Undone by His Kiss

by Anabelle Bryant

  “My heavens, Emily, an office in such prime position must demand an exorbitant rent. Our dues are less than a trifling and meant to compensate for tea leaves. However will the league survive?” Margery Danford, the oldest of the ladies at twenty-eight, worried about finances more than any other member. The history she’d shared when joining their league related a modest upbringing with few advantages or choices for that matter. Her heart’s desire was to own a hat shop where she could sell her creative designs and why shouldn’t her dream be realized?

  “Money, no matter it poses a distasteful subject, should not be of concern. I’ve been honest with each of you.” She slid her gaze from one woman to the next. “Finances need never be a debate.” Emily would by no means confess her mother and she possessed coin to spare. She flicked a glance downward, her butter-yellow gown unpretentious and serviceable more than the cut of fashion. Money served as a tool for all the right reasons and not something to be wasted on indulgences.

  “Perhaps we should take a collection or solicit donations,” Thomasina Gordon piped up, forever the problem solver and thinker of their group.

  “Asking for donations undermines our main purpose of establishing independence and would only prove to men—” Emily intoned the word to emphasize her odious opinion “—that women are forever dependent upon their services.”

  “Some services are necessary, I would think.” Cynthia Maddox suppressed a giggle given the forbidden topic.

  “Ladies.” Emily’s fingers itched to tap her gavel. “Let’s not detract from our purpose today. Having a legitimate meeting place establishes our league as a force within the social order. It ensures our cause, to motivate women in pursuit of virtuous equality free of societal pressure and instead, promotes the belief that females have as much decision in their future as any male in London.”

  “Or beyond.” Forever dreaming, Portia Edmonstone voiced the words and shared a brilliant smile.

  Portia yearned to travel the world, unencumbered by a chaperone or escort. Her parents treated her as if she was daft and her sisters were all settled with two or three babes, making her view of the future appear all the more outlandish. Portia’s life’s hurtle was daunting, yet proved more so than anyone else’s in the room, that a league devoted to encouraging independence was a timely and valuable necessity.

  “I realize we normally meet twice a week,” Emily continued, imbued by the reality members needed to make excuses for their absence or risk the censure of parents and siblings. “But I propose we come together tomorrow in celebration and exploration. We can gather at the Bond Street office and reaffirm our cause with a toast.”

  “You aren’t suggesting liquor?” A few ladies murmured the same concern, although Margery’s question sounded most aghast.

  “Of course not, ladies, I shall provide tea, although someday we will need to learn spirits and their distorting effects. Every iota of information is valuable and may provide solutions for someone’s journey toward independence.”

  Rapid applause circulated the room, a plethora of plans taking shape. Emily, encouraged more than she’d been in some while, basked in the reverie. She’d return the meeting to order in a few minutes. Thomasina had prepared a presentation on banking to share this afternoon. Her father forever fell asleep with his ledgers open and she’d gleaned extensive knowledge by peering over his somnolent form. These scraps of information reclaimed from the male world offered their league empowerment.

  Matters couldn’t be better. Well, with the exception of her mother of course, but in the meantime Emily would absorb the joy of accomplishing yet another step to progress.

  Two hours later, when the ladies had departed and Emily had managed to replace all the furniture, she settled in an overstuffed chair near the fire, a cup of chamomile tea in hand, and reviewed the day with secret delight. Having a meeting place for the league would benefit everyone, but Emily most of all.

  It had nothing to do with the sitting room upheaval twice a week. She didn’t mind the work, despite Mary, the housekeeper, reprimanded her sternly. She begrudgingly consented to a blow at equality that gentlemen possessed natural strength in their physique, where lifting a rug or repositioning a desk required minimal effort.

  Women were strong in other ways. More important ways. Emotionally, indeed. Males, often regaled as the backbone of society, were lacking in strength of heart and moral fiber. She lived with daily proof of the supposition.

