A Tale of Two Hearts

by Michelle Griep

  He studied her as he held the door open with one hand. “Mina, is that you?”

  “Shh,” she warned as she drew near, casting a look over her shoulder. Thankfully no one stood close enough to have heard her name. “Yes, it’s me,” she whispered.

  He offered his hand and a brilliant smile. “Then shall we?”

  His strong fingers wrapped around hers as he boosted her into the cab. Once they were both seated, he rapped on the roof, and the carriage lurched into motion.

  Sitting this close to Will, she fixed her gaze straight ahead. One peek at him would only add to the jitters in her stomach. Simply breathing in the scent of his bergamot cologne and bumping into his shoulder upped her pulse.

  “I understand your desire for disguise, but…” He tugged the hem of her veil. “Uncle Barlow might get the impression ours is not a happy marriage.”

  Leaning forward, she scanned the street to make sure none of the figures they passed looked even remotely familiar, then she sank back against the seat. “I suppose I could take it off now.”

  She lifted the lacy fabric from her head, then worked to tuck the veil into her reticule. The small pouch strained at the seams, and the drawstring fought against her as she tried to tighten it. Perhaps she ought to have made sure the head covering would fit inside her bag before she’d left home. What would William’s relatives think of her with such a lump hanging from her arm?

  “I appreciate you going along with me.” The warmth in Will’s voice stilled her hands. With him beside her, would it even matter what his relatives thought?

  “I hope this meeting won’t prove too uncomfortable for you,” he continued.

  She faced him, and her heart rocked every bit as much as the cab’s wheels juddering over the cobbles. This close up, his eyes were bluer than she’d credited, like a sea without shores, endless and sparkling. Half a smile softened his clean-shaven jawline, and for the first time, she noticed a slight tilt to one of his front teeth—an endearing little flaw.

  “Don’t fret about me.” She clutched the seat to keep from banging against him as the cab turned a corner. “If I can manage a taproom of clerks and solicitors, I am confident I can manage your uncle.”

  “That’s the spirit.” His grin faded, and he looked away. “Though it’s not my uncle I am concerned about.”

  At least that’s what it sounded like he said. Hard to tell the way he’d spoken under his breath. She leaned toward him, ears straining. “What was that?”

  “Oh, er, I was just wondering…” Once again, his blue gaze met hers. “Have you been to Purcell’s before?”

  “Purcell’s? Oh, my!” Immediately her hand shot to her hair, tucking in strays and straightening her bonnet. How often she’d fancied a visit to the famed literary haunt, rubbing shoulders with some of her favorite authors, and now she was to actually patronize such a place? Why was God so good to her?

  Clenching every possible muscle to keep from bouncing on her seat in anticipation, she smiled at Will. “Do you think we might spy Mr. Dickens or Mr. Tennyson? Maybe even the Bells or Mr. Melville?”

  “I doubt I should recognize any of the fellows you just mentioned.”

  Her smile faded a bit. “But surely you’ve heard of them?”

  “No, not a one. Should I have?”

  Her smile disappeared altogether. He seriously didn’t know such august names? Did William Barlow not read? Her throat closed, and she swallowed back the lump clogging it. This was a definite chink in her hero’s armor.

  “Mina? Is something wrong?”

  Alarm deepened his voice, and she determined not only to forgive him for his ignorance but to introduce him to the wonders of literature as well. “No, nothing. That last bump didn’t set well with my stomach, is all.”

  “Well, then thank goodness this ride is over”—the cab stopped—“for here we are.”

  Will opened the door and helped her out. While he paid off the jarvey, she forced the strap of her unwieldy reticule onto her wrist and looked up at the renowned establishment. Mist settled on her face and eyes, and she blinked so much it was hard to read the fancy name shingle with PURCELL’S painted in gilt.

  “Let’s get you out of this dreadful weather.” Will offered his arm.

  She wrapped her fingers around his sleeve and walked into heaven. Inside the large reception area, her feet sank into a thick Turkish carpet. Wall sconces flickered, and a massive overhead chandelier glittered light like fairy dust over all. Beyond the podium, where a concierge stood as a sort of gatekeeper, the drone of voices hummed. How many stories were being hatched even as she stood here? How many clever ideas? What kind of great minds fortified themselves with tea while working out plots and characters and all manner of epic tales?

