. What you see is genuine concern. Concern for you. To the life I believe you cherish.’
Her heart thundered, as she fought not to squirm under his scrutiny. Why did she suddenly feel as though he could see inside her heart and mind? What was wrong with her? Why had she told him – a relative stranger – so much of her history? Of her parents? He had clearly guessed that her passions were everything to her. Something she hadn’t even shared with Louise or Elizabeth.
Esther swallowed. Because no one else had ever looked into her eyes and immediately known how she truly felt, rather than the outside façade of independence and determination.
He continued to study her; the chatter, clinking of glasses and cutlery seeming to increase in volume, only adding to her sudden claustrophobia.
At last, he lowered his shoulders and looked to his plate. ‘Let us put our heads together and come up with a new avenue to explore. A new strategy to action. Then I can decide what funding I’m willing to donate.’
Money. Why was he turning the conversation to money? Did he think she wanted him to join forces with her because he was wealthy? Indignation swept through her. ‘You think I don’t have money of my own?’
‘I didn’t say—’
‘I have possibilities of my own making. It’s not money I am looking for from you, it’s belief.’ She cursed the prick of tears behind her eyes. ‘In me. In women. In Rose.’
His jaw tightened. ‘I’ve already told you Rose is in my thoughts with this. You have my belief. How can you think otherwise when I’ve already told you of my prior commitment to the Cause before we met?’ He glanced past her shoulder as though not wanting to look at her. ‘If we’re to work together, you have to stop presuming anything about me or my children.’
Frustration lowered her voice as she stared at his profile. ‘I’m not presuming anything. By whatever means, I intend to make a change in this world. Shake the authorities out of their ignorance and better the country. But the moment I mention Rose, a little girl who will one day be a woman of my age, you become angry. Why?’
He turned his gaze to hers, his cheeks mottled. ‘Is it really necessary I explain myself? You’re clearly already a good judge of my character.’
Esther’s heart thundered. Were they really arguing in so public a place? Yet, instead of leaving, she leaned closer, adrenaline flowing through her on a dangerous wave.
‘Could it be you’re angered because, deep inside, you don’t really want anything more for Rose than for her to be dependent on you, to love you forever and never doubt your word or your motivation? That, in her eyes, you are forever her saviour, teacher and controller. Maybe you’re a member of the League to soothe your own foibles. To make yourself acceptable to your female hotel guests and staff as much as the men. Could you be straddling two sides of the argument in an effort to keep everyone happy? If yes, then your part in the fight is merely superficial.’
‘Super—’ His eyes flashed with fury. ‘I have never controlled Rose or Nathanial in any way other than fatherly and with love. I believe in the vote. I believe in women. How can you even think to say such things to me?’
She’d pushed him too far. She had no right to paint him the same colour as her father. Yet he’d provoked her shame, her fear for other girls who loved their fathers with the depth she loved hers. It wasn’t right for a daughter to rely solely on a man who could one day let her down and send her into exile when her opinions differed with his.
She stood and dropped her napkin onto the table, her hands shaking. ‘I should leave.’
‘Do you not like me challenging you?’
Insult struck her, and no matter how much she felt the right thing to do was to go, she could not when such anger burned in his eyes.
She slowly lowered to her seat and took a hefty gulp of her wine. ‘I don’t want to argue with you, but you must understand how hard it is to be reliant on a man when he could let you down.’ Her words tumbled out of her despite wanting to bring their dispute to an end. ‘One who might have a life planned for you that you want no part of.’
‘I would never do that to Rose.’
She looked deep into his eyes, her heart stumbling to witness such sincerity in him. She lowered her voice. ‘You can’t be certain of that. I’ve been forced to see that no father can. No matter how much he might have loved his daughter when she was growing up.’
‘Loved? I’ll always love Rose.’
Esther closed her eyes, fighting her tears as the love her father had once had for her slammed into her heart, splintering another crack across its surface. She opened her eyes. ‘Well, my father stopped loving me a long time ago.’ With that, she stood. ‘I’m leaving, Lawrence. I’m sorry.’
Twelve
Lawrence stared after her.
By God, did he not understand parental pain more than most? Did he not understand how fathers and mothers could give birth to their children and when they grew into individuals with their own min
ds, scruples, dreams and desires, they could be tossed aside, or else pummelled into submission? Hadn’t his hatred towards his parents been drawn by not just the way they treated him, but how they had stood side by side in their actions. Equally to blame and equally ambitious.
