“You look quite lovely, Miss Lapointe,” he said.
“Thank you, Mr Price,” I said cheerfully, because it was one thing for him to call me by my last name when we were alone, and quite another to say it in the entrance hall where the maids could hear. My father had a deep belief in displaying affluence, and the number of servants in our house had always exceeded our needs. Apart from my attic – and now, apparently, my room – there was hardly anywhere in the house where one could speak without being overheard by one of the maids. “The new girl picked it out for me.”
“The new girl?” he said, pulling open the door and bowing me through it.
“Kitty, she arrived before you did.”
“Kitty has good taste.”
He led me down the drive, through the gardens he enjoyed working in so much. I’d never asked why a manservant to a wealthy family would spend his days on his knees in the dirt. But then, I was an heiress who spent her days tinkering with machines in her father’s attic, so I was hardly one to comment on propriety.
It was cold outside. The trees were tinged copper and the air was crisp with the smell of wood fires and pine. I remembered that it was autumn, and belatedly realised that Kitty must have gotten me the coat because she’d known that I would be cold.
The carriage was parked at the end of the driveway. The driver nodded to Edmund, who nodded back. I stood for a moment and stared at the horses. Their coats were glossy like they’d been coated with oil, and they were much bigger than I remembered. It had been years since I’d ridden in a carriage.
Edmund helped me into the carriage. He dithered for a moment before joining me inside. “Generally speaking, it’s not proper. Me riding with you,” he said, shuffling a bit as he made himself comfortable on the cushioned seat in front of me. “Normally, I’d be riding with the driver. But it’s cold enough that no one would begrudge me.”
“I understand that my father has encouraged rumours that I am ill,” I said. “I imagine that it could be considered necessary for me to keep my manservant nearby. In case I have a fainting spell.”
Edmund smiled. I enjoyed his smile. It was warm and sweet like apple cider. “Quite right, Miss Lapointe,” he said as the carriage jostled and the horses’ hooves clipped and clopped down the drive.
I felt something twist inside of me. Miss Lapointe again. We were alone now, there was no need for it.
Shifting uncomfortably, I wondered if I should say anything. It must have been terribly difficult for him to see me every day since the accident, but being unable to reach out and touch. I knew that it had been difficult for me, and I had my work to divert my attention. Edmund’s work was serving me.
“Edmund,” I began. He looked over at me and I faltered. I was not entirely sure what I was going to say, but I hoped that if I just started speaking that I would find my way to the heart of what I meant. “I – we have not discussed… the night the Mothers attacked.”
He pursed his lips and nodded slowly, cautiously. “Yes,” he said.
“I suppose we ought to?” I said.
He nodded. “We ought to.”
Silence reigned. Neither of us could look at each other. Finally, Edmund sighed and leaned forward so that his elbows were resting on his knees. “I understand that I overstepped my boundaries that night,” he said. “I was… upset at what had happened, and I was not thinking clearly. I ought to have apologised by now, but I could not find the words.”
I felt my mouth fall open. “Those are exactly the words I should be saying!” I said. “I was the one who instigated our –” I couldn’t find the word. Dalliance, perhaps? But that made it sound so trivial. What had passed between Edmund and myself was, despite its impropriety, very special to me. “I started it,” I finished lamely. “And then I ignored it.”
“You have every right to,” Edmund said, wringing his hands. “You’re a lady, and I’m –”
“I don’t care that you’re a servant,” I said. I realised that I meant it.
Edmund hesitated before closing his mouth, licking his lips and sighing. “I should have stopped it.”
“I asked you not to,” I said weakly.
“But now I have… ruined things,” he said, gesturing weakly at the air between the two of them.
I sighed and ran a hand over my face, rubbing my temples as I felt a sudden ache coming on. I wanted to say that there was nothing to ruin – that he was my servant and we could never go beyond that night. It would be the right thing to say. It would save my father from the shame of a daughter marrying beneath herself, save me from the distraction of the constant wondering about what Edmund felt and where we stood. The carriage rocked steadily beneath us.
