Love by the Letters: A Regency Novella Trilogy

by Kelly Bowen

  August gave chase, something he never did until Miss Nettles. Females sought him out. Well, the ones not bothered by his limited fortune or his penchant for caution and cough tonic. Still, his humor made him a requested dinner partner for many a bored matron.

  On the church steps, he caught up to the modiste. “Miss Nettles?”

  She pulled a timepiece from her reticule, a slim gold piece braided onto a lacy ribbon. “I have five minutes. No more. If this has to do with your sister’s dress—”

  “No, ma’am. As much as I want to pay the original full price, I realize that you’ve written off or forgiven it. I wish you’d forgive me.”

  “In my note, I said that it is the past. Is that all you wish to say, sir?”

  How does one say I need to give you money to save my younger sisters? He rubbed the back of his neck. “I… ur...let me walk you to your carriage.”

  “I don’t own or am indebted to the pavement, sir.” Her expression became less tense, one could count it a second smile, a smile at August.

  “I can’t stop you from following.”

  “I’ll take that as a yes, Miss Nettles. But you could just say, ‘Mr. Sedgewick, you may accompany me. Or it would be my pleasure if you accompanied me. Or, yes, you dear man.’”

  She peered up at him with her spectacles slipping down her nose, and those lips curled more. “The mews is a little further, please tell me what it is you wish me to know, other than you are witty.”

  “So you think I’m witty and charming. I think it sounds as if you are flirting with me.”

  A look, a panicked look set in her face. The easy smile, the laugh crinkles about her eyes disappeared, replaced with nothingness. “No, sir. That’s not what I do.”

  He’d overstepped some line or boundary. He thrust his hands into his coat pockets, taking note not to ruin their rapport. “Sorry, I’ve offered one joke too many. How is business?”

  “Very busy. I have an appointment with a client that I cannot miss. You have three more minutes.”

  Small talk was hard with a woman he knew little about and now he had to beat a ticking clock? When they turned the corner, he cut in front of her. “Is that how your days are spent? Entertaining clients?”

  “Entertaining? This is hard work, sir. And yes, my clients must be catered to. Many are at a point of upheaval. They need to feel special. I’m honored to make them feel that way.”

  “I meant no offense.”

  She glanced at him for a full thirty seconds. Could those spectacles see into his soul? At least this time she’d not find it wanting.

  Miss Nettles started walking again, but her gait was slower as if she’d unconsciously deemed him worthy to accompany her. “What is it you have to tell me?”

  “I was wondering what it’s like to run your own shop. I’m thinking of investing in trade, and I’d like to know your thoughts.”

  “You? Thinking of trade? But you are a son of an earl? Wouldn't that be looked down upon? Your father would not be happy.”

  “He hasn’t much of an opinion. He passed two winters ago. My brother is the Earl of Haverthon now.”

  One gloved palm covered her mouth, temporarily obscuring a ripe work of art. “Now it is my turn to be sorry.”

  “Apology accepted but not needed.”

  They were in step, walking in a comfortable silence. “Well, sir, we are at the mews.”

  “But you have not agreed to tell me more of your business, Miss Nettles.”

  “My business involves secrecy. I do not dress and tell. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

  She turned away and stopped as a groom met her at the entry.

  “Miss,” the young man said, “your nag done threw a shoe. What do I do?”

  “It needs to be fixed and done quickly. I have an appointment.”

  The boy shook his head. “No, miss. It’s going to be awhile. We’ve others more—”

  August stepped forward and fished a coin from his waistcoat. “I would appreciate if you’d see to the lady’s concern. Can you take care of this?”

  The fellow took the money, slipping it into his worn coat. “It will still take some time, but I think it’s gone lame.”

  August moved to the stall where they had her horse and examined the swollen hoof. “I knew this would happen. Look at those knocked knees, that long back geared for a pot-belly.”

  She dipped her head. “Sprinter, no.”

