The Reckless Barrister

by April Kihlstrom

  As if that wasn’t as pompous as her polite words had been shallow! Philip wanted to kick himself.

  Something must have shown on his face for abruptly Miss Ashbourne came forward and took his hand in hers. There was an impish gleam in her eyes as she said, “Now that we have both said all that is proper, may we be honest? My aunt and I truly are grateful. But you needn’t have looked at me, when you came in, as though I had grown a second head!”

  She would have let go his hand as she finished speaking, but he would not let her. Instead he grasped her hand and held it tight despite her discreet efforts to pull it free.

  He smiled down at her with a warmth that would have dismayed Philip had he realized how thoroughly he betrayed himself. As it was, he said, oblivious to the effect of his smile upon Miss Ashbourne, “It is I who ought to apologize. It is just that you are such a beauty and I had not guessed. I am realizing I must be a far greater fool than I thought possible not to have noticed that first day.”

  Now she did manage to pull her hand free. “No one was meant to notice,” she told him dryly. “I know you thought me foolish to go out alone, but I was not so foolish as to do so looking like this, where I would draw even more unwelcome attention than I did. I meant to look as plain as possible and it would seem I succeeded.”

  He had to allow the wisdom in her words. Once again it was as though she could read his mind.

  “Just so,” she said. “And now, if you are done, we shall not force you to stay any longer. You have satisfied the proprieties, indeed, the niceties with your morning call and we shall not hold you to any further obligation.”

  “Emily! You sound as if you are forcing the poor man out the door!” Miss Jarrod said in scandalized tones. “And after he has been so kind to us!”

  Philip looked over to the older woman and smiled reassuringly. “Don’t worry,” he said, “I am not so easily dislodged. Nor,” he went on, turning back to Miss Ashbourne, “did I come merely to pay my respects and satisfy some notion of propriety. I came to ask if you would like to go for a ride in my phaeton.”

  Instinctively she backed away, shaking her head. Philip frowned. He would swear it was not a conscious action on her part. And her words came in stammered fits and starts, as though she were so overcome with panic she could not think clearly.

  “No. That is, I could not impose.”

  “I am inviting you. It is not an imposition.”

  “No. It would not be proper. I cannot.”

  “There is a groom to stand up behind and satisfy the proprieties.”

  “I cannot. I, I have nothing suitable to wear.”

  This last was said with hands pressed against her cheeks and Miss Ashbourne’s back was against the far wall with nowhere else to retreat.

  Philip took pity on her. He kept his voice low and soothing as he said, “Miss Ashbourne, you have nothing to fear from me, I assure you. I only thought you might wish to drive around the park and enjoy the fresh air. Truly I don’t care a farthing what you wear.”

  She wavered. He could see it in the longing in her eyes, in the way she leaned toward him, as unconsciously as before she had backed away.

  Careful not to take a step toward her, he threw out what he thought to be an irresistible lure. “We could talk about the laws,” he offered. “Surely if you were brave enough to storm my chambers to discuss them, you are brave enough to ride in an open carriage in my company.”

  “Emily, you didn’t!” Miss Jarrod said.

  The older woman’s scandalized voice betrayed the fact Miss Ashbourne could not have told her aunt where she had been the other day or why. Philip wondered what Banbury tale she had told her aunt to account for his presence by her side when she returned home.

  Apparently Miss Ashbourne did not wish to discuss the matter with Miss Jarrod and chose the lesser of two evils. “I shall be ready in five minutes,” she said, scrambling for the drawing room doorway.

  Philip bowed and waited until she was gone. Then he sat himself down next to Miss Jarrod and prepared for a cozy conversation with the woman in hopes of learning more about the very odd, the oddly appealing Miss Ashbourne.

  Miss Jarrod seemed quite eager to oblige.

  * * * *

  Upstairs, Emily once more pressed her hands against the sides of her face. However was she to go back down and face Mr. Langford? And yet if she didn’t, she feared he would have no hesitation in coming upstairs and fetching her.