“I… I never gave much thought to who I would marry,” I said slowly. Edmund cast his eyes down to his shoes and his shoulders hunched, but I could see the light in his eyes which told me that he was listening hard to every word I said. “I always believed that I could never find any man who would make me want to. I enjoyed my tinkering. That made me happy. And it still does. I do not mean to say that I would choose one or the other. But… I believe that if you were not my servant, you would make me happy.” He looked up at that, and I felt a hot flush rise in my cheeks. “I could share my passion between you and my work…” I let my voice trail off.
“If I were not your servant,” Edmund finished for me.
I nodded quickly, and was shocked to feel tears spring to my eyes. It was only one night – I had only known him for a few weeks. I should not have felt so bereft at the thought that he and I could not be… anything more than what we were.
Thinking back to that night, well Edmund had listed my likes and dislikes to convince me that he knew me well enough to care for me. Not well-enough to anticipate my every thought, or attend to my every need without being asked, but enough to know that he liked me. He was remarkably knowledgeable for someone who had only known me a few weeks.
‘I know enough to know that you are the most intelligent, exciting, utterly incomprehensible woman I have ever met.’
I was ashamed to say that I did not have an equivalent knowledge of his likes and dislikes. I should have done. I wished that I had done. I was more ashamed of the knowledge that it was only his station that I objected to. Had he been anything other than my servant, these doubts would not be in my head.
Edmund took a deep breath before he spoke: “If circumstances were different, I would have asked you to marry me by now.” I felt a lump of emotion well inside of my throat and did my best to swallow it. “I would have fallen to my knees within moments of making your acquaintance and begged for your hand.”
“I would not have said yes,” I told him. His face fell until I added: “But if you had asked after that night – after the first week, even – I… I think I may have said yes.”
Edmund sniffed shortly and looked out the carriage window. His eyes were red. “If circumstances were different,” he muttered.
“If circumstances were different,” I replied.
Silence fell again.
Chapter Three
The mournful silence between us did not break until the carriage came to a halt almost an hour later. Edmund moved so quickly, stepping out of the carriage and lowering the steps that I thought he must have some kind of propulsion device attached to his back.
Propulsion device. Now there was an idea.
An idea for another time, I told myself, allowing Edmund to gingerly take my hand and guide me down the steps to the dirty cobblestone footpath. His fingers were warm and comforting, but I let them go.
“Where to?” I asked, keeping my voice determinedly cheerful.
Edmund stared at me for a moment before replying: “There is a military supply store nearby.”
“Very well,” I gestured for him to lead the way.
We were in the outskirts of London, according to my memory of the place, in Great Missenden. I did not know how Edmund had known that there were guns to be bought here, but I allowed him
to lead me down the streets which were not quite as filthy as London’s, breathing in the smell of excrement, and pumpkin pies cooking. The houses here were all very new – standing within a few feet of each other and looking almost isolated compared to their London cousins. At least, they did compared to the London cousins I remembered. I wondered if a trip to London itself would be in order in due course.
Edmund led me to a small building some thirty yards away from where we’d left the carriage. The building was older, with mould growing between the bricks and a look of general neglect in the flower pots along the awnings. The door was old and weathered, and creaked when Edmund opened it for me.
Inside was dark. Before my eyes could properly adjust, I heard a shrill cry of “Eddy!” and a blur of colour burst out of the shadows to engulf Edmund in a hug.
I pulled back, startled, but Edmund did not seem to be particularly startled. The woman before me was dressed in simple muslin skirts and wore her corset loose like I preferred to. She pulled back and I could see that she looked about the same age as me. She patted Edmund on the cheek and I felt a fire of jealousy burn through me.
“It’s good to see you, love,” she said, making my blood boil. Her voice had a long, lazy accent and her chest and hips were much more developed than mine. “Haven’t seen you in months. Where’ve you been?”
