The Honorable Choice (Victorian Love Book 2)

by M. A. Nichols

  “No.” She spoke that single word with as much fervor and honesty as she’d ever felt in her life.

  The mere hope that he loved her had filled her with a near physical pain during their separation. Now, Ruby had uncompromising proof that Lucas loved her. To reject it now that marriage was within her grasp was unthinkable. Lucas was her heart and soul. Her life. And she would not survive his loss.

  “Please do not risk everything we have simply for the sake of pleasing your father, my dearest Ruby,” he whispered. Lucas’s bright eyes held her gaze, and she reveled in the love and desperation she saw there.

  “When shall we leave?” she asked.

  Chapter 1

  Three months later

  A home and a tomb are two very different things. Or they should be. But though the residents of Tulketh Court were yet among the living, there were few signs to distinguish the Jeffries house from the family plot.

  The interior had been the height of fashion once upon a time. Tiny windows allowed in minimal amounts of sunlight, and though the wood paneling was polished to a shine, the dark color swallowed the light rather than reflecting it. Ornate scrollwork surrounded the fireplace and decorated the ceiling, adding to the staid and stagnant atmosphere.

  Even the name sounded dour and unpleasant. Tulketh Court. Ruby had no recollection as to its origin, though she suspected her grandfather had chosen it because it sounded austere and commanding, as though this mighty building had stood watch over generations of Jeffries.

  Before Lucas, Ruby had been ignorant of the oppressive air in her home, but now it was impossible not to notice how her heart shrank whenever she crossed the threshold. The inn that had served as the locale for their makeshift wedding trip was hardly qualified as lodgings, but when wrapped in her husband’s embrace, it had been a veritable palace.

  And the world had dimmed at their parting.

  Working the needle through the fabric, Ruby stitched a string of flowers along the edge of the christening gown. Mama sat on the sofa opposite, though her eyes never strayed from her own work; if she thought it strange for Ruby to expend so much energy on a supposed gift for someone else’s child, the lady gave no hint of it.

  It was too early to know for certain, but Ruby could not deny the signs of her condition. Keeping her face turned to her stitches, she fought against the smile threatening to burst forth.

  A baby.

  Their baby.

  A flush of gratitude swept through her and settled into her heart, filling it with such deep-seated joy that Ruby feared she would burst. The sentiment fought against her composure, threatening to spill out and reveal her secret.

  But even as she reveled in that euphoria, a shadow of disappointment diluted her happiness. If only Lucas would return. Or send word. Give some sign that he was making progress in securing a home and an income. Ruby knew their temporary separation was for the best, but she felt its sting deep in her heart.

  Three weeks of wedded bliss had not been enough. Ruby wanted more than a few stolen days in the arms of her secret husband. And now, there was a child to consider.

  Ruby’s fingers worked nimbly along, her embroidery expanding from mere flowers into a pattern that mimicked the lace that was so popular on other dresses. Her heart flowed into the stitches, and though the white thread’s details were often lost among the white fabric, they enriched the pattern.

  A wife and soon-to-be mother. She could hardly believe it.

  The parlor door crashed open, making Ruby and her mother jump.

  “Is it true?” bellowed Papa, sweeping in like a typhoon. With a violent swipe of his hand, he cast a handful of pages at Ruby, the papers fluttering as they fell around her. One quick glance at the writing, and she knew her letter to Lucas had been discovered.

  Glowering and red-faced, her father fairly shook with anger as he towered over her.

  “Ruby?” Mama put aside her sewing, her wide eyes traveling between her husband and daughter.

  Papa turned away and faced his wife with the same burning glare. “Mr. Hoskins from the post office stopped me in the street to tell me he is concerned about our daughter and thought I ought to know she’s been corresponding with a man for some weeks.”

  Turning a hateful gaze to the offending papers scattered across the floor, Papa continued. “He handed me her latest missive to see for myself, and I had the honor of reading about her affair by her own hand.”

