by Lela Bay
The Unusual Manners of Mr. Aarons
Emmaline tapped the unopened letter on the back of her hand once and ripped it open.
Miss Emmaline Connersfield,
I am grateful my quest led to you.
The Honorable Mr. Aarons
Beneath the terse words he’d scrawled a sweeping feather. She puzzled over it, by turns finding it encouraging and discouraging. It didn’t compare to Catherine’s note, but then again it had the disarming taste of something written just for her, not a form filled in by politeness learned from a stern nanny. It wasn’t as pretty as Catherine’s, but she could imagine him saying it with warmth in his emerald eyes.
Still unresolved, she fell asleep with the card somehow coming to be tucked beneath her pillow.
Virtue’s Temptation
“Have you no care for the horrors you bring on yourself and others? For propriety? The wedding is a guise, a sham for a gullible child so he may have his way with you,” said Eleanor.
Bitsy glanced at Andre, biting her lip, the brief illusion of sophistication shattered as she wound her finger through a curl.
Their shoulders framed the bed and flat brown bedding. Eleanor placed her hands on her hips.
Bitsy mirrored Eleanor. "We will be wed, and who can frown then? I'll be a woman, with my own life."
"You'll be ruined. A fool whispered about in proper drawing rooms to warn others from similar foolishness, and I won't allow it.”
Praise for
Ruined Reputations
…
"Ruined Reputations is a love letter to high romance of the Brontës with the meticulous eye for detail that readers crave like oxygen itself." - MJ Sherry, author of the Back Page Babylon series
“Virtue’s Temptation is a thrilling tale of a woman who puts her own feelings aside to protect a young girl from ruin.”
- Emmy Z. Madrigal, author of Lord Harrington’s Lost Doe
Ruined Reputations
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely by chance. Names, characters, places, and incidents are figments of the authors imagination or used fictitiously.
Ruined Reputations
Lela Bay
Published by Meant to Be Press
Copyright © 2017 Lela Bay. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Edited by Larriane Barnard
Printed in the United States of America. Cover Art by Meant to Be Press
Dedication
To everyone who loves romance, poetry, and fabulous hats.
Ruined Reputations
includes
The Unusual Manners
of
Mr. Aarons
and
Virtue’s Temptation
The Unusual Manners
of Mr. Aarons
Emmaline risked a glance from beneath the brim of her bonnet toward Mr. Aarons, who sat in a pew near the front of the church. Tall but lean, he contemplated his folded hands.
“He’s unseasonably tan,” Catherine whispered beside Emmaline. Apparently, she too had been observing Mr. Aarons.
A quick glance around proved that much of the congregation had their eyes on the town’s long-lost son. The feminine sets were particularly interested, taking in his fashionable coat and the streaks of blond in his sun-kissed hair.
Emmaline frowned. “He wears no hat.”
Catherine managed a whip-sharp tone even at a soft whisper. “Of course not.”
Emmaline was used to her cousin’s quick temper, and didn’t let it rattle her. Of the two of them, Emmaline was the calm one. The obedient one. Really, she didn’t feel she had a choice, since she lived with her aunt and uncle at their discretion. They were kind, but she tried to make as little disturbance as possible in the household. Sometimes she envied Catherine’s quick passions.
She smoothed her pink dotted lawn skirt over her knee to calm herself. “Not inside the church. I mean he didn’t bring one at all.”
Catherine huffed, her scorn of Emmaline’s obsession with hats all too apparent, but even so raised a hand to check the crafted angle of her bonnet. It was a darling concoction, though a bit overblown for Emmaline’s taste. Since coming to stay with the Connersfield, Emmaline had learned to occupy her time with millinery, and Catherine sometimes joined her. Today, they both wore straw bonnets, in celebration of the warming weather. Emmaline had adorned hers with a striped ribbon and cluster of artful leaves. Catherine’s cascaded with ribbons, feathers, and was garnished with fruit.
There was a literal cherry on top.
Emmaline looked away to hide her smile and shook her head slightly. It didn’t much matter. Catherine would look good even if she wore a complete ice-cream sundae on her head. She was blonde and regal. The hat added an air of playfulness that she otherwise might lack.
Emmaline left off admiring her cousin and glanced once more toward the intriguing Mr. Aarons. He rose with the congregation to sing. Once more, she noticed that he seemed slender, and his cheeks the slightest bit gaunt. It gave him the romantic air of one who had suffered. She wondered if it were true and frowned, hoping not.
Mr. Aarons glanced toward them, catching Emmaline studying him. She colored and tipped her chin down toward her song book, letting the brim of her hat protect her from embarrassment. Though her instinctive reaction was the approved one, she wished she’d been a bit slower. She hadn’t had time to discover the color of his eyes and it bothered her.
When she looked up again he remained frozen, quite obviously turned their direction with the song book in his hands forgotten. She stilled, the intensity of concentration wrinkling his brow emitted a kinetic heat she could feel. Forcing herself to breathe, she followed his gaze to Catherine and relaxed. He studied her cousin with exaggerated intensity.
