by Shana Galen
Modesty read that line again.
No one knows what became of the younger sister. Perhaps there were only two children.
Her mother’s life summed up in fifteen words. Forgotten by her family and by Society after she had married Samuel Brown. Even her husband had seemed to forget her. But Modesty had not. And she wondered why her mother had been forgotten. Had her father disapproved of her marriage to Samuel Brown? It was possible. His religious views were strict and unpopular. He would have seen a landowner as a sinner. Men were to give up all of their worldly possessions to follow Christ and help the poor. None of the members of their church had anything but what they absolutely needed.
“Look on the second page,” Lady Lorraine said, prompting Modesty to turn the letter over. “That is where Lady Lindsey thinks Miss Ryan lives in Town. She is my mother’s dear friend—Lady Lindsey, that is—so I say this with affection. The woman is quite the gossip. She knows everyone and everything. Shall we go now and knock on the door?”
Modesty wanted to say yes. She wanted to run all the way to the address given and pound until someone answered and gave her information. But she could see Lady Lorraine was tired. And Modesty did not want to admit this, but she was scared. What if her aunt was in Shropshire? How would she find her? Could she show up on her doorstep, even though she was the child of the sister who had been disowned?
“If you do not mind, might we go tomorrow morning? I am a bit fatigued from our exploits today, and I would like to think how I should greet my aunt.”
“Oh, of course!” Lady Lorraine said. “I will see to my correspondence while you rest.”
“Very good.”
Modesty went back up to her chamber and took the letters from the drawer where she had secreted them. She did not want to read them again, but she did so. This time she read them with an eye to the mention of places, roads, and inns. She noted that her father’s mistress lived in Berkshire. She also mentioned the distance from London and...finally, Modesty found it. The mention of Hungerford. She had known the reference Mr. Payne made was familiar. The woman who had borne her father’s illegitimate children lived just outside Hungerford. Modesty did not know if she would find her father there, but she knew she might find some answers about his whereabouts.
She folded the letters again and made a decision: if her aunt was not in London, Modesty would ask to go to Hungerford with Mr. Payne and meet her father’s mistress.
Thirteen
Two days later, Rowden was at Mostyn’s with Chibale when the missive arrived. He called it a missive because it seemed he had little choice but to respond. He’d been drinking water and wiping the sweat from his face when the boy had run up to him and held the paper out. Rowden had taken it then realized he didn’t have a coin as he wore only his breeches. Chibale flipped the child a coin and motioned for Rowden to go ahead and read it.
Still heaving from his exertions with the punching sack, he opened the letter. He read it then marched to Ewan’s office and went in without even knocking. “Do you know anything about this?”
Ewan looked up from a ledger. “No.” He looked down again.
Rowden crossed to the desk. “You didn’t even look at it. It’s from your wife.”
Ewan looked up again, closed his eyes briefly, then went back to his ledger.
“She wants me to come to your house. She doesn’t even ask. She tells me to be there at four.”
Ewan checked his watch. “You should hurry then.”
“Why does she want to see me?”
Ewan shrugged.
“You’re coming with me,” Rowden said.
“I have work,” Ewan said.
Rowden reached over and closed the ledger. Ewan made a sound like a growl. “It’s your wife.”
“I trust you.” Ewan opened the ledger again.
“I mean, she’s your problem, not mine.” Rowden shut the ledger.
Ewan looked up and nodded at the letter. “Looks like she’s your problem right now.” He opened the ledger and caught Rowden’s hand in a painful grip before he could close it again.
“Fine. But don’t blame me if she talks me into some dangerous scheme.” Rowden stormed out of the office and went to Chibale. He snatched up his shirt and pulled it over his head. “We’re going to see Lady Lorraine.”
Chibale frowned. “Why?”
“How the hell do I know, but I would not go alone. You’re coming.”
“I hardly know the woman.”
