Otherwise Engaged

by Joanna Barker

  Or had he?

  If Mr. Bainbridge was as bitter as he seemed from this account, how could such animosity not spread to his only son?

  I brushed away such a baseless thought. Edward would have been so young, not yet ten years old, when all this had happened. That was young enough to be ignorant of such things, and I couldn’t begin to guess if Mr. Bainbridge was the sort of father to air his grievances at home. In any case, Edward was different from his parents.

  I closed the book, tapping my fingers on the front cover. From this evidence, I wanted to conclude that Mr. Bainbridge had been entirely at fault for our families’ division. But would Edward agree with me?

  Voices came from outside the house, and I spun in the chair. Leaping to the window, I spotted William standing beside his horse near the front door, speaking with a groom. Botheration. He’d already found me here once. I couldn’t possibly find another excuse for why I was in here again.

  I darted back to the desk and snatched up the leather book. A folded letter fell from the pages and landed askew against my boots. I grabbed it and was about to slip it back inside the book when my eyes landed on the wax seal. The relief image of a fox and rose stared back at me. I knew this family crest.

  Voices again. Before I could think, I stuffed the letter into my pocket and slammed the book back in the drawer. Then I ran for the door, closing it behind me and dashing down the corridor just as I heard William’s steps in the entryway. I ducked into the library and leaned against the opposite door as I tried to hear above my own heartbeat. His footsteps, steady and quick, went into his study, and the door closed behind him.

  I allowed myself one moment of relief before moving farther into the library. No one would be in here. Only Juliana frequented the room, and she would likely be at school for hours yet.

  I found a secluded corner facing the wide wall of windows and lowered myself into a cushioned armchair. Then I removed the letter from my pocket and held it in my shaking hands.

  It was the Bainbridge family seal, I had no doubt. It was the one Edward had used when he’d slipped me notes in Brighton, and I’d loved the romantic image of the rose entwined with the fox.

  But now.

  Now I could not muster an ounce of excitement for what I might read in this letter. The paper was aged, the ink that addressed the note to my father faded. It could only be from Mr. Bainbridge. Did I want to read something that would further incriminate Edward’s father?

  My curiosity won out in the end. I opened the letter.

  Rowley,

  My bank received your payment yesterday. As agreed, I will decamp to Lancashire with my family. But do not think this is the end. If you do not uphold your part of the arrangement, I will waste no time revealing to anyone who will listen what I know about you and about Rowley Shipping and Trade. You would not last another day, you may count on that.

  Rumors fly faster than a sparrow on the wind, after all.

  Mr. Bainbridge signed the letter with such a flourish that I could barely make out his name, but I focused on the words, reading the letter again and again. Payment? Arrangement? And what was he on about, speaking of rumors and such?

  I searched for the date at the top of the page. November 1806. My stomach tensed like a coiled rope. In Papa’s entry in the record book, he’d mentioned purchasing Mr. Bainbridge’s shares, and that had been in September of that year. So why was he then extending another payment two months later?

  I will waste no time revealing to any who will listen what I know about you.

  The paper crumbled in my hand, bent by my rigid grasp. I set the letter on the table beside my chair, though I stared at it as if it might burst into flames at any second.

  Had Mr. Bainbridge . . . known something about Papa? Something Papa had not wanted to be common knowledge? But that was absurd. Papa had been all that was upstanding and moral.

  Hadn’t he?

  I’d been eleven years old when he died. I thought I’d known my father, but was that even possible for a child? Could he be the sort of man to be involved in corrupt dealings?

  I leaned forward, my elbows on my knees, and pinched the bridge of my nose. This was ridiculous. I could not fall into suspicion so easily, not about my own father. After all, William had read the record just as I had and likely much more than the few pages I’d glimpsed.

  But had he seen the letter? It had fallen out only when I’d hastily grabbed the book. If William had read that letter, would he have been so quick to reassure me earlier that the Bainbridges were terrible? Or would he now be trapped in doubt and confusion, the same as me?

