“Please.” She held out her hand. “I didn’t want to sell it, you know. It’s from you. It’s a piece of us. I didn’t want to give it up.”
“I know. You only sold it to help someone you love.” He slipped the ring onto her finger, then kissed her knuckles. “My father tracked down the ring. Which means he loves you.”
“It means he loves you,” Irene corrected.
“Agree to disagree,” Jonah said, but when she looked at his face, he was smiling.
The ring felt weighty on her finger, a comfort she’d missed and coveted. “It’s July, which means we’ve the break between terms to decide where we’d like to settle in London.”
“We? You won’t live at the academy?”
“Why would I live at the academy when I can live with you? Although,” she added conscientiously, “I’ll keep my false name for privacy at work and will probably take a most convoluted path from home for security’s sake.”
“Only prudent,” agreed Jonah. “As to your question, I don’t have an opinion about where to live except that it shouldn’t be the Queen Anne Street house.”
“Indeed not. That’s your father’s place.” It was right for visiting, but not for living permanently. “If you’re willing, I’d rather live somewhere in Shoreditch. Nearer my mother’s relatives, all the family I grew up around.”
“Then we’ll find a place. We’ll have a home here and a home in London. Two homes, rather than none.” He sounded pleased.
“It must be big enough for a family,” Irene warned. “If we’re to start a family?”
Now he looked pleased. More than pleased. He looked like she’d performed a grand gesture for him. “We’re already a family. But I’d love a little daughter with black curls and a bold spirit.”
As he tweaked one of her curls, she laughed. “And I want a son with a kind heart and warm eyes.”
Of course she had to kiss him then, or he her. It didn’t much matter who began it, or who continued it. It only mattered that it was. That they were.
With a satisfied sigh, Irene stretched out her weary limbs. “I know we’ll never go back to the way things were when we courted. When it was just us, and we pretended the rest of the world didn’t matter. It does, and we’ll make it what we want it to be. Together.”
He was all hope, all delight, as he asked, “You’ll stay with me? Starting now?”
“Better,” she said. “It’s summer. You lead, and I’ll go where you go.”
“I’ll lead. All right.” He thought about this. “Here’s what I’d really like. I’d like to make certain that the man who called himself your father never interferes in our lives again.”
“I can tell him ‘no’ now. I’m not afraid of what secrets he might tell, or whether he’ll hurt my mother.” Though Laurie’s place at Harton was still precarious.
“I’m not afraid either. But won’t it be more fun if we could come up with a plan?”
“Very true. Maybe something to do with the village of Barrow-on-Wye and the rabbitry they invested in but never received,” Irene mused. “I wonder if being a royal by-blow might be useful in this matter.”
For a few minutes, they plotted. By then, the small high window showed twilight outside, and the weight of Irene’s long day had turned her to liquid in Jonah’s arms.
“Oh dear,” she said drowsily. “What if it becomes known in London that I’m a royal duke’s daughter? I hope we won’t become tonnish.”
“For you,” Jonah said, “I could bear anything. Even that.” And he kissed her and carried her off to bed.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Victor hadn’t ever expected to hear again from Thomas Kelp, the squire in the village of Dolwich. But he’d left the village wanting, hadn’t he, with his talk of forming a band for boys?
And he needed somewhere to go. Urgently. London had become unfriendly, and Queen Anne Street particularly so. Now that Susanna knew they weren’t legally married, she wanted nothing to do with him. And that brown horse taunted him with its injury every time he ventured out to the mews. Who would have guessed a single race would lame a Thoroughbred?
The only person on Victor’s side now was Laurie, and now that devotion had soured. Even though Victor had paid the boy’ Harton tuition! It seemed the trustees at Harton didn’t look kindly on illegitimacy, and Laurie’s spot might be taken from him. Why Susanna had written the trustees with the truth, Victor would never know. It wasn’t as if he would tell anyone he and Susanna hadn’t been legally wed. Unless he had to, of course. He’d told Irene only when he’d had to. She was the one who’d told Susanna.