  Will approached the concierge. “The name is Barlow, meeting with a Mr. Charles Barlow.”

  The man ran his finger along a document. Halfway down, the motion stopped, and he looked up. “Ahh, yes. One moment, please.”

  As the man turned to summon a porter, the front door opened. A gust of wind howled in—accompanied by a woman’s strident voice remarking on the excessive chill of the day.

  “Well, well, look at this. William already here and on time, no less.” A man’s voice attacked them from behind. “My fine cousin appears to be all cleaned up and with a pretty little bauble on his arm. How on earth did you manage either of those two miracles?”

  Beneath her touch, Will’s muscles hardened to steel. He blew out a low breath, then winked at her. “I hope you’re ready for this.”

  Without waiting for her response, he guided her around to face two scowls.

  The woman in front of Mina was dressed head to toe in midnight blue and ornamented with an extravagant amount of black lace. Her blond hair was coiffed into a coil beneath a feathered hat and pierced through with a silver bodkin, as was all the rage. She was curvaceous, pretty, tall. All in all, quite striking.

  Yet something wasn’t right about the woman, giving Mina a queer feeling in her stomach. She edged nearer to Will. Nothing appeared untoward about the lady. Every button and thread was in place. No…it was more of an invisible atmosphere that clouded about her. A kind of foreboding. Like being alone in a big house and hearing a door slam—and knowing that something was coming for you.

  Swallowing, Mina shifted her gaze to the man. He was shorter than the woman but every bit as snappily dressed in his dark grey suit with a white, high-stock collar. His round spectacles enlarged his eyes to dark marbles, and his black hair was pasted back with pomade. He might be a businessman. Or a lawyer. But the longer Mina stared, the more she suspected he might be better suited as an undertaker, so emotionless and coldly did he look upon her.

  “Percy, Alice, good to see you.” Will’s voice strained on the word good.

  The woman—Alice—sniffed as if he’d offered her a plate of rotted cabbage. “A pig in a suit does not a gentleman make, exemplified in your lack of introductions.” Her head swiveled to Mina. “I am Alice Barlow, Percival’s wife. And you are?”

  Mina tensed. These were William’s relatives? No wonder he spent most of his nights at the Golden Egg instead of taking part in family affairs.

  Will placed his hand on the small of her back in a show of affection. “This is my…this is Mina.”

  Alice’s upper lip twitched. “Mina? What sort of a name is that?”

  “It’s, uh…” Mouth suddenly dry as bones, Mina licked her lips, hoping to grease the way for more words to slip out. “It is the shortened form of Wilhelmina. My father’s side of the family has Dutch roots.”

  “Oh.” Alice said no more, but she didn’t have to. The tone put Mina in her place—on a ladder rung clearly beneath Alice’s jeweltoed shoes.

  “Uncle mentioned you’d taken a wife.” Percy’s gaze drifted from Will to Mina. “My condolences.”

  Mina blinked. Were these people flesh and blood, or were they some of Mr. Dickens’s villainous characters?

  “Mr. Barlo
w,” the concierge called out. “You may be seated now.”

  The man barely finished speaking before Percy and Alice shot into motion, nearly knocking her sideways were it not for Will’s strong arm behind her. Her reticule swung wild, smacking into Alice as she passed—and earned Mina yet another glower.

  Mina peered up at Will as his cousins disappeared through the door. “Are they always this way?” she whispered.

  “No.” A devilish grin tugged his lips. “Usually, they are worse.”

  But as she stepped into the grandeur of the tearoom, all thoughts of Will’s cousins vanished. Walking beside her handsome prince, it was easy to pretend she was royalty. White linen tablecloths with fresh flowers adorned every table. Men and women of stature lifted dainty cakes to their lips or sipped from fine porcelain cups. The whole room twinkled as light shimmered off the gilded stripes on the pale blue wallpaper.

