by Anna Bradley
Cornell worked quickly. He removed Connor’s coat, upper clothes, and boots, and then wrapped his great coat around his body to try and bring back up his body temperature using his own heat. Then he began to pound on his back to try and force up any water that might have gathered in his lungs.
After what seemed to be an eternity, Connor finally opened his eyes on a gasp, and began to cough and sputter, color flooding back into his face. Cornell lowered his head. While that procedure hadn’t always worked in the past, he’d prayed that this time it would.
“Oh, thank God!” Pleasant came rushing over to them, Niall and Fiona were on her heels. They all wore similar expressions of relief. She brought Connor’s head to her breast through a flood of tears trailing down her face. “Don’t ever scare me like that again!”
“I’m sorry…Pea,” he rasped.
Cornell gently took her brother from her and lifted him into his arms. “Let’s get you home, shall we?”
Pleasant stopped him before he could go, laying a hand on his arm. “Thank you,” she whispered. And in that moment, from all the gratitude he’d ever received in his life, either from battle or a compliment from his well-made shoes, Cornell knew this was the greatest one of all.
He was about to hail another hackney when a black, lacquered barouche pulled up near the entrance to the park. The hood was up, but as the door opened and a man stepped to the ground, his identity was clear. The earl spied him and noted the boy in his arms with a frown. “Cornell? What’s happened?”
Cornell fought against his pride and strode toward his half-brother. “He fell in the lake. We need to get him home as quickly as possible.”
“Then let me offer you the use of my carriage.” Xavier spoke to his driver. “Mr. Reed is a close…friend. Take him wherever he instructs you.”
The servant nodded as a woman and two small children exited the vehicle. They were silent, but observant as they stared at Cornell. Since he seemed to be unable to speak, he was glad when Pleasant took it upon herself to do it for him.
“Thank you, Lord Haverton. It seems I am indebted to you once again.”
“It’s not necessary,” he returned, although he looked to Cornell. “However, if you might convince Mr. Reed to come by the townhouse for supper one evening—”
“I’m afraid that’s impossible,” Cornell stated firmly, as he climbed into the carriage with Connor.
He thought he heard Miss Hill tell Xavier that she would do her best to convince him to call, and then she ushered Niall and Fiona inside and they quickly set off.
Cornell could tell that Pleasant was curious about his behavior toward the earl, so he felt compelled to explain, “I have my reasons for distancing myself from the earl.”
With Fiona on her lap, and Niall sitting beside her, she returned, “It’s not my place to pry, and of course, you have the right to your own opinion toward Lord Haverton, but he did us a great service today, something that not many men of his ilk would do for the lower classes.”
Cornell fell silent, for he couldn’t very well argue against the truth.
Granted, Pleasant didn’t know the personal connection between him and Xavier, but neither had he felt so guilty for his curt behavior. He’d always imagined his half-brother to be cut from the same cloth as their father, had been biding his time to wait for his true nature to be revealed, but it hadn’t taken him long to deduce that Xavier was nothing like the previous earl. He actually had a kind heart, and it seemed his intentions toward Cornell were genuine. For the first time, it made him wonder if perhaps a relationship with the earl might actually be possible.
However, as they arrived at Pleasant’s lodgings, he pushed any further thought of Haverton aside for the moment. After they sent the driver back to Hyde Park, Cornell carried Connor inside. The moment Mrs. Hill saw her son in his arms, she gasped and struggled to her feet where she’d been sitting and doing some mending. Once Pleasant calmly explained what had occurred, her stepmother’s eyes shone with tears. “Oh, my poor boy!”
She led the way upstairs to the loft where five narrow beds were laid out in a neat row. Cornell had to duck in spite of the low ceiling as he laid Connor on his cot.
“Niall, come and help me with your brother,” Mrs. Hill instructed.
“Fiona and I will make some soup,” Pleasant offered, as she took her sister’s hand and led her back downstairs. Cornell did the same.