Rowden made a half-hearted effort to tie his neckcloth then pulled on his stockings and boots. By the time he had his arms in his coat, Ewan was waiting beside them. Rowden looked at him and was about to make some pithy comment, but Ewan looked at him with murder in his eyes.
The three made their way to Ewan’s home, Chibale trailing behind Ewan and Rowden as though he’d rather be anywhere else. However, when they neared the house and caught sight of the carriage in front of it, Chibale practically sprinted in front of Ewan and Rowden.
“And here I thought you didn’t want to come,” Rowden said, less annoyed at the short walk than he’d expected. The cold air felt good after hours in the hot studio.
Chibale looked back and pointed at the coach. “That is Madame Renauld’s coach.”
Rowden looked at Ewan. “Why is she there?”
Ewan shrugged. “Who is she?”
“The modiste,” Chibale reminded him. “You beat the Black Plague outside the Cock and Bull for hitting her assistant.”
He nodded. “Oh, that was why.”
Rowden laughed. Ewan had never needed a reason for a fight.
“Hurry up,” Chibale said, reaching Ewan’s door a good minute before Rowden and Ewan. Ewan opened the door and they entered to a small vestibule filled with women. There were probably only five, but it sounded like far more than that. Rowden pressed himself against a wall and spotted Madame Renauld, Lady Lorraine, and Miss Phaedra, the assistant. He wondered where Modesty Brown had gone. Perhaps her father had returned or Lady Lorraine had summoned him to tell him they had reunited Miss Brown with her aunt.
Everyone was talking at once, but rather quickly, Chibale escorted Madame Renauld outside and her assistants followed. Ewan took his wife’s arm and pulled her into an open door. And Rowden stood in the vestibule with another woman. He’d thought she was one of the assistants at first, but now he realized she was dressed too well in a pale green day dress. Her auburn hair was pulled off her face and secured by combs, but it rolled over her shoulders in waves.
Feeling as though he should introduce himself, he stepped forward and looked into her face. And then he could not speak.
Because he recognized the eyes. And suddenly his gaze was all over her again, taking her in even as he told himself it was wholly inappropriate.
But how could he stop himself? She was utterly beautiful. Of course, he’d seen beautiful women before. He was a man of two and thirty, not a boy. He had to stop gawking at her and behave like a man.
“Miss—” He cleared his throat as his voice came out ragged. “Miss Brown, you look...different.”
Idiot. He was as bad as Chibale.
Her cheeks colored, and he realized she didn’t know whether he was complimenting or censuring her. “I mean to say, you look lovely. Did Madame Renauld make the dress for you?”
“She did, and thank you.” She walked toward a door and opened it to reveal a parlor decorated in soft shades of yellows and blues. It was most likely used by Lady Lorraine. “Might we speak in private?”
“Of course.”
Why the devil had he said that? He was supposed to be distancing himself. He’d told her good-bye three nights ago. And he knew it was not wise to be alone with her, especially not now that he was remembering their kiss. He had thought that was a good-bye kiss. He’d wanted it to be a good-bye kiss because there couldn’t be more between them. He didn’t want more.
She entered the parlor and left the door slightly open when he followed. Rowden was gl
ad of that and waited until she sat on a cream-colored chair before he followed on one that matched it.
“First,” she said, swallowing as though speaking was hard for her. “I want to thank you for your kindness toward me. I certainly do not deserve it after I was part of the reason you lost your fight to the German.”
Rowden waved a hand. “The fault is mine for allowing myself to become distracted.” Thank God she hadn’t looked that night as she did now. He would never have seen the blow coming and would have taken it full force.
“But you also took me in from the cold and introduced me to Lady Lorraine, who has been far more generous than I have a right to expect. And I fear I have imposed on her too long.”
“I doubt that,” Rowden said. “She likes to talk, and you seem to be a good listener.”
Miss Brown smiled. “Yes, but if I stay further, I will be taking advantage. And I cannot help but think Mr. Mostyn might like to return to his evenings alone with his wife.”
