The Making of a Gentleman

by Ruth Axtell Morren

  “You, I expect. I think word has begun to spread on the regent’s pardon.”

  He leaned toward Damien. “The regent’s pardon? Tell me how all this came about. I can scarce believe I’m out o’ that stinkin’ hole.”

  He listened, his astonishment growing as Damien recounted what he and his sister had been busy with since the moment Jonah had been arrested.

  “Florence didn’t rest, trying to see anyone who might be of influence. But she met nothing but stumbling blocks.” His face clouded briefly. “No one wanted to have anything to do with you. Your escape and the Crown’s inability to apprehend you were a major embarrassment for prison officials. It wasn’t until she hit upon the scheme of going to see the Duke of Winchester that she achieved any success.”

  “The duke? Isn’t he the one who was suspicious of me?”

  He smiled. “The very one. In fact, it’s because of him that you were eventually discovered. The irony is wonderful. Florence went to see the very man responsible for your being in Newgate the second time.”

  “But what could he do for me?” He still couldn’t begin to grasp it all. Uppermost in his thoughts was the efforts these two had gone to on his behalf. Miss Hathaway’s name seemed to crop up the most in Mr. Hathaway’s speech. Was he just being his usual modest self, not wanting to take any credit, or was he telling Jonah what really happened?

  “Florence wanted me to go with her, but I thought she should brave the duke alone since he had seemed so admiring of her work at Newgate. He proved a most sympathetic man. He listened to the full tale of your plight and immediately decided Florence must be given an audience with the prince regent himself.” His voice quieted. “At this point, the regent was your only hope. Only he could issue a full pardon.”

  Jonah continued listening, his astonishment growing. That the crown prince should be interested in one Jonah Quinn, a common laborer, a nobody, was beyond his ken.

  Damien leaned forward and tapped the back of his hand. “Jonah, we serve a mighty God. He made a way for my sister to be presented to the highest authority in the land, just as he did for Queen Esther so many centuries ago. He gave Florence favor with the future king, who listened to your woeful tale and took pity on you.”

  Jonah shook his head, more intrigued than ever. “What did she tell him? That I was a miserable, hardheaded pupil?”

  Damien chuckled a bit nervously, it seemed to Jonah. “Well, she was most eloquent in your defense. The prince couldn’t help but be moved. There was a crowd assembled—members of Parliament and various other dignitaries, members of the royal family, and a host of other important people. I felt quite overwhelmed in such august company. I’m glad I didn’t have to do the speaking.”

  Jonah sat back, enjoying the scene. “Oh, come, Reverend Hathaway, I don’t think you would have been overcome by such a company.”

  He grinned. “But the Lord chose to use Florence. She had…a way with words that I could not possibly have equaled on this occasion, trust me.”

  Before he could ask for the particulars, Jonah was distracted by the shouts around the carriage. He lowered the window and craned his neck out. The moment the people around it saw his face, they began chanting. “Jonah Quinn! Jonah Quinn innocent!” Others pushed their way near him. “Saved from the noose twice! A miracle! You’re blessed by God!” They held out their hands to him, trying to touch him. He shook as many hands as he could, but when he saw it was never ending, he pulled himself back into the coach.

  Before he could shut the window, a voice above the crowd made itself heard. “Woman saves condemned man!” The man’s strong shout cut through the rest. “Love of woman moves prince!”

  It was one of those hawkers, like the ones who’d sold broadsheets of his supposed last confessions on the morning of his hanging. Jonah leaned out again, ignoring the hands clasping his, and strained to hear the words.

  “Woman kneels before regent! Pleads for condemned man!”

  He turned to Damien. “What do they mean, ‘woman pleads for condemned man’?”

  Damien seemed to blush a bit and looked away. “Perhaps you should ask her yourself.”

  He frowned, unable to picture Miss Hathaway as the woman being described. Suddenly, he had to know. Seeing he would get no more from her brother, he gestured out the window. “I want to read one of those papers.”