  Ruby’s shoulders curled, shrinking away from the disgust in his tone, but she could not remain silent. “It is not an affair, Papa, and there is nothing untoward about corresponding with my husband.”

  Mama gave a start, gasping and clutching her chest as though the words had mortally wounded her, while Papa stilled, staring at her with wide eyes as though he were a startled statue.

  “Husband?” He hissed the word and turned away, covering his eyes with one hand. His shoulders slumped as though that one word had taken all the strength he had. “You married Mr. Lucas Ashbrook?”

  Ruby struggled to find the proper words to explain the situation and settled on that which was most important. “I love him.”

  “You love him?” he parroted as he pinched his nose. “That cad? He has ruined many a young lady before and you’ve simply added your name to his list.”

  “Please do not speak of him so,” said Ruby, putting aside her sewing to stand and face them. “I admit that his attentions startled me at first, but Lucas has a true and loving heart.”

  Whirling around to face his daughter, Papa sneered. “He abandoned you.”

  But Ruby gave a vehement shake of her head. “We decided it was best we both return home for the time being. Lucas is in Lancashire at his family’s mill. Once he is established with a proper income and lodgings, he will send for me.”

  Pausing, Ruby took a fortifying breath and dropped her hands to the place where Lucas’s child rested. “He will send for us.”

  Mama gasped and turned away, but Papa’s red complexion faded to an ashen white as Ruby’s heart twisted in her chest. Her announcement should have been met with joy, but they acted as though she’d committed some mortal sin. Ruby was no fool. She’d known her actions would be a betrayal of her parents’ trust, but a marriage and baby were celebratory things—not the grave injustices their expressions implied.

  Relaxing, her father straightened his jacket and cuffs. “Then, we shall have to find the blackguard and make him do his duty.”

  “You do not have to make him do anything. He loves me,” replied Ruby, but her parents strode from the parlor, leaving her alone.

  ***

  With feet outstretched, Conrad Ashbrook leaned into the leather armchair and stared out the window at the garden. The phantom thrum of machines vibrated in his bones; though his parents’ home was far from the bustling cacophony of the mill, and the air felt empty without the noise and cotton filling it.

  “The workers are restless,” said Mr. Fields.

  That was no revelation but hearing the mill manager’s assessment in such stark terms gave Conrad pause.

  “They are always restless. As are their masters,” replied Father.

  His hand rested on the great wooden desk that fitted into the oriel window, though his attention was not on the lovely greenery outside; his eyes were fixed on the shelves of the study as Conrad examined his father’s profile. That quick smile of his was gone, and Father’s fingers tapped as his thoughts meandered through the quagmire they’d found themselves in.

  “Things have improved, and they expect the pay increase they were promised,” insisted Mr. Fields.

  “And we will not go back on our word,” said Conrad.

  Father nodded in agreement, though he remained silent.

  Conrad continued, “But it is foolhardy to move forward with such significant changes so soon. Profits are increasing, but our financial reserves are still low. The economy is finally righting itself, but to cut into those limited profits before we have a healthy store of fun
ds is risky. We only just made it through the past few years.”

  Mr. Fields’ brows rose. “Due in large part to the workers’ willingness to accept reduced wages, which the masters promised to reverse when possible. Less pay was preferable to losing their positions altogether, but if things are not righted soon, I fear we’ll have a strike on our hands.”

  Conrad sighed and stared out the window. He wished his conscience were cleaned as easily as the glass that glimmered in the sunlight. To increase wages was the honorable course of action but moving forward with such a large expense before refilling the mill’s coffers might cost them everything.

  Crossing his arms, Mr. Fields glanced between father and son. “Wallsworth Mills has done so, and Canwick will follow suit. If we choose not to, it could put us at risk of losing our best workers to them.”

  Conrad straightened. “That’s surprising.”

