The Lodestone

by Charlene Keel

  “But new jobs have been provided for many people,” Lady Dunwelle, an obese version of Lady Easton, remarked with a nasal whine. It was a logical stand as both her husband and her father owned factories in Manchester and Liverpool.

  “That may be true,” Cleome conceded. “But it has also made some kinds of labor obsolete. We are in danger of losing skills which took generations for craftsmen—and women—to develop.”

  “At any rate,” Lord Easton offered, clearly trying to end to the discussion, “we may thank our government and our churches that there are many institutions to which families can turn in the face of misfortune.”

  “Would it not be simpler,” Cleome went on, “and more inexpensive in the long run, to clean up the factories and pay a man a man’s wage so that his children wouldn’t have to work a fourteen hour shift but could go to school instead? Mr. Cobbett says workers produce more in a warm, clean atmosphere.”

  “We have Robert Owen to thank for that foolish experiment,” Lord Dunwelle put in harshly. “It has set every idle daydreamer in the country to raving about reform.”

  “And Cleome,” Lady Easton said sweetly, “you must realize—as we have come to understand through the Ladies Home Relief Society—the poor do have limitations.”

  “You are much too young and idealistic to recognize another fact,” Lord Dunwelle added sternly. “These people are dull-witted and slow. Highly uneducable.”

  “Starvation does have a way of interfering with a man’s mental processes,” Drake mused wryly.

  Cleome suspected the reaction her next statement would bring but she didn’t care. “These people are as capable of human emotion and noble thought as any of the company gathered round this table, even if they do not have the price of a bar of soap,” she said.

  Lord Easton nearly choked on his wine and Elizabeth Easton spilled hers across the snowy table linen. As a maid came to wipe up the mess, Lady Dunwelle spluttered, “Well then, miss—they could at the very least learn to wash! Clean up the factories indeed! That is utter nonsense. Our efforts would be obliterated by the odor of the workers. They must be stupid, else why would they allow themselves to be so dirty?”

  “Because, milady, soap is costlier than bread,” Cleome said evenly, trying to match her temper to her muted voice. “If a man has but a ha’penny in his pocket and six hungry mouths to feed, he will buy bread. The flavor of soap is not so palatable, nor yet so filling.”

  Lord Easton’s complexion was taking on a dangerously scarlet hue but he managed to keep his voice civil. “Following the baser, animal instinct of their class, Cleome, they breed prolifically, like so many rabbits—”

  “Oh, Laurence—my goodness!” Elizabeth exclaimed, her voice trembling. “To be so indelicate.”

  “If Miss Houghton-Parker insists upon opening the discussion to such indelicate subjects, then she must be prepared to hear the unsavory facts,” Lord Easton declared. “If these people would exercise self-control, they would not have so many offspring and could concentrate on other matters. They should follow the example of their betters.”

  “Perhaps they are doing exactly that,” she replied, cool but defiant. “The resemblance the bairns of many an unfortunate maidservant bear to their mother’s masters is a shining example of the results of prolific breeding.”

  Lady Easton gasped and Lady Dunwelle swooned. Drake laughed out loud and Garnett gave an embarrassed cough. There followed an uncomfortable silence, after which Lord Easton signaled his butler.

  “Edwards, we’ll have cigars and brandy now,” he ordered.

  “Very good, sir.”

  As Edwards bowed, Lady Eason rose from the table and invited the ladies to accompany her to the parlor for sherry. Garnett shot Cleome an apologetic look as she followed the other women. Smiling proudly, Oliver went with her.

  In the parlor, Cleome remained silent; and in the minimum time allowed for good manners, Oliver made an excuse about work awaiting him at home. Cleome uttered not a word until a maid entered with their wraps; and then she quickly kissed Lady Easton on the cheek and whispered, “Goodnight, Elizabeth.” With a perfunctory nod to the other ladies, she and Oliver made their escape into the cold, crisp air.

  To their delight, snow was falling in a thick, white curtain. As they waited for Oliver’s carriage to be brought around, they scooped up handfuls to throw at each other, frolicking like school children let out early. They were not surprised when Drake joined them.

