Daughter of Trade

by Lesley-Anne McLeod

  "Oh no. I have most able helpers: the vicar and his sister, Miss Hesler, Mr. Gott's youngest daughter, and often Adelaide and my mother. Harriet frequently reads to the little ones. They are all gone home now; I stayed on to plan for the week."

  "And I see that your sweeper is done." He raised his voice to instruct the servants. "Your help is much appreciated, but you may go. Pippy, my carriage is without in Wink's charge; you may await us there."

  Dinah shot him a quick annoyed glance, but added her farewell to the vicar's man, feeling she could not do otherwise. Pippy closed the door without a backward look.

  "That was high-handed, my lord!"

  "It was necessary. You are so busy and so hedged about with family, friends and retainers that I never can manage a moment alone with you." He came closer. "I need to speak with you. Something has occurred..."

  Dinah tidied the papers on her table busily. "It is not appropriate that we spend any time alone together," she said. She edged behind the broad walnut surface. "There can be no need for it."

  He caught her busy hands and carried them to his hard chest, drawing her near as he followed her around the table. "There is every need. You feel it also, I know. And you must have some little notion of my emotions." His strong arms slipped around her.

  "I confess to a dis...interest in your emotions," she managed to say, but her veracity could be doubted. Her slim fingers spread on his grey silk waistcoat, savouring the steady beat of his heart and the warmth of his body.

  He bent his head and brought his lips gently to hers.

  Her hands were well and truly trapped between them. Dinah's senses reeled. She had relived the embrace at Fountains Abbey countless times wondering if the memories of sparkling delight and aching hunger were accurate. They were she discovered, but they did nothing to prepare her for the wave of emotion that swamped her now.

  She protested her hands' entrapment with a little moan caught in her throat. Obligingly Sebastian shifted, and her arms were free to slip to his shoulders. He seemed to have no intention of moving away, but she ensured he did not by drawing his head again to hers.

  She could not have stopped the kisses; she was drowned in sensation, shivering with delight, longing for she knew not what. His mouth was warm on hers, now soft now demanding, and his auburn hair was silk tangled in her fingers. His body was hard and strong against her, his hands shaking a little as they slipped over her exploring her form.

  Then suddenly she was set away from him. She was released. Her fingers clamped tight over her swollen lips so that she would not moan her regret. Her great brown eyes stared at him, as he turned abruptly away.

  "We must go, my Dinah; we are expected. And I came to talk and have not done so," he said, his voice oddly strained.

  "Do not talk now. There can be nothing to say. We must go!" Dinah hurried to the door. She was horrified by his actions, by her own wanton response, by her wish that it had not to end, by her desire for something--she knew not what--more. "Do let's go."

  He followed her with long strides as she snatched up her bonnet and cloak and opened the door.

  "Dinah, don't run away. I'm sorry--I should have known--I meant only to kiss you once. I have more restraint, I would not have...I have the deepest respect..."

  He followed her outside. She slammed the door, locked it and dropped the iron key in her reticule. Through tear-glazed eyes she saw his curricle, with Wink and Pippy at the horse's head. The day was drawing in; the sun was low in the west. An evening, autumn chill crept up from the river Aire.

  She shuddered with shame as Holly handed her into the seat, and almost wept at the crowding as Pippy squeezed in beside her. From hip to knee she was pressed against Sebastian, and she could feel every movement of his tense muscles, as he gave the horse the office to start.

  He whispered, "I meant no disrespect. I cannot say just now the things I should, that I long to say. But soon I will and I hope you will hear me out. Dinah look at me."

  She ventured a sideways glance at him and saw only concern and earnestness writ on his expressive, elegant features. She was terrified lest Wink or Pippy should overhear.

  "Hush," she murmured on a shallow breath.

  "I will not. Say you do not judge me harshly," he whispered. "I would not leave matters so between us could I avoid it. You must believe me. I must have your reassurance."

  "I cannot give it. You must think me licentious to use me so." She added with unflinching honesty, "Well I did respond wantonly."

  "Never--never. You responded generously with all the sweet passion you possess. The fault is mine."

  "Say no more," she begged aloud. She felt Pippy's start of surprise. "Leave me be, and say no more."