  “It is expected,” murmured Father, his eyes riveted to the shelves as though they held the answers to their mounting troubles. His fingers tapped along the wood, ticking in time with the clock on the corner of his desk. Turning to face the pair of them, Father nodded at Mr. Fields. “Thank you for your insight. We do not take such matters lightly, and we will consider it.”

  Getting to his feet, Mr. Fields gave them a brief bow and said, “They’ve been loyal to the mill through difficult times, sir. They deserve to be rewarded.”

  “Certainly,” said Father before Mr. Fields strode from the study, leaving the pair alone.

  “Do you think it wise to increase wages at present?” asked Conrad, though he felt sick at the thought of denying the much-needed funds to the workers. “If the economy takes another downturn—”

  “We would make it through as we have before. We are not wholly without aid—though I do not care for relying on the charity of our family or my skill at the card table. And our other investments have proved lucrative of late. It is feasible for us to move forward as Mr. Fields suggests.”

  Stretching his legs out much as his son had done moments ago, Ambrose Ashbrook crossed his arms and gazed at the fireplace behind Conrad. His tone clearly implied he had more to say, and when his father did not seem inclined to continue, Conrad prompted him.

  “But…?”

  Father’s dark eyes turned to meet Conrad’s. “I am more worried about the other masters. Mr. Culpepper is pushing for us to form a guild or association as they’ve done in Preston. He thinks it would benefit us all to stand together against the rising tide of Chartists and unions.”

  Though he knew he shouldn’t be surprised, Conrad still felt a spark of that emotion with a hefty dose of resentment. He was well aware of the unrest on both sides, but Mr. Culpepper had not spoken to him directly about such things, though Conrad was as much master of Newland Mills as Father.

  “You needn’t be offended, son.”

  He met his father’s gaze and saw a knowing gleam in his eyes, which only made Conrad scowl all the more.

  “They are slow to accept a young man into their ranks,” said Father. “Though some of them do have sons assisting with aspects of their business, none are as involved as you nor as young.”

  “I hardly think five and twenty is young.”

  Father grinned at that, though he did not reply. Conrad certainly felt as though he had earned the right to be counted as one of their own, but even he could recognize that a young man half their age was unlikely to inspire acceptance. And his father was right. Most of the rising generation of masters were enjoying a life of idleness and luxury until their fathers vacated their mantles.

  To his thinking, that was a short-sighted approach to business. Conrad could never imagine leaving something he’d built for years to someone who had neither the inclination nor skills to manage it—as his father seemed intent on doing.

  Conrad’s mouth pinched, his shoulders stiffening. Turning his gaze back to the window, he tried to ignore the tightness taking hold of his body. Would Lucas struggle to get the other masters or their sons to acknowledge him? Few could ignore Lucas Ashbrook when he strode into a room, for he was doubly blessed with good looks and their father’s affable air. If the fellow showed any inclination towards anything but his own pleasure, perhaps he might be a fine master—though Conrad doubted it.

  “What is the matter?” asked Father with a raised brow.

  Shaking his head, Conrad replied, “If the masters organize, Mr. Culpepper will see to it that wages remain as they are.”

  With an assessing glance, Father watched him for several long moments. Conrad kept his expression impassable, for there was no point in speaking the thoughts rolling about his head. For good or ill (and more likely the latter than the former), Lucas was the heir and that was unlikely to change.

  “What do you think we should do?” asked Father.

  Resting his elbows on the arm of the chair, Conrad took a moment before he responded. “A master’s association could help us weather the economic storms that are bound to come, and the wage issue could jeopardize it. Yet the workers may strike if we wait to reinstate their former pay. This is just another battle in the war to balance the needs of our workers, our pocketbook, and our peers. With a little more time, a solution may present—”

  The door swung open and young Susie swept into the room, her eyes wide. She gave a bob to father before saying, “Mr. Ashbrook, sir. The missus needs you.”

