His Wayward Bride (Romance of the Turf Book 3)

by Theresa Romain

  He turned his back on the gaping Quigley, then retrieved the reins from the boy holding them. He handed over some coins for the boy’s trouble, then snapped the reins roughly to put the bays into a trot. Anything to get away, and quickly. To get out of sight of the shop.

  One street, then another, back westward. When he pulled up again on a quiet side street, he was breathing as hard as if he’d been the one pulling the carriage.

  He turned, chastened, expecting to see anger on the two faces he loved. “I’m sorry for that. So sorry.”

  Laurie looked up at Jonah, resignation in his expression. “It happens.”

  “It shouldn’t happen.”

  “Of course it shouldn’t!” Irene snapped. “But when you see that you’re dealing with a bigot, why subject us to more of his company? Get out of there at once!”

  “I’m sorry,” Jonah said again. “I didn’t realize what he meant.”

  “I realized as soon as he stopped smiling,” Irene said.

  “I did too,” Laurie added.

  “I told him Chandlers would no longer do business with him,” Jonah assured them.

  “Jonah. We need to protect our hearts more than we need you to protect your pocketbook.” Irene was quieter now. Subdued. Were her eyes teary again? He couldn’t tell with the distance between them. “You can go anywhere you like, but Laurie and I can’t. Our mother can’t. The law might say we can, but in truth…”

  “The law has nothing to do with the way many people live,” Jonah finished. “I’m sorry,” he said again, knowing it was not enough.

  “You’ve apologized,” Irene said. “Now use your power for good. What are you going to do about it?”

  Do you think I should not take action if I can do something to help?

  She’d told him that once, humbling him with her drive and resolve. And here she was, imploring him to do something with the resources he possessed.

  “To start,” Jonah said, “I’m going to take Laurie to a wainwright, just as I promised. Though it seems I don’t know a good one. Do you have any ideas?”

  Irene studied him, then nodded curtly. “Drive to Fleet Street. Ask there.”

  Fleet Street wasn’t far, as the crow flew, but it was in the Shoreditch neighborhood that Jonah didn’t know well. The landed gentry didn’t make their homes here. Instead, buildings were occupied by artisans and shopkeepers and clerks. It was a bustle, crowded and thriving, with buildings of gray stone or red brick divided into narrow slices. The air smelled of horses and baking and coal.

  “Home,” Laurie said behind Jonah, so quietly he almost missed the word.

  Not wasting a moment, Jonah called to a passing man who was eyeing the landau with interest. “Sir! Can you recommend a carriage builder nearby?”

  The dark-skinned man drew closer, curious. He scanned Jonah, then Laurie and Irene, before speaking. “Karmakar’s, one street to the east. You’ll likely find him at work at this hour.” Touching his hat to the trio, he added, “That’s a nice landau.”

  “Not built by a very nice man,” Laurie replied.

  The man smiled humorlessly. “I can guess what you mean. You won’t say the same about Karmakar, though. A better fellow I’ve never met.”

  “High praise,” Irene said. “Thank you, sir.”

  They went on their way then, and Jonah soon found the shop the passerby had indicated. It stood at a corner, a neat storefront dwarfed by the workshop behind. Once Jonah again handed off the reins to an errand boy, he and Laurie and Irene navigated around the shop building to the workshop itself. With its double doors flung open, golden wood shavings spilled forth like sunlight. A rough sound of tools on wood issued forth.

  Jonah rapped at the open door. “Mr. Karmakar?”

  The sound stopped. The spill of shavings halted a moment later. A tall man, all lanky muscle, appeared in the doorway, dusting his hands on a heavy work apron. “The very same. How can I help you?”

  His accent was the easy lilt of East London, while his appearance was East Indian, with thick and curling black hair. Jonah shook the man’s hand—a strong grip, roughened by a carpenter’s assortment of nicks and scars—and introduced himself, Irene, and Laurie.

  When Jonah asked if Laurie could watch Karmakar at work, the wainwright grinned. “A blackamoor boy who wants to build carriages.”

  “Is that a problem?” Jonah asked coolly.

