A Rogue About Town (London League, Book 2)

by Rebecca Connolly

  “Oh, if you only wanted me to treat you poorly, you should have said so,” the maid quipped, grinning across the carriage at her.

  Amelia rolled her eyes as dramatically as she could. “Well, really, Anna, you would think our mother didn’t love you enough.”

  “If only she had taken me to Paris instead of you,” Callie sighed, looking longingly out of the window. “I would have appreciated it so much more. And learned a proper French accent.”

  Amelia released a delightful French curse that Callie would not understand, but she seemed to catch the sentiment and made a face in response.

  The easy banter between them was helping to settle Amelia’s nerves, which were at an all-time high. They were riding in a hack they had hired to visit her mother’s sister, Dottie Chapman, at her Cheapside home. Her aunt. Someone who knew her mother intimately well.

  It was enough to terrify her.

  She’d sent a note off to Mrs. Chapman only a few days ago, asking if she might have a moment to spare for two girls visiting London whose mother wished for details of her old schoolmate, Mary Clairbourne. She’d been given permission to use an address Gent had given her for a return address, somewhere in Mayfair, oddly enough, and when the response had come, one of Gent’s little urchins had delivered it to her. That had been two days ago, and she’d been so delighted by the response that she’d nearly run into Gabe’s office to tell him.

  But that had been the day that the man had come to ask about Mr. Turner. She had seen how Gabe turned pale, how still and drawn he had been, all of which had shocked her. He looked lost and angry and confused all at the same time, and he’d seemed rather agitated before that.

  Her instincts had told her to go to him, and she was very grateful she had done so. He had held her for quite a long time, and while he hadn’t confided in her about what had happened or what any of it meant, he’d surprised her by telling her about his childhood. His mother, his father, the relatives he had lived with after their deaths. He told her about the years he’d spent trying to ruin himself, spending his days and his nights intoxicated and gambling, fighting for sport, and anything else he could think of to avoid actually living a life.

  Amelia had listened without speaking, stunned that he would share some rather personal and painful memories with her. His life had been one of heartache and struggle, as hers had been, and he had come through it relatively unscathed. Granted, he was still insolent, tactless, insufferable, and bad-tempered at times, but now she could see beneath all of that. She could see the honor that the Rogue had claimed to be without. She could see the man he truly was.

  And he had chosen to share a most private part of himself with her.

  She barely restrained the urge to sigh now as she recollected it. Since then, he had been softer where she was concerned. Not exactly soft in the way that anyone else might have done, but there was a degree of tenderness when he spoke with her. When he looked at her. When he touched her.

  He was constantly stealing her breath and making it difficult to not fall completely in love with him.

  She very much feared she was already there.

  But she adamantly refused to think about that. If she had run away from the most perfect man ever created the night of the masquerade, she did not deserve the reality of a man like Gabe. Both were in possession of portions of her heart, and she did not know who would win out.

  Or would there be any winners at all?

  There was so much to lose, and she would lose most of all.

  “I am starting to wish I had practiced the way I walk,” Callie murmured in a hushed tone as she watched people walk along the streets nearby. “She will know I’m a fraud the moment I set foot in there.”

  Amelia looked over at the fair-haired, pretty woman and smiled to herself. “If you think I know how to walk like a fine lady, you are sadly mistaken. But I don’t believe Mrs. Chapman will hold us to the standard of Society misses. She’s a woman from modest means, and she lives in Cheapside.”

  Callie snorted and quirked a brow at her. “Cheapside, and yet not at all cheap. I couldn’t afford it.” She smiled at Amelia, looking her over. “Do you know that blonde hair suits you? It looks quite nice.”

  Amelia opened her mouth to answer when the hack pulled to a stop. Her heart was suddenly in her throat, and she had to take a few slow breaths to steady herself.

  Callie disembarked and seemed to transform at once into the character of Anna Driscoll, adjusting her gloves and bonnet. She glanced back at Amelia with a smile. “Do come on, Alexandra. Mrs. Chapman will not wish to be kept waiting while you fuss with your lace.”