A fresh start, that was what he needed. The country air was fresh and cool, and the country bumpkins were ready for fleecing. It felt good to disembark from the private post chaise he’d hired to bring him to Kelp’s estate.
“The squire will pay you,” he told the postilion, strolling into the great house. One servant took his hat and gloves; another brought in his trunk.
“They’re waiting for you in the drawing room, sir,” said a butler who looked at Victor with more than a touch of smugness. He’d pay for that. Victor would order him a dozen musical instruments whether he wanted them or not.
It wasn’t until Victor reached the doors of the drawing room that he wondered about the word they. Had Kelp gathered the other village worthies to make Victor’s job easier? If so, maybe Victor would do him a kindness in return. Not filling his trunk with Kelp’s silver before he left, maybe. Maybe.
Humming to himself, he pushed open the door of the drawing room. “Mr. Kelp! I knew you’d come to your senses.” Indeed, the ruddy-faced squire was beaming at Victor from his seat in a thronelike chair.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Baird.”
Baird? He’d presented himself in Dolwich as Babbington. “I think you’ve made a mistake.”
But it wasn’t Kelp who’d spoken.
Keeping the smile fixed on his features, Victor turned his head to find the person who’d spoken. Against the far wall, in a long line of chairs, he saw…oh hell. Hell. The mayor of Barrow-on-Wye was there, and a few other villagers, and Irene, and that husband of hers, and a scruffy-looking child he thought he’d seen about the Chandlers’ London house. How the devil had they all gathered here? And why?
All in all, no fewer than a dozen people awaited in the drawing room, and they all bore him a grudge. Unfairly, of course! But sometimes a well-timed withdrawal was the wisest course.
“I think,” he said, “I’ve made a mistake. I expected to call on Mr. Kelp alone. I’ll return when you’re done with your visit.” Backing toward the door, he made a flourishing bow to the room at large.
Before he’d backed up a foot, he bumped into someone. Turning, he saw that smug-faced butler again. “The postilion awaits your payment, sir. I took the liberty of giving him your trunk to satisfy the debt. Unless you’d prefer some other method?”
Victor’s smile fell. His trunk held all his clothing. His stash of silver and banknotes. Sure, he carried money on his person too, but… “That’s far more than he needs to cover the fee. My trunk contains many valuables.”
“Excellent,” said Mayor Long of Barrow-on-Wye to the butler. “Have the trunk brought back in, and we’ll divide the contents among us. Mr. Baird will cover the cost of his post chaise from whatever ready money he possesses.”
Damn them all. “Of course”—Victor smiled toothily as he counted out money and handed it over to the butler to pay for the post chaise—“there’s no need for you all to be greedy. I can tell you’re displeased about something. Let us talk it over!”
“Is this why you let me come along?” piped up the child to Irene. “Because I know so much about horsesh—”
“Eli, no,” Jonah said. “It’s because you deserved a treat. Isn’t it nice to leave London?”
The child looked dubious, and Irene added, “But I’m glad you know horse…ahem…when you hear it, Eli. Victor, no one wants to hear you talk. Today you’re going to l
isten.”
“My own daughter!” As Victor slipped his wallet back into his pocket, he clutched at his heart with the other hand. It was a good performance, he thought. Quite effective.
Or not. Every face that stared him down was stony.
“I’m not your daughter,” Irene said. “Which you know. You’ve always known.”
Oh. That. Yes, he’d agreed to wed Susanna because of her pregnancy, thinking a family would provide him with the appearance of respectability. And it had worked! For years, they’d made their way around England, always a step ahead of creditors. “I felt for you all the fondness of a father. You wound me now with your—”
“I have here,” Irene interrupted as she unfolded a paper dotted with elaborate wax seals, “a letter from the Duke of Clarence and St. Andrews stating his near interest in the well-being of Susanna Norris and her offspring.”
“One of the royal dukes,” said Jonah. “Did you know? All dukes have power and influence, of course. But a royal duke…he’s not to be crossed. By anyone.”
“Um.” Keep smiling, Victor told himself. “How very nice for you, Irene. Are we done here?”