  “I don’t know when I’ve had a more entertaining evening,” he proclaimed. “You must know, Cleome, that they are all—men and women in their separate corners—discussing you. They may never recover from the shock.”

  “I don’t care,” she replied. “That people so much more fortunate than most can have so little charity in their hearts is unthinkable to me.”

  As Oliver opened the carriage door and climbed in, Drake enfolded Cleome briefly in his arms. “I’m proud of you,” he whispered enticingly, brushing her cheek with his lips before he lifted her into the coach and tucked the lap robe securely around her. “Good night, my sweetling.” And he was gone.

  **

  Another great thrill for Cleome was meeting Frances Wright, home on holiday from America where she was busily advocating women’s suffrage and free love, when she came to tea at Oliver’s home. A lively discussion took place throughout the simple meal and Cleome glanced at Drake who, she discovered, was watching her closely. He cast a lazy, knowing smile in her direction, and it seemed every nerve ending in her body awakened with a yearning she did not fully understand.

  While she was momentarily lost in his eyes, the conversation veered from Mrs. Wright’s controversial theories to London’s new and thriving industries, and Cleome found herself still warm beneath Drake’s piercing gaze. She wondered that he did not feel her love for him, it was so intense.

  On this particular evening at the beginning of December, he was called away early to take care of a problem at the club and she saw him little after that. As a cold and rainy winter set in, work delays on Stoneham House dragged on, demanding more of his attention. It required more trips for him between London and Newcastle and he promised Cleome he would look in on Ramona when he traveled through Oakham. After one such stop at the Eagle’s Head, he delivered to Cleome her beloved Epitome, as he had long promised he would; but he was busier than ever. A fortnight would pass without Cleome seeing him, then suddenly he would be there, holding a door, dancing with her, or stealing looks at her as they sat in Oliver’s parlor and listened to Edwina play. He had a way of peering into her very soul, which drew her to him like a lover’s lodestone, as if his flesh were a magnet to hers.

  And then at last he came to Cleome’s townhouse, unannounced in the middle of the night, to tell her in person that all was done at last. The work on Stoneham’s was complete and he had set the opening for the following week. He looked exhausted, Cleome noted with concern, but she could not resist teasing him a little.

  “Are you quite sure, Drake?” she asked, feigning innocence. “I could not bear to be disappointed again . . . and I am not sure how much longer I can wait for you.”

  “Indeed!” He laughed, elated, and swept her into his arms, turning with her in a circle before setting her down again. “Yes, I am quite sure! It has been a long time coming but it’s everything I’d hoped. You’ll be glad you waited, Cleome.”

  “I already am,” she informed him with but a hint of a smile as she gazed into his eyes. It was his undoing and with a low groan, he gathered her close and rained kisses down upon her face and neck. She stood on tiptoe to take refreshment at last from the fountain of his lips, and she had never known a sweeter satisfaction.

  “Enough,” he said at last, regretfully placing her away from him. “I want more than anything to explore the promise in that kiss, but it will be done right.” He kissed her again, lightly, trying to keep his distance. “I have much to tell you. But for this damnable opening, I would have done so already.”
A troubled look crossed his brow like a shadow as he went on gravely, “And then we shall see if the promise lives.”

  As if to assure him of her constancy, she moved closer to him. Drawn relentlessly, undeniably, to her, he gathered her in his arms once more. Pushing her gently against the wall of her foyer, he returned her fevered kisses, searing her loins with the heat of his manhood pressed firmly against her. At last he was able to summon the strength to tear himself away.

  “Now I must go,” he said. “There is still much to be done. One week, Cleome, I swear,” he said. “Not a moment more.”

  With that, he departed, leaving her to lightly touch her fingertips to her bruised mouth with a sense of wonder. She made her way to the window, intent on one last look at her beloved. As she drew the curtain aside, her heart fell to her feet and nearly shattered. In the carriage, waiting for him, was the exotic French woman; and as Drake approached, Mignon opened the door for him and welcomed him with a happy smile.