Now that the tragedy of the day had been averted, Cornell noticed that, as Pleasant went to fetch a pot for the stove, her hand was trembling. She was likely thinking of what could have happened.
He covered her hand with his, and she stiffened slightly. “Why don’t you sit down for a bit and let me and Fiona take care of this.” He winked at the little girl, who smiled back shyly.
Pleasant shook her head. “I couldn’t ask that—”
“I’m offering my services.” He gently took the pot from her, and she sighed wearily.
“Thank you, Mr. Reed.”
He merely nodded in return and turned his attention to Fiona.
Later, as he was preparing to leave, his coat and hat in place, Pleasant’s stepmother reached out and hugged him. “Thank you for everything, Mr. Reed. I don’t know how I will ever repay your kindness in saving my son.”
Once Connor was in some dry clothes, some broth warming his belly, he was almost the same, spirited boy he’d been before his rather unfortunate tumble into an icy pond. It never failed to amaze Cornell how resilient children were. Now, he cleared his throat, rather uncomfortable with her praise. “There’s no need for that, Mrs. Hill. I’m just glad I was able to help.”
Aine ushered Niall and Fiona back upstairs to see Connor, while Pleasant was left alone with him. She walked him to the door, where they paused, right underneath the mistletoe. He glanced up and his lips twitched. “How convenient, wouldn’t you say?”
She blushed slightly. “It’s just a silly tradition. You don’t have to—”
He cut her off by pressing his lips to hers.
Her response was instant. She melted into the embrace, and a rush of desire fled to his nether regions. He imagined laying her down on his bed, her gorgeous red hair spread out across his pillow, her naked body tempting him beyond all reason…
He pulled away with great resistance. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
Cornell huddled in the warmth of his coat as he walked back to his shop. No doubt, the long walk in the cold would do him some good.
However, when he arrived, he was greeted with a surprise guest.
“Frank,” he acknowledged curtly. Reluctantly, he unlocked the door and let the man inside. Mr. Frank Ottfield was a warden of the Worshipful Company of Tylers and Brickmakers. He was a large brute of a man and carried a lot of influence due to his massive size.
“Reed,” was the clipped response, as the man entered and stomped the snow from his boots. “I ’ope ye have somethin’ to drink on this bugger o’ a night.”
Cornell snorted, but after he’d removed his outerwear, he gestured for the man to follow him upstairs to his suite of rooms. The area was open and plainly furnished, with a fireplace in one corner of the modest sitting area. A single door led off of the main room to the left, into his private quarters, while a simple kitchen area was off to the right. He went to grab an extra glass and then returned to the table where a half bottle of brandy sat.
He often enjoyed a dram of brandy before bed, but now he poured a second draught and handed it to Mr. Ottfield who had taken a chair by the fire. “To what do I owe the honor?”
Frank didn’t respond right away, but drank slowly from the tumbler. “I was tasked wit’ gettin’ yer vote.”
Cornell sat down and propped his booted foot over his knee. “With over a hundred livery companies in this city, you’re worried about mine?”
“Many men in this city look up t’ ye after yer service in th’ wars. They respect ye an’ that makes ye valuable.”
He narrowed hi
s eyes. “I told you before that I don’t care for politics.”
“Even when it puts yer trade in jeopardy?” Frank countered. “London is movin’ past our boundaries. Trade is growin’ past our reach, so if we want t’ continue t’ be taken seriously, it’s time we did somethin’ about it. There needs t’ be a reform t’ protect th’ workin’ class people.”
He tapped his finger on the glass. “What exactly is it that you’re proposing we do? Start a revolt? Sign a petition?”
“If it comes down t’ it.”
In that instant, Cornell knew that this situation could get rather serious if left unattended. While he understood Frank’s point of view, neither could he ignore his conscience when it came to betraying his half-brother’s involvement in the guilds.