  “Nah, it’s marvelous. World needs all sorts of carriage builders. I come from a family of engineers m’self and had a job to convince them I was engineering too. They build war machines. I build peacetime ones.” He extended a hand to Laurie. “A good learner, are you?”

  As Laurie shook Karmakar’s hand with an expression of awe, Irene said, “The best.”

  Jonah spoke up. “What are you working on today, if I might ask?”

  “You’ve got me at a lucky time. Usually, I’d be resting with the righteous on a Sunday, but I’m finishing repairs to a carriage. The family needs it fixed so they can travel on Tuesday.” He folded his arms, eyeing Laurie. “How are you at painting? Have you a steady hand?”

  “I’ll try,” blurted the boy eagerly. “I’ve painted before, but never a wheel. My brother has a curricle and a chaise and a landau, and even the wheel spokes are painted.”

  Jonah wondered for a moment who this profligate brother might be, then realized Laurie was speaking of him. The boy’s admiration and matter-of-fact affection made his throat catch.

  “Which carriage is your favorite?” the wright asked.

  Laurie’s smile was impish. “Whichever one I get to drive.”

  Karmakar laughed. “Good answer. Reminds me of m’self at that age. Want to come and see what I’m working on?” As Laurie darted into the workshop, the builder turned his attention to Jonah and Irene. “You want him to stay for a couple hours? I’d be right glad for a hand.”

  “He’ll give you a good one, if you show him what to do,” Irene said.

  Jonah slipped the man a banknote. “Thanks much.”

  Karmakar looked at the money for a moment, then shrugged and stuffed it into his pocket. “Not necessary, but I’m not such a fool I’ll hand it back.” He turned his head, evidently hearing a question. “Why’re the wheels different sizes? Well, Mr. Laurie, I’ll tell you, just as soon as you start sanding one of ’em.”

  With a wink, he bade farewell to Jonah and Irene, leaving them on their own.

  Jonah took Irene’s arm for the short walk back to the landau. She resisted for an instant, saying, “You bribed that man to take Laurie for the afternoon.”

  “Not at all.” Jonah handed Irene into the landau, wishing now that they could sit side by side. “It’s a bit of an apprenticeship fee.”

  Irene bit her lip. “Are you giving up on his schooling?”

  “Of course not. I only want him to have choices.”

  “Should he be allowed to make decisions about his future? He’s a child. Harton is all he’ll have. He won’t be able to continue on to university. Oxford and Cambridge have never graduated a black man.”

  “He’ll have choices as he grows up,” Jonah said. “Even if he can’t graduate, maybe he can still attend. And there will be time for carriages after that, if he chooses. He’s very bright, and he’s as courteous as can be.”

  “He has to be.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She folded her hands, then rested her chin on them. “If a brown or black person makes a mistake, it’s never just an error. It’s a sign of bad character or poor judgment.”

  “That’s not right,” Jonah said.

  “Of course it’s not. And women experience a bit of the same. We ask a question, and it’s proof that our silly little brains can’t comprehend anything. When, really, it’s only proof that people don’t know what they haven’t been taught.”

  “I…didn’t think of that.” Jonah felt too big, too foolish. Ashamed. Had he ever made that assumption? Had he battled it?

  “Why would you t
hink of it? This is your world. The things that are normal for you are not normal for everyone.”

  “It’s not my world. It’s our world. At least, I want it to be.”

  “I want that too.” She sighed, straightening up. “Maybe one day we’ll get there. A bit at a time. For this afternoon, what shall we do?”

  That reminded Jonah that he’d brought a basket. He rummaged beneath the rear-facing seat Laurie had occupied. “Something a little better than dirty pocket candy for you.”

  Irene opened the little basket to find a parcel of lemon cakes and a bottle of lemonade. “My favorites! Thank you. I’ll wait until you can share them with me.” With a look of regret, she closed and stowed the basket again. “Can we go someplace peaceful? A park or the edge of the city?”

  “I’ll find us just such a place,” Jonah promised.

