by Aria Norton
Thomas grabbed his arm and pulled him back down. "You're talking to me."
"Yes, well, I'm your best friend. That's different." Frederic tried to leave again, but Thomas kept a firm hold of his arm despite the fact that he was drunk.
"Please, Fred. I need your help. This might be my only chance to get my revenge on Filmore."
Frederic softened. "Taking revenge on Sir Filmore is not going to make you feel better. It's only going to get you hurt. And probably Sarah, too. I know you're angry with her, and you have every right to be. But in the end, you'll regret lashing out at her."
"Yes it will make me feel better. And I don't care a fig about Sarah anymore. Now, please. Mr. Staton is leaving. Come and introduce me. There's a good chap." They stood together, and Thomas did his best to make it look like he wasn't leaning on Frederic for support.
"I shall never forgive you for this." Frederic cleared his throat as they neared the table. "Gentlemen, good evening," he interrupted. The two gentlemen looked up at him in confusion. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Frederic Bauer, of Bauer and Sons. And this is my friend, Lord Thomas Brampton."
"How do you do?" Mr. Staton replied congenially. He stretched out his hand for Thomas to shake. Thomas shook it, making his grip as firm as possible, although he was growing dizzy again. He blinked several times and tried to focus on Mr. Staton's face. If only the man would stop moving!
"Quite well, thank you." Thomas grinned and hiccupped. "Excuse me. Well, actually that's not quite true. The part about me being quite well. I am miserable, Mr. Staton, simply miserable."
The two gentlemen exchanged glances. "I am sorry to hear that, Lord Brampton. Drink will do that to a man."
"Quite right, quite right. But I hoped that you might be able to help me with that?"
"With your drinking problem?"
"No, no. I don't have a drinking problem. Never touch the stuff," Thomas hiccupped again. "No I need your help with another matter entirely."
Thomas watched Joshua glance over at his friend in confusion, no doubt wondering if Thomas was altogether sane.
"I am at your service, Lord Brampton. What can I do for you?"
"Would you allow me to call on you later this evening? I have a proposition for you."
Mr. Staton lifted a brow, not quite sure he wanted Thomas to come to his house. "A proposition? What kind of proposition?"
"I should not like to discuss it here, if you don't mind. It is a matter of some… delicacy," Thomas said, trying to find the right word for his situation. It was indeed delicate, and what he had in mind was not entirely legal. "I would make it worth your while."
Mr. Staton thought for a moment, studying him. Thomas wished he would make up his mind so he could go home and be ill. "You have intrigued me, Lord Brampton. Here is my card. I shall expect you later this evening."
"Thank you. You are very kind. Until this evening," Thomas said and turned away from the table, feeling the bile rising in his throat. He turned to Frederic and whispered, "Take me outside before I retch all over the carpet."
Frederic did so, and they made it out of doors in time for him to lose the contents of his stomach in the alleyway. Helping him into his carriage, Frederic frowned. "I wish I knew what you were planning to do to Sir Filmore." Frederic closed the door of the coach. "Anything you do will affect Sarah now. Like it or not, she has married the man and is forever bound to him. Do you really wish to see her destitute and alone?"
"I do not wish to hurt her, but she had made her choice. I must do what I feel is right, Fred. Now, please, stand aside. I would like to go home and expire in peace."
"Then why even go to see Mr. Staton? Let it go and get on with your life. I'm afraid for you, my friend. It is not like you to seek vengeance."
"Perhaps I have been a different kind of man than you think I am all along."
Frederic stepped away from the window and waited. "What are you going to do?"
Thomas tapped the ceiling of the carriage to signal that he was ready to depart.
"Filmore has taken the one person in this world that I cared about more than anyone else. He has destroyed any chance of happiness I might have had. I will ruin him as he has ruined me!"
Chapter 6
Abigail sat in the parlor with her friend, Miss Mary Voss. She and her father owned a small bookshop not far away. Abigail had frequented the shop so often that she and Mary had not taken long to become close friends during her year in the big city.
"I still say that you should meet Lord Calder. He may be twenty years your senior, but he is wealthy beyond belief and has extensive lands and houses. He even owns a villa in Italy," Mary was saying. Abigail snapped out of her reverie, wishing to run for political office just as her brother was doing.
Of course, he had taken her advice earlier that day about getting to know what was important to his constituents. The war had brought many families low, some of them unable to put enough food on the table. It was a struggle to get Joshua to see the political strategy behind her advice. Whereas for her, it made perfect sense.