  That spurred Amelia into action, and she scowled at her faux sister as she exited as well. “She will not wish for you to be impertinent, either, Anna.”

  “I am never impertinent,” Callie sniffed as they strode forward. “I simply possess a certain degree of cheek.”

  Amelia bit down on her lip, amused at the perfectly cultured voice that Callie was using. No one would ever suspect her. And here Amelia had thought herself so perfectly superior in the art of imitation and mimicry, when at this moment she was being put through her paces by this cheeky maid.

  What a laugh.

  They proceeded up the steps and were let into the house without any fuss at all, as if their visit had been just another in a string of calls being received. Once their outerwear had been taken, they were shown into a simply decorated drawing room that suited Amelia’s taste perfectly; pale green wallpaper in good condition, various pieces of clean, well-maintained furniture in the Queen Anne style, and plenty of fresh light from the windows facing the street. It was all elegant, but hardly expensive, and surprisingly sensible.

  It spoke well of the woman they were to meet, and Amelia found herself more at ease.

  She caught sight of a small writing desk in the corner that almost exactly mirrored one they’d had at the cottage near Finley. The same dark wood, the same detailing, the same simplicity in style. It was neatly ordered on top, which was not at all like her mother’s desk had been, but all of the necessary supplies for letter-writing were laid out, and it seemed they had been in use already that day.

  Who was her aunt writing to, she wondered. Had she cousins? Was she writing to the brother in Hertfordshire that Gabe had found?

  Her curious train of thought was cut short by the entrance of the woman herself, and she and Callie rose as one to curtsey.

  Amelia looked up at her aunt and was pleased to see that while she could see the family resemblance, it was not striking. She was not sure she could have endured seeing a woman who looked too much like her mother.

  Mrs. Chapman was on the petite side, though of a decent enough height. She wore a simple striped muslin and cap with a shawl around her shoulders, and her hair was a soft amber color, very unlike Amelia’s mother’s, which had been quite dark. She did have the same blue eyes, though, almost the shade of the sky, and the lines near her eyes spoke of both joyous and somber times.

  Mrs. Chapman smiled at them both, but it was an almost sad smile, as though it bore a heavy burden. “Welcome to my home, dear girls. I pray you will excuse Mr. Chapman, he was most insistent on being at Parliament today.” She looked at them both, then smiled at Amelia. “I am going to guess that you are Alexandra.”

  Amelia smiled and inclined her head in acknowledgement. “I am, ma’am. This is my younger sister, Anna.”

  Mrs. Chapman gave Callie a fond smile and a bit of a wink. “I was a younger sister as well, my dear. It is such a trial, is it not?”

  Callie nodded soberly, releasing a heavy sigh. “It is indeed, Mrs. Chapman, but I endure it as best I can.”

  That drew laughter from the older woman, and she indicated that they should sit. “I have called for a tea service, but I thought we could chat a moment first.” She looked between the two of them. “You wished to know of my sister Mary?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Amelia replied with a modest dip of her chin. “Our mother knew her
at school, and when the opportunity came for us to come to London, she asked us to see if we could find out about her friend.”

  Mrs. Chapman tilted her head slightly, her brow furrowing. “Your mother did not accompany you?”

  “There are two other girls at home, ma’am,” Callie said, smiling sweetly as she shook her head. “They were not old enough to come, so she remained with them.”

  That made the woman smile a knowing smile. “Ah, yes. My own younger girls were most put out with their elder sister when she was permitted adventures and they were not.”

  Callie laughed a little and folded her hands primly in her lap. “Yes, Lucy and Beth will probably not speak to us for some time, but they tend to go through phases of that anyway.”

  “And Mother only says ‘Girls will be girls’,” Amelia added, shrugging one shoulder.

  “As they will be,” Mrs. Chapman agreed. She looked between Amelia and Callie with speculation, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Your mother was Fanny Heywood, wasn’t she?”

  Callie and Amelia looked at each other with wide eyes, pretending to be utterly astonished, then turned back to her.