  The longer I sat there, the more my mind returned to one fact again and again, and it made my stomach sink lower inside me.

  If Papa was innocent of wrongdoing, then why had he paid off Mr. Bainbridge?

  Chapter Thirteen

  I had never been terribly good at hiding my emotions, and the next two days tested my meager talents. Mama asked again and again if I was feeling ill, and Juliana suggested that perhaps I had caught Olivia’s cold from my visit to Linwood Hall. William teased, as always, jesting that he had learned over the years to never interfere with what he called “feminine troubles,” which ought to have annoyed me but, instead, only made me glad that he at least was not determined to discover what was the matter with me.

  I waved them off repeatedly, insisting I was tired or that I had a headache. Thankfully, I did not have to lie about either of those reasons. I was sleeping terribly, and the lack of rest contributed to my aching head. But how was I to sleep when questions constantly paraded through my mind, pounding with disbelief and suspicion?

  I very nearly confided in William the day after my discovery of Mr. Bainbridge’s letter. Surely, my brother could shed some light on the situation and put my worries to rest. But doing so would mean also telling him about my engagement, and I was far from ready to do that.

  Especially as I could not even bring myself to write to Edward.

  Every time I sat at my desk, hoping that writing my thoughts and fears to him would help sort them out, my hand froze. The words would not come. If Papa was the wrongdoer in all this, how could I admit it to Edward? I’d been prepared to forgive Edward’s father of his mistakes, but could he do the same for my father?

  No, I could not write Edward until I was certain. And though I could have tried to read more of Papa’s record, sneak back into William’s study, I did not. I no longer had any desire to discover what had happened fifteen years ago.

  I received another letter from Edward, this one shorter than the last. He reaffirmed that he missed me terribly and said he’d had no success in learning anything from his father’s friends to whom he’d written. It was not a very uplifting letter, and reading his words did not bring me much comfort.

  I tried to distract myself as much as possible. I read in the library, staring blankly at my unturned pages. I rode a great deal, a fruitless struggle to outrun my thoughts. I wrote letters to anyone in my acquaintance, save for Edward, of course. I even attempted to sew Juliana’s baby a gown, which was likely the reason Mama realized something more than a simple headache was bothering me.

  “Blast,” I muttered as I held up the infant-size garment.

  “What is it?” Mama looked up from her own perfectly even stitches on a little cap for the baby.

  I dropped the fabric to my lap, where it lay in a pathetic heap. “I attached the sleeve backward.”

  Mama did not laugh as she normally would have, which revealed how worried she was over me. Instead, she scrutinized me thoughtfully. “No matter,” she said, setting aside her own sewing. “I think we’ve had enough sewing today. Ought we go into town?”

  Shopping had never failed to cheer me in the past, but the effort it would take to smile and pretend for an entire afternoon felt enormously exhausting.

  “You haven�
�t had a gown made in a while,” she said. “Perhaps Mrs. Notley has new fabrics since our last visit.”

  I could not say no. Refusing a new gown would signal to her that there was far more wrong than she could imagine, and I did not want to worry her.

  So instead of sighing, I smiled and agreed. “That sounds lovely, Mama.”

  The first few minutes of the carriage ride were blissfully quiet. I stared out the window, absently toying with the ribbons on my bonnet, but I should have known Mama would not let it be.

  “Rebecca,” she began, and I turned to her. “I cannot help but think this is all my fault.”

  I blinked. “Your fault?”

  She hesitated. “You’ve been so quiet these last few days, and I am certain I know why. I should not have ambushed you the night of the assembly with my news about Mr. Hambley. It was too much and too soon, and I am sorry.”

  I opened my mouth and then shut it again.

  She went on. “I intend to tell him that things between us cannot progress as they have.”

  “What?” I blurted.