  “Miss Nettles, at least you’re safe and not stranded or left to fend off thieves. I told—”

  The distress wrinkling her brows, the glossy look to her eyes, strangled the rest of his complaints. August had been fretful of this, fretful of her safety since seeing the sad condition of her horse. But the modiste didn’t need someone’s gloating or grousing. She needed a friend.

  He took a piece of paper from his pocket and tore off a corner. Scribbling his address, he handed it to the groom. “Send for my stable groom. Have them take this poor fellow there. Then fetch my carriage. I’ll take Miss Nettles to her appointment.”

  “You’re taking my horse where? And no, I couldn’t possibly go with you, Mr. Sedgewick.”

  Two could play the time game. August pulled out his pocket watch and swung it. “This horse needs care, something my stables can provide. You have appointments. Time’s wasting, my dear. Decide. My company or disappointed clients.”

  “But my samples. My fabric bolts. It's too much to impose. I can try my hand at hiring a jarvey.”

  August was many things, slow, deliberate, but not stupid. Hiring a stranger to carry this woman and her bundles would be difficult. She was a Blackamoor, mulatto—a fact that made things difficult. Now, he could be of aid. “My carriage will hold all of that and a little seamstress like yourself. You know it would be quicker and without the problems of hiring a stranger.”

  A look passed between them. More things unsaid, like he understood her plight, was sensitive to the burdens society added to her shoulders. “Let me help.”

  “You are kind, unexpectedly kind, but my work requires secrecy.”

  He swung his watch again. “I want to learn about trade. What better way than to be your assistant on this outing.”

  Her fingers tightened about a button on her well-tailored carriage dress. “I can’t be late, so I’ll accept your offer.”

  Her voice was low, and August took no time to gloat. Her concessions were out of necessity. With decidedly improved spirits, he headed to her gig and began unloading her bundles. He was already one pound down on his benefactor’s challenge. He only had four thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine more to go.

  6

  With A Man in Tow

  Mary-Anne settled into the far side of Mr. Sedgewick’s carriage cradling the bolt of cream lace as if it were a baby. It was one of her most delicate fabrics, but she’d make it a weapon if Mr. Sedgewick had other ideas.

  He took off his top hat and set it next to his lap. He looked more put together today with his cravat properly ironed—no wrinkles about the collar that laid crisply about his neck.

  So close, she couldn’t help but admire him. He had a more muscular frame than she remembered. And was so much more passionate about helping than she expected.

  He coughed and drew out a handkerchief, “Cooler today. Where’s our first appointment? Any clients in Mayfair?”

  “Thankfully, not today. I’d never be able to explain you, Mr. Sedgewick.”

  “So the truth wouldn't work? I heard it can be freeing.”

  She drew out the long silver pin that secured her bisque bonnet and put the hat onto the seat. “People believe what they want. You offering to help will not cast either of us in a good light.”

  “Well, I need an address to tell my driver or we could sit here talking, providing more fodder for anyone seeing you leap into my carriage.”

  “I did not leap.”

  “See. I’m just taking the facts and reinterpreting them. You are right. Your reputation could be damaged. Mine much i
mproved with you leaping at me.”

  “Your alterations to the truth are rather dull.”

  “I thought about an even more amorous version, but I do want to help and drive you to your appointments without the threat of being whacked by your fabric.”

  He was funny, but his gaze unnerved her. Mary-Anne had a feeling about August Sedgewick. He’d be helpful and flirtatious and honest, too honest. She put the bolt on his side of the carriage. It bounced, and he put his large hand on it, settling it against the tufted cream seat.

  He smiled at her, offering a look that whispered I’m trustworthy.

  “We are going to Barebinder Lane outside of the city.”

  His brow scrunched, and he popped outside then settled back upon his seat. “My driver has been told, but that is not too far from my land at Old Ford Bow. I wonder how many times you passed by or could’ve.”

  “Anonymity, sir. My business is done in secrecy. No time for pleasure visits.”

  “So visiting me, Miss Nettles, would be a pleasure?”