  Slowly, the tight knots in her shoulders loosened, and she lifted her chin. This was where she wanted to belong, not slaving away in an inn that reeked of ale and grease. If she lived in such a world of opportunity and wealth, she could actually do something worthy with her life. Instead of scraping up saved coins to benefit the likes of the institute, she could give so much more. Do so much more. Be so much more, a benefactress that would really make a difference to others.

  By the time they reached a table in the back corner, Will’s cousins had already taken their seats, but yet standing was a thin fellow, dressed all in brown. White hair circled the man’s head like a crown, tufting out at the sides near his ears. His face was a roadmap of years. Grey eyes—as piercing as Will’s—twinkled with humour and something more…an innocence of sorts. As if, were the lines and grey hairs taken away, he might be naught more than a schoolboy looking for a good game of cricket.

  “Uncle Barlow?” Will stared at the man. “Is it really you, sir?”

  “Posh! Such formality. Of course it’s me. Though I suppose I am quite a few stones lighter than when you last saw me.” A cough rumbled in his chest, and he pulled out a handkerchief, holding it to his mouth until the spell passed.

  Mina frowned. Will hadn’t said anything about his uncle’s frail health.

  “Sorry.” The man tucked the cloth back into his pocket with a wink reminiscent of Will’s. “The past year has not been kind to me, but no cause for alarm. My doctor assures me I am on the mend. Now then.” He pulled Will in for an embrace with a hearty pat on his back, then released him, chuckling. “This may be the first occasion you’ve ever arrived on time, my boy.” His gaze swung toward her. “Surely you have wrought great miracles in my nephew.”

  She ought to answer him, truly, especially with the expectant tilt to his head, but her tongue fell flat. Facing this dear old man, posing as William’s wife, suddenly stabbed her in the heart.

  “Uncle,” Will cut in, “allow me to introduce my…well, this is Mina. Mina, my uncle, Mr. Charles Barlow.”

  Uncle Barlow reached for her hand and bowed over it with a light kiss. “Welcome to the family, my dear. I look forward to getting to know you.”

  Her heart twisted, and she drew back her fingers. The old fellow would not say such things if he knew he held the hand of a deceiver.

  She glanced over her shoulder, judging the distance to the door. She never should have agreed to this. Would Will forgive her if she dashed out of here now?

  CHAPTER FIVE

  There are strings…in the human heart that had better not be vibrated.

  Barnaby Rudge

  Will tugged at his collar, despising the cravat choking his neck.

  Thank God this farce would soon be over. How could he have imagined this would work? He didn’t have the slightest notion of how a husband should act, though he should have by now if Elizabeth hadn’t—

  He reached for his tea and slugged back a scalding mouthful, welcoming the burn. Anything to keep from remembering. He’d sworn to never again allow a woman access to his heart. What had possessed him to playact such a scene?

  Beside him, Mina sipped her tea as she listened to one of Uncle’s stories. Ahh, but she was a good sport and a true friend. Not to mention brave. He barely had the fortitude himself to sit here and endure Percy’s remarks and Alice’s thinly concealed glowers.

  Across the table, Percy looked down his nose at him, a smug lift to one brow—the same look Will had received that Christmas years ago when, as lads, Percy had caught him with Uncle’s snuffbox hidden behind his back. Percy never had been able to prove that he’d pinched a wad, but that hadn’t stopped his cousin from trying.

  Will snuck a covert glance over at Uncle Barlow. The old fellow seemed to be enjoying Mina, and he hadn’t made one remark yet on Will’s jaded past. At the very least, perhaps this tea would mend the relational fences Will had broken as a young fool. Even now, thinking of his past rebellious ways sickened him.

  “Excuse me, Mina, is it?” Alice impaled Mina with a cancerous gaze. For a moment, she didn’t speak, but twirled one finger around a silver locket. “What did you say your maiden name was?”

  Mina, God bless her, smiled at the woman. “It is Scott.”

  “Is?” Alice’s fingers froze midtwirl, and she lowered her hand.

  Will tensed. A slip like that was enough rope in Alice’s hand to string up Mina and hang her with her own words. He forced a small laugh. “You’ll have to excuse Mina, for you see, the name Barlow is still so new to her.”

  “Speaking of which, how long have you—” Uncle set down his teacup and once again pulled out his handkerchief as another coughing spell overtook him.