  They arrived in Park Square in a strained silence, and entered the house in a cloud of silent recrimination. Dinah wished with all her heart that Sebastian was not invited to dine, and that she had not to be sociable. She gave her bonnet to Pippy, who studied her with concern before disappearing above stairs.

  Dinah was thankful for Bubwith's stately presence. It was only that, she was certain, which prevented Sebastian's further speech. She watched him rub his brow after he removed his hat, and was touched by concern. Her ruminations were interrupted by Harriet's abrupt arrival from the upper floor.

  "My lord, have you seen the most recent York Herald?" She had the newspaper in hand as she intercepted him, after the briefest of greetings.

  Sebastian cast Dinah a desperate look, but she could not offer rescue. She was only too glad to have Harriet draw him upstairs to the drawing room as she discussed some point of politics.

  Dinah slipped into the bookroom her papa called his office. She had thought it must be empty and was relieved that indeed it was. The familiar odours of leather, tobacco and parchment soothed her distraught nerves. She sank into a winged chair with its back to the window, sighed with relief and attempted to compose herself.

  The few kisses of which she had been the recipient in the past year or two had done nothing to prepare her for the maelstrom of emotion that Sebastian's embrace had engendered in her. She shivered. She had exposed her desires utterly to him. Her behaviour had been reprehensible; she had never imagined such abandon.

  That he was equally affected she could not credit. He was surely accustomed to such feelings; she would under no circumstance believe that he was as inexperienced as she. Was this mere lust, this aching desire? But no, surely it was love. He had said nothing of love. Nor had she, but she feared very much that her heart was overflowing with it. She began to be indignant. That Sebastian should take such liberties without speaking of marriage, that he should offer her such insult... But no, indignation would not serve; she had welcomed his embrace. She knew it, and so did he.

  She had not ordered her thoughts before, with a tremendous crash, a sizable cobblestone came through the window behind her, passed over her head and landed at her satin-shod feet. Glass showered about her. She cowered in the chair a prey to terror and every weak emotion she despised.

  She heard with relief the sounds of running feet converging on her refuge from all over the house. John reached her first, and Sebastian was right behind him. The window glass on the floor crunched under their booted feet.

  "Dinah, are you injured?" They spoke in unison, fear in their voices.

  Dinah turned deliberately to John, for Sebastian looked as if he might sweep her into his arms.

  "No. No, I am fine." She went into John's brotherly embrace for solace, and avoidance of Holly.

  "Let me examine you. Glass is everywhere." Her brother picked at her lace and drew a shard from her silk. Dinah stood obediently still.

  Sebastian crossed to the window and surveyed the street. "There is no one in sight." He thrust up the defaced sash, and leaned far out. "No one."

  Joseph tore into the room, followed by his parents and all the younger siblings.

  Sebastian picked up the cobblestone, weighing it in his hand. "Luddites?"

  "Who else
?" Mr. Driffield answered heavily.

  "I think we have no other enemies in the world." Mrs. Driffield drew Dinah away from her brother. "You are not hurt my darling?" She picked a long shard of glass from Dinah's curls.

  Sebastian seemed to be choking on intemperate speech. When he did voice his thoughts, he spoke to Joseph. "These are your reasonable revolutionaries, are they? About as reasonable as the mob in Paris fifteen years ago. Revolution is revolution, never peaceful, never reasonable. Your sister might have been killed."

  "What the devil do you know about it? Your damned class is to blame." Joseph's own fear for his family was evident.

  "Enough, gentlemen," Mr. Driffield ordered. "No one here is to blame. Ignorance is the only culprit, and that we can fight. If you are well enough, Dinah, we shall go in to dinner. Bubwith will see to the window."

  "Should you wish to lie down upon your bed, my love?" Mrs. Driffield enquired of Dinah. "The shock..."

  Dinah straightened and withdrew from the comfort of her mother's arms. "No! No, let us go in to dinner, as Papa suggests."

  She watched Sebastian lay down the cobble and prevent Hamilton from toying with it. He looked up unexpectedly and met her gaze with a speaking one of his own. His fear for her safety and something else she would not identify were easily read there.