  Financial considerations presented no worries either. Her father had left them with deep wealth though she had little care for the money. Oh it served a purpose, sending her to the finest schools and affording the comfortable town house she called home, yet Emily would never feel beholden. The black line of a bank register had little to do with the ease of one’s heart. She enjoyed spending the funds left by her father for no other reason than the knowledge she worked toward good with the distasteful reminder of his existence.

  Startled by footsteps in the hall, she shook the contemplation away and turned to see her mother enter.

  “Has everyone gone?” Bianca Shaw hesitated within the doorframe, as if waiting for Emily to confirm what she likely observed from her bedroom window upstairs.

  “Yes.” Emily produced a smile. “The league left over an hour ago. Come. Would you like some tea? I can ring for Mary to bring us a fresh pot.” She hemmed her lower lip waiting for her mother’s decision.

  “That sounds fine.” Bianca spoke without inflection.

  Doing as she suggested, Emily watched her mother settle in the chair closest to the hearth and lace her fingers in her lap, her posture perfect. “You look lovely. Is that a new gown?” It was foolish prattle, really. Bianca rarely left the house and when she was forced to do so, it was not for a trip to the dressmaker.

  “One never knows who might come to call. A lady must always look her loveliest.” Her mother’s umbrageous tone secured Emily wouldn’t disagree.

  “Yes, of course.” If only one could erase the depth of sadness in her mother’s eyes or fine creases of perpetual worry marring her skin.

  Mary entered with the tea kettle and a fresh tray of scones, the distraction provoking a sigh of relief. Some subjects were better not discussed. A prickling of unease warned Mother wasn’t in a reasonable mood. “Are you hungry?” Emily nudged the plate with her fingertip. “Apricot is your favorite.”

  “No, thank you.” Her mother touched the button at the neck of her gown. “Your father always complimented my figure. I wouldn’t wish to gain an ounce by indulging in sweets.”

  Cautious of how to proceed, Emily adopted a gentler tone and matched her mother’s eyes. “But he’s gone now.”

  Bianca rose from the chair and walked to the front window, a favorite location in the house. Eventually, she broke the long-drawn silence. “Your league is filled with such pretty girls. It’s a pity no one holds an interest in falling in love. What kind of woman wouldn’t want to be adored by a man? It’s wrong to portray men as the enemy. It disrupts the natural order of things. Marrying well is every woman’s purpose.”

  So she’d pricked her mother’s disposition and now she’d pay the cost. Emily struggled to keep emotion at bay despite her intellect rebelled at each word. “Not at all. We’re a league of equality. We wish to experience the same opportunities offered to gentlemen, not to exclude them from our lives. Marriage is certainly an option if it becomes the lady’s choice, not obligation or duty.” She didn’t add she needed a man to meddle in her life the same way a mouse needed a cat. “You’ve persisted with this conversation before, as if the answers will change when I’ve experienced some revelation or come to my senses.” Her mother had never voiced these accusations, but Emily believed them true. She perceived it in every disappointed glance or censorious word. Rising from the chair to meet her mother eye to eye, she took a few steps before stalling with hesitation and her mother pounced on the pause to reprimand her further.

  “I once considered your attitude immaturity
more than confusion, but it’s been years now and you haven’t altered your thinking. You believe you understand everything concerning relationships, but the knowledge you protect so close to your heart would fill a thimble.”

  The words were spoken in such a vehement tone Emily didn’t dare contradict them, still the sting of fresh tears burned the corners of her eyes and she turned toward the fire, away from her mother’s condescension.

  Chapter 3

  The following morning, Jasper awaited Randolph’s arrival at the office. While he’d concede he’d allowed too much time to travel from his town house to upper Bond Street, there was little traffic and no excuse came to mind why Randolph would be more than an hour late. Nearly two hours, now. He exhaled a frustrated breath. He’d need to reiterate his dedication and insist his friend adopt a similar attitude. As business partner, Randolph had no stake in the success of Inventive Investments other than to keep his daylight hours busy before perusing the night in search of lively reverie, but a lackadaisical attitude would benefit no one. This endeavor warranted a sharp mind and keen intuitive intellect.

