by Aria Norton
Knowing she was not a classic beauty, she sighed with disappointment at her reflection. Her hair hung in dark, semi-straight stands down her back, tied back with a simple ribbon. They could not afford expensive silver combs or other such luxuries. Her jaw was square and strong, like her father's. Her brown eyes were nothing special, in her opinion. Her one crowning beauty was her full lips and unblemished complexion.
The bloom of youth was still apparent on her cheeks, enhanced by her high cheekbones. Her father had always called her plain. Joshua had encouraged her that there was more to life than being beautiful, remaining true to men's insensitive and unwitting ways of putting their feet in their mouths.
Although she was pretty, she would never have classified herself as beautiful. Even so, her brother's attempts to help encourage her had stung. No young lady wanted to be told she only had her intelligence to recommend her. Her mother had often told her in her letters that she was getting old and needed to hurry and find a husband if she was to have any hope of security. It did not help that her dowry was small. She would be lucky if a young farmer took pity on her and asked for her hand.
Oh no. She would rather die an old maid than live in the country. A woman of refined taste and aspirations, she longed for a life of adventure in the political arena. It was too bad that she had been born a woman, she thought, and not for the first time. Why was it that boys were allowed to go off to war, vote, own land, and a plethora of other things that women were not allowed to do? The injustice of it all turned her stomach.
Several times during the year following her father's death, her mother had pleaded for her to come and live with her at the cottage. She was a mild hypochondriac and railed on and on about the unhealthy conditions of London. The air was terrible, the smells were enough to drive one to delirium, and the food was too rich. Abigail tried to allay her mother's fears as best she could, glad that she was many miles away from her mother's nagging voice and her aunt's woes. Thankfully, her aunt indulged her mother's every whim, and her mother listened to her aunt's endless prattle. They were the perfect pair.
Her mother's last letter had been particularly hurtful, although it had been unconsciously so. I beg that you would put forth an effort, my dear, and settle down. Tending to one's family is the greatest joy a woman can find. I would remind you of the promise you made to your father to marry well and save the family. It is up to you now, as I doubt Joshua's political career will amount to anything...
Abigail had not shown the letter to Joshua. He was already insecure about his campaign to be elected to a place in the House of Commons. He did not need the added pressure of his mother's lack of faith in him.
It was in her brother's weaknesses that she had found her place to thrive. She had identified her calling; to help her brother with his campaign and see him elected to the House of Commons. He had not the political bent for the post for which he was running. Joshua was too docile, too bent on pleasing everyone, and frightened out of his mind that he would offend people. As a politician, he would need to grow thicker skin and trade in his soft-spoken nature for a more commanding presence and speech.
Abigail liked to think she had helped him to that end over the last year. Although he had not been elected the previous year, she hoped that this year's campaign would change that. His biggest problem was staying in tune with the people he hoped to represent.
She was jolted out of her reverie when she heard a hackney carriage pull up in front of the house. Glancing out of the window once more, she saw her brother climbing down from the small carriage. He held an umbrella over his head as he made a dash for the front door. The rain had begun in earnest as the sun descended behind the westward buildings on the opposite side of the street.
Abigail went downstairs to meet her brother. Handing the umbrella to the maid, he shook the water off his light jacket. The maid, Mazzie, placed the umbrella in the stand near the door to dry and waited for Joshua to hand his coat to her. Joshua huffed, handing over the coat with a frown.
"Abominable weather!" he panted, and slammed the door before Mazzie could do so. She stepped back in surprise and lowered her head.
Abigail recognised her brother's foul temper and met him at the door with a smile. She linked her arm through his and led him away before he could take out his frustration on Mazzie. "It is not a cold rain is it? It is mid-May after all." Abigail looked over his brother's shoulder to Mazzie. "A towel for Master Staton, please, Mazzie."
Mazzie disappeared down the hall and came back with a towel for Joshua to dry his face and hair. "No it is not too cold, but being drenched on the way into the house has put me in an even worse temper than I was before."
"Are you in a temper, brother? Whatever for?" Abigail led him into the parlor where a cheery fire was blazing, and had him sit down to warm himself. "Mazzie, please bring tea and refreshments for us," she instructed the maid, who hurried off to do as she was bid.
"It was a terrible day at the House. No doubt you’ve heard of the Prime Minister’s assassination? And never mind, Mazzie! Bring the bottle of Scotch and a glass."
Mazzie glanced at her mistress as if to confirm that this was alright. Abigail nodded, and the girl went to the study to retrieve what her brother had requested. She placed a hand on his arm and tried to calm him. The last thing he needed was to drink himself into oblivion. He had a debate the next day. "Tell me what happened."