  “How did you guess?” Callie asked in a perfectly hushed voice.

  Mrs. Chapman looked rather pleased with herself. “I met her a handful of times, and she was one of Mary’s dearest friends. You both resemble her nicely.”

  “Thank you,” Amelia murmured softly, unsure of how she felt about the praise.

  She’d always been told she resembled her mother a great deal, but Mrs. Chapman did not seem to see the resemblance to her sister. Or had Mary and her friend looked so similar that it was an easy mistake to make?

  “Father will be so pleased,” Callie chirped with a bright smile, taking away from Amelia’s sudden melancholy. “He always said he wanted his daughters to look like her.”

  “Yes,” Amelia managed, recovering quickly. “It’s a pity you did not also inherit her good sense and grace.”

  Callie gave her a sour sisterly look that made Mrs. Chapman chuckle.

  The tea service was brought in then, and there was a pause while Mrs. Chapman poured for them all. “Well, what would you like to know about my sister?” she asked, handing tea to Amelia. “I have not seen her in many, many years, I am afraid.”

  “Oh?” Callie asked with innocent curiosity. “That must be very trying for you.” She looked at Amelia quickly, then returned her gaze to their hostess. “I may plague my sisters, but I could not imagine being so separated.”

  Her words made Mrs. Chapman smile fondly at her as she took up her own tea. “That is sweet. I was of a similar mind, but… well, it was just not meant to be. Mary met a man, a trifle older than her, but not shockingly so, despite what our father said about it.”

  Amelia had to fight the urge to sit forward and listen with excitement. She forced her expression to remain calm and only mildly interested.

  Mrs. Chapman shook her head, her lips curving as she sipped her tea. “Mary was so strong-willed. Your mother will remember that well. She always was, you know, but something about this man made her even more so.” She shook her head, her delicate earrings dancing slightly. “I never even met him. Father refused to have him in the house or to have anything to do with him.”

  “Why?” Callie asked rather bluntly, not bothering to feign politeness.

  “Anna,” Amelia tried to scold, though she was pleased by the impertinence.

  Mrs. Chapman smiled at her sadly. “It’s all right, Miss Driscoll. If Mary can be a lesson for you and your sister, I do not mind.” She turned her kind eyes back to Callie and exhaled softly. “He was a ship merchant. He dealt in trade with various countries and, as I understand it, even had smuggling interests. The man was even imprisoned for a time, though the charges did not stand. He had absolutely no business with the daughter of a respectable family, no matter how fine his principles were.”

  The words sounded harsh, yet the tone was anything but. Amelia had the sense that her aunt was reciting the family’s arguments more than her own opinions, and yet there was some truth in her expression. She believed it, in part, but the reluctance and hesitation were there.

  “What happened, Mrs. Chapman?” Amelia prodded as gently as she could.

  She looked at Amelia with eyes that suddenly seemed much older. “She married him anyway. She was cut off financially once the news of the engagement broke. She refused to take back her promise, though it would be a year, at least, before they could marry. Mr. Cole had no real money to provide for her, you see, so they would have to wait.”

  “Mr. Cole?” Amelia blurted before she could stop herself.

  Thankfully, her eagerness was not noticed.

  “Daniel Cole,” Mrs. Chapman told her, no longer looking at her. She sipped her tea quietly. “Mary told me several times that she loved him quite madly. She said that all of her dreams were coming true, and she didn’t care what anybody said.” She smiled a little bitterly, blinking rapidly. “Not even me. I was no match for Mr. Cole, either.”

  Amelia felt her own eyes beginning to burn, and she had to lower them quickly. She forced her breathing to be steady and focused on her purpose, her act. She could not be emotional; not here, not now.

  “How very sad,” Callie said with a whimper for good measure. “And no one could persuade her?”