  How dare he come and overset her this way? And yet, he had promised to talk with her about the law. Even if he said it to lure her into riding in his carriage, she would hold him to that promise. Despite his discouraging words the other day, there had to be a way to challenge conditions in the mills and factories all over England. Conditions that could only be called scandalously unfair.

  And even if it meant riding in a carriage with Mr. Langford, well, Emily had come to London with a purpose and it was a purpose she meant to fulfill.

  Taking a deep breath, Emily scrambled to get ready to drive out with Mr. Langford. She was back downstairs no more than five minutes later than she had promised and it was, she discovered, none too soon.

  He sat next to Aunt Agatha with his head bent close to hers. Emily could only imagine what her aunt might be telling him and she shuddered. It would be best if she get him out of here as swiftly as possible before Aunt Agatha said anything fatal to her plans.

  “Mr. Langford? I am ready,” Emily said from the doorway.

  At once he was on his feet, coming toward her, offering her his arm and Emily had to steady herself not to shrink back. But still her fingertips trembled slightly as she touched his sleeve.

  He didn’t seem to notice and after a moment Emily let out her breath in relief.

  She also felt relief that he treated her with cool, distant respect. Which ought to have been precisely what she wished. But, perversely, Emily felt a twinge of disappointment. Where was the man who had met her, insult for insult, point for point? She had never liked popinjays and she was not about to start now.

  The fact that Mr. Langford was dressed soberly and acted not in the least like the heedless youth she knew back home was irrelevant. If he mouthed polite nothings, as he was doing right now, she had no interest or respect for him. Still, she supposed it was safer than if he asked questions she had no wish to answer.

  And so Emily reassured herself that everything would be all right, after all. How little she knew men. How little she knew herself!

  Chapter 5

  The ride began reasonably enough. Indeed, how could it not when it was a remarkably fine day for this time of year? Despite her fears, Emily could not help but smile as she stepped out into the bright sunshine.

  Mr. Langford helped her into the carriage and went around to the other side. At a discreet signal, the groom let go of the horses’ bridle and leaped up onto the back of the carriage. Then they were off, sweeping neatly away from the curb.

  “What excellent cattle!” she said.

  But he did not seem pleased. “They belong to my brother,” he said, with some chagrin. At her look of surprise, he unbent sufficiently to add, “I have no need to keep a carriage and James is kind enough to let me borrow his whenever I wish.”

  “Of course,” Emily said, though more to reassure him than anything else.

  And then he proceeded to show her that he knew how to drive to an inch. After just a few minutes Emily knew she need not fear he would overturn them.

  “You are an accomplished whip,” she said approvingly.

  Mr. Langford shrugged. “Not nearly so accomplished as I might wish,” he countered. “My work as a barrister does not leave me time for it. Are the men you know, back home, so cow-handed then?”

  Emily looked away in confusion. Was Mr. Canfield cow-handed? Upon reflection, she thought perhaps he was. One more charge to lay against him, as if she did not have enough already.

  But perhaps it was best not to think of that. When one was bound to a man,
honor bound to marry him, perhaps it was best to think only of his good qualities. If only, she thought gloomily, she could think of any.

  “A farthing for your thoughts,” Mr. Langford said gently.

  Emily started and realized they were already some distance away from her lodgings. And that Mr. Langford was looking at her with patent concern in his fine gray eyes.

  “I was thinking about what you said. About the law,” she lied. “And wondering if matters could truly be as hopeless as you seem to think.”

  He sighed. He distinctly sighed. Had he thought he could divert her from the reason she had agreed to come along? Emily stiffened, angry that he might have done so. And she waited, curious to see how he would answer her.

  “Very well, Miss Ashbourne,” he said, “we shall discuss the law.”