  He paid off the errand boy holding the horses, then took up the reins himself. He disliked the feeling of distance between himself and Irene, between the driver’s seat and the squabs of the landau. But would he feel any less distance if she were in his arms? She’d tipped the world and showed him that it wasn’t the shape he’d thought. She kept doing that, and every time, he felt a bit further from who he’d once been.

  Maybe that was a good thing. Maybe they were a step closer to tearing the world apart together.

  Traffic on foot and horseback consumed most of his attention as he cut westward, aiming for Hyde Park. As crowds thickened, on impulse, he turned the carriage to the south. The bays trotted along more swiftly as the carriage entered the wide streets of Mayfair, but seemed as puzzled as Irene when Jonah stopped them at a wrought-iron gate. Beyond it was a wilderness of trees and shaggy grass.

  “Is this Green Park?” asked Irene. “I haven’t been here for ages.”

  “Indeed it is.” Jonah climbed down, holding the reins as he opened the gate. “Favored by criminals until a few decades ago, now not favored by much of anyone. I’ve heard rumors that it’s all going to be landscaped next year. For now, it’s a bit of wilderness in the city.”

  Irene jumped down from the landau without waiting for his hand. “It’s perfect,” she breathed, preceding Jonah into the park. Trees, grass, an earthen path underfoot—all swallowed her in her dark blue gown, turning her into a forest nymph.

  “Don’t forget about the lemon cakes,” Jonah called after her as he guided the bulky carriage through the gates. Once he had it settled off the path, he unhitched Commonwealth and Scintilla. The horses looked at Jonah, then at each other, then trotted a few feet away to crop the long grass.

  “Good boys. Stay close,” Jonah told them. Then he occupied himself with taking out the basket of cakes. Lacking a blanket to sit on, he stripped off his coat and arranged it on the ground.

  By the time he’d finished, Irene had wandered back. “It’s as if London doesn’t exist,” she sighed happily.

  He knew what she meant. Birds fussed quietly overhead; trees broke the green earth; the sky was clean and blue. “It’s nice to leave London, then?”

  “There’s always someone who needs me in London. Here, there’s just you.”

  “I need you too.” He handed her a cake. “Not in the way you likely mean, though.”

  “Not in a way that makes me feel smothered.” Nibbling at a lemon cake, she lay back on the coat with her free arm behind her head. “You’re trying to learn about my world. I ought to learn more about yours. Tell me the three most important things I need to know about horses.”

  Jonah sipped from the bottle of lemonade, then replaced the cork. “Treat them with kindness. Watch out for their hooves. Ask if you have questions.”

  Irene lifted her head. “That’s it?”

  “You said three. I had to be concise.” He took a cake for himself. “If you had to tell me the three most important things I needed to know about the academy, what would you say?”

  “It’s a haven. It’s important. It makes me feel needed.” She laid her head down again, but a troubled stitch remained between her brows.

  It makes you feel smothered too, Jonah thought. But all he said was, “That doesn’t tell me anything about the academy. It tells me about you.”

  “You already know all about me,” she said with a laugh.

  “I don’t know your favorite color, do I? But I suppose I know the important things about you.” Pulling up his knees, he scooted closer to her on the makeshift blanket. “I know you’re kind to animals and children, even when you’re exasperated.”

  “Anyone would be, unless they were a monster.”

  “You care fiercely for the welfare of those you love,” he continued. “You have a strong sense of duty, and you throw a wicked punch. And when you smile, you take my breath away, and when you laugh, you give me air again.”

  She looked at him with wonder, and then one of her beautiful smiles broke over her face, and there was no more air. When she reached for him, he brushed her lips with his own.

  “I didn’t know what the perfect thing to say would be,” she told him, “but that was it.”

  “I didn’t know I had a skill for that.”

  “That’s only because horses can’t tell you what a good man you are.” Mischievous, she held his face in her hands. “And my favorite color is hazel.”

  “That’s not a color.”

  “Your eyes say different.”

  After that, he had to kiss her again. And again, and more, until they were both breathless and heady with want.

  “Can you stay again tonight?” Jonah murmured.

