“Frye, please.” She did not need to see her abigail’s face to know that Frye was furious. Later she must soothe Frye, but now she must ascertain why Hamilton was treating her so coldly when his lips had been so lusciously warm.
The door closed behind Frye, leaving them in silence. Nerissa lowered herself carefully to the chair. She no longer trusted her legs to support her. Quietly she asked, “Why are you so angry at me?”
“Angry?” He caught her by the shoulders and brought her to her feet again. Kissing her swiftly, he murmured, “I feel nothing so tepid as anger for you tonight, Nerissa.”
She put her hands on his wrists and drew his fingers off her. “Then whom are you angry at?” Her laugh was sharp. “There is no need to ask, is there? You may have saved your brother’s life today, but you can think only of vengeance.”
“I have to find that accursed sneaksman.”
Although she flushed at his crude words, Nerissa retorted, “And then what will you do, Hamilton? Once you have your revenge, what will you do?”
“Watch what is left of him hang when I hand him over to the authorities.”
“And then what?” she asked quietly, not letting him see how his words sickened her nor how she wished he would let her help assuage the pain that was consuming him. “What will you do when you have done all that you can to retaliate against that man?”
He stared at her, and his pain ached within her as if it was her own. She clenched her hands at her side to keep them from reaching out to him. If she let him hold her in rage, she feared she would never rediscover the sweetness she had found in his arms that afternoon. Her sympathy must have shown on her face, for, with a growled farewell, he strode toward the entrance hall.
“Hamilton?” she called to his back.
He did not face her, but stopped.
“Do you have no answer,” she asked, “or do you have no answer you wish to share with me?”
For a long moment, she feared he would not answer. Then he turned. No emotion gave life to his hard features. “Do not think to betwattle me with your gentle words and sweet kisses. I was a fool before, but I shan’t be one again. Not for you, Nerissa, nor for that damned thief. Good evening.”
The door to the street closed loudly in his wake. Nerissa went to the front window and watched him stride purposefully toward the bridge and the city. Blinking back tears, she shivered at the fury in him tonight. She never had seen this side of Hamilton, and the strength of his passions unnerved her.
He had made one thing clear. He trusted her no more than he did any other woman. And why should he when she had been dishonest with him? She longed for more than friendship with him, but she would not be his next light skirt, to be used and left with a few gifts when he turned his eye to another woman.
Quietly, from behind her, Frye asked, “Do you think he will come back?”
“I don’t know,” she whispered as she stared at the empty street.
“Do you want him to return?”
“I don’t know,” she repeated, knowing that—if at no other time this evening—she was speaking the truth.
Chapter Nine
Nerissa stood at the window of her bedroom and watched the rain splatter into the puddles on the stones in front of the house. It was a dismal day that fit her mood. Hamilton had left the house in such a vile state more than three days ago, and she had heard nothing of him since. She had considered calling on Annis to discover if her bosom bow had spoken with Philip, but she had delayed.
Seeing someone happy, even her very best friend, would completely undo her now.
With a sigh, she walked away from the window and sat in the chair where she had left her book, unread. She picked it up and thumbed through it before setting it on her lap again. Although she had errands to tend to this afternoon, she had sent Frye to do them. To speak to their neighbors while she was as melancholy as a gib cat would be a mistake.
“Here you are!”
Nerissa managed a smile as she turned to see Cole in the doorway. His face was alight as he rushed across the room to grasp her hands and bring her to her feet. When she winced as he pulled on her left wrist, he hastily apologized.
“It is nothing,” she reassured him as she rubbed her arm.
“Come with me! I want you to be the first to see it!”
“Your work on the canal is done?” All thoughts of her grief vanished as she saw the truth on his face.
“The first part.” His grin stretched his broad cheeks into a happiness she had not seen on his face since they had exchanged harsh words in the front entry. “Do come, Nerissa. Come and tell me that you think it is wonderful … even if it is not.”
“It will be wonderful, because you did it.” She linked her arm with his and walked with him down the stairs and into his cluttered book room.
She usually avoided this room. Not just because it was Cole’s sanctuary, but because, more than any other room in the house, it reminded her of Hill’s End. Before she had moved to Bath, she had invited her stepbrother to Hill’s End to select anything he might be able to use. His book room was crowded with furniture from Hill’s End. He had been delighted with the desks and tables that had belonged to Nerissa’s father, and she was pleased to see them being used.
Her fingers stroked the corner of a leather writing pad. It was all she could see of the brown material, but, in her deepest memories, she recalled sitting on her father’s knee while he wrote at this desk.
She stepped over the piles of books and maps stacked haphazardly on the floor. Seeing more of her father’s tables was an impossibility when they were covered with many times more books and papers than had fallen to the floor. She was unsure how her stepbrother managed to work in such chaos, but it suited him.
Cole pointed to one table, but she could not guess what he wanted her to see until he jabbed one page with his finger. The crisp paper crackled under his touch as he outlined the grand path of the canal through the hamlets and villages between Bristol and London. As he spoke of the locks and the tolls to be collected, she could imagine the excitement of the settlements when a barge stopped to unload food and merchandise from distant lands.