“That depends. Let’s read on, shall we? It seems His Royal Highness, the Duke of Clarence and St. Andrews has several recommendations for you. Would you prefer to return to America? Stay here and be dogged by a Bow Street Runner?”
“I could make a few more suggestions,” Jonah said.
“I have several in mind as well,” added Mayor Long.
“He’s American, so let us make it democratic,” suggested Kelp. “Perhaps the people of Barrow-on-Wye would like to vote as to his fate.”
“Excellent notion,” said Long in a voice that was clearly rehearsed. “Let’s ask them.” He pointed to the first member of the Barrow-on-Wye constituency.
“I want a rabbitry,” said the man.
“Very good. Next.” The mayor moved his pointing finger.
“Rabbitry.”
“Rabbitry.”
And so on, each in turn. They all wanted a rabbitry. The fools! It was easier to spin straw into gold than keep rabbits alive.
“A unanimous vote,” reported the mayor. “We want the rabbitry we paid for, Victor Baird.”
Victor forced a laugh. “Good God! It’s not a crime to offer people an investment that doesn’t pay off.”
“No,” Kelp said, “but it is indeed a crime never to invest the money at all.”
“And instead to gamble it away,” added Irene. The treachery of her!
“I was going to pay them back with the winnings!” Victor replied.
“But there weren’t any,” said Mayor Long. “And anyway, we want rabbits. We want to raise them for fur and meat, just as you said we’d be able to. And you’re going to live with the constable and make it all real. Everything you’ve promised.”
His heart stumbled and fell. “But I haven’t the knowledge or skill! And no one can make a dream come true. There are fires and floods and all manner of acts of God, and—”
“If you don’t follow through,” said the mayor, “you could pick one of the contingencies. What were they, Mrs. Chandler?”
“The Bow Street Runner dogging his steps? Or transportation abroad?” Irene tapped a finger against her chin. “I really hope it doesn’t come to that.”
“He should pay you back as well, Irene,” Jonah decided. Another traitor.
“Any money I gave to Barrow-on-Wye, I did with the intention of righting a wrong. I don’t expect to see it back again.”
“Thank you,” began Victor, but Irene cut him off again.
“However, I do think it’s right that Mr. Baird should pay back the full amount of the debt. The amount I’ve already covered, he could instead send to Susanna Norris in London. An investment in her shop—and an honest one.”
“No gambling,” said Kelp, seeming to relish every syllable.
“Your village is a horrible backwater lacking in vision,” Victor retorted.
“Maybe, but the only vision you need is of a rabbitry,” chortled the squire. “Lord, this is the best entertainment I’ve had in years!”
Which rather proved Victor’s point about the dullness of Dolwich.
He could feel the manacles of respectability closing about him. Trapping him. It wasn’t fair. “Why are you doing this, Reenie? To one who raised you as a father. And where the devil does a royal duke come into the matter?”
Irene looked at him coolly. “You might have given me the protection of your name, but in turn you used me to protect you. That’s not what a true father would do.” She slipped her arm around Jonah’s, then turned to leave. “I can’t tell you why the duke would care. You’ll have to mull that over yourself. The good news is, you’ll have plenty of time to think as you tend rabbits in the sun.”
***
Would he follow through? The constable and the rabbit-eager citizenry would see to it, Irene thought. But Susanna wouldn’t be any the worse if he didn’t. The money would be Victor’s atonement, when Susanna was no longer expecting him to atone.
Not that she needed it, for Susanna Norris’s dressmaking shop in Fleet Street became an instant success. Any hint of gossip about her return to her maiden name, her doughty relatives countered with rumors about her connection to the royal family.
The old Wouski print had a renaissance of interest.
To manage the sewing, Susanna hired away her friend Mrs. Catton from their former modiste’s shop, Madame Chalfont’s, and offered work to two other young mothers in the neighborhood. Aunt Mellie’s oldest daughter, who had a gift for art, watched their children while they worked. With the wages the mothers paid her, the girl was able to hire a private tutor for herself. She shared lessons with her equally talented brother, Douglas.