  “It is clearly overwhelming to you, and I cannot in good conscience allow myself to—”

  “Stop. Please, Mama.” I held a hand to my forehead. “You would stop seeing him—not marry him—for me?”

  She nodded, her posture as proper as ever, even if her hands were clasped rather tightly in her lap. “I cannot stand the thought of anything coming between us, Rebecca. If this will keep us apart, then I will not go through with it.”

  “Oh, Mama.” I hadn’t meant to cause such distress. But of course Mama would think my distance lately was because of Mr. Hambley. She did not know about the plethora of other problems I was currently attempting to solve.

  I exhaled. I could not let my inner turmoil affect those I loved. Mama deserved a better daughter than me.

  I reached for her hand. “Mama, I will not deny that your connection to Mr. Hambley has been quite the adjustment for me. But I promise that it will not come between us. I love you too much. In fact, I can only hope Mr. Hambley loves you even half as much as I do.”

  Her cheeks reddened, even as she brushed a tear from her eye. “You are sure? I would never wish for you to be uncomfortable.”

  I laughed, the first time in two days, and it felt wonderfully renewing. “Oh, I have no doubt this will be horridly uncomfortable. But who am I to deny you happiness? Please, Mama, do not worry over me for one minute more.”

  She squeezed my hand. “You are the best of daughters.”

  “I shall be sure to inform Rachel on her next visit that she has fallen from grace.” I tried to ignore the snaking guilt inside me. I was not the best of daughters. I was far, far from it.

  She gave a smile at my jest, but it soon faded. “But if it is not Mr. Hambley, what has bothered you so much these last few days?”

  Here it was, another chance to tell my mother everything I kept locked away. I could tell her about Edward, ask her about Papa. But the truth no longer held the appeal it once had.

  I was too frightened of it.

  “I think Juliana is right and I did catch Olivia’s cold.” Each word felt like oil, slimy. “I shall rest more and be back to normal before long.”

  Mama did not look particularly convinced, but as I was lying through my teeth, I could hardly blame her. Thankfully, our carriage came to a stop in front of Mrs. Notley’s dress shop, and I grasped at the chance to escape. I opened the door and made the small jump to the road, not waiting for the coachman to lower the step and help me down.

  “Rebecca,” Mama said from behind me, reproachful. “You should not jump down like that. You could twist your ankle or catch your dress.”

  “Sorry,” I muttered as the coachman came around and lowered the step. “I hate waiting.”

  She took the coachman’s hand and descended gracefully, one hand holding her skirts. “Patience is the mark of a lady, my dear.”

  Patience. I was not good at patience. I was not good at a lot of things, really, but normally, I did not feel that deficiency so keenly as I did now.

  “Good day, Miss Rowley.”

  My insides jumped as if the ground had suddenly shifted beneath me. Nicholas stood near the dress shop window, and he stepped forward, that crooked smile playing about his lips.

  “Lieutenant Avery,” Mama said as she moved to my side. “Good day to you.”

  He bowed. “Mrs. Rowley.”

  I curtsied, straightening slowly as I ordered my uneven pulse to steady. Nicholas wore a dark jacket with a carefully knotted cravat and blue waistcoat. I could not deny that he looked rather well as he was, but he somehow seemed less himself than he had the other day at the meadow.

  “What errands have brought you to town today?” Mama asked.

  “Shopping, I’m afraid.” He grimaced as if shopping were akin to losing a leg.

  “It is not the gallows, Lieutenant,” I said wryly.

  He leaned toward me. “It might as well be with Olivia.”

  “Ah. That makes a bit more sense.” I glanced around. “Where is she?”

  He nodded at Mrs. Notley’s shop behind us. “Finishing a fitting.”

  Mama tipped her head. “How kind of you to take an interest in such things. You are a most attentive brother, Lieutenant Avery.” She shot me a pointed glance, which I ignored. She did not have to know I was already thinking the same thing. Even when Olivia scowled and complained and argued, he cared for her. I could recognize an admirable quality when I saw one, but that did not mean I was setting my cap for him.