Catherine met his attentions, which she must surely feel like a touch, by ignoring him and singing just the slightest bit louder and sweeter. Even Aunt Prue noticed his attentions and glanced toward Catherine, perplexed.
When the song ended, Mr. Aarons was slow to sit. Others shuffled and whispered, having noticed his distraction. Emmaline shared a hidden smile with her cousin. Catherine reached for Emmaline’s gloved hand and squeezed it. She wasn’t nearly as unaffected as she’d appeared, but had kept her composure. Good for her, Emmaline applauded inside.
Announcements ended the service, and she waited while the front pews emptied then followed her aunt, uncle, and cousin down the aisle and outside the church into the beautiful day. Birds chirped from the budding trees on either side of the wide stairs leading to the street. The parson greeted each family, and neighbors clustered to chat. Emmaline and Catherine joined the other young ladies, enjoying a moment to share gossip.
Mr. Aarons stood at the side of the square facing the building, his head cocked to one side. As she’d surmised, he wore no hat.
Catherine kept a keen eye on him as well, turning to ensure she faced toward the square while she chatted. Indeed, as if a living thing the whole group of unmarried ladies quickly assembled into a choir-like half-moon arrangement to face the intriguing stranger who wasn’t behaving at all interested in the people and still studied…something toward the top of the building?
“He’s quite arrogant. Look at him, studiously ignoring us,” observed Catherine.
Emmaline watched how his head tipped and rotated slightly, like a man seeking a single player among a symphony. “I think he’s listening,”
“To what? This is what happens whe
n you leave England and travel among savages. You become unhinged yourself,” Lilly said in a whisper.
The other girls tightened their circle, cooing and silently encouraging Lilly to share her rare knowledge of the stranger in their midst; however, the parson tapped Mr. Aarons on the shoulder and the girls watched with rapt attention as the taller man inclined his head and glanced their way, making a gesture.
“He’s seeking an introduction!” Lilly gasped, hiding behind Emmaline as if he were a cannibal hungering for supper.
They turned, forming tight ranks and giggling inanely, perhaps the greatest protection any group of girls can offer.
Undeterred, Parson Endicott and Mr. Aarons approached Aunt Prue and Uncle Monroe. A moment later they escorted him toward the girls.
His boots were shined to a high gloss, and his vest and coat were the height of fashion as if, and Emmaline didn’t feel it was even a guess, everything had just been purchased and worn for the first time.
Intrigued, Emmaline studied him as he approached. Though meeting his gaze had elicited the most peculiar physical reactions, she no longer worried it might happen again. He had eyes only for Catherine and approached with almost insulting vigor, coming to stand before the blonde girl well before the parson and her parents. He waited impatiently, examining the other girls and Emmaline one at a time before dismissing them to study Catherine.
Even Catherine, bold as she was, looked away. She turned toward Lilly and made conversation, pulling her to the edge of the group, though not so far she couldn’t hear what went on.
He apparently contented himself by studying the cornucopia atop her bonnet.
Introductions dragged on, as the parson introduced each lady in turn on their path toward Mr. Aarons ultimate goal—Catherine. Really, Emmaline didn’t know whether to be impressed or embarrassed by his obvious obsession. However, watching him greet each girl with a small bow and heel click, as if they were inside a ballroom and not on a dusty street, scorn was the last emotion she could feel. Rather, it was regret that he wasted his thoughts on something so mundane as females and the like. She’d hoped he’d be as exceptional as the whispers implied.
She’d never managed to catch actual stories, since they apparently weren’t fit for a lady’s ears, but that just made it all the more intriguing. She glanced toward Lilly and Catherine, wishing they’d had a moment longer to convene. Lilly’s father was mayor and must have shared more than Aunt and Uncle had.
Finding it her turn to be introduced, now that Aunt and Uncle had arrived, Emmaline gave a small bob and smiled.
Ah, his eyes were green.
He smiled back, the frown on his forehead clearing. He studied her face. Perhaps he, too, had wondered about the color of her eyes. She knew her cheeks were pink and round. She was pretty, but the slightest bit plump and nowhere near as lovely as Catherine. She tipped her head, finding herself asking him a silent question. Why do you stare?
His eyes twinkled, as if he understood her question and gave her a very masculine answer: Because I like what I see.
Breathless, she opened her lips to speak but the parson called Mr. Aarons attention. He turned instantly. After all, he had reached his final objective—Catherine.
Still shaking off the effects of his dazzling looks, Emmaline took her place beside Catherine as the introduction took place. The world fell into a hush, surely sensing the momentous moment so long in coming. There would be sparks and fireworks, if his look to Catherine were anything like what he’d delivered to Emmaline. She held her breath.
Parson Endicott said, “Miss Connersfield, please meet Mr. Aarons, recently returned from West Indies.”
“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Aarons. I understand you’re staying in town with the Mayor?”
“Only while seeking my own residence for the summer,” he agreed. His voice was warm and deep. “Your hat is lovely.”
“My hat?” Catherine raised a hand to check the impressive structure. Bemused, she added, “How kind of you to notice.”
Rather than bow, he reached toward Catherine. He tugged on her hat with untoward familiarity. “Perhaps you can tell me where…?”