Joshua stood and edged closer to the hearth, holding his hands palm out to soak up the warmth. "It's that darned Sir Filmore. He has a way with the people that I will never have."
"Don't say that. From what I hear, Filmore is a cad and drunkard. You are twice the man he is."
"That may be so, but he charms his voters with fancy speeches and gifts. He's bested me for the third time in a debate. And I'm sure he'll take the next one tomorrow."
Mazzie appeared with the Scotch and set the bottle and glass down on the side table for him. She quickly left the room, feeling the tension bristling in the air. Joshua was not unkind by nature, but the last few months had put such a strain on him. He was becoming more sullen as of late, lashing out at the servants and even at her at times. Abigail gave Mazzie an apologetic glance before she disappeared from the parlor.
"You will just have to learn his weaknesses, brother."
"You don't understand, Abby. If I don't win this election, we are ruined! I've spent most of Father's inheritance on the last two campaigns, and what have I got to show for it? Nothing! We'll both be living with Mother and Aunt Beatrice by year's end if I can't turn this around." Joshua sat down and poured himself a drink, taking a long swig before he continued.
"I don't think I have what it takes to be a success in the political arena. I'm not like you."
Abigail knelt before her brother and took the drink from his hands. His depressive moods only became worse when he drank. She set the glass on the side table and took both his hands in hers. "Joshua. I believe in you. And you know I am here to help you in whatever way I can. We will figure it out together, I promise." He smiled down at her and gave her hands a light squeeze.
"I have always known I can count on you. I'm sorry for my temper. I know it must be beastly for you, with all the stress of running the household and trying to help me keep my career afloat."
"I would not want to be anywhere else. You know that. Through thick and thin, I am with you, brother."
He sighed as she let go of his hands and sat down in her chair again. They stared into the flames crackling away in the fireplace for a moment, a companionable pause stretching between them. The rain started coming down even harder, pounding on the rooftop. It was one of her favorite sounds in the world.
"I should never have listened to Father, no matter how he railed at me. I'm not cut out for this life," Joshua whispered. Abigail's heart broke for him. He had always dreamed of going into the church, a profession for which he would have been much better suited. He was much more concerned with people's spiritual needs than gain
ing their favor so they would vote for him.
Politics drained him of his energy, rather than exciting him as it did for Abigail. They had both disappointed their father, their personalities not matching his expectations. Joshua was the quiet, docile one, where she was passionate and headstrong. It was too bad they could not switch places.
"Everything will be fine. You'll see. We will transform you into a first-rate politician if it's the last thing I do!"
He laughed. "My sister. Ever the optimist." Shaking his head, he stood. "I should change for dinner. Thank you, Abby, for trying to cheer me up. I don't know what I would do without you."
She nodded as he left the room. She called for Mazzie and had her take the unfinished glass of Scotch to the kitchen. Abigail took the liquor bottle back to the study and replaced it on the drink cart. If only she could run for office in her brother's place, then all would be well. Knowing that the stress of losing the house and their livelihood weighed heavily on her brother's shoulders, she had taken to making small economies here and there.
Their financial status was not looking good, although she tried to keep this fact from her brother as much as possible. He did not need even more bad news to worry him. With the election looming only six months away, the prime minister's assassination, and the upheaval of the war with Napoleon, Joshua was in for a bumpy ride.
Abigail went back out into the parlor to tidy it up before dinner. Joshua soon rejoined her, and they talked about his day at the office. "You've heard about the Prime Minister, no doubt?"
"Yes, how awful! His poor family, they must be devastated." Abigail's heart went out to Mrs. Perceval and their twelve children. She could not imagine raising twelve children on her own.
"Everyone is reeling. The government wants a swift trial and an end to it all. With the war still on, we need to set in the new Prime Minister as soon as possible."
"Perhaps you can run for the post. That would solve all of our financial difficulties," Abigail teased.
Joshua laughed. "Only in our dreams would I become Prime Minister, sister."
Chapter 3
Instead of going straight home, Thomas made his way to his fiancé’s house as the sun was setting, a light spring shower greeting him as he exited the gaming house. The rain picked up, however, as he made his way down the street. Wishing he had hailed a hackney, he pulled up his coat collar and wrapped his arms around his waist to ward off the chill.
His only worry was for Sarah's safety, though. He had to be sure that Harold's words were unfounded. It was true that Sarah was the most beautiful woman in London, and would therefore be hard to mistake for someone else. However, Harold would have had the gall to play a nasty trick on him as well. The only other alternative was that what Harold claimed was genuine. Thomas could hardly bear to think about that now.