  Everything balanced on Jasper’s success. It wasn’t the money he was after this time, but reputation instead.

  All considerations were cut short when Randolph entered, Kellaway fast on his heels.

  “Look who I found at the haberdashery? I’ve convinced Kell to come down and have a look around.”

  Kellaway seemed to be doing just that, although Jasper wouldn’t believe for an exhale the viscount had interest in their business. Kell was a notorious rake, and proud of the title. His expertise lay in bedrooms, not ballrooms; his skills honed to rolling dice, seducing women and pushing the limits too far. Society adored the handsome elbow-shaker, entertained by his renowned laissez-faire attitude as he played through life, one gaming hell to the next, a different woman in bed every evening. Unlike Jasper, he hadn’t a care of reputation and Kellaway’s was beyond wicked.

  “Hello, Benedict.” Annoyed his associate had arrived late, Jasper weighed his words with care and settled behind his desk to open a file and scan the contents, meaning to evoke a serious tone. His comrades missed the mark. He clenched his teeth when their discussion turned to fashion. After fifteen minutes’ debating handkerchief squares and cravat folds, Jasper’s nerves frayed through.

  “Randolph.” The two syllables resembled a baritone growl. “Have you reviewed the information I left describing the advantages of Nasmyth’s steam hammer?”

  “Nay.” Beaufort shook his head in the negative. “I’ve all day for that with no one coming in.” He returned attention to his conversation although he continued to address Jasper. “Kellaway purchased the swallowtail coat ensemble in the haberdashery’s window display. The navy dyed Kersey wool is the finest I’ve ever seen.” He paused and rapped Kellaway on the shoulder in masculine joviality. “As if you weren’t a swell of the first stare already.”

  Time might have continued to waste, with Randolph’s bottle-headed comments and Jasper’s teeth gnashing, but the door opened and a stranger entered, his sleek walking stick and fine apparel marking him as quality of the highest cut. Jasper snapped to attention, introducing the other gentlemen and nodding with vigor at the front door so Randolph might dispense with Kellaway before he intruded on the gentleman’s visit.

  At last things proceeded as planned and Jasper invited the visitor to sit, while Randolph lingered on the periphery.

  “How may we assist?” Jasper eyed R. James Caulfield, Earl of Penwick, with attentive optimism. His heart pounded in his chest. An earl, in his office, to consult on investment opportunities; it could only mean good things. Word was circulating.

  “I read about your recent success in The London Times although I happened upon your office this morning by accident. Quite clever of you to foresee the necessity of the mousetrap. I admire your tenacity.” Penwick paused and glanced to the large glass window at the front.

  Jasper followed with a quick flick of attention, though the bustling street appeared as it always did this time of day. He had assessed the crowd’s pattern often enough. “Go on.”

  “I’ve come into my title and wealth under odd, expected circumstance and I wish to expand my holdings through selective investment. The interview in the newspaper caught my interest. You’ve managed to overcome great odds. My situation is similar.”

  Again their attention was drawn toward the front as increasing giddy conversation penetrated the glass. A cluster of women blocked the window and Jasper could no longer view the street. The ladies didn’t advance with the flow of foot traffic as expected and instead formed a consortium that directly obscured the office, most especially the gold lettering on the pane. Jasper tossed Randolph a piercing glare that had his friend bounding from the seat and striding toward the door, set to disperse the women who caused the commotion.

  The brief noise of the outside world entered as Randolph exited, the bray of a donkey refusing to advance intermingled with the rattle of carriages on cobblestones, the intrusive sounds a divergent interruption to Penwick’s discussion of finances.

  “You were saying?” Jasper attempted an even tone, despite his anger steeped. Over Penwick’s shoulder, with a clear view of the sidewalk, he noticed Randolph had somehow joined in conversation with the ladies outside, neither dispersing the crowd nor reprimanding the interlopers to conduct their recreation elsewhere.