‘Damnation.’
He lifted his hand and nodded to a nearby waiter that he wished to pay his bill.
As he waited, he drummed his fingers on the tabletop, his foot rapidly tapping against the expensive flooring, each minute like an hour. When the waiter reappeared, Lawrence scribbled his signature across the bill and leapt to his feet. He had to catch up with Esther.
Self-disgust twisted inside him. No one on earth could understand the desire to want more for the next generation. The cruelty inflicted on him in the name of making him a man had ensured he would never disparage or deny Rose and Nathanial the paths they chose for themselves.
Instead of listening to Esther, doing his utmost to understand her frustration, he’d turned her words into knives with which to stab at his own insecurities, his own fears that he might harbour the genetic traits of her father that could one day bubble to the surface, spill over and hurt everyone in their path.
He stalked towards the entrance. Her coat. Had she picked up her coat? Rain battered the windows and ran in rivulets down the glass, the evening sky heavy and dark. It was pouring, and Esther might as well have been wearing a satin sheath for all the protection her beautiful dress would provide. He stepped in front of the maître d’, ignoring the grumbled protests from the gentleman beside him.
‘Did Miss Stanbury take her coat? An umbrella?’
‘She’s left the restaurant?’ The maître d’ looked behind him towards their empty table. He faced Lawrence. ‘Well, no, sir. I didn’t notice that she—’
‘Then could you please retrieve her coat for me? I must find her before she is half-drowned.’ Self-admonishment pressed down on him. It was his fault he pushed her away; his fault she’d fled into the night unprotected.
‘Of course.’ The maître d’ grimaced at the fuming customer beside Lawrence. ‘Please, sir. Just one moment.’ He walked to the cloakroom at the side of the restaurant and spoke quietly with the young girl checking and hanging coats. Moments later, he came back with Esther’s coat.
‘Thank you.’ Lawrence took the coat and turned to the gentleman beside him. ‘My apologies, sir.’
Before the man could respond, Lawrence dashed to the door and ducked outside into the rain. He could’ve sworn there had been tears in Esther’s eyes before she’d fled the restaurant – and she had fled. Her rushed steps so very different from the confident, graceful walk he’d watched the handful of times she’d left his side before.
This evening her gait had been flustered, upset and its cause lay entirely with him.
Scanning the busy street, Lawrence breathed in the scent of expensive perfume mixed with hair cream as dressed-up couples passed him arm in arm. The feeling of the upcoming Coronation seemed to be everywhere, from the banner stretched across the street to the chatter and laughter filtering from restaurant and store windows. A day of celebration. A day of new beginnings. Only time would tell if those beginnings would change this city and country for the better.
As he hurried along the stone-flagged pavement, a small boy stopped in his path, his cupped hands outstretched. ‘A penny for a hot roll, sir?’
Lawrence reached into his pocket and put two pennies in the boy’s hand. ‘Here. Get two.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ The boy’s eyes widened as he flitted his gaze from Lawrence to the coins and back again.
‘You’re welcome.’ Smiling, Lawrence touched his hat, nodded at the boy and continued along the street looking for Esther.
On and on he walked, passing more and more poor, malnourished adults and children vying for charity from the wealthy who strolled back and forth. The differences between the rich and poor in Bath was abhorrent. Something had to be done to change the vast chasm between the privileged and the starving. It was neither fair nor right that some died from hunger while others grew obese.
He drew to a stop.
Esther stood under the awning of a latticed-windowed shop, her dress darker pink in places where the rain had soaked through. Staring at the wares inside, she seemed oblivious to the falling rain.
Slowly, he approached, uncertainty and self-judgement in every step. How did he speak with her, apologise for his behaviour without sharing any of his familial history?
Lawrence closed the distance, the street suddenly feeling strangely empty of people and transport. The ground shone beneath his feet, the lamps reflected in the puddles and the rain drenching his hair and the shoulders of his suit jacket.
Esther turned, and he halted as her eyes met his across the few yards that separated them. Her beautiful face was a mask of sadness. Her eyes almost pleading with him as he came closer. Once he was under the awning, she looked into his eyes, seemingly searching for something. A quip lingered on his tongue. To say something to make her laugh. Even the urge to replicate the funny face she’d pulled for Nathanial suddenly felt plausible compared to the blankness he was certain his face showed. What did he do now?