  Chapter Twelve

  Once again Lady Easton was frustrated by Cleome’s intractable will. For the opening of Stoneham House, the heiress had ordered new slippers, long, expensive silk gloves and a cape that was a work of art—but she was steadfast in her decision to wear the same green silk gown she had worn to the Harvest Ball.

  “I already have more gowns than I shall ever manage to wear, with more on order still,” Cleome argued. “It suits me; I feel myself in it. I’ve had it altered a bit and I shall accessorize it with some of the Houghton jewels.”

  “The diamonds and emeralds?” Elizabeth asked eagerly.

  “Yes. Except the tiara, which is far too ostentatious.”

  “Ah, yes . . . well, if I cannot persuade you otherwise,” the older woman agreed at last, somewhat mollified. She had seen the Houghton diamond and emerald collection only once, when Oliver had shown it to Cleome along with many of the other Houghton baubles; and they would more than suffice. In addition to the necklace, which would lie on Cleome’s full bosom as if molded to her, there were two rings, a tiara, two gem-studded combs for her hair and a bracelet at least three inches wide. It consisted of a network of diamonds, emeralds and the occasional pearl. “Will you not consider the tiara instead of the combs, my dear?”

  Cleome laughed. “No, Elizabeth. I will not. It would quite steal my thunder. The combs will be enough, for Jacqueline has created a lovely new hair style for me.” Changing the subject, she added, “Do you think Moira Landshire will allow Edwina to go? She would be so excited to see Stoneham’s on opening night.”

  “Perhaps,” Lady Easton responded absentmindedly as she fluffed the green silk dress on the fitting form, checking it for any stain that might convince Cleome to wear one of her new gowns. “But only if you can procure an invitation for Moira as well.”

  “I sent word to Drake and got a note in return that he would have two invitations taken over immediately.”

  “Then you mustn’t fret. But my dear, your friendship with the child—charming as she is—worries me.” Cleome knew that Edwina’s mother also had misgivings about their friendship, but she wisely refrained from mentioning it. Elizabeth added, “If only she would play the piano modestly, as a young lady should, instead of pounding it with such unequaled passion. She makes of it such an . . . uninhibited display. It is disgraceful.”

  Cleome was delighted. “That is precisely how she plays—passionate and uninhibited. She is brilliant, not disgraceful. And she’s my best friend, so there’s an end to it.”

  When Elizabeth first undertook to educate Cleome, to prepare her for a place in society, she’d thought the girl was a bit in awe of her and would be easy to control. But like her grandmother Houghton before her, Cleome would not be intimidated. She had quickly learned that the words, there’s an end to it, were all it took to conclude any discussion or disagreement because, quite simply, she outranked Elizabeth Easton. And she and her invalid mother were much wealthier, by far.

  Elizabeth had also learned, just as quickly, when it would do no good to argue with the ungrateful girl. Her husband alone knew her reticence and her misgivings about taking Cleome under her wing, but that she continued because of her fear for him, his drinking and his recent heavy losses at Crockford’s. In future, she often told him, if he did not get control over his gambling, they might very well need a friend as wealthy as Cleome.

  **

  Drake had made up his mind to tell Cleome everything before the evening was over. Mignon was nicely settled in her own suite at Stoneham’s, with a maid to attend her and a guard posted outside her door every night. She had at last managed to overcome her crying bouts and was admirably fending off occasional attacks of depression. It was to be expected, considering all she had been through, but in spite of a disinterested doctor who could only suggest frequent doses of laudanum, which Drake refused, she was coming out of it. Her recovery had been accomplished without the drug, which he considered too dangerous. It did take much of his time—which he had damned little of to begin with—but his constant, unwavering reassurance that she was safe, that the horror was over and she would never be forced back into the old life helped to see her through.