“Then I take it you have not been able to locate your aunt.”
She shook her head. “She is not in London at the moment, and we are uncertain where she resides in Shropshire. It would be even more difficult for me to travel to Shropshire, especially as I don’t know what sort of welcome, if any, I will receive.”
Rowden was beginning to see her dilemma. She could not stay with Lady Lorraine, and she did not have anywhere else to go. “You don’t want to go to your church for help,” he said. If she had, she would not have relinquished the black sack she usually wore.
She shook her head. She seemed as though she wanted to say more, but instead she pressed her lips together and swallowed hard again. Rowden had the urge to go to her, to comfort her, but he couldn’t touch her. This was already more than he wanted to know, more involved than he wanted to be. He waited, hands clenched and feeling impotent.
Finally, she smiled slightly. “From the letters you helped me find, I have come to understand that my father might be near Hungerford. If he is not there, a woman who lives there might be able to give me more information about him.”
“Hungerford?” Rowden frowned. The back of his neck was prickling ominously. “That’s a coincidence.”
“Perhaps it’s providence,” she countered. “Divine providence.”
“I don’t believe in divine providence.”
“I’m not sure I do either, but the fact remains that you are traveling to Hungerford soon, and I also wished to travel there. I hate to ask another favor of you—”
“Then don’t.” He wouldn’t be able to refuse her. He didn’t know why he seemed unable to refuse her whatever she asked—and even things she didn’t ask—but it seemed outside his capabilities. He was perfectly able to refuse other women. Why should Modesty Brown be any different?
“I must. Will you escort me to Hungerford?”
“I will be traveling with Chibale. It’s not proper for you to travel with two men.”
She shrugged. “I’m not a lady with a reputation that must be kept pristine, and I can trust you and Mr. Okoro, can’t I?”
“That’s not the point.” He’d evaded her question because he didn’t want to lie. He did not think he should be trusted alone with her. “But I suppose Lady Lorraine will want to come. If she is there—”
Miss Brown shook her head. “I would ask you to try and dissuade her. She seems tired lately, and I don’t think a journey over bumpy roads would be good for her right now.”
“You try and dissuade her. No one but Mostyn can ever talk her out of anything she has her mind set on, and even then he’s only moderately successful.”
Rowden heard the click of nails on the marble outside the parlor and then the parlor door opened further. A small brown and white dog trotted in. “Who’s this?” he asked as the dog nosed at his boots and his leg and then went to Miss Brown and put his paws on her knee, obviously asking to be picked up. She obliged him.
“This is Welly.” He settled in her lap and she patted him. “He is very spoiled.”
“He’ll leave hair all over your new dress.”
“I don’t mind. Mr. Payne, you haven’t answered me. Will you take me with you to Hungerford?”
The door swung open further and Lady Lorraine entered, smiling, while Ewan scowled fiercely just behind her. “Of course, he will,” Lady Lorraine said. “We’ll all go. I’ve already spoken to Ewan, and he thinks it will be great fun.”
Rowden didn’t think Ewan looked like a man who was about to have a great deal of fun. He looked like a man who wanted to hit someone.
Rowden decided rather than be that someone, he would take his leave.
OUTSIDE, THÉRÈSE SENT Phaedra and Betsy back in the carriage and took Mr. Okoro’s arm. The day was cold but sunny, and she would not have another chance to go outside until after dark. “Are you sure you have time to walk?” Chibale had asked.
“Oui. The fitting with Mees Brown took less time than I had scheduled. The dress fit her perfectly, but I suspect even if it had not, she would not have complained.”
“I am certain that is a welcome change.”
She smiled at him, looking up into his handsome face. He had high cheekbones and light brown eyes. He wore his hat cocked to one side, and as a modiste she could not help but notice his clothing was always impeccable. He was a handsome man, and it was no hardship to take his arm. “When do you leave for Hungerford?” she asked.
