by Betina Krahn
“Oooh, that sound’s lovely. Champagne and flowers and breakfast in bed. And I want a bath with bubbles . . . you could join me . . .” Her tongue started tracing the edge of her teeth as her mind tried to ward off more enticing images.
He laughed and hugged her tightly. “Anything you say. Just put away that delicious little tongue or I won’t be held responsible.”
In a romantic fog they crossed the gangway and ran into three semi-irate parents and one anxious aunt.
“Where in blazes have you been?” Lawrence demanded.
“You might have told me you were charging off to rescue your bride,” Horace declared irritably.
“This is going to be a horrendous scandal.” Caroline looked as if she hadn’t slept in days.
“Never mind that,” Auntie A said, opening her arms to Lauren, who gladly filled them. “How are you, dear? We’ve been worried sick.”
She hugged her father next, then Caroline, and last of all Horace.
She was beaming and Rafe looked ready to burst his shirt buttons.
“What’s happened to you?” Lawrence held her out at arm’s length, looking her over. “You both look like you’re . . . you’re . . .”
“Happy?” Lauren supplied. “We are. We are also newlyweds.”
“You’re married?” Caroline said, torn between shock and delight.
“I was kidnapped, I nearly drowned, Rafe rescued me, we captured a wicked gang of smugglers and thieves, and the captain—who is a friend of Rafe’s—agreed to marry us yesterday. Ask Barclay Howard if you don’t believe us. He was there.” She looked around at the drooping mouths and smiled. “So . . . there won’t be any scandal and I’m reliably informed that after our marriage is announced in the papers, there will be no further Angel articles.”
She looked up at Rafe. “Have I left anything out?”
“A few things. We can tell them later about Ledbetter owning Consolidated and the tons of incriminating evidence we discovered.”
“What?” Horace practically yelped. “Details, boy, details! The magistrate dismissed the charges against us, but it turns out Ledbetter’s friends in high places got him out of jail. He’s crowing now about how he’s in line for the secretary’s post and claiming I’ve bribed the magistrate and other such nonsense.”
Rafe sighed and looked at Lauren, who shared his sense of “if only.”
“This is all very interesting,” he said. “But see that gentleman over there?” He pointed to a balding, older fellow who was squinting at them. “His name is Merrell Hampstead and he’s got a ton of luggage and boxes. He needs a place to stay and work. It’s important work. Who wants him?”
Aunt Amanda gave him a looking over and nodded firmly. “We’ll take him. But he’d better not be a spitter. I can’t abide a man who spits.”
Lauren smiled and gave her aunt another hug. “He’s yours. He needs new spectacles right away and he’s very fond of plum pudding. As Rafe said, he’s doing vital work, so treat him well.”
“Right now,” Rafe declared, “we intend to start on our honeymoon and we’ve hardly slept a wink in two days. We’re headed for Claridge’s and don’t want to be disturbed for at least a week. Just send us some clothes and wish us well. We’ll take care of the rest.”
He waved over the cab that had just returned from taking Jims home and helped Lauren in. Once settled, he stretched out an arm, inviting her to snuggle against him. She quickly accepted.
“That went better than I expected,” he said.
“It’s always best to give parents just a little information at a time,” she said, lifting her mouth for a kiss. “Don’t want to overwhelm the poor dears.” One good kiss deserved another. “Imagine the fuss they’d make if they learned I’d been shot.”
* * *
Claridge’s was regal and comfortable and probably more expensive than they wanted to know. But it was the best place to be paradoxically both pampered and ignored. There were flowers and champagne in the sitting room and fluffy French linens and perfumed soaps in the attached bathing room. A maid came to draw them a bath in a huge tub. Lauren went first, eagerly shedding her clothes and sliding past rafts of bubbles into the warm, scented water. She couldn’t dip her injured shoulder into the water, but otherwise it was heavenly.