  She turned from his grin and stared out the window. St. George’s with its magnificent columns faded from view.

  A glance at her watch showed they’d made up the time she thought they’d lost. “I must say this is a faster speed than I am used to. Old Sprinter is a slow but steady ride.”

  “He needs to be retired to a pasture. I’ll help you pick a new horse. Something appropriate for the work you do.”

  She wanted to protest, but the way Mr. Sedgewick said he’d help her pick a proper mount, with authority and firm gentleness, squashed the notion. He didn’t say pick one for you or I’ll give you one as if she was a charity. He would assist her as equals.

  She smoothed her skirt and placed her gloved hands onto her knees. Her fingers inside felt damp.

  A dark curl flopped onto his forehead when Mr. Sedgewick stripped off his dark coat. White wrinkled shirtsleeves hung on his wide shoulders.

  “You don't look comfortable, Miss Nettles. We have a bit of a drive. Is it too warm in here? I always have my carriage warmed.”

  “I’m comfortable, but you will not be. I don't think you recognize where we are headed.”

  “A house outside of the city?”

  “Not just any house. This one is owned by a courtesan, a mistress to an important man. Some of my clients are considered scandalous.”

  A brow rose, a mixture of surprise and maybe even disappointment swept across his features. “Important men often have mistresses. You think I’m shocked? I will enjoy this appointment.”

  “You will remain in the carriage. I’m allowing you to transport but nothing more.”

  “No, ma’am. How else am I to learn about your profession if I do not observe?”

  “I did not give you permission to observe.”

  “Just to ferry? I’m good enough to ride with but not to help transport bundles.”

  “Sir, my client wants her privacy.”

  “She's a courtesan, Miss Nettles. Can't exactly be a shy one. I can't wait in the carriage for an hour or so.”

  “You said your home was near. You could go there.”

  “And what, you’d send for me with a note from a courtesan’s residence? No. I also don’t want to tell my sisters where I’ve been. Louisa and Eliza will either come to the wrong conclusion or be encouraged to participate in wrong doings. No, ma’am.”

  Mr. Sedgewick wouldn't stay in the carriage. He had that mischievous look about him which foretold the trouble he’d happen into if left to his own.

  “So, are you stuck with me, Miss Nettles?”

  “You must do everything I say. Everything or no deal.”

  His gaze went to the ceiling for a second then locked back upon hers. “To agree would mean I have absolute confidence in you. You will be the keeper of my fate. Yes, I agree. Keep me.”

  For a moment, her heart wobbled. She coughed to make it start beating normally again.

  “Are you cold? Is it drafty? I could—”

  “No, I am fine, but we will have to make you look different.”

  She knelt in front of him, measuring within the spread of her hands the width of his chin, the length of his slim nose.

  He caught her hand, holding it still against the side of his face. “What are you doing?”

  “Madame... She knows many people. I want to make you forgettable, nondescript.”

  “So I am hard to forget? Good. So are you. Very hard to forget. Not a day has passed that you’ve not been on my mind.”

  A vision filled her head, one of lovers. If he tugged her up onto the bench beside him, it wouldn't be hard for her thoughts of a kiss to become a reality.

  The internal clock in her head gonged. She blinked and slipped her hand from his. “I'm trying to figure out what feature we’ll emphasize to draw attention from your face. I don't want you recognized. I hope your carriage is not recognized.”

  He preened on the seat, lifting is nose higher in the air. “The painter says my left side is the best. Great cheek bones.”

  “That’s not it. It still leads to your face.”

  “And how is that face, Miss Mary-Anne Nettles? I’ve come to the opinion I like yours. I like yours very much.”

  He was handsome, but of that other world, where women like her were playthings. “It's a nice face, but the goal is to take attention from those high cheek bones to something else. Your shoulders. They are wide enough. They’ll do. Hand me your coat.”

  “My coat?”

  “Yes. I’m going to make you look like a clerk and not a bothersome earl’s son.”

  He laughed until she lifted her sharp shears.