  Mrs. Chapman shook her head, seeming to come to herself. “No, and we all tried. Father turned her from the house, and Mary moved to London. After a few weeks, Father sent my brother Frank to London to find her. I suspect he thought Mary would realize the mistake she made when she went to London without the benefit of Society or funds.” Now she smiled in earnest, her eyes softening. “But Frank said that Mary was perfectly content, and that the wedding would go on. We were permitted letters for a time after that, and she wrote to me faithfully for a year. Mr. Cole was gone frequently with his ships, so Mary had time to do so. She found employment for a time, which did not surprise me. She was a determined girl who grew into an industrious woman. When she put her mind to something, it was accomplished.”

  Hearing this account, Amelia felt as if she was being introduced to her mother for the first time. Her mother had been sad for most of Amelia’s life, and she could not recall her ever being markedly determined or willful. She had been reserved and unhappy, though even Amelia could not deny her industriousness. She had come from a well-bred family, despite her meager means, and yet had made a life for herself in their cottage after London. She had raised Amelia in circumstances far less than what she had been brought up in and worked hard every day of her life.

  “Did she have any children, Mrs. Chapman?” Callie asked with all the sweet-temperedness of a younger sister.

  “She was expecting a child when I last heard from her,” Mrs. Chapman said with a nod and a smile. “A very active one, she told me. And she said Mr. Cole was so pleased with the prospect.” Her smile faded, and she slowly shook her head. “I don’t know what happened after that. I never heard from her again.”

  “Did you try to find them?” Callie persisted, far too engaged in the story for Amelia’s taste.

  “Anna,” Amelia murmured, laying a hand over hers.

  Callie looked at her with a question in her eyes.

  Amelia shook her head a little, giving her a firm smile.

  “Oh, Anna,” Mrs. Chapman murmured, her voice a little choked.

  Both girls turned to look at her with interest.

  A pair of tears made their way down Mrs. Chapman’s cheeks, but she did not seem to feel them. “I couldn’t search for her. I wanted to. She was my sister, and I loved her. But I could not disobey my father. I needed to make a good match if we were to redeem ourselves from Mary’s fall, and our brother Frank needed to marry well, too. We couldn’t…” She broke off with a sniffle and looked away.

  “I’m sorry,” Amelia said quickly, fishing for a handkerchief. “She did not mean to pry.”

  “Not at all!” Callie echoed, sounding a t
rifle panicked. “Please, Mrs. Chapman…”

  Mrs. Chapman wiped at her eyes and laughed a watery laugh. “No, no, forgive me girls. It is quite all right. I have not spoken of Mary in so long, and it is a relief to do so.” She smiled at them with genuine affection. “I know your mother will not think less of Mary for her actions, and now you know the whole truth.”

  Amelia and Callie shook their heads as one, and Amelia found her heart pounding a little unsteadily. There was real affection here, despite the treatment of her mother by her family. Amelia could not pretend to understand the decision to cut her off, nor of the siblings for clinging to the family, but she did not feel angry or bitter about it. Not now that she saw the feelings that still lingered despite the years of separation.

  “I named my eldest daughter after her, you know,” Mrs. Chapman told them with a much brighter smile. “Mary. We called her Molly, as it would have caused Mother pain to hear her called by my sister’s name. And my Molly has all the energy of her Aunt Mary, I can promise you that.”

  Amelia could barely blink, couldn’t find her breath. Her cousin… Named for her mother. She had a cousin named for her mother.

  “That’s lovely!” Callie fairly gushed, sipping at her tea. “How sweet. I declare, I don’t know that I could name my daughter Alexandra, much as my elder sister would delight in it.” She nudged Amelia lightly, grinning at her.

  Amelia managed to return it and shook off the emotions swelling within her. “Well, that is as it should be, as I’m quite sure I could never have an Anna of my own.”

  “But neither of us could have Lucy or Elizabeth,” Callie assured Mrs. Chapman with a wink. “They would lord over us for ages.”

  Mrs. Chapman smiled and nodded her understanding. “My sister and I were either the best of friends or the worst of enemies. And we got into some terrible scrapes as girls, I can assure you.”

  She started to tell the stories, one after the other, and Amelia steeled herself against them all, praying she could keep her act in place.

  But she felt more and more hollow as the stories continued.