He tossed back the rest of his drink, relishing the burn. He’d faced many adversaries in his years on board a ship, but this might be his most difficult. But then, even he knew that when a man was fighting for a cause he believed in, the stakes were much higher. He rose to his feet. “I’m afraid that I’ll have to regrettably decline.”
Frank also stood, his mouth turned down at the corners in disappointment. “Ye’re makin’ a mistake.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Cornell mumbled; as he headed back downstairs, putting an end to the meeting.
As Frank was getting ready to head out the door, he turned back to Cornell with a grim expression. “Ye might be makin’ several enemies by choosin’ t’ decline our offer.”
His eyes instantly narrowed. “I don’t appreciate threats, Mr. Ottfield,” he said softly.
Frank shoved his hat on his head. “Then consider it a friendly warning to change your mind.”
Cornell uttered a curse as the man left. This entire uprising was going to get out of hand unless he contacted someone who had enough power to nip this revolution in the bud.
It looked as though he was going to pay a call on Lord Haverton after all.
CHAPTER SIX
After a relatively mild day, Pleasant awoke to a light snowfall the next morning. By the time she made it to work, her bonnet and cloak were covered in white. But as she walked into the warm shop, she was instantly enveloped in a sensation that wasn’t far from the feeling when she greeted her family.
After yesterday, Cornell Reed was quickly becoming much more to her than just an employer. The kisses he’d given her had turned her knees to jelly, and she found that her dreams were filled with thoughts of him. She had taken this position as an apprentice to try and give her siblings and her stepmother a deserving holiday, and yet, she was the one who was finding something altogether different in the process.
However, when she walked in the shop, Mr. Reed was pacing the floor, almost impatiently. He glanced up when she entered. “Good. I’m glad you’re here. I have something to ask you,” he announced brusquely.
She slowly removed her outerwear and waited for him to continue.
He hesitated, shoved a hand through his hair, and then blurted, “I have accepted an invitation from Lord Haverton for a private dinner this Saturday.”
Pleasant smiled. “Oh, but that’s wonderful! I’m sure you’ll have a fabulous time, but I don’t see what that has to do with—”
His eyes nearly bored into her. “I’d like you to come with me.”
Pleasant’s mouth fell open, but she quickly snapped it shut. She glanced down at her serviceable, woolen dress and her cheeks instantly warmed. “I’m not sure that I have anything appropriate to wear,” she demurred.
He waved a hand. “I’ll take care of it. Just say you’ll come.”
“I—” She swallowed, ready to refuse again when she saw the abrupt swirl of emotion in his green eyes. It was a combination of determination and…something else, something almost…yearning. Unfortunately, when her siblings gave her the same look she was helpless to deny them anything. She clasped her hands together. “Of course, Mr. Reed. I’d be honored.”
Relief flooded his face and he walked toward her. “I’m indebted to you, Miss Hill.” He lifted his hand and she steadied herself for another kiss, but suddenly, the little bell above the shop tinkled. His arm fell as a customer walked in.
Pleasant used the interruption to duck into the back of the shop.
For the rest of the morning, she threw herself into her work, desperate to push Mr. Reed out of her thoughts.
It wasn’t until lunchtime that he approached her again. “Do you know where Madame Caron’s shop is?”
Pleasant set down her tools and wiped her hands on her apron. “Yes. Mother does quite a bit of seamstress work for her.”
He handed her a slip of paper. “Good. These are my instructions for your gown. Tell her if she has any questions to contact me directly.”
She visibly swallowed. “About that, Mr. Reed.” She paused. “It seems I spoke rather hastily earlier. I’m sure Mama can alter one of my current dresses so that it’s acceptable—”
His mouth kicked up in a grin. “I’ll see you shortly, Miss Hill.”
With that, he promptly turned on his heel.
***
Twenty minutes later, after a short walk, Pleasant entered the modiste’s shop. A middle-aged woman who was slightly plump with deep red hair and wearing a fashionable empire gown of burgundy velvet turned. She looked Pleasant up and down and scrunched her nose slightly; as if she was disappointed Pleasant wasn’t some well-to-do lady upon whom she might wait.