When he arrived at the Thorne mansion, his clothes were soaked through. He must have looked like a drowned rat, with his hair slickly pasted to his brow. It took a moment for the butler to recognise him.
"Good evening, Smithers. It's me, Lord Brampton."
"Oh, good heavens! Please come in, sir!" Smithers exclaimed. He went to tell the Lord and Lady of the house that he was there, leaving him to stand dripping on the foyer's expensive rug.
Thomas sniffed and stood as still as possible so as not to soak down anything else. Lord Thorne came out of his study a moment later, looking distraught.
"I am sorry for calling so late, sir, and for dripping all over your carpets…"
"Nonsense, my boy. Come in and warm yourself." Lord Thorne seemed to be distracted, not even noticing that Thomas was standing in a small puddle in his foyer.
"No, thank you. I would not leave a water stain on Lady Thornes good chairs. I wanted to come and speak with Lady Sarah, if it is agreeable."
He looked around for Sarah, hoping that she would appear at the sound of his voice.
Lord Thorne shook his head. "I think you had better come in. We've just received the most dreadful news."
Thomas' heart sank, fearing that Withesby's cruel words were valid after all. "What has happened, sir? I cannot bear to be kept in the dark another minute."
Sarah's father sighed heavily. "You have heard then. I'm afraid it's all too true. Sarah has run away with Sir Filmore."
The words fell like a judge's gavel. The hall started spinning, reeling as he tried to take it all in. "No…" he whispered, halting in his tracks. "It can't be true. Sarah would never do this to me, to her family." It was all too much.
"I'm afraid it is, son." Lord Thorne put his hand on Thomas' shoulder in a familial gesture. He led him into the study where Sarah's mother was sitting before the desk, weeping. She stood when she heard Thomas and her husband enter the room. When she realised Thomas had come, she went to him and took his hands.
"Oh, Lord Brampton!" She squeezed his hands, and he looked down at her glumly. "Have you heard the news?"
"I have, Madam. I am shocked, to say the least," Thomas replied, wishing that he could leave and never look back. He felt as if his chest was laid bare, his heart vulnerable for the whole world to see. How could Sarah do this to him?
"As we all are! I assure you, this is not the way I have raised my daughter. I shall never speak to her again!" Lady Thorne went back to her seat and sank into the chair, holding a handkerchief to her nose. "She has treated all of us abominably ill. Most of all you!"
Thomas could not argue with her on that point. Sarah had broken faith with him in the worst way possible - by running away with another man. Even so, he was angrier with Sir Filmore than Sarah. She was an impressionable young woman, and not the best judge of character. No doubt Filmore had used that to his advantage as he had tempted her away from him and her family's protection.
Thomas must focus on something else other than his roiling emotions, though. Perhaps there was still time to save her from her disastrous decision. "Where is she now?"
Her mother let out a sob. "We don't know."
"She left this letter, with no clue as to where they were going. I've been to Filmore's home and his servants have no idea where they have gone either. I don't know if they are protecting him or if he simply didn't tell them. Here," he held out a letter. "She wrote us this letter and left it on her mantel in her room. She was gone before her maid went up this morning."
Thomas took the offered missive and scanned its contents. She had been vague about where they were going, merely stating that they were leaving the city to elope. Sarah was nineteen and would have still needed her father's permission to marry if they had done so in the conventional way. The fact that she had betrayed Thomas on top of it was unforgivable.
"Find her for me." Lady Thorne took his hand and made him walk around her chair so that he was facing her.
"I don't know what I can do, Lady Thorne. She is out of my reach now."
"Please, Thomas. You know her. She is not the mastermind of this plan. You are in Sir Filmore's circle, are you not? He will have to come back to London at some point, with his political career on the line."
"I thought you said you would never speak to her again? What good would it do to find her now? She has made her choice."
"She is my only child, Lord Brampton," she said softly. "Although I cannot welcome her into my home, I want to know if she is well. I must know that she is safe."
Thomas nodded, wanting the same. He had been in love with Sarah since she was fifteen, waiting years until she was of marriageable age. Now Filmore had taken the only woman he had ever loved from him. He owed it to the Thornes to find out whatever he could about Sarah's whereabouts.
"I will do what I can, Lord and Lady Thorne. I make no promises, but I will try." His mind reeling, he had no idea where to start to try and track the wayward couple down. He supposed he could go to Filmore's house and try to pry information out of his staff.
"That is all we ask, Lord Brampton. Thank you." Lady Thorne looked as if she had aged ten years in the space of a day. What she was goi
ng through, he could not even fathom. To be a parent of a child who had vanished, even to a grown woman, must be terrifying.