Rafe peeked in and saw her luxuriating in a grand tub that practically shouted it was meant for two. He removed his shirt, trousers, and smalls and climbed in beside her. He didn’t miss the eager way her eyes roamed him and chuckled privately.
“You are one tasty little morsel,” he said, giving his hands free rein and surprised to feel her exploring him as well.
“I’m not a morsel. I’m a woman. And a wife. I don’t think I’ve ever been happier.” He kissed the tip of her nose and the curve of her neck, then braved the bubbles to kiss the tips of her breasts. “You know what I want?” she said with a doelike sweetness in her eyes.
“Name it. It’s yours,” he murmured against her ear.
“Kiss me. And don’t stop until I ask you to.”
The rumble deep in his throat was agreement.
He obliged until they were forced to move to the bed to continue their wedding night festivities. They explored and laughed and played and cuddled. By morning it was time for more baths, these taken separately.
When Lauren exited the bathing room wrapped in one towel and drying her hair with another she caught sight of him, naked against the sheets. He was not just handsome, he was splendid in every respect. Someday she would have to allay Aunt Amanda’s fears about his performance as a lover. But not today. He was everything she could have hoped for . . . and so much more.
As she swayed toward him, he glanced up only briefly before returning to his book. She was surprised and dipped her head to look at the title on the spine.
“You’re finally reading it?” She wagged her head in disbelief.
“I thought I’d better bone up on this ‘hero’ business. Besides, Barclay read it and said it was wonderful.”
“You don’t need this,” she said, her voice husky. She tried to tug the book from his hands. He didn’t let it go, but his attention did shift to the way the towel drooped, baring a good bit of skin.
“But I thought you wanted a hero,” he said, finally letting the book slide from his fingers.
“I have a hero.” She tossed the book aside. “A strong, brave, thoughtful, insightful, brilliant . . . passionate . . . hero.”
She was crawling up the bed toward him, leaving no doubt of what she intended.
“But you said you wanted an Ivanhoe,” he said, watching her make her way up his legs as her gaze locked with his.
She gave a throaty laugh.
“Why would I want an Ivanhoe when I have you?”
Epilogue
Eighteen months later
It was a wonderful late March day. Daffodils were blooming all over London and people were out on the streets everywhere, enjoying the uncharacteristically fine weather. Florist shops and stalls were doing a fine pre-Easter business, and new shoes and bonnets were in high demand. So, when Rafe came home from his office, midday, and insisted Lauren get her hat and gloves and come with him, she naturally assumed it would be one of those pick-out-a-new-hat sorts of outings. He was so good about remembering holidays and treating her to small gifts and little little treasures.
He had their driver put the top down on the Alcott carriage and they enjoyed the ride through Kensington and into the City. The City was hardly a place for shopping, she thought, but she was even more surprised to find them driving out of the City and into a much less prosperous neighborhood.
Traffic was a snarl on the narrow streets, but they finally reached their destination . . . a large building with several recently installed windows. A painting crew was busy finishing the front of the place, as evidenced by the canvas draped over the main doors and spread on the pavement in front of the building. He led her inside what looked like a new entrance, and it was clear the inter
ior was freshly painted as well.
“What is this place?” she asked, pausing in the center hallway. There were gaslights and new tile on the floors. Several doors led off the main hallway, but they were closed. If this was a new store, it was the strangest one she had ever seen. At the far end of the hallway they stopped just outside two large double doors, where he took her hand and looked into her eyes.
“This is your birthday present, sweetheart. I hope you like it.”
She frowned, totally confused, as he opened the doors to a huge, high-ceilinged room with a crowd of people inside. There were tables and chairs and a huge banner stretched across the room above a table containing a stepped layer cake with two serving ladies standing by to cut it. Jims Gardiner came running, grinning, and threw his arms around her.
“Ain’t it grand, miz? My ma is ’ere. Come meet ’er.”