“A few days. Mr. Payne’s friend has offered the use of his carriages, so we will not have to rely on the public coach.”
“I do hope you will call on me before you go.”
He glanced at her, and she gave him a direct look. Sometimes these English were so obtuse.
“I would like that,” he said. “In fact, I would extend a dinner invitation.”
Thérèse could imagine a cozy dinner in her flat with dessert in the bedchamber. “I will have my cook order something for us.”
“Actually,” he said, “my mother and father would like you to dine with us.”
Thérèse stopped walking. “You are inviting me to dine with your family?”
“Yes. My mother and father would like to meet you. And you already know my sister, Bethanie. I have two brothers as well.”
She stared at him, uncomprehending. She was not the sort of woman men brought home to meet their mamas. Thérèse did not want to be the sort of woman men brought home to meet their mamas. “Why don’t we discuss it over dinner tonight?” she asked. “Just the two of us.”
He looked as if he might object, but then he smiled and inclined his head. “What time should I arrive?”
THÉRÈSE OPENED THE door to him at precisely nine o’clock that night. He was punctual, which was something she liked in a man. He was also dressed in a blue coat of superfine, tight fawn breeches, and a scarlet and gold waistcoat that emphasized his trim waist. The look of him was definitely something she liked. “I’ve given my maid the night off, so I will have to take your greatcoat,” she said, hanging it on the coat tree. “And your hat.” She took it as well.” She would have liked to take the rest of his clothing, but she didn’t want to scare him away by moving too fast.
In her drawing room, she poured him a glass of wine and asked him about himself, while skillfully avoiding answering anything about herself. He clearly loved his parents and siblings. They seemed a close and happy family.
As she served dinner, he asked about her family, and she told him they were in France and little else. What should she tell him? That her mother had been a high-paid courtesan and she did not know who her father was? That she had learned to sew because her mother needed new dresses to attract protectors when she was between lovers? That her mother had sold Thérèse’s virginity to the highest bidder when she’d been barely a woman and that man had been so possessive, he had almost killed her before she was finally able to escape him? Her childhood had not been full of laughter around the dinner table or her mother making currant buns in the kitchen.
&nb
sp; But then the topic moved to pugilism, and she liked the way Chibale’s eyes lit when he spoke of it. “My older brother will take over the family business,” he said. “And I’ve never had much interest in importing or exporting, but my father used to take me to Gentleman Jackson’s to watch the men train, and I never tired of that.”
“What about it appealed?” she asked.
“The grace of movement,” he answered, “and the danger. One wrong move, and it’s over. But the combination of right moves is a thing of beauty.”
“And did you ever box?”
He nodded. “I did a bit, but I soon realized I was much better at teaching than doing. Rowden Payne is my third milling cove, and the other two before him retired with fat purses.”
“And what will you do when Mr. Payne retires?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Find another man with raw talent. Perhaps the next Tom Cribb or Mendoza.”
They’d finished dinner, so she rose and offered her hand. He took it and stood. “I like your ambition,” she said.
“I like yours.”
“Shall we have dessert?” She led him to her bedchamber, where a fire was blazing, and the bed clothes had been turned down. Releasing his hand, she stepped back toward the bed. He looked about.
“Where is dessert?”
“Here.” She opened her arms, inviting him to come to her. To her surprise, he hesitated.
“Are you sure?”
She nodded. “I am perfectly certain. You?”
He came to her. “I know exactly what I want.” He kissed her then, and Thérèse, who had expected to dictate the events of the evening, found she was not quite so in control as she had planned. Her head spun as his lips slanted over hers, making it difficult for her to remember she was supposed to be seducing him. When he finally pulled back, she caught her breath and went to work undressing him. She pushed the coat over his broad shoulders and down his arms and loosed his neckcloth. Next came his shirt, which she unfastened at the neck then pulled over his head.