He shook out her coat and held it open.
She lowered her focus to his mouth, her expression inscrutable.
Stepping closer, she leaned into him, her gaze locked on his lips. His hands itched to touch her, to pull her into his embrace and kiss away her sorrow. She lifted her eyes to his and an unimaginable hunger burned in her gaze, her mouth dropping slightly open. Lawrence’s heart beat a little faster as he stepped closer still.
He wrapped her coat around her and released his held breath… and then took an impulsive leap that could so easily end in disaster. He lowered his mouth to hers.
She sighed softly before clasping her arms about his waist. He pressed his body closer to hers, wrapping her more firmly into his warmth.
She tasted like rainwater and the softest, sweetest perfume. He breathed in the floral scent of her skin, marvelled at the softness of her lips. This wasn’t the time to think, to contemplate or even panic. He eased his tongue tentatively against hers, and she shuddered gently in his arms as she raised onto her toes to deepen the kiss. Every part of him burned with a desire that had never been ignited before. His erection strained, his heart thundered, and his mind filled with only her.
The rest of the world ceased to exist.
He could’ve stayed in their kiss forever…
A salty wetness slipped onto his mouth.
Tears. Her tears.
He eased back, glistening drops ran slowly over her cheeks and he lifted his hands, thumbed away her sadness. ‘I’m so sorry.’
Her eyes were glazed as though she’d been as lost in their shared moment as he had been.
She blinked, and her eyes widened before she stepped back. ‘I… shouldn’t have let you kiss—’
‘Yes. Yes, you should.’ He opened the coat, so she could put her arms into the sleeves. ‘And I hope, in time, you will again.’
She shook her head, her eyes lowered revealing a vulnerability he hadn’t seen in her before. ‘But our argument—’
‘Is forgotten.’ How could she even begin to come to a different conclusion when his mind and heart was now filled with nothing but their kiss?
Her distress showed in her beautiful eyes, her brow furrowed. ‘How can our words be so easily dismissed when they became so heated?’
‘Because they can. I meant it when I said I want to help with your endeavours. If you don’t want my financial help then, maybe, I could come to your next demonstration to understand more fully what you do and how I can help?’
She tipped her head back to meet his gaze, her eyes lingering on his as she considered. Finally, she exhaled. ‘Not a protest. Not yet.’
Hope spread. Not yet. Did this mean she wanted to see him again. ‘But another time?’
‘Yes.’ She dipped her gaze to the pavement before meeting his
eyes once more. ‘Why don’t you come to the store tomorrow evening? With Rose?’
‘Pennington’s?’
‘Yes. A lady author is coming in. She’s written a book about her rise from widowhood and how she was left a small bakery by her husband. Despite the odds stacked against her, she went on to open a second shop and, now, a third. She seems very inspiring. A woman forging forward. I think you’d enjoy listening to her speak.’
‘And you think Rose would, too.’
Mischief sparkled in her eyes as she smiled. ‘Absolutely.’
‘Then tomorrow night it is.’ Satisfaction and joy swept through him. Whatever she’d suggested, he would have agreed as long as he saw her again.
He buttoned her coat and brushed a damp curl from her cheek, hoping upon hope she did not disappear from his life as quickly as she’d appeared. He wanted so much to get to know her, to share a little of her life even if he could never share it all. ‘Will you allow me to hire a cab? I’d like to ensure you get home safely.’
‘You don’t need to…’ She stopped, her shoulders dropping as she softly smiled. ‘Yes. I’d like that very much.’
‘Good. I’ll go along the street and find one. I’ll not be more than a few minutes.’
He turned and jogged along the street, happiness and pride filling his chest in a great heave, pushing the air from his lungs. He had to find a way to gain Esther’s trust. Because, right now, she needed him… and he needed her.
Thirteen
Esther stood with her back to the mahogany bookshelves lining Pennington’s book department and scanned the area around her. She and her team had transformed the space for this evening’s event and she felt as proud of them as she had for the live mannequin shows they had held last year.
A small platform had been erected at the back of the room, with rows of gold-painted chairs, upholstered in sapphire blue velvet, lined up in front of it. Her department had excelled in the manufacturing of a wooden backdrop, painted to look like the façade of a small bakery. Grace Hadley, widow, now baker extraordinaire, would surely love the setting and everything Esther and her team had achieved.
A Rebel at Pennington’s Page 9