“It is grand, Cole. Grander than I had guessed. Did you devise this all alone?”
He smiled with satisfaction. “I did look at the preliminary work others have done, but no one has actually drawn all the plans.”
“Your hard work shows.”
“It is only the beginning. We must go to London, so we can find someone to finance this canal.”
“London?” She looked at him, but he was gazing intently at his drawings.
“Of course. Do you think we can find someone with both blunt and an imagination in this provincial city? We shall go to London, and I shall make this more than a dream.” Standing straighter, he let the map roll closed with a snap. He gripped it in his pudgy hand. “Otherwise, all this work is nothing but a piece of paper.”
“London?” she asked again faintly.
Taking her by the shoulders, he said, “Nerissa, we could travel by the Mail coach. It takes no more than twelve hours from here to London, for it is less than one hundred miles. Think of it! London! I daresay I haven’t been in the Metropolis for more than two years, and you have never been there. I could find some financiers, and you …” He tapped her on the nose. “… you could buy yourself a new pair of gloves.”
Turning away so he could not see her expression, she said, “I don’t think we can go.”
“How can we not go? I know I can find some people who would be intrigued by this venture.” The excitement in his voice tempered as he added, “Nerissa, I understand that we are not beforehand with the world, but can we be close as wax with our money when this opportunity might obtain us more brass than we could imagine?”
“I cannot make sovereigns appear out of midair.”
He kicked a pile of books to the floor, startling her. She backed away as he aimed his foot at another stack. The fury in his eyes reminded her of the nigh
t he had slammed the front door … and of Hamilton.
“Cole,” she said in a soft voice, “you are asking the impossible.”
Coldly, he retorted, “I noticed that you have found enough blunt to buy yourself a new hat! Which household account did you bleed that money from?”
Nerissa stared at him, unsure if she was more shocked by his outburst or that he had noticed her new bonnet. Wanting to soothe him before his face became more choleric, she said, “Cole, the bonnet was a gift from Hamilton to replace the one that was ruined when he nearly ran me down.”
“Lord Windham?” His brows knit together in rage, and he plowed his way through discarded papers to set his map on a shelf high above the mess.
“What is wrong?” she asked to his back. “Surely you know that Hamilton has been calling here.” She almost added that he had spied upon Hamilton and his brother one night, but she did not want to add to his rage.
“You should not be wasting your time and our money on such a frivolous life.” He whirled and pointed at her. “Annis Ehrlich! She has put ideas into your head that we can’t afford.”
“Annis has nothing to do with our situation.” Nerissa locked her fingers together in front of her, so he could not see the fury she struggled to keep from her voice. “Nor does Lord Windham. You should know that I would not indulge in any luxury when we have butcher’s meat in the kitchen. If I do not pay for that meat, there will be no more brought to us.”
For a long moment, she feared that he would continue to shout at her. Then he sighed, and his face regained its normal coloring. “Pardon me. This project has become so important that I fear I am losing my perspective. Instead of deriding you, I should be grateful that you have managed to keep this household solvent.”
“I wish I could tell you that I have the wherewithal to take us both on a splendid trip to London, but there is no money beyond what we need to keep the household going.” She did not tell him that the servants had not been paid in more than two months. That news would only disturb him more.
“None at all?”
“None at all.”
“Impossible!”
“No,” she said sadly, “and there shan’t be more until Hill’s End sells.”
When she shook her head, he dropped into a chair by the largest table. He leaned his elbows on the table and covered his face with his hands. She put her fingers on his shoulders, but he shrugged them off.
“Begone, Nerissa,” he ordered.
“But, Cole—”
“Just begone!”
Knowing that arguing with him would gain neither of them anything, Nerissa backed toward the door. Pain pierced her as she heard his muffled sobs. He wept not as a child would after learning that a treat would be withheld, but with the anguish of a man who has seen his dreams dashed to dust before he has had a chance to grasp them. Into her memory’s ear came the resonance of Hamilton’s infuriated voice as he spoke of not being able to succeed at his aspiration of finding the cross-cove who stole his father’s money.
Tears blossomed into her eyes. She could not help Hamilton, for he asked for something she must not give him. She wiped her eyes, not wanting anyone to see her pain. Her days were so empty without the anticipation of Hamilton’s calls. How many times had she gone to a window to search Laura Place for his carriage or his horse? The number of times she had looked did not matter, for he never had been there.
Even if she could not help Hamilton, there must be a way to aid Cole in reaching past his frustration to find his dream.
Money! It was impossible to do without when her brother had such grandiose goals, but they were as full of money as a toad was full of feathers. If she had as much as a sixpence that was not accounted for in the household, she would …
Nerissa’s eyes widened. There was money that was unaccounted for in the house. She rushed up the stairs at a speed that would have gained her a reprimand from Frye.
Going into her bedroom, she knelt by her dressing table and opened the bottommost drawer. She drew out the small box with fifty guineas in it. They were the ones she had won the first night she played whist with Hamilton and his friends. Her other winnings had been spent to soothe their creditors, but she had saved these for an emergency. Her smile faded as she sat back on her heels. Fifty guineas might as well be a halfpenny, for all the good it did them. They needed much more for a journey to London.