  Well oiled, each blade lap-polished to be free of burrs, the shears could be an extension of her fingers. She scooped his coat and brought shears to his sleeve. “Starting.”

  “Wait, Miss Nettles. Wait.”

  “No waiting, sir.”

  The face that she’d just admitted to be handsome paled.

  Snip. Snip.

  He paled even more with hints of green on those cheeks. “That was an expensive coat, it cost thirty shillings.”

  “Thirty? That much. I’m a trained seamstress, sir. I can fix what I’m altering. I can even make it better.”

  His grimace grew as she cut through the seam. His hands gripped tighter to the seat.

  She snipped cleanly through the fine gray cloth. Each sleeve flopped to the floor.

  “Are you done with the murder, Miss Nettles?”

  “With this part. I must create an illusion, one which will distract Madame Labonne. I see the disguise in my mind.”

  “Labonne?”

  “Yes, Mr. Sedgewick, you know her?”

  He put a hand up. “The name, woman, the name. Put the scissors down.”

  Mary-Anne hadn't noticed that she sort of pointed her shears at him. “Sorry.”

  “I rather like a woman having a possessiveness about me, just without sharp pointy things. And do you like the thought of me, emblazoned in that head of yours?”

  “Shhhh, I’m designing.” She sat beside him. “May I?”

  “I’ve agreed to everything thus far. Do your worst, ma’am.”

  “Worst is never my intention.” She ruffled his hair again making the deep charcoal locks wild, scattering curly strands here or there, tugging some forward, tussling others to join the errant one which often fell to his forehead.

  “Any fever? I do feel a bit warm.”

  “None.” Why did he seem to focus on sickness? Her father looked down on those with a fretful nature, but he looked down on everyone. Mr. Sedgewick was strong in opinions and strong in muscles. The man was built for carrying things. “Now take off your waistcoat.”

  “So many orders. Do you take pleasure in directing your staff?”

  “I’ve no staff, just a widow who sews for me sometimes.”

  “You should have more workers, then you wouldn't be running all over the place for meetings.”

  “I go where I am
needed.” She hemmed the raw edges of his now sleeveless coat. “My position is a precarious one, Mr. Sedgewick. I won't take on more staff when the wrong word from an unhappy client will end my practice.”

  “Is that why you’ve avoided me? You thought I was going to complain?”

  “You weren't happy with my charges. And you confronted me in front of others.”

  His lips pursed. “Sorry. I might think your fees high, but Sarah was happy and not disgraced. I’m still in your debt. Though, you have my word I’ll not mention it…much.”

  His eyes, pools of lapis blue, swam with sorrow.

  Looking away, she knotted her ends and cut the thread before turning the material so the finished edges showed. “This is fashioned like a vest, a clerk’s outfit. You will be able to look like my helper and hopefully not draw attention to yourself.”

  With a few well-placed pins to flatten the revers, slimming the lapels, she was done and handed it to him. “There, less aristocratic, more store clerk.”

  “You’ll fix it? That coat wasn't new, but it was a favorite.” He slid on her clerk vest. “You’ll fix it for free? Or I could pay you five thousand pounds for the repairs. Give or take a pound.”

  “You are funny, Mr. Sedgewick.”

  She put away her shears, then tugged the vest smooth and yanked off his cravat.

  Mr. Sedgewick wasn't scrawny. He was well-built with a wide chest and long arms and thick wrists that would look better with a wider cuff.

  He craned his neck toward the window. “Ah, the balloonists are at it again today.”

  “The silk balloons?”

  To get a look, she moved toward the window but careened skull to skull with Mr. Sedgewick. Her spectacles flew.

  He held her fast and kept her from toppling off the seat. “I take it you like hot air balloons.”

  “Sorry,” she said as she focused on the arms that supported her, the blurry face just out of vision’s reach. “But I do. I’d love to fly in one.”

  He held her off balance, dangling off the seat. “It’s surely drafty up there, high in the sky. You’d want that?”

  “Yes. It would be amazing,”