  Nicholas shifted his weight. “Attentive may not be the right word since I escaped out here as soon as I was able.”

  “As I cannot think of any man who enjoys a dress shop,” I said, “I daresay you have paid your dues.”

  “Quite thankfully too,” he agreed. Then his eyes sharpened on me. “Actually, Miss Rowley, I am fortunate to have crossed paths with you.”

  “But not me, I see,” Mama said, straightening her hat with a pert expression.

  Nicholas laughed. “You as well, Mrs. Rowley. I only mentioned Miss Rowley because of the school.”

  “Juliana’s school?” I asked. “What about it?”

  He glanced back at the shop door, no doubt to check if Olivia was emerging. “I thought to perhaps bring Olivia by to see it, but I hadn’t any idea if that would be disruptive or if your sister preferred an appointment.”

  I shook my head. “Of course she would not mind. But have you told Olivia that she will be attending?”

  “Not yet. I am hoping your plan from the other day might be effective. Let her adjust to the idea more slowly.”

  Mama was watching the two of us most attentively. Of course. I hadn’t told her about helping find a place for Olivia. Naturally, she would again read far more into our conversation than what it was.

  “I don’t suppose you would . . .” Nicholas shook his head. “But you are engaged, of course.”

  I choked. Had he truly said that aloud? He saw my reaction and furrowed his brow. Did he not realize my mother stood right beside me?

  “Otherwise engaged, that is,” he said slowly, still watching me with confusion. “This morning. Surely, you’ve somewhere to be.”

  My shaking hands fiddled with my reticule. Of course that is what he’d meant. “Y-yes. That is, no. We thought to visit Mrs. Notley’s, but we’ve no firm obligations.”

  I did not dare glance at Mama. She must have noticed my bizarre reaction, and bringing even more attention to it would certainly not help.

  “I only wondered if you would accompany us.” He clasped his hands behind his back. “To the school, I mean. Olivia has taken a liking to you, and perhaps it might ease some discomfort if you were there.”

  “Of course you must go,” Mama insisted. “If it would help that sweet girl.”

/>   Sweet? Hardly. And I wasn’t particularly delighted to be volunteered for this mission. I was still rattled by Nicholas’s accidental almost admission of my biggest secret. I’d much rather disappear into the dress shop behind us and spend an hour sorting through fabrics and fashion plates.

  Olivia chose that moment to step out onto the street and glance around. She spotted me, and although she did not smile, her brow lifted. Perhaps she had taken a liking to me.

  Or perhaps she only liked strawberry tarts.

  “Good day, Olivia,” Mama said kindly as the girl joined us. “How was your dress fitting?”

  “Well enough,” Olivia said, frowning. “Mrs. Notley talks too much.”

  Mama covered her mouth, but I knew she was laughing. Olivia did not notice as she looked up at Nicholas. “Are we finished? Can we leave now?”

  Nicholas cleared his throat. “Not quite yet, Olivia. Miss Rowley here was just suggesting an excursion I thought you might be interested in.”

  Oh, I was, was I?

  But with Olivia, Mama, and Nicholas all watching me expectantly, I had no choice. “Yes. I was. We planned to visit my sister’s school here in town and wondered if you’d like to accompany us.”

  “A school,” Olivia said.

  “A boarding school for girls,” I explained. “It’s a lovely place, and I think you might like it. There are a great many girls your age there.”

  “Oh.” She tried to hide it, but a flicker of interest crossed her eyes.

  “What do you think, Olivia?” Nicholas crouched beside her. She was so small that he nearly knelt to the ground. “Shall we go for a visit?”

  She shrugged, trying for nonchalance. “I suppose. We’ve nothing better to do.”

  From Olivia, that was practically a resounding yes. I sighed. It would be good for her, and perhaps for me, if I was being honest. I needed a distraction from all my thoughts of Papa and Mr. Bainbridge and Edward.