She did meet Mrs. Gardiner and greeted Jims’s sisters, who were dressed in their Sunday best. There were a lot of children present and parents—mostly mothers. Then she spotted her father near the cake table, chatting with Caroline and Horace Townsend. Not far away, her aunt and Merrell Hampstead were showing the children bins of balls and piles of new jump ropes.
That was when it hit her, and she turned to Rafe with rising hope.
“What is going on?”
“Did you read the sign, sweetheart?” He pointed to the banner, and the words brought tears to her eyes. It read: “Welcome to Alcott School.”
“A school with my family’s name on it?” she said, wondering how that could be.
“With your name on it. Lauren Alcott Townsend.”
“But how . . . ?” She still wasn’t seeing it. He smiled.
“I built you a school, sweetheart. For you and the children you worry about . . . who wouldn’t otherwise learn to read.”
Tears flooded her eyes, making it hard to see anything but his wonderful face. She was especially emotional recently, since she found she was expecting. For a moment she couldn’t see, couldn’t speak . . . could only hold on to his arm and let joy have its unpredictable way with her.
“You extraordinary man. What did I ever do to deserve someone as wonderful as you?” She reached up to stroke his cheek, and a couple of children chasing balls around the room bumped into them, jarring the tears loose. He handed her two handkerchiefs. He often carried extras just for her these days.
Her father whistled for attention and had everyone sing a happy birthday song to her as she sniffed and wiped tears.
The mothers present were beaming, some dabbing happy tears from their eyes, too. They came to her one or two at a time, sharing how they feared their children might never learn to read and cipher—might never have a chance for a better life. They thanked her and blessed her. Some even called her an angel for giving their children a chance to learn and grow and make the world a better place.
“But it’s not me,” she said, looking to Rafe. “You’re the one who did this. You’re the one who planned it and brought it to life.”
“Oh, Angel, you don’t understand. I did this for you because you are the light of my life. Because of you I see the world differently and I value different things . . . like reading and feeding children and giving them a chance to grow into capable young adults. It is your school. Yours and these children’s.” He leaned closer to whisper. “I love you, Lauren Alcott Townsend. Happy birthday.”
She was suddenly so full of happiness that she wanted to hug everyone she saw. She very nearly did as she made her way around the room. Then she came to a man she thought looked familiar. When he turned, holding two young children’s hands, she was struck speechless for a moment. When she recovered her voice she had only one word.
“Rector.”
He gave her a wince of a smile. “Miss—Mrs. Townsend. It’s plain vicar now. I’m at St Martha’s, just a block over.” He held up the little ones’ hands. “These are some of my parishioners. Their mothers were working and couldn’t come, so I said I would . . . um . . .”
“I’m glad you brought them. They’re very welcome here.”
A peaceful feeling settled inside her as she turned away and sought Rafe’s company.
“Are you all right?” he asked. “Do you want to sit down for a few minutes?”
She was about to protest that she was fine when her mother-in-law arrived at her side and took her husband to task.
“You can’t keep her standing like this in her condition. Goodness, Rafe, have a thought for her.”
Lauren laughed and looked at Rafe as Caroline ushered her to a nearby chair and put a big piece of cake in her hands. She pulled over a chair beside Lauren’s and leaned closer.
“I know you’re mad about him, but sometimes men need to be reminded of the important things, you know?” Caroline said.
“Oh, I think he’s rather good with the important things.” She took a bite of cake and sighed as she spotted him smiling at her across her new school’s gymnasium. “In fact, your son is my hero.”
Afterword
I hope you’ve enjoyed Rafe and Lauren’s story. Rarely have I laughed this much when writing a book. I adore these characters and I so enjoyed bringing them together and helping them see the good in each other.
This story started with an incident based on real life. My beloved niece literally jumped out of a canoe and saved two women whose boat had overturned in a fast-moving stream . . . while her date sat in their canoe watching. I thought it was a fascinating story and might be a dynamite beginning for a book. Little did I know how hard I would have to work (after such a start) to get this pair together!