  “They may very well exaggerate things.”

  “If I can’t get anything out o’ you, I’ll get it from the press.”

  Damien considered. “Very well.” He leaned across Jonah and signaled to the man. “Give me a paper.” He fished out a tuppence and held it aloft.

  The broadsheet was handed to someone in the crowd and passed along until it reached the coach and Damien handed back the coin. He ducked his head back into the coach, pulled up the window and drew the curtain. He scanned the front page before handing it to Jonah. “Here, the full story, hot off the press.”

  Jonah took the limp, damp sheets from his hands, suddenly afraid of what he would read. Would he be able to read it? The smell of wet ink reached his nostrils as he looked at the headlines. He didn’t have to go far. A caricature showed a skinny woman kneeling, her hands folded in a begging gesture, a corpulent prince seated on a throne before her. “Please, Your Royal Highness, Save my Lover.”

  He swallowed an oath and peered at the smaller print beneath. He breathed a sigh of relief when he was able to read it without too much difficulty.

  The caption read “Woman in Love Saves Prisoner’s Life.”

  After exhausting all pleas, Miss Florence Hathaway, spinster, got on her knees in a passionate plea before the prince regent, proclaiming that she loved the convicted forgerer, Jonah Quinn. She begged for a royal pardon, claiming she would die of a broken heart if the regent did not grant her request.

  The prince, moved by the woman’s sincerity, issued a royal pardon, declaring he was a sentimental fool when it came to matters of the heart.

  The story went on to describe Jonah’s escape from the hangman. Jonah laid the paper on his knees and stared at Damien.

  “Is—” His voice came out a croak and he had to begin anew. “Is this true what she did?”

  Damien met his eyes across the coach. “In essence.”

  Jonah looked away from him. He swallowed. “Does…she…love me like it says?”

  “She loves you as her brother in Christ, I can certainly attest to that.”

  Did he feel a twinge of disappointment at the reply? “But, the words…make it sound like she loves me…as a…man.” He felt his own face grow warm. The sheer presumption of even voicing the words made him squirm. Damien would have a right to call him out.

  “I don’t know what my sister’s feelings in that regard are toward you. You shall have to ask her yourself.” The words were gentle.

  Jonah dared to look at Damien. Could they be words of encouragement? “That wouldn’t displease you?”

  “You are a man after God’s heart. You have proved yourself stalwart and true. No…it wouldn’t displease me if I found you cared for Florence as deeply as this story makes her seem to care for you.”

  Jonah could only nod his head and look away again, his throat too full to speak.

  Could it be possible Miss Hathaway loved him?

  Florence knew exactly when they were back. She heard the commotion at the front door as the Nicholses greeted the returning hero. She gave a grim smile, knowing she would soon have to exit the sanctuary of the study and face him, offering him her congratulations and welcoming him back as if nothing more had happened but the miracle of his release.

  She glanced down at the bits of tea leaves floating at the bottom of her cup. With hands that trembled, she set down the cup and saucer.

  She heard their voices, her own name mentioned once, as if they wondered where she was. Finally, the voices quieted and footsteps trooped by her door and on down the corridor. She could imagine how Mrs. Nichols would s
et a cup of tea before Jonah, inviting him to sit at the place of honor at the kitchen table and have him recount all that had happened to him, and tell him, in turn, all that had occurred to get his pardon.

  She clutched her hands together, feeling frozen to her chair. She knew she must rise and make her way there. The first moments would be the hardest, and each successive one easier, as they once again took up the threads of their lives the way they had left off before Jonah had turned himself in.

  She started when she heard the door handle move. Relief that it must be Damien quickly evaporated when she glimpsed Jonah’s broad shoulders first, then his entire person, standing there, alone.

  She could hardly breathe. Her hand to her throat, she could only stare.

  What was she to do? She couldn’t hide anywhere. She couldn’t run. Slowly, she rose.