  The family ordered itself to cross the hall. Dinah managed to avoid taking Sebastian's arm by the simple expedient of clinging to John. She cast a look back at the bookroom. The cobble must have missed her head by a hairsbreadth; the floor behind the chair in which she had sat was covered with glass. She shivered, and felt Sebastian's gaze upon her once more.

  The dinner was noisy with every member of the family having an opinion on the vandalism, its nature and its perpetrators. Dinah was silent, too conscious of Sebastian's presence, and still shaken by the incident. She was aware that he spoke little also.

  He did raise his voice at the end of the meal, when the covers were removed. The ladies were prepared to retire to the drawing room.

  "I have need to go to London on the morrow," Holly said. "You must all forgive me to leave you at such a time. My business cannot be delayed."

  "There is nothing afoot now that has not been since before we met you," Joseph said in an unfriendly tone.

  Sebastian gave him a level look, and said to Mr. Driffield, "I shall go in the morning, and I will return as soon as may be, a week at most. Every friend of yours must be concerned at this turn of events. I would like to help you meet the challenges that circumstances are creating."

  Dinah met his searching gaze only briefly. She could see her reflection in the broad mirror over the mahogany sideboard. The hectic colour his kisses had engendered had long since faded from her cheeks. The fright she had experienced had left her with an uncharacteristic pallor. She had regained some measure of composure, but could not long sustain an exchange of stares with him.

  He had intended to tell her of his leaving earlier, she knew that now. She remembered he had tried to speak of it several times, but circumstances, emotions had overcome his attempt. She dropped her gaze to her fingers, interlaced tightly in her lap.

  "You are going to London on the morrow? But why?" Harriet demanded to know. "What sort of business?"

  "Harriet!" her mother warned.

  "Nothing worth the telling. Purely a matter that must be sorted and cannot be delayed," Sebastian said.

  Dinah found his words evasive. But she would not question them, she knew, as she followed her mother from the dining room. And she would plead the headache to avoid his company in the drawing room when the gentlemen rejoined them. It would not be a lie. Her head did ache with all that she had to think on.

  * * * *

  The days dragged with Holly away and the threat of Luddite violence hanging over the Driffields. They took precautions. The men and particularly the younger boys went about their business in pairs, and the ladies, as well as keeping company with each other, were escorted by a stout footman on all their forays. Other families in the area had been similarly attacked: the home of a mill manager in West Street, a manufacturer's home in Park Place, and even the home of Mr. Gott's eldest son.

  Rumours abounded but it was thought that the culprits were a radical few. Joseph tried to contact them, but with no success. The responsible mill owners redoubled their efforts at education for their workers. Bernard Humberstone was full of blustering courage, vowing to find those who had endangered Dinah, but making no noticeable efforts to do so.

  Dinah fretted under the restrictions. She had recovered from her fright and felt only contempt for the cowardly act that had threatened her. She was used to attend at her schools and her business in company only with Pippy. Even now, she did not fear for her own safety, but chose to submit to her father's instructions and take a footman on her outings. She would not add to her parents' burden of concern.

  Meanwhile, she was aware of Sebastian's absence with every newly awakened fibre of her being. She gave up trying to put him from her mind and alternately abused him and longed for him. As she sat sewing one morning, she went over the interlude at her Sunday school again in her mind. She had lost count of the times she had done so.

  His kiss had been so sweet and she had meant to put him away after it. But somehow her hands had acquired a traitorous independence and they had drawn him closer and indicated her willingness for another kiss. He had obliged and had kissed her with a thoroughness and expertise that caused her to blush every time she thought on it. Even now the colour burned into her cheeks; she could feel it. She bent further over her work, for her sisters were present, Harriet with her newspapers and Adelaide writing a letter to her Thomas. The September day was sunny but chill without, and they had grouped around the fire but for Dinah. She sat near a window for light for her sewing.