One thing that struck me while writing this book was how history repeats itself. The Panic of 1873, in the UK, was just such an occurrence. It has eerie parallels to our current situation, starting with fear, panic buying, runs on banks, and the imposition of tariffs that dominoed across Europe and resulted in high prices and a sluggish economy in many countries. Protectionism, it was called then. It’s still called that today. And it’s still creating almost as many problems as it solves.
The choice of trading companies as a focus for family businesses was a natural once I learned of the “panic.” And I learned that ships did “stand off ” in the harbor, sometimes for weeks, to protest tariffs. It seemed a great place to insert danger, heroic action, and a bit of fun . . . while Lauren and Rafe learn about each other and begin to fall in love.
As to the actual operation of the harbor and the historical Customs House (which is still there, by the way) . . . a lot of research went into the few details of docking fees, customs regulations, and the kinds of intrigue that some officials and shipping companies engaged in.
Another aspect of the story that followed historical accounts was Lauren’s experience with a church-run school. At the time of this story, 1880, mandatory education was relatively new. Most primary schools had been begun and were maintained by churches. During this time church schools demanded strict codes of conduct, and teachers’ activities were closely monitored. Yes, women teachers were fired for reading inappropriate materials (like novels!) or attending theaters or music halls. Teaching contracts from the period on both sides of the Atlantic were draconian by modern standards.
The details of commercial vessels of the period are a bewildering mix of technologies and designs. But most commercial vessels of that date had sails and depended primarily on wind power. The addition of paddle wheels was necessary because of the failure of wind power in specific locations, like the Suez Canal. The fathers in the book bemoaned the fact that sailing ships could not “sail” it and had to be towed through the canal at a prohibitive cost.
Another historical tidbit I used in the story was the use of hatpins as weapons. There was a period in Victorian London (later in the United States) when women were accosted on the street by “mashers” who “flirted” too vigorously. Not only were there catcalls, there were bustle gropes and other touches that made women afraid to walk in some areas. Enterprising
ladies took to carrying their longer hatpins for self-protection. Men actually complained in some newspapers that women would stab them if they got too fresh!
One last thing: The penny papers were as addicting to Victorians as Facebook, Twitter, and YouTube are to people today. And yes, there was only advertising on the front page, where advertisers could get their money’s worth. Reporting was often full of half-truths. Once again history repeats itself.
I hope you’ve enjoyed Rafe and Lauren’s story and you’ll join me for another Hero adventure starring Barclay Howard, whose tough appearance and wolfish grin terrify proper Victorian ladies.
I would love to have you visit me at BetinaKrahn.com and leave a comment or a photo of you reading . . .
Looking for more historical romance from
Betina Krahn? Don’t miss the first book in her
Sin & Sensibility series…
A GOOD DAY TO MARRY A DUKE
From the New York Times bestselling Betina Krahn comes this beguiling new romance brimming with her signature wit and passion.
Daisy Bumgarten isn’t thrilled to be trying to catch a duke’s attention while dressed like a flowerpot caught in a swarm of butterflies. But, after all, when in Rome
(or in this case London society) . . .
Since her decidedly disastrous debut among New York’s privileged set, the sassy Nevada spitfire’s last chance to “marry well” lies across the pond, here in England. If she must restrain her free spirit, not to mention her rib cage, so be it. She knows she owes it to her three younger sisters to succeed.
Now, under a countess’s tutelage, Daisy appears the perfect duchess-in-training.... Until notorious ladies’ man Lord Ashton Graham, a distraction of the most dangerous kind, glimpses her mischievous smile and feisty nature—and attempts to unmask her motives. Daisy has encountered snakes on the range, but one dressed to the nines in an English drawing room is positively unnerving—and maddeningly seductive. When a veiled plot emerges to show up Daisy as unworthy of the aristocracy, will Ashton be her worst detractor? Or the nobleman she needs most of all?