  Conrad wouldn’t think it an odd request except for the way the maid fidgeted, glancing back the way she came multiple times as he and Father rose to their feet. The girl did not hurry them along with words, but Conrad felt her unease, and he supposed Father did as well, for the fellow stepped quicker to the study door.

  In the hall, they heard a commotion coming from the parlor; though there were no raised voices, there was a sharpness in the air that had the two gentlemen moving faster to the source. Inside, they found Mother standing among a trio of strangers, trying to guide them to sit, though the gentleman in their party seemed determined not to do so.

  “Is this the bounder?” he asked, whirling on Conrad with a scowl.

  “Mr. Jeffries, if you would please take a seat, I am certain we can sort this out,” said Mother, motioning towards the sofas in the center of the room.

  “Your son has behaved abominably and abandoned my daughter. I demand to see him at once.”

  Conrad’s eyes darted to the younger of Mr. Jeffries’ companions, but the lady kept her gaze turned to the ground as though she wished to disappear into the floorboards.

  “Papa—” Her words died the moment Mr. Jeffries looked in her direction.

  “I am Mr. Ambrose Ashbrook, and this is my son, Conrad,” said Father, stepping forward to offer Mr. Jeffries his hand. “Might we sit and discuss what has brought you to our home?”

  Mr. Jeffries glanced at Father’s hand for a moment before taking it. With a nod, he motioned for the two ladies to take a seat, and he squeezed in beside them. As the seats weren’t truly intended for three people, Conrad chose to stand while his parents took the seat opposite. Taking a place to one side, he watched the trio as Mr. Jeffries turned to Father and explained.

  “Your son, Lucas, eloped with our daughter and then disappeared like some common thief. I demand to see him immediately.”

  Conrad straightened, his eyes widening as he stared at the lady in question. Mr. Jeffries’ second accusation was not such a shock, but when paired with the first, Conrad was left quite speechless. His mind tried to piece together a scenario in which Lucas would marry anyone, but it struggled to form any. When paired with the creature sitting on the sofa, Conrad was at an utter loss.

  Miss Jeffries was not hideous, but neither was she a beauty in any sense of the word. Her coloring was rather fetching; her hair was a shade of brown so dark that it was nearly black, which was striking against her pale skin. However, she did herself no favors by styling it in a simple bun, for it highlighted her plain features. Her nose looked as though someone had pinched it, twistin
g it upwards, giving her an appearance as though she were always looking down it at you. The situation was not helped by her thin lips, which looked harsh and unyielding.

  Everything from her rigid posture to the tightness in her expression bespoke of a lady who was more inclined to scold Lucas Ashbrook than elope with him. Though he could not tell her age precisely, Miss Jeffries looked to be around Lucas’s age, which placed her long out of the young, silly phase of life and into spinsterhood.

  Conrad could not understand what would have attracted his brother to her for any sort of dalliance, let alone marriage.

  Father turned to Miss Jeffries. “Might I ask when and where you were married?”

  “The details are unimportant,” said Mr. Jeffries, waving away Father’s question with a swipe of his hand. “I need to speak with your son immediately. He must be made to do right by his wife.”

  “I hate to disagree, but the details are very important,” said Father with a smile to soften his words, though they did not keep Mr. Jeffries from scowling.

  “You doubt my word?” he replied, leaning forward in his seat.

  Father raised his hands. “Certainly not. But I would like to hear the tale from your daughter if I might?”

  Mr. Jeffries leaned back and motioned for her to speak, and Miss Jeffries laid out succinctly the courtship and marriage. Hearing it from the source was no more believable than before, though Conrad did not doubt that the lady spoke true. Instinct rang through him insisting she was honest.

  But Lucas had married? The thought simply did not align with what Conrad knew of his eldest brother. Miss Jeffries was not attractive nor connected enough to make a marriage advantageous. Though her family clearly came from money, Lucas had gone missing, which did not put him in a position to benefit from that, either. Nor did Mr. Jeffries seem likely to turn over his daughter’s dowry of his own accord if the wedding had taken place without his blessing.