  Her thoughts wandered on. Lucky Adelaide, secure in her love, confidant that it was returned, and bound by betrothal. No doubt Thomas kissed her, and she was free to respond knowing it moral and right. Whereas she, she had wantonly kissed a man who had given her no word of love, no promises and no assurances. And she had enjoyed it. Even now she could relive the singing sensations his hands and lips had conjured up in her body. What would he say when he returned? Would he ignore the matter, or pity her inexperience? Probably the ladies of the ton would lend themselves willingly to such dalliance expecting nothing but the pleasure of it. And it was pleasurable...her thoughts wandered to the memory of his lips on her throat.

  Harriet's voice drew her from her guilty reverie. "Oh! Oh, my goodness. It cannot...yes, it is."

  "What, Harry?" Adelaide demanded.

  "Not more news of Luddites?" Mrs. Driffield, just entering the room, was caught in the confusion.

  "No, worse, much, much worse." Harriet handed the newspaper to Adelaide pointing out what had caught her eye.

  "Oh my goodness gracious!" Adelaide exclaimed, reading quickly. "Oh, it cannot be."

  "It must be," Harriet said.

  "What?" demanded Dinah. She smothered her guilty memories of delight, and straightened resolutely.

  "Girls, do explain," their mother said. "This is most tedious."

  "Listen to this!" Harriet wrested the paper from her older sister.

  "Viscount H., last seen in the wilds of Yorkshire, has been charged with breach of promise, by Lord P. The beautiful Miss P. was apparently promised marriage in June by Viscount H. He has since reneged and said nothing more on the matter. Lord P. declares he will have satisfaction from H. and no explanation will suffice."

  All four pairs of hands in the room stilled, and four horrified looks intermeshed.

  "Not Holly...I cannot believe it of him." Mrs. Driffield was positive.

  "How many viscounts with names beginning H can have been in Yorkshire recently?" Harriet posed the question. "Come to that, how many viscount H's are there?"

  "Debrett's! Debrett's will help," Adelaide ran to her father's bookroom and returned in record time with the volume that li
sted England's nobility and gentry. She fanned the pages agitatedly.

  Dinah sat silent through the commotion. She could think only of Sebastian's kisses. Had he kissed another young lady so? How many? She thought of kisses as promises. Obviously someone else did also. And yet, she had believed...believed him to be different than his kind. He had asked her not to judge him harshly. Had she misunderstood? Was this what he had tried to speak of to her? Had he known she would hear of this suit, and wished not to be judged sternly over it? She would pass harsh judgment on him; he was a peer, and they did as they pleased.

  Witness this suit. Such things were not undertaken lightly. He had kissed some other young lady as he had kissed her. And that young lady thought he had made a promise to be hers alone. Just as Dinah had. And she was duped just as Dinah had been deceived.

  "There are very few Lord 'H's', at all. Only one other viscount and he is a valetudinarian and resides in Bath. I fear there can be no mistake," Adelaide said. Harriet looked over her shoulder.

  Three pairs of brown eyes fixed on Dinah.

  "Well," she said. She regained her composure with a grim travesty of a smile. "I hope he is made to marry the poor girl. Shame on him for breaking a promise, and shame on us for believing him to be different than his class. We shall hear no more of him, I think."

  She forced herself to believe it. And it seemed that she was a prophet. Holly did not return quickly from London. When a week had passed without word from him, Dinah was sick at heart. It had been lies, all lies. Sebastian had meant nothing by his words, or his actions. Though in the daylight hours she railed against his faithlessness, in the night she wept.

  She grew pale and listless and if some put her changed demeanor down to the stress of the attack and the Luddite threat, others more correctly divined the cause. She forced herself to attend at the frequent social affairs of various manufacturers' families but was noticeably quiet. The conversation was all of the Luddites. Even morning calls were taken up with radical concerns.

  Still Dinah could not escape memories of Sebastian. Her younger siblings chattered of nothing but Luddites and Holly it seemed. Juliana continued to bemoan the disappearance of Burleigh Matherton and questioned Dinah repeatedly about the possibility of Holly and Matherton's return. Bernard Humberstone somehow learned of the gossip about Holly and lost no time in pointing out to Dinah that his distrust had been well-founded. Also he confided that Mrs. Humberstone was concerned for his safety from Luddite threat. Dinah felt he was in more danger from her own anger if he did not cease prosing about Sebastian's perfidy.