Susanna lived in a small flat above the dressmaking workshop and the ground-floor shop that sold cloth and clothing and beautiful accessories. Her living quarters were, to put the matter mildly, a disaster—full of collected items. But Irene held her tongue and kept her peace. The shop below, and the workroom, were immaculate. And whenever Sir William called at the shop—as he did quite often, from what Susanna revealed—she was able to shed a few items she no longer needed.
Laurie didn’t suffer from the hoard anymore anyway, for he was away at Harton. He was angry, at first, that Victor had left London. He missed his father and didn’t want to go away to school.
“He chose, Laurie,” Irene had pointed out.
“Because you didn’t give him any choice! He had to leave me!”
She understood her brother’s hurt. His grief. She’d felt them time and again. “What choices did he have? Where did they come from?”
“The things he did to other people,” Laurie mumbled.
That was the beginning of the thaw between Laurie and Irene. Sir William helped as well, cheering him with atlases and a trip in his specially appointed carriage.
Carriages still held Laurie’s heart, and he didn’t particularly want to go to Harton and face the unkindness of other boys. But the intercession of a royal duke was good for many things, not only an illegitimate boy keeping his spot at a school, but also being housed with kind boys.
“Will it make him soft to avoid what’s normal for the other boys?” Susanna had wondered.
But if facing less bigotry and harassment made a boy soft, she decided, then the world needed more softness. “You can stay at school,” she finally told Laurie, “but you don’t have to.”
Laurie set his jaw and looked as determined as any adult. “That’s why I will.” And then, boyish, he asked, “When I’m home between terms, can I—may I work with Mr. Karmakar?”
The carriage builder was happy to agree. No one knew what field Laurie would settle on in the end, but he’d have many choices, all of them good.
Once Bridget’s Brown recovered enough to leave London, Sir William found a home for the weary racehorse—and Mouse, the only companion who kept him calm. Not far from the Chandler stud farm,
an acquaintance of Sir William’s farmed long-eared sheep. He agreed to pasture Bridget’s Brown in exchange for the deerhound, well trained and pleasant. When they were in Newmarket, Irene and Jonah could visit their adopted dog and horse. Both seemed content to move with the flock on springy green land. Bridget grazed and ran when he wished, with no other horses to fire his competitive urges. Mouse loped nearby, dozed in the sun, and befriended every sheep.
During their months in London, Irene and Jonah were able to spend time with Eli—who had enjoyed the journey to Dolwich but had been unimpressed by Victor. The child always preferred trousers and the masculine name and, at the academy, was able to keep both. Eventually, Eli became an errand-runner, and Mrs. Brodie confided in Irene that Eli’s ability to pass as a boy could be useful in certain missions. If, of course, Eli was interested, for Mrs. Brodie had learned an awkward lesson from her less-willing helpers like Rosalind Agate.
In Newmarket, Irene was occupied with plenty of missions and her newfound Chandler relatives. In London, Jonah kept busier than he ever had on the stud farm. There were so many Norris aunts and uncles and cousins to meet, plus a fund to administer with Irene, helping connect women in need of work with jobs or offering academy tuition to black and brown students. Jonah even went by the confectionery shop once to meet his half-sister—not that he told her who he was. The proprietor gave him an odd sort of look as he left, as if trying to recognize him. That was all right, the oddness, for Jonah felt odd while he was there. But he might go back again, even so. The lemon cakes were marvelous.
And of course, there were horses to train. Always. When he bought the first hunter, stabling it at the outskirts of London, he wrote to his twin sister, Kate, for advice. They’d begun life alongside each other, yet their lives had gone in such different directions. It was good to hear from Kate often, to plan a new sort of stable and train horses exactly as he saw fit.
Then to come home with lemon cakes for Irene, to hear about her classes or the latest mission they might complete together. To feel the movement of their unborn babe within Irene’s belly. To be apart sometimes, but together in spirit. To know that soon they’d be together again. That they’d be together for life.
His Wayward Bride (Romance of the Turf Book 3) Page 26