  Will frowned. Was Uncle Barlow truly getting better? Perhaps he ought to press the man to get a second opinion from a different doctor.

  The hacking faded, and Uncle tucked his kerchief away. Leaning toward Mina, he smiled at her. “As I was saying, how long have you known my nephew, my dear?”

  She exchanged a glance with Will before she answered. “Nearly a year.”

  “Really?” Percy’s eyes narrowed. “That seems a rather whirlwind courtship from start to finish. How long did you say you’ve been married?”

  “Tell me, Percy,” Will cut in, hoping to divert the man. “I’ve been meaning to ask, has your bout of the itch cleared up yet?”

  Red worked its way up Percy’s neck. “I will thank you to keep my personal information to yourself.”

  Alice swung her gaze to Will, apparently impervious to her husband’s distress. “At least your wife’s former surname is not an unpronounceable bit of French twaddle like your mother’s was.”

  Beneath the tablecloth, his hands curled into fists. He should’ve known his mother would have been shaken out and hung to dry at some point in today’s conversation. She always was—which was why they could never know she was still alive. Working his jaw, he forced his tone to remain light. “My mother has nothing to do with this.”

  “I should think she does.” Percy faced Uncle Barlow, nearly blinding them all as chandelier light reflected off his glasses. “Surely you would hate to see the wealth of your English forefathers tainted by someone with French blood.”

  “My husband is right.” Alice sipped her tea as she eyed Uncle Barlow. “Percy has solid investments lined up with men who have bloodlines that go back to King Richard. Dear Uncle, there should be no more delay in getting your will and property signed over to Percy.”

  Uncle grunted, then drifted sideways toward Mina. “‘Something will come of this. I hope it mayn’t be human gore.’”

  She clapped her hands together with a laugh at Uncle Barlow’s quotation. “Simon Tappertit is one of my favorite characters in Barnaby Rudge.”

  “Oh? A Dickens admirer, are you?” Uncle Barlow leaned back in his chair, surveying the breadth of the tearoom. “Look, there he goes now. Posh it! I should have liked to have introduced you.”

  Will followed his uncle’s gaze to see a long-legged man in a houndstooth dress coat clap a bowler atop his head and stride out the door.

/>   “You know Charles Dickens?”

  The awe in Mina’s voice drew his gaze back to her. She stared at Uncle, wide eyed and pink cheeked, respect and admiration radiating off her in waves. What would it feel like if she looked at Will so? His chest tightened. Even during their best moments, Elizabeth had never paid him such due.

  “I should say so,” Uncle answered. “Charles and I go way back. Let me tell you of the time—”

  “Enough nattering of folderol.” Percy clinked his teacup onto the saucer, jarring them all. “Back to the matter at hand.”

  “I agree.” Picking up her napkin, Alice dabbed her lips, apparently finished with her refreshment and the whole conversation. “I see no reason to delay this affair.”

  “Especially since it appears you’ve already spent Uncle’s money on some ridiculous investments,” Will shot back.

  “Why, I ought to—”

  “Oh, pardon me. Did I say that aloud?”

  “Listen, Cousin.” Percy shot the word like a poison arrow. “You are unfit in every respect to inherit Uncle Barlow’s estate. My wife is perfectly astute in her observation. I see no reason to postpone the paperwork whatsoever.”

  “Take a care, Cousin. You are dreadfully close to suffering an apoplexy.” Will stifled a smile at the slight tremor rippling across Percy’s shoulders. Truly, it was wicked of him to prod the man so, but ever so satisfying. Were Fitz here, he’d be rolling on the floor, laughing in spasms.

  Alice gasped such a sharp intake, her corset strings were likely in danger of snapping. “I never! Such a lack of manners. Such ill-bred, uncouth—”

  Soft laughter and a bass chuckle drew all their attention. Mina and Uncle Barlow conspired over their teacups like bosom companions, alternating between whispers and laughter.

  Uncle wiped the moisture from his eyes with his knuckle. “William, you could not have married a more delightful young lady. I am pleased that you have mended your ways and become a man of honor. It seems you’ve taken full advantage of the second chance I offered you a year ago, and I couldn’t be more proud.”