  “Perhaps I should make a more formal appointment.” Penwick stood and reclaimed his walking stick from where it rested against the desk. “I entered on a lark, motivated by curiosity more than preparedness.”

  Jasper shot from his seat, unwilling to let Penwick escape without scheduling a commitment to return. “Would tomorrow morning suit? Nine sharp?” He managed to round the desk and place himself in Penwick’s path, obstructing the exit with insatiable avidity.

  “Excellent. I’m in London for a short stay, but I’d like to continue this conversation. My life has undergone drastic change as of late and I mean to bring it to rights.” He transferred his walking stick from one hand to the other as he moved toward the door.

  Jasper nodded and voiced a cordial goodbye as Penwick took his leave.

  Then his patience snapped.

  He shot to the window in time to see Randolph in animated dialogue with a woman dressed in a burgundy walking gown. She appeared to be the ape leader of the feminine assemblage, but he couldn’t be sure as her face was hidden below the brim of a frivolous little bonnet which concealed her profile in shadow. He charged the door, swung it wide and pushed into the boisterous fray with all the couth of a stray dog after an injured rabbit.

  His action initiated an immediate quiet unusually absorbed by the clamoring traffic and hum of London commerce. Words stalled on his tongue and he slowly rotated his gaze, first left, then right, to match each speculative stare with mortifying awareness he’d overreacted and now would pay the devil.

  Randolph, who’d conveniently stepped aside, flared his eyes and gave the slightest nod, but it was too late for warnings. Jasper swallowed his embarrassment, feeding the emotion to the flames of anger in his stomach which sparked when he’d first noticed the females congregating in front of his office. Their distracting presence would mislead any passerby who might consider his new enterprise a legitimate business venture. He straightened his shoulders and narrowed his eyes on the petite female commanding the other ladies to quiet down and be still.

  “What are you doing?” Any trace of civility evaporated once he found his voice.

  “I beg your pardon?” The icy cut of her words guaranteed it was no apology.

  “You can’t bring your flock here and gather in front of my building. No one can see the window. Your conversations are intrusive and I’ve business to do inside.” Feeling vindicated, Jasper eyed his nemesis, daring her to look away. He would not break their stare though a peculiar tension took hold. The breeze stilled and the birds stopped singing; his glare unwavered. He’d stand outside all day if
necessary.

  Yet she didn’t bat a lash and as minutes ticked by, Jasper noticed her eyes were an unusual shade of blue. One that renewed memories of his childhood summers spent in Brighton with his brother and father. His mother had possessed lovely blue eyes, or at least he’d been told, too young to remember her before she passed away. Lost in the memory, he startled when the lady interrupted curtly.

  “Your building?” She tilted her chin and nodded to the left. “This building here?”

  An unexplainable ill ease crawled over his skin, warning he’d mis-stepped in an assortment of ways, but remained powerless to retract his initial bluster. It didn’t help that the accompanying aggregation had inched closer as the discussion evolved, while Randolph, his only reinforcement, had retreated to the shade of a nearby awning.

  “Inventive Investment.” He stood firm. “It’s my business you and your companions have obstructed.”

  One of her narrow brows winged high as he completed his sentence. Funny, how she expressed a plethora of emotion with the delicate movement.

  “Ladies, I believe we’ve discovered our building mate.” She offered a slight scan over each shoulder before bringing her azure gaze to rest on his face. “I could be mistaken—”

  Her flippant tone assured she knew better, yet her voice held a silky note that resonated inside him, akin to the pounding of his heart in his chest, where it remained for a spell before arrowing straight to his groin, no matter she’d insulted him.

  “But this walkway does not belong to any single pedestrian.” She continued her harangue, her shoulders held in obdurate erectility, her didactic tone self-assured. “Our league has leased the office above yours and we’re gathering for a celebratory meeting. We assemble bi-weekly, except for special occasions, such as this, when we may congregate more often.”