Rather than submit to his impertinence, Catherine reared like an unbroken horse.
A collective gasp left the watchers, smothering the rest of his sentence as his grip pulled the confection over Catherine’s forehead. Berries and doves cascaded to the ground. A ribbon hung in her hair, dragging her head down and throwing her wrapped braids into disarray. She squealed in shock, batting at the mess and grabbing the bonnet, still half-attached to her coiffure.
Mr. Aarons stood in shock, hand still extended.
Emmaline stepped between them, swooped up the abused bonnet and smoothed Catherine’s hair.
Aunt cried and Uncle shouted for the carriage. In the hubbub, they got Catherine into the carriage. Her face glowed red and tears streaked her cheeks, though whether from sadness or pure fury, well…Emmaline had a good guess. She wouldn’t want to be Mr. Aarons should he ever make the mistake of crossing paths with Miss Catherine Connersfield again.
She peered out the window as they drew away from the church. A grim-faced Mr. Aarons watched the carriage depart, his hand still gripping a single long feather.
Emmaline pursed her lips and studied the hat in her lap, noticing a large gap where he’d helped himself to a handful of decorations. Really, what had come over him?
Recovering her words, Catherine shouted, “He plucked me!”
Emmaline and Catherine stared at each other and dissolved into a fit of giggles. Aunt Prue, sitting across from them, fanned herself with a handkerchief and Uncle drove the horses as if his daughter had been accosted for more than a few feathers and a paste cherry.
The girls’ fit of laughter lasted all the way until they reached home.
Chapter 2
The next morning Emmaline was coming down for breakfast when she learned that Mr. Aarons had called and been turned away. She entered the breakfast nook and made herself a plate from the sideboard, debating whether to question her uncle, who sat at the head of the table with toast and bacon reading a newspaper. Aunt looked thoughtful, and Catherine must not have risen yet, for her chair was empty.
She seated herself, still wondering. Curiosity and a sense of kindness drove her to speak. Carefully, she picked up her fork and poked at her food. “Uncle? Did I hear a caller?”
Uncle grunted and rattled his paper, then lowered it with a harsh crumpling sound. “That Mr. Aarons came ‘round to speak with Catherine. I sent him out on his ear.”
“Did you consider that he likely came to apologize? It looked like an honest mistake. He didn’t mean to take the whole bonnet.”
“What did he mean, then?” Uncle’s face turned red. “What’s he doing touching any young miss?”
“We might have found out, if you’d given him a chance to explain himself,” Emmaline said softly.
Aunt tightened her lips around a bite of grapefruit. “You don’t touch a lady’s coiffure under any circumstances, it’s just…”
Silence descended once more. Privately, Emmeline suspected that Catherine would have been happy to forgive Mr. Aarons, or at least would have enjoyed his apology. It didn’t seem right to deny him the opportunity to explain himself.
Uncle pushed back his chair. He passed behind her, hesitating long enough to place a warm hand on her shoulder. “You’re soft, Emmaline. Don’t let it get you into trouble.”
She pressed her hand over his, accepting the rare sign of affection. “Of course not.”
“Emmaline doesn’t get into trouble, dear,” said Aunt Prue.
Emmaline sighed. It was quite true. She met her own gaze in the sideboard mirror and shared a sad smile with her reflection. It seemed to say, Yes, no one would ever suspect you of trouble. What a shame.
Emmaline snorted indelicately and raised her napkin to her lips to cover it. “Catherine and I are going in to town this morning for a bit of window shoppin
g.”
Uncle left, no doubt knowing Aunt Prue would deal with the girls’ schedules. Aunt didn’t seem to mind and gave Emmaline pin money for more ribbons. “For your hobby. Your hats put the milliners to shame. Perhaps you could make something to replace Catherine’s.”
Emmaline nodded at her Aunt’s generosity. She didn’t need to shop so much as she needed to get out. The feeling of being slowly smothered left her uneasy and restless.
When Catherine complained it was her monthly, Emmaline decided to go to town by herself, happy for an excuse to walk, even if she didn’t venture into any of the shops.
The sun shone wanly between light drizzles that dampened the grass beside the road. Nose pink and cheeks flushed, she arrived in town still early in the day. An occasional empty hay cart rattled by. She greeted acquaintances cheerfully, and was considering popping into the bakery for tea and powdered biscuits when she spotted Mr. Aarons almost upon her on the sturdy boardwalk.
He walked with his head down, leaning forward as if into a gale, not a light drizzle.
She stepped neatly out of his path. “Good morning, Mr. Aarons.”
A smile tilted her lips. She knew it was wrong to greet him, but she had been unable to resist and celebrated the confusion in his eyes. He halted, bemused to have been interrupted in some deep consideration. Had she heard somewhere he was a scientist of sorts? It seemed to fit.
His green gaze took in her countenance, and a rough determination hardened his jaw. What could it mean? If she had to guess, he looked like a man who had been granted a second chance he wouldn’t miss.
He stood in front of her, considering, more silent than any man she had met. He elected not to make the usual polite patter.
“I see you’re wearing a hat today,” she said at last.