  “I shouldn’t,” Irene said. “I can’t leave Eli. I promised I’d see her again tonight.”

  Jonah groaned, rolling onto his back. “You’ve only known her a few days.”

  She lifted herself onto one elbow. “Do you think people have to know each other a long time in order to care?”

  “No, of course not. I cared about you the moment you put a purse back into a pocket.”

  Her fingertips trailed over his chest, his belly. “And I you, when you stood up for me.”

  “I’ll always stand up for you. Though it’s easier when we’re together.”

  “I…every time it’s just us, I’m sure. But when I have missions to complete, and my father is asking for favors, and someone is horrid to Laurie…”

  Jonah shut his eyes. “Irene, that’s the world. It’ll never be just us. Even at the stud farm, which is as near to peace on earth as I can imagine, there are money woes and family pressures and owners who feel slighted if the colts they board don’t win every race.”

  The fingertips went still. Then the warm weight of her settled atop him. The length of her, chest to his chest, belly to his own. “It’s just us right now,” she said. “I’m sure of that.”

  Before he could do more than clutch for her, she stood, pulled him to his feet, and drew him into the landau. “Show me how the covers can lift and enclose us,” she said. “Show me what you can do in a carriage.”

  How could he refuse such a request?

  Right now, it was just them, and the world had been shut outside the gate of the park. And inside the landau, needy and sweet, they had their fill of each other.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “You’d best come into the dining room, Annie,” Sir William told his caller. “Someone has rendered my study unusable.”

  Monday morning, and thank God she hadn’t waited any longer to call. He rolled his chair before her into the dining room, where Bright had seen a lavish tea laid.

  Sir William had passed a difficult night wondering whether Irene had truly found Anne Jones. Whether Annie would call on him. Whether she’d tell him about their daughter. What she’d think seeing him in the wheelchair again.

  They’d parted ways under the Spanish sun fourteen years before, when he’d fallen ill with the palsy that took the use of his legs. He’d almost died of it. His recovery in England had been long and difficult. Under the circumstances, he’d hardly thought of the lover he’d left behind.
He hadn’t known she’d been pregnant.

  Until two years before, when Anne Jones—no longer a camp follower, but now one of the most devious and influential women in the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland—had placed a spy in Sir William’s Newmarket household. Rosalind Agate, who’d posed as Sir William’s secretary.

  His son Nathaniel had wound up marrying the woman, and together they’d opened a coaching inn. Sir William was again and still without a secretary.

  They’d met again then, but briefly. Two years on, here was Anne Jones in his house, as beautiful as ever. He’d once been fascinated by the sight of her, hungry for her every night. Now he admired her as one would a picture painted in poisonous inks. Look and admire, but do not touch.

  She was dressed all in black, her silvering dark hair pulled tightly back from delicate pale features. The passing years had creped the skin below her eyes and placed hollows beneath her cheekbones. They’d done far more than that to Sir William, though he was careful to keep in good trim.

  Anne pulled out a chair for herself and sat at the table, to the right of its head. “You wanted to speak to me? Here I am.”

  He took his place at the head. “So abrupt, Annie? We were close once.”

  “We were. But then, the last time I saw you, it didn’t go well,” she reproved in her slight Welsh accent.

  “I suppose that’s one way to describe the encounter. You waved a gun at my daughter-in-law and ran off without sharing information about our child.”

  “It’s not as if I shot anyone,” Anne said. “And she wasn’t your daughter-in-law at the time, so don’t act the lord of the manor. I promised to stay out of your life, if you’ll recall. You’ve not done me the same courtesy.”

  “I’m not going to ignore the existence of our child, Annie.”

  “I wish you would. She’s the better for it. And stop calling me Annie, if you please. I’m Mrs. Jones to you.”

  “One of your many names?” He eyed the cakes before him. How many could he take? One of the cream ones, then one other. Some fruit too—perhaps eight bites.

  Carefully, he counted out the portion as she replied, “I call myself what I need to be called. At this point, who’s to say what’s the most true? The life I lived nearly fourteen years ago, or the one I’ve lived in the years since?”