"I am not interested in Lord Colder, or any other dandy who's old enough to be my father."
"His name is Calder, not Colder. And why is no one good enough for you? You'll have to marry someday if you don't want to end up alone and destitute."
"My mother was married to my father for over twenty years and she's now widowed and destitute. One's fortunes can change in an instant, Mary. I'm not going to marry someone just because they are rich or titled or handsome. I want to love the man I marry." Abigail glanced out of the window into the garden. She had opened the windows so the breeze could come in. It had turned out to be a warm, beautiful day. Abigail longed to go out into the sunshine and enjoy the rest of her day reading. Mary meant well, but she had many of the same ideas her mother and aunt shared. "If you want to marry him off so badly, you marry him."
"I don't want him! Besides, it's you he wants."
"You talked to him about me?"
"Of course I did. He noticed you in the book shop one day. He says his daughter and son are very well-behaved. Perfect angels."
"No child is a perfect angel."
"I give up," Mary said with a huff and a smile. "Do you want to know what your problem is, Abigail?"
"No, but I suppose you're going to tell me anyway."
Mary rolled her eyes. "You are such an idealist, Abigail. Love doesn't happen in real life like it does in the fairy tales. Smoke and mirrors is what those are. They make you have unrealistic expectations. I suppose you are still pining for a world where you can campaign alongside men?"
"What's wrong with a dream like that? Women are just as intelligent as men." Abigail could feel the tension rising between them. She would need to be careful that she did not lash out at her friend. She did not have many of them.
"Women are more intelligent than men, if you ask me," Mary teased. "That's all it is, though, Abigail: a dream. Your dream of becoming a politician will never come true. Not in our lifetime, anyway."
Abigail sighed heavily and stood, trying to stretch the knot in her back. "Oh, come on. Let's take a turn about the garden. It is exhausting to sit in a room full of tension."
Mary followed her out to the little garden and linked arms with her. They walked along the path down to the tiny fountain bubbling cheerfully away under a willow tree's shade.
"That may be the world we live in now. But I plan to fight that way of thinking until my last breath. Why shouldn't I be able to run for office? And vote? And hold property? We have to be the ones to change it for our daughters and granddaughters."
"You're starting to sound like an American," Mary teased.
"American women can't vote either," Abigail huffed in frustration. It was a lonely soapbox to stand on. "I'm not just talking about the women of England, Mary. My vision reaches to the furthest corners of the world. I believe every woman deserves to be free."
"Even so, your ideas about how society should be run are
too outlandish. What would a woman know about running an estate? Or how the government works? Besides, once a woman marries there is little time for such pursuits with the pressures of taking care of a home and children."
Abigail remained silent for a moment. Mary was right, of course. She knew her dreams of being a politician would never come true. Perhaps only in her granddaughter's or great granddaughter's time would such a vision be realised. She hung her head, her heart feeling as if it would be crushed under the weight of her disappointment. "Is it so wrong to want to help other people? To want to change the world?"
"Of course not." Mary took her hands. "I don't mean to be harsh, Abigail. I don't want to see you get hurt, that is all. The idea of a woman politician is even more ludicrous than the idea of a female novelist. You know how difficult it is for women to distinguish themselves outside of the home. To make money for yourself; well, it's just not proper!"
"Yes. For a woman to have a brain is an unforgivable sin," Abigail sneered derisively.
"Of course I agree with you. The hypocrisy of it all is unbearable. It is the world we live in. What can we do? We are only two poor country girls living in a big city. We are living in a big world run by men."
"We can fight!" Abigail said, more passionately than she had intended to in front of Mary. Her friend drew back a little at her vehemence. "I apologise. I should not take out my frustration on you."
"It is alright. I understand your frustrations. I have the same ones as you do. A woman can only raise her position if she marries. I am not saying it is just, but it is the way things are. The only way you are going to have any influence in the political arena is if you help your brother or marry a politician who would allow you some input."
"That is the sad truth of it, I'm afraid. Either way, I'm only helping from the background."
"A shadow politician," Mary teased, trying to lighten the mood.
"I like that. Yes, I shall have to distinguish myself as a shadow politician. Just think about how many other countless women may be behind brilliant monarchs and politicians?"
"Perhaps we'll never know."
They took another turn around the garden, enjoying a companionable silence. The birds chirped in the treetops. As they hopped from limb to limb, petals fell in showers down to the ground, giving the garden a magical feeling. Was it odd that Abigail felt restless?