  And they did so. Mr. Langford bent every persuasive force he possessed to try to convince her that her mission was hopeless. That it would be too difficult, nay, all but impossible, to persuade parliament to change the laws as they pertained to mill and factory owners. He tried to persuade Emily that no judge would dare to intervene in so important a matter.

  “But that is precisely when they ought to intervene!” she replied with sharp frustration. “If it were an unimportant matter I should not care. What about Sir Thomas? He is a judge.”

  Mr. Langford sighed and said, with little patience, “Even he must be bound by the law. Besides, I do not understand. Was there not a law passed about ten years ago, the Factory Act, which is supposed to protect workers?”

  Emily snorted. It was a very unladylike gesture, but she did not care. “Yes and it is grossly inadequate!”

  But they were turning into the park and Mr. Langford had to divert his attention from her to managing his high spirited horses as they joined a throng of other carriages.

  Finally, however, he could speak again with Emily. She listened with amusement as he chose to try a different approach this time.

  “How, Miss Ashbourne, do you know what conditions are in these mills and factories? From what your friends tell you?” He stressed the word disdainfully. “How do you know they do not exaggerate in order to draw your sympathy and attention? Isn’t it unfair to judge what conditions might be solely on the basis of their word?”

  Nettled, she replied, “No, Mr. Langford, I do not judge solely on the words of my friends. I tell you the conditions in the mills are horrible because I have seen them with my own eyes.”

  Now he stared at her with patent disbelief and even greater disapproval. In shocked tones he said, “My dear Miss Ashbourne, surely you are not trying to gammon me into believing your family would have allowed you to enter and wander about a mill or a factory? Indeed, I cannot conceive that they would allow you to go anywhere near one! Or that if they did, the owner would let you run tamely about, making no effort to hide conditions if they were as deplorable as you say.”

  “Well there you are out!” Emily retorted hotly. “I have indeed been inside a mill. And seen at close hand just what goes on there. Nor did Mr. Canfield, the owner, make any attempt to hide conditions from me. So far from doing so, he bragged of how hard he worked his people! And how little he paid them for their efforts.”

  Mr. Langford frowned, but at least he did not dismiss her comments entirely out of hand. Slowly he asked, “Now why would this Mr. Canfield be so obliging as to show you over his mill? And why would your family let you go?”

  The question should not have been unexpected. Nor her answer so difficult to give. But it was. Emily found herself wishing there were some way to evade Mr. Langford’s piercing gray eyes as they studied her face while he waited for her answer.

  Finally she took a deep breath and said, in a rush, “Because Mr. Canfield wished to prove to me how well he could provide for me once we are married and my father let me go because he wished me to be persuaded that this marriage is to my benefit.”

  “Marriage!”

  Mr. Langford echoed the word as though thunderstruck. And he flinched, palpably flinched, pulling the reins up short as he did so, causing the horses to jibe in their traces.

  He cursed and then he glared at her. “You are roasting me!”

  In a small voice Emily said, “Surely it is not such a strange notion? Many women my age are already married. Often with a child or two. Am I such an antidote you cannot conceive that I should wish to be married as well? Or that any man should choose to marry me?”

  “That is not what I meant and you very well know it!” he countered, irritably, as he strained to bring his horses back under control.

  Wide-eyed, Emily stared at him. “Is it not?” she asked, bewildered. “But if that is not what you meant, then why should you be surprised?”

  He gave up. With another muttered curse, he pulled his horses to a halt, ignoring the angry driver behind him, and said, with no little exasperation, “Because you are a lady. Whatever your financial situation, you are a lady. And Mr. Canfield is patently not a gentleman, if he owns and runs a mill and can think of no better way to impress you with his qualities as a husband.”

  She laughed. She knew it was reprehensible and if her father could see her, indeed if Aunt Agatha could see her, it would mean a scolding, but she couldn’t help herself. It was so absurd, so counter to all she had been told these past six months and more, that such considerations seemed ridiculous beyond permission.

  She said so aloud.