“Working here and there,” Edmund replied. He kept his hands on her waist for a moment longer before stepping away and gesturing to me. “This is my new mistress, Miss Lapointe.”
I knew that I was glaring. I did not mean to. I tried to force my face into something more genteel and held my hand to shake. The woman began to curtsey, but when she saw my hand she raised her eyebrow at Edmund before shaking it. “A pleasure, Miss Lapointe.”
“Likewise, Miss –”
“Mrs Holt,” she said. She grinned back at Edmund, apparently forgetting that I existed. “So what brings you here in all your fancy digs?” she asked, gesturing to his clothes as though she’d never seen the like. He was dressed modestly for the manservant of nobility, but I suppose for such a woman modest nobility would be something thrilling.
I shook my head to clear the thoughts. I knew that I was being petty, but I couldn’t seem to stop myself. She was married after all, so even if she and Edmund had been close once – the way they stood together and matched each other’s hand gestures seemed to imply that they had been – it was certainly not an indulgence they could repeat.
Edmund smiled at her. It was the nice smile, the one I liked. I did not like that it was directed to someone else. “Miss Lapointe wishes to examine your pistols.”
Mrs Holt’s eyes widened. “Is that so?”
After a few attempts to try and convince her that I was, indeed, intent on purchasing a pistol, Mrs Holt guided me to the display case at the back of the room and pulled one out.
“This is a sweet little beauty – perfect for hiding in your skirts.”
“Too small,” I said, barely looking at the tiny lump of metal in her hand. “Do you have any with copper barrels?”
Mrs Holt raised her eyebrows at Edmund again, who gestured for her to go ahead and show me. She pulled out another pistol, its reddish-brown barrel gleaming in the dark light of the shop, but I shook my head again. “Too small.”
She pulled out another, and another. Eventually, I asked for some paper and ink so that I could sketch what I wanted. Mrs Holt shared an amused smile with Edmund, who returned it – the traitor – before she handed me some paper and an old quill. I sketched out the design and she tutted over it for a moment.
“That’d be a Walther with a Smith and Wesson barrel. I can sort that out for you – won’t be a moment.”
Then she took out two different pistols and laid them on the counter. I could see the similarities to my drawing immediately.
“Where did you get the idea for this?” she asked as she expertly took the two guns apart. She was good with her hands, I thought. Edmund must like that sort of thing in a woman.
“It just came to me,” I said.
“Well, it’s a brilliant idea,” she replied. “Walthers have the power, but no one can match the precision of Smith and Wesson. Would you mind terribly if I borrowed the idea?” she asked suddenly, looking up at me with something close to hope. “My husband and I enjoy tinkering with weapons when we get a moment.”
A woman after my own heart. I smiled in spite of myself, feeling a kinship with her even as I wanted to shove Edmund out of the window because he was smiling so hard at the pair of us, watching us interact with a look that could only be described as fond.
“Feel free,” I said.
Mrs Holt cheerfully sorted out the pistol parts until she had them in what appeared to be in working order. She stuffed some gunpowder in the barrel and I had a sudden epiphany. I knew what the wires were for!
She took the pistol outside, muttering about one final test and leaving Edmund and I in uncomfortable silence. I quickly made some amendments to the sketch I’d made before shoving it down my dress, ignoring the curious look from Edmund when he saw what I was doing. Then we both umped when we heard the gunshot.
“Good working order,” Mrs Holt said, returning to the room and grinning widely. She packed the pistol up in a box and handed it to Edmund. “Don’t you be a stranger now, Eddy,” she said. Then she bowed to me. “Thank you for your patronage, Miss Lapointe – and thank you for the idea.”
“You’re very welcome, Mrs Holt,” I replied. She and Edmund embraced one last time, and I found myself viciously thinking that she’d been welcome to my idea – not my manservant.