Even so, she was courteous enough when she said, “Good day, Miss Hill. I trust there isn’t any issue with the commissions I gave your mother.”
“None at all,” Pleasant returned.
The modiste eyed her curiously. “In that case, how may I assist you?”
For reply, Pleasant held out the missive Mr. Reed had given her. The lady lifted a brow, but she broke the seal and read the contents. “Ah. The cordwainer.” This time she peered at Pleasant with a bit more interest, and it made her wonder what he’d written. “He has very good taste.” She gestured toward the back room. “Come with me.”
Pleasant was soon stripped down to her stays, chemise, and drawers, while the lady and her assistant measured and chatted amongst themselves in French. It made her feel entirely self-conscious, especially when the modiste lifted a hand and touched the hem of her chemise as if it was distasteful. “Are these cotton…garments the only ones you have?”
She glanced down at her worn and mended underthings and lifted her chin. “They are for necessity, not appearance.”
The lady clucked her tongue. “These will not do for the dress Mr. Reed is requesting. While it is fine not to wear a petticoat with your current fashion, a satin gown must have a full ensemble to be acceptable in polite society.” She turned to her assistant and began to list everything from new stays to silk stockings.
Pleasant started to panic, and tried to cut in. “I’m sure that’s not necessary. If it is only for one evening, I can alter—”
“No. You must be outfitted properly.” The lady held up a hand. “Mr. Reed specifically said that no expense was to be spared.”
Pleasant clenched her hands, but didn’t try to argue further. She would merely take it up with her employer.
Once the modiste was satisfied that she had all the measurements she required, Pleasant donned her plain gray dress. When she heard the modiste make a sound of regret, she turned around.
“Such a pity you must cover up that gorgeous figure in rough, serviceable cotton garments. But…” Madame grinned. “Mark my words, you will look like a different woman in a Caron gown. I will not send this one to your mother, but rather I shall sew it myself. It will become one of my greatest creations.”
***
The moment Pleasant returned to the cordwainer’s shop, she intended to speak with him about the cost of the extra items that Madame Caron had added to the list, but he didn’t even ask how the fitting went, only handed her a slip of paper and said curtly, “These take precedence over everything else. It
’s a rush order.”
In light of his demeanor, any protests she had instantly withered. She didn’t wish to upset him any more than he already appeared to be. “Of course, Mr. Reed.”
Pleasant immediately walked into the back of the shop and put on her apron. But when she glanced at the special request, a burst of yearning shot through her and she couldn’t help but sigh. The customer had requested a delicate pair of satin slippers with gold embellishments. They sounded lovely, and quite expensive, and she couldn’t help but wonder who would have the pleasure of owning such artwork.
Just once, Pleasant wanted to be able to purchase something as fine, but then, it wasn’t as if she would ever have an occasion to wear them anywhere.
Either way, the order would likely take her two days to complete, with all the intricate beading that was required, but she would devote all her time and energy to finish them in a timely manner and make Mr. Reed, and his shop, proud.
When it was time to close, Mr. Reed joined her to see how she was faring. When he noticed the slippers starting to take shape, he picked them up and examined them carefully. He nodded his head. “Very good work, Miss Hill. I can find no fault with them.”
“Thank you, Mr. Reed.” She appreciated his praise, but she paused, wondering if he might say anything else, for it seemed odd that they should have reverted back to such formality when the day before he had kissed her quite senseless and saved her brother from certain death. But it was as if they had glossed over that part this morning.
Then again, he had asked her to join him for dinner at the earl’s home, so at least that was something.
However, when he didn’t seem inclined to continue the conversation, she began to gather her things to leave.
“Miss Hill?”
She paused to face him once more. He walked forward, and she held her breath, her heart beating furiously in her chest. He stopped in front of her and reached out to play with a strand of her hair that was still uncovered. He rubbed the lock between his thumb and forefinger, and then released her. “I never asked you how Connor was faring.”