  She felt a wave of dizziness pass over her so she thought she would faint. Her hand crept to her mouth, stifling the cry she wanted to give.

  “May I come in?” His voice was low, diffident.

  She could only nod. There was nowhere to retreat. She stood by her chair, her hammering heart drowning out all other sounds.

  He closed the door softly behind him and stood a moment looking at her.

  She couldn’t for the life of her look away. What was she telling him with her eyes?

  He began to walk toward her, his steps hesitant. When he stood only a few feet from her, he gestured with his hand at himself and said with a shaky laugh. “I don’t think you can do anything to repair my coat this time.”

  Her gaze traveled downward, over his now gray and crumpled cravat and to the plum-colored coat, filthy and stained.

  “Soap and water won’t be enough to ever get the dirt out of it,” he said, when she said nothing.

  Her eyes traveled back up to his face. Dark stubble covered his jaw. His black hair was tousled and his clothes were rumpled, the same ones he had left in, so neat and polished that day.

  “It…” She tried to say, it doesn’t matter, but her mouth refused to form the words. Her lips began to tremble and to her dismay, her eyes began to fill with tears. She could cover her mouth, but she couldn’t stop the tears from flowing.

  He looked worried. “There now, don’t cry for me. I’m a free man now, thanks to you.”

  She could only shake her head and try to swallow back the sobs, but to no avail. She sniffed and that led to a sob escaping her. She turned away, but he was there at her side. There was nowhere to hide.

  “I’d offer you a hankie, but I’m afraid mine’s too filthy,” he said with a nervous laugh.

  “I—I—thought to ne-ne-ver see you again—not on this Earth,” she stuttered between sobs. What was the matter with her? She felt her heart would burst. She felt more nervous than she had before the crowd in the prince’s palace. She swiped at her eyes. “I—I—I’m sorry!” She bowed her head but her shoulders shook and she couldn’t stop the tears. She groped for her handkerchief.

  He took hold of her arms and turned her around to face him. She fought him at first, trying to evade him, but he only stepped closer, his body large and solid, planted square in front of her. Then he drew her to him and she found herself unable to resist sinking against his broad chest. “There, now, you’d best have your cry.” He held her so gently, his hand patting the back of her head, the way Damien would. She should be happy with that.

  She clutched the lapels of his coat as the tears continued to roll down her cheeks. Relief flooded her in a way that she’d never anticipated. She’d known she would rejoice in his liberty and ability to make a new life for himself. But she’d never imagined the reality of seeing him again in the flesh.

  “I’m…I’m s…so sorry for the w…ways I’ve treated you. I…I w…was an awful example to you of what a Christian should be, always harping on your manners and criticizing you—”

  “Now, none o’ that. You did what you had to. No one ever cared enough for me to push me to do better. You were like steel sharpening me.” His arms closed around her, warm and firm…and, oh, so real.

  As her crying abated, a sense of peace and contentment began to replace the distress and remorse she’d felt at seeing him again. His arms tightened their hold. She breathed in the smell of him—the sweat, the sheer presence of him. She loved him, all of him, and didn’t want to change anything.

  “You’ll probably have to burn this coat.”

  She shook her head, weak laughter now mixed with her tears. “No, no!”

  “And probably shave my scalp again.”

  She glanced up in horror. Not his beautiful hair, which curled around his head. “No, absolutely not!” Unwittingly, she raised her eyes to his and found herself caught by those green eyes fringed by the thick black lashes. They held humor and joy in them.

  She could sense the moment his look changed. “Did you mean what you said to the prince?” he asked, his voice a soft burr above her.

  She dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief. How much did he know? Had Damien told him all? “I said…a lot of things.”

  “Did you mean them all?” His look allowed her no concealment.

  “I can’t remember all I said.” She lowered her eyes, feeling her face begin to heat as she pictured herself once more kneeling before the prince, shedding all pride, all dignity, as she confessed her secret love for Jonah. She began to back out of his embrace.

  His arms tightened around her like iron bands. “Not so fast.”