  But now, with Mignon on the mend and Stoneham’s opening at last, he could turn his attention to winning Cleome. He ached for her—literally. He had planned, on first returning to London, to find at least physical release with a variety of comely, attentive women while he waited to teach Cleome the ways of love. But he found that neither the voluptuous charms of a generous serving wench nor the prim passion, on separate occasions, of two amorous, titled ladies could take his mind off the red-haired beauty who now had a fortune of her own. Elizabeth Easton had assured him of her availability more than once, but she’d lost the slight appeal she’d once held for him. Unable to take his pleasure with any of the women offering it to him so freely, he had put aside his physical needs while concentrating on his sister’s emotional requirements.

  But now it was time. He need wait no more. Tonight, he would give Cleome her father’s small legacy, and bestow upon her the respectability her mother’s marriage certificate would provide. He would tell her why he’d withheld it, and then he would do everything in his power, utilize every seductive skill he had mastered over the years, to get her into his bed. He had never thought he was a man who needed a wife, and he had not intended to marry until he wanted an heir. Cleome Parker, however, had changed his mind as completely as he had changed her life the night he had won her home in a cribbage game.

  **

  With a growing anticipation of the extraordinary delights that lay ahead for her in Drake’s arms, Cleome soaked in a warm, steaming tub and then dressed slowly, taking her time with every feminine layer. He loved her—she knew it. He could not have kissed her and held her as he had if he cared nothing for her. Tonight, surely, he would find a way to tell her. She scented her neck and shoulders with a delicate perfume and chatted leisurely with Jacqueline as the maid arranged her hair in a masterpiece of curls that she secured in place with the gem-studded combs. Still, Cleome was ready too early, with half an hour to pace before Garnett and his parents arrived to escort her to the opening.

  The weather had been clear and cold for days, with no sign of snow or rain marring the horizon; and as darkness fell, stars twinkled brightly in the evening sky. Looking out at the beautiful night, Cleome was filled with hope and longing. If she had indeed won Drake’s affection, Garnett would be disappointed and she hated to hurt her friend; but she was tired of the exhausting charade in which they were all engaging her. She was ready to end the pretentious pantomime and begin a new existence, with Drake and the love she would find with him at its center. She would think no more of marriage, or of entering a society she was hard put to understand.

  Even if the facts of her birth had not made her unacceptable as a wife, she would have to relinquish control of her own destiny to a husband, if she wed. Now that there was enough money to care for her mother, Cleome could have anything she want
ed. She could do as she pleased, run her own estate and take Drake as her lover, if he would have her. Thinking back, as she often did, to their first sweet kiss in his room at the Eagle’s Head, she realized that had not the news of her sudden good fortune interrupted them, he would be her lover already. That his desire for her was as strong as hers for him she had no doubt; and she longed for the mysterious fulfillment promised by his slightest touch.

  But if she was mistaken and the lovely Mignon had already claimed his heart, Cleome would dedicate her life to caring for her mother; and as soon as Ramona was able, they would travel to all the splendid places Cleome had read about. But she did not believe for an instant that Drake could love someone else—not when he looked at her with such fire in his eyes.

  For a time, in the tavern house, they had been amiable associates and she knew that if she could have that same companionship while tasting fully the sweet passion he aroused in her, she would be content. She had the financial resources to care for any issue from such a union, although she would hate to sentence a child to the discrimination she had known. But she was sure Drake had much experience. Perhaps he would know a way for her to avoid pregnancy, but her concern for that possible condition could not deter her from her purpose. She had ached long enough with wanting him . . . wanting the feel of his mouth on hers again, and the warm delights she sensed would be hers in his arms.

  If Garnett and his father recognized her green gown, they had the good manners not to say so. It was the one she had worn when Drake held her in his arms and danced with her, the one that had enveloped her like quicksilver, cool and smooth, the night he had kissed her for the first time. Cleome knew that most men paid no attention to such detail but she did not think that would be the case with Drake. Elizabeth was in ecstasy over the modification of the dress, for Cleome had removed most of the lace trim and lowered the neckline, transforming the garment into a more sophisticated style. The Eastons were appalled however, when Cleome ordered Higgins to have Epitome saddled for her.