  “It is not in the least ridiculous!” Mr. Langford countered, once again setting his horses going. “I assure you, everyone I know would tell you the same.”

  Now a grim look crossed Emily’s expression. “Then perhaps you, and everyone you know, ought to speak to my father because it is his contention that the match is perfectly unexceptionable.”

  He stared at her again and Emily wished he would not keep doing so. It was most disconcerting, she thought. An opinion the horses seemed to share, considering the way they suddenly tried to side step in their traces.

  “Do you mean to tell me, Miss Ashbourne, that you do not wish for this match?”

  Mr. Langford said the words quietly, without inflection, but Emily did not trust the apparent calm. She had the oddest notion that it betokened far stronger emotions than if he had simply shouted the words at her. And therefore she found herself reluctant to answer.

  But when he repeated the question for the third time, his voice rising, she knew she had to do so. She finally decided that it would be a relief to be able to tell someone the truth, however much a stranger he might be.

  “No, Mr. Langford, I do not wish for this match,” Emily said in a level voice.

  If her chin was tilted up defiantly, well, that was her business. If her voice held the tiniest quaver, she would not admit to it.

  Mr. Langford’s response was not in the least what she expected.

  “How is he compelling you?” the barrister demanded.

  Emily blinked and he repeated the question. Slowly she said, “It is not simply my father. Circumstances compel me as well. My father has only added the weight of his opinion to them.”

  Once more he stared at her, mouth agape, and once more his horses took exception to this treatment. With a curse, he again halted the carriage, called over his shoulder for the groom to come and take the reins, then leaped down neatly and came around to hand her out.

  When Emily hesitated the barrister said, in an undertone the groom could not hear, “I do not think we can speak freely in the carriage. Come walk with me a short way along the path.”

  Emily knew she should refuse. To go would be a mistake. It was foolish. It was just the sort of impulsive action that had caused her misfortune in the first place.

  And yet she let him hand her down. She even let him tuck her hand into his elbow as they began to walk, slowly, as if they had all the time in the world. She let him lead her away from the carriage and the crowded path, in a direction that seemed all but deserted.

  When they were well away from curious ear
s, Mr. Langford looked down at her with a kindness that almost undid Emily’s carefully erected guard.

  “Tell me about it,” he invited. “I promise I shall try to understand. And perhaps I can even help you.”

  There was a tiny lump in Emily’s throat as she shook her head, and even she could hear the constraint in her voice as she said, “No one can help me.”

  “You might be surprised,” he countered.

  She might have stood proof against that, but when he went on, she was completely undone.

  “Please?” he asked, with even greater kindness than before.

  Abruptly, the words came tumbling out. “He, we, it seemed no great harm to go out driving with Mr. Canfield. It was something my Papa wished me to do. And it seemed pointless to disoblige him. I never made a secret, to Mr. Canfield, of my unwillingness to marry him.”

  She paused and drew in air, as though she could not get enough. She fought to find a way to speak the words that would not drive Mr. Langford away.

  “Go on,” he prompted gently.

  There seemed nothing for it but to state the matter baldly, even if it should make him turn away from her in disgust.

  “I did not know what he, what Mr. Canfield, intended that day. It began as just another drive. But we did not return until the next morning. Two days later a notice was sent to the papers of our betrothal. And that is why, no matter what you or I or anyone says, I will shortly become Mr. Canfield’s wife.”

  * * * *

  Philip stared down at the young woman beside him, her eyes large in a face that had gone very white. Whatever he had expected, it was not this.

  Shaken, he stammered, “I am so very sorry for prying into your affairs, Miss Ashbourne. I, that is, of course you must marry him. I had not guessed that you, that he...”

  Suddenly her expression altered. The color came back into her cheeks and a mischievous gleam lit her eyes. He blinked, taken aback, by such an incongruous reaction to such a serious matter. And then she smiled and once more he wondered if she belonged in Bedlam. Had she no notion of the gravity of what she had just told him?