  Her eyes flew to his. He knew. “What are you doing?”

  “You’re going nowhere till you tell me all.”

  She swallowed. Was he going to use his knowledge to lord it over her? “I told you I can’t remember everything.”

  “Liar.” His fingertip came up and lifted her chin. “You’re not a coward, Florence.”

  How could she tell him the truth? Surely, he would laugh.

  “You told him you loved me.”

  Could she trust him with her heart? With the depth of her feeling for him? Could she lay herself bare to him the way she had done to the regent? All these questions rushed through her mind as she scanned his eyes. But she could read no mockery in their green depths. He looked as serious as she did. She lowered her head and spoke against his chest. “I don’t make a habit of lying.” She tried making her voice as pert as usual. Instead it came out sounding strained.

  “Did you mean it as…a sister…or as a…woman?”

  Her gaze returned to his and once more, she was lost in it. Before she could answer, he said, “Could you ever love someone like me? I’m nothing…and you…you’re a lady.”

  She tightened her hold on the lapels of his coat. “You sell yourself short. A lot of women could love a man like you.”

  “But could you?”

  She knew in that moment she could never take back the words she’d said to the prince. “There was a whole roomful of persons who heard me say the words.” There was a trace of defiance in her voice.

  He reached up a hand to cup her cheek but stopped short of touching it though she yearned for the contact. “Oh, Florence.” It finally registered that this was the second time he’d called her by her Christian name. His voice was filled with awe.

  “You are truly a fine man, Jonah Quinn,” she whispered. “Any woman would be proud to love you.”

  His eyes gazed into hers warmly. “But I want only the love and regard of one woman.”

  They looked at each other a moment longer. Then, slowly he bent his head and closed the space between them. His lips touched hers and she felt herself suspended in a place where there was no safe retreat, no firm ground on which to stand, only a need she could no longer deny.

  His kiss was as tender as she could have desired. She leaned into him. How long she’d dreamed of this moment.

  She brought her arms up to wrap around his neck, seeking to draw him closer to her. He seemed almost afraid of touching her. He suddenly drew back and s
he almost cried out. Had he changed his mind? Had her kiss disappointed him? All her old fears rose up. How could she have thought to please him? He couldn’t want a woman like her.

  But he only gazed at her, concern in his eyes. “I hurt you before. Forgive me, my love.”

  My love. Her heart thrilled at the sound of the endearment on his lips. His eyes reflected the sentiment of the word. Slowly, she shook her head. “You didn’t hurt me.” She remembered that night, the taste of the blood on his lip. She touched the corner of his mouth where only a tiny scar remained. “I think I hurt you, though.”

  He grinned. “I thoroughly deserved any pain you caused me.” His expression became troubled again. “I meant to hurt you…to punish you, and that’s not how it’s meant to be between a man and a woman.”

  She searched his face. “Show me…how…it’s…supposed to be…”

  “Are you sure, love?”

  At her tentative nod, his hands came up to frame her face. “I shouldn’t…not until I’ve washed and shaved…”

  As he continued to hesitate, she leaned forward. “No. I’ve waited too long…and died a thousand deaths in the last week.”

  His eyes looked into hers. “You…” His voice thickened. “No one has ever…done so much for me as you have…since the day you met me.” His eyelids closed over his eyes and his voice broke.

  “I would have done more if it meant your freedom…even if it meant having to give you up…” Her own eyes filled with tears.

  “Oh, Florence. I only hope I can be worthy of your love.”

  Her fingertips touched his lips. “Shh.” And then, with a boldness brought on by her wish to reassure him, she brought his face down to hers and touched her lips to his.

  He needed no more encouragement. After a moment, a chuckle erupted deep in his throat. “You’re doing just fine,” he murmured.

  “I’m not—”

  But he didn’t let her say anything more as he deepened the kiss. His mouth began to explore hers, and Florence marveled as the mystery of the love between a man and a woman began to be revealed to her.