She longed to be away from the safety of her home, going to battle for the people who could not do it for themselves. It infuriated her that women took up their roles and said nothing. It was not that Abigail wanted to take the place of a man. But she did want to work alongside them, to be their equals. It was not fair that men held all the power.
"Come now. We've talked politics for long enough. Take a break. I have a delicious piece of gossip I've been dying to tell you."
"Sarah?" her brother called from the window. "Are you out there?"
"Yes!" she called back. "Excuse me. I need to see what this is about."
"Don't worry. I should be going anyway. Mother will be worried."
Abigail saw Mary out of the door and went back into the parlor to see what her brother needed.
"What is it?"
"A letter from Mother,” he replied, holding the letter up. Abigail grinned. They had made somewhat of a game out of how many new illnesses their hypochondriac mother reported she was suffering from in her letters. Joshua scanned the letter first, letting out a loud chuckle. "My goodness, this takes the cake." He handed the letter to Abigail, who smiled and began to read.
My dears,
I hope this letter finds you well and safe. You know how I worry about you, living in such a big city.
I have written to tell you about some very dreadful news. I have come down with the plague and expect that I only have a few days to live. Please do come to the cottage as soon as possible.
Do not mourn me too much when I am gone. Bury me next to your father in the churchyard...
Abigail looked up at her brother, her mouth open in a laugh. "She can't be serious. Is our mother becoming senile?"
"I think she misses us; that is all. She only ever sees us once every few months. You have not been to see her in six months."
"I know. I just find it hard to relate to her anymore. Father always told her how to think and how to feel. I think she is lost without him."
"It must be very sad not to have any opinions of one's own. Exhausting, actually." Abigail stood and started tidying, as she always did when their mother's stress came up in conversation.
"I know all about people who don't have minds of their own. And you, my dear, are not one of them." He kissed her lightly on the forehead before exiting the parlor. "I shall be home a little later tonight than usual. Don't wait up for me."
"Very well. Have a good day."
"I will thank you. You as well." Abigail stood in the parlor alone, wishing that she could go with Joshua. London fascinated her, despite its foul smells and overcrowding. "Someday, I'll find a way to make my mark. Someday."
Chapter 7
Thomas went home to sleep off his drunken stupor for a few hours before calling on Joshua Staton. Hopefully, he had not made a complete fool of himself at the gaming house.
At nine o'clock that evening, he readied himself and called for the carriage. A half-hour later, he traveled the puddle-ridden streets of London to where many middle-class citizens lived.
His stomach felt like a ship tossed on a rough sea as he bounced down the dirty streets towards the Staton house. Even with some sleep, he was still feeling the effects of his hangover. At twenty-five years of age, he did not have the stomach for excessive amounts of alcohol. He never had.
On the way to the house, Thomas tried to come up with what to say to convince Joshua to help him.
Slowly descending from the carriage, he made his way up the modest brick house's front steps. The windows were alight with a friendly golden glow, casting its cheerfulness onto the street below. The muffled sound of someone playing the pianoforte could be heard coming from within. Knocking on the front door, he waited in a foul mood, the festive music sending his head into a throbbing cacophony once again. What kind of person stayed up this late playing the piano anyway?
The music stopped a few seconds after he knocked, and he heard footsteps come to the door. "Finally," he said under his breath, impatient to have this errand over so that he could go back to bed.
A young woman answered the door, and he was taken aback by her beauty for a moment. He collected himself, refusing to show weakness in. front of this maid. He stepped inside the foyer. "I would like to see the master of the house, please. Will you inform your master that Lord Thomas Brampton is here to see him?"
The maid looked at him as if the task was beneath her dignity, somewhat confused. "What business do you have with Mr. Staton?"
"That is none of your business. Now, you heard me, girl, get going! I have important business to discuss with Mr. Staton." Thomas crossed his arms, testy from the headache.
The maid placed her hands on her hips very boldly and raised her brows at him. "I'm sorry, sir, but I was not informed that anyone was coming to call this evening…"
"I am telling you now. Your employer will hear of your ineptitude when he returns home. Now, you might ask me to wait in the parlor until he arrives." He tried to step around the infuriating girl but she sidestepped, blocking his path.
"I will excuse your rudeness, for you seem to have mistaken me for a servant. I am the lady of the house, sir, and I will not be ordered about in my own home." She raised her chin, her eyes flashing indignantly.