Not only would they require two billets on the eastbound Mail, but Cole’s magnificent venture might not be embraced swiftly. While he negotiated with the men he assured her would be interested in bringing the attention of the government onto the project, they must have a place to live in Town. No doubt, entertaining would be part of the contracting of any private financing for the canal. For that, Nerissa must provide food and hire servants, because it would be impossible to take the whole of their household to London.
Fifty guineas would not be enough. She must have more money if she wished to help Cole make his wish come true. There was only one way, although she had tried to avoid thinking of it, but she could deal with the matter on her way to meet Annis at the couturière’s shop this afternoon. Humiliating herself by begging might be the sole method to get the money they needed. Closing the box, she reached for the bell by the door, wanting to get the horrible call over.
Mr. Broderick Crimmins leaned back in his chair and scanned his office. The walls were of dark oak, which hid any sunshine that might dare to creep through the tall, thin windows. He liked his office, for it smelled of age and respectability. In his opinion, that was what a solicitor should aspire to at all times. Respectability. Even the word had a grand sound that Mr. Crimmins enjoyed hearing connected to his name.
When voices sounded in the antechamber, he remained sitting at his cluttered desk. There would be no intrusion unless his secretary, Mr. Mann, deemed the visitors worthy of the privilege of entering the inner office. A sour man, Mr. Mann, had proven an asset beyond price to his employer on many occasions. Although Mr. Crimmins wished his secretary would wear something other than the funereal black coat and waistcoat and nankeen trousers to the office, he had no other reason to complain about Mr. Mann.
At a hushed knock, Mr. Crimmins rose. Apparently the caller was a personage of enough importance to obtain Mr. Mann’s approval. Tugging at his waistcoat, which had a habit of leaving a gap at the waistband of his breeches, he came forward to greet his client.
Amazement could not be kept from his face as his scrutiny settled on a delicate form which was topped by a pretty bonnet and swathed in a brightly dyed Kashmir shawl. When the young woman looked up, he tried to smile. His expression wavered, for, although he had met her steady, blue eyes on many occasions, he had learned he could not batter back Miss Dufresne’s gaze. He wondered what trouble she was bringing him now. It was his misfortune that his father had been her stepfather’s solicitor. He had inherited Miss Dufresne and her problems along with his father’s other business.
“Do come in,” he urged automatically, aware of his secretary standing by the door. He did not want to appear a fool before Mann. “On dits suggested that you were injured rather seriously recently. May I say that you look well?”
Nerissa smiled. The solicitor’s words were a welcome acknowledgment that her bruises had faded to mere shadows of their former flamboyance. She sat in the chair that Mr. Crimmins indicated, but she wished he had something other than the too soft chairs in his office. She sank into whichever one she chose, threatening to become lost in the leather while she tried to explain to the solicitor her most recent monetary crisis.
“Thank you, sir. I am sure rumor has made the incident far more harrowing than it truly was.”
Returning behind his desk, the young solicitor tried to maintain his cool demeanor while he sat in his chair. Nerissa wondered if he resisted recalling that he had gone to school with her brother for many years. Tales of those earlier times included many escapades that would not fit with the image Mr. Crimmins had created for him
self in his darkly paneled cocoon. Or of Cole, she had to own.
“Miss Dufresne, this is a surprise,” he said in the emotionless voice he always assumed.
She suspected he thought that tone made him sound more overmastering, but she usually had to struggle to keep from laughing. Not so today, when she was fighting the blue devils each time Hamilton slipped into her mind. Her hands gripped the strings of her beaded reticule more tightly. Thinking of him was futile, for he clearly had put her from his life as easily as he had the others who had passed through it.
“I did not expect to see you until the quarter’s end,” Mr. Crimmins continued. “I trust nothing else is amiss with your household now that you have recovered from your mishap.”
She released her hold on the bag. Folding her gloved hands primly in front of her, Nerissa forced a smile. “Everything is quite wonderful with our household, Mr. Crimmins, if you wish me to own to the truth. I came to inform you that Mr. Pilcher and I are planning an excursion to London.”
“London?” His scowl deepened the ruts along his thin face. “Do you think that is wise?”
“Mr. Crimmins, you know that I am no widgeon. I would not come here to bother you with tales of silly dreams. Mr. Pilcher and I have just decided that furthering his career requires a short sojourn to the Metropolis.” Taking a deep breath to prepare herself for the battle she knew was to come, she said, “Because of that, I would ask you to advance us a portion of the money we would receive from the next quarter’s household allowance.”
“Impossible.”
“Mr. Crimmins,” Nerissa said quietly, “on numerous occasions, you have implored me to find Mr. Pilcher something worthwhile to do. On every occasion, I have assured you that my brother was involved in a pursuit that would come to fruition at its own rhythm. The opportunity is here at last to culminate his years of study and work.”
“Impossible, Miss Dufresne. I cannot give you any brass in advance.”
She took another deep breath and slowly expelled it. Flying up to the boughs would gain her nothing from this stolid man. Rational thought worked best with him, as it did with Hamilton.
The Fortune Hunter Page 12