I felt a twinge when I thought of someone else developing my theories – perhaps even earning some form of recognition for them. As a store owner, she would be in a position to disseminate her ideas much more effectively than I could. She would probably not give recognition either.
But then, I thought, with organisations like the Mothers running about and terrorising scientists, perhaps sharing my ideas was the best way to ensure that they could not destroy them completely. Perhaps by giving Mrs Holt the idea to combine two guns into one, I was giving her the opportunity to fight back against the Mothers, should my plan fail.
I spent most of the carriage-ride home steadfastly ignoring Edmund. I knew that it was childish of me to punish the man for being fond of other women – especially married women who ought to have been beyond his reach, but I could not help it. When we arrived home I did not take his hand when I climbed out of the carriage. He noticed. A soft frown marred his features as he thanked the driver and led me down the drive to the main house.
“Miss Lapointe,” he said once we were inside. “Did I do something to upset you?”
Apart from telling me that you would have asked me to marry you, and then getting friendly with the woman who ran the pistol store? I shook my head. He gave me a look that said he did not, in any way, believe me and stepped forward to take my cloak. Once I was divested of the thing, I half-ran up to my room. I closed the door behind me and took deep, long breaths.
I was being ridiculous, I told myself. Edmund’s past relationships were irrelevant. They did not change our circumstances. They did not change the fact that he was a servant and I was his mistress.
So why was I obsessively picturing him with his arms wrapped around Mrs Holt? Why was I suddenly aflame with such jealous passion that I wanted to claim him as my own and never allow anyone else to go anywhere near him?
Is this what love feels like? I asked myself as I paced around the room. My bed was covered in blueprints, so I could not fall into it in my distress. I went to the window and opened the curtains, staring out into the gardens that Edmund enjoyed cultivating so much. Was it love when I wanted to jealously guard him from any other women who might coax a smile out of him? Was it love when I wanted to be the only one he would smile for, the only one who could enjoy his kisses, the only one who could run my hands over him? I shuddered at the thought and tried to push it away
. The circumstances, I reminded myself. Whether I loved him or not was… irrelevant. Was it not?
A knock on the door: “Miss Lapointe, may I come in?”
It was Edmund, of course.
“Yes,” I replied after some hesitation.
He opened the door and I saw the package tucked under his arm. In my haste to leave, I had left the pistol behind.
“Are you sure you are alright?” he asked. His voice was almost mournful as he closed the door behind him. “If this is about our discussion on the way into town –”
“What is your relationship with Mrs Holt?” I asked.
He blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“You seemed awfully close.”
I tried not to let the childish fear that he could like someone other than me find its way into my tone, but I must have failed. The expressions on his face morphed from confused, to understanding, to amused.
“Mrs Holt is my sister, Rosalie,” he said, speaking slowly as though I were a dullard. “Mary. She married John Holt last fall.”
“I – oh,” I did not know what to say to that. I simply stared, dumbstruck, as Edmund chuckled softly and pulled the pistol out of its casing to lay it gently on the workbench.
I stared at it for a moment, but my heart did not want me to examine it. I had no desire to try and learn the weapon’s secrets and modify them to suit what I’d seen among the Mothers. All my mind could focus on was the knowledge that Edmund had not been attached to Mrs Holt. That she was his sister.
When he turned back to me, his eyes sparkled with amusement. “Did you really think we were –”
“I did not know what to think,” I replied. “I know that young men are expected to… sew their seeds.”
“I never did much of that,” he said, and a warm blush coated his lovely cheeks. “And Mary would have torn me to shreds if I had.” He looked at me with an odd expression, before sighing, “Truly, Rosalie, before I met you I’d never thought I could feel for a woman. You proved to me that I could.”
And there it was. The words I had longed to here, but did not realise that I had longed to hear them until they’d been spoken.
BILLIONAIRE ROMANCE: The Unforgettable Southern Billionaires: The Complete Collection Boxed Set (Young Adult Rich Alpha Male Billionaire Romance) Page 98
