Freedom's Ring (Sisters of the Revolution Book 3)

by Diana Davis

  Not seriously, however. He knew he was doing the right thing. And the challenge was good. Kept his mind off Temperance. For a few minutes at a time, at least.

  Hayes emerged from his study and stopped by Owen’s table. The clerks had already left for dinner, but Owen was determined to come up with a trial strategy first.

  “Still hacking away at that?” Hayes asked.

  Owen merely nodded.

  “It’s possible to work too hard on something, you know.”

  He cocked his head. “Sir?”

  “Sometimes we have to take time away from a problem before we can find a solution to it. Continuing to gnaw away at it only entrenches our thinking further.”

  “Hm.” That certainly felt accurate, especially given how hard he’d worked these last few months.

  Hayes shifted his weight, his stance growing more casual. “Do you know I’m very proud of you?” he asked, his voice suddenly heavy with emotion.

  “Sir?” Owen managed.

  “I see how hard you’ve been working. I know . . .” Hayes took a deep breath. “I know you’ve been worried about your apprenticeship coming to an end.”

  Owen regarded his employer warily. He’d tried very hard not to express those sentiments in Hayes’s hearing. The man already paid him enough to keep his family fed, when virtually no one else in the city paid an apprentice. He had no intention of behaving ungratefully. Had he said something to a clerk? Had someone else gone and talked to Hayes?

  “David has been checking in,” Hayes explained at last. “He doesn’t wish to overburden you.”

  “Feeding my family isn’t a burden.” He looked back at Blackstone but couldn’t bring himself to read the words.

  “I know, of course. But it is quite a bit of pressure.”

  Owen allowed that with a shrug of one shoulder.

  “I’ve been thinking,” Hayes began slowly. “I do think you’re very much prepared to go out on your own as a lawyer.”

  That slimy panic welled up in his chest at the thought of losing that small but steady income. Could he possibly work as hard as he needed to in order to provide for his family, spend enough time courting new clients, and still balance that with helping the people who needed it most?

  “So I have a unique proposition for you,” Hayes continued. Owen watched him carefully. The man always had the most ingenious solutions, so Owen was curious to see how he might approach the biggest problem looming over him.

  Aside from being in love with Temperance Hayes. Still. Forever.

  Hayes continued. “I have no sons to pass a business to.” He sighed. “At present, no sons-in-law either.”

  Owen fought to keep his expression impassive.

  “But I would like to plan for my future. A legacy, if you will. I was hoping you might be interested.”

  Unless that legacy involved Hayes’s oldest daughter, Owen couldn’t say he’d given that any thought, ever. “I’m sorry, what do you mean?”

  “I mean to propose a partnership. You could continue to work from this office with your clients. We’d find you a few more clerks, and you could cover contracts while I focus on litigation.”

  Contracts? If anything, the past three months had shown him how much he hated contract law. But if this were to be his best offer, he couldn’t bear the thought of having refused. “I assume the pay would come from the clients.”

  “Yes. Obviously there would be no rent for your space here, and you could have access to the entire library.”

  Owen glanced up at the bookshelves all along two walls, filled with the case law the clerks had painstakingly copied by hand, as if the practice of law were supposed to be monastic.

  Something about the idea was easy — too easy. He couldn’t depend on the fame and reputation of Josiah Hayes to draw new clients forever, and surely David would run out of benefactor-clients. Where would he be left then?

  “I thank you very much,” Owen said at last. “But I’m not certain that would fit well with my goals.”

  “Goals?” Hayes’s eyebrows raised as not only his interest was piqued. “Tell me of your goals.”

  “I simply want to do what’s right. I wish to help people in need, above all else. It doesn’t feel right that some people get the best defense money can buy while other sorts get nothing.”

  “So you want to help the poor,” Hayes stated.

  Owen couldn’t quite read his tone, but he hoped it was positive. “Yes. If I must, I’ll cater to rich and famous people’s contracts and negotiations enough to support my family.”

  “While you do your noble work?”

  “While I do what’s right.”

  Hayes pondered that, then set a hand on Owen’s shoulder. “I respect that very much. Then you’ll not accept my offer?”

  “I’m not sure I’m the right person to continue your legacy.”

  Hayes’s expression said he understood what neither of them would say: his daughter Patience was the one who deserved that position, impossible though that might be.

  “Let me know what I can do to support you in your goals,” Hayes said at last. “I don’t mean to throw you out into the streets to fend for yourself.”

  “Thank you.”

  Hayes turned for the door but stopped short. “Won’t you dine with me?”

  Owen hesitated. He didn’t have the trial strategy he wanted, and the trip to Hayes’s home would afford them a chance to discuss the issue.

  He was certainly not entertaining the part of his brain that would never, ever let go of Temperance. He couldn’t even know if Temperance would be there, and if she were, she wouldn’t want to see him.

  But perhaps that was the best reason of all.

  No, Owen wasn’t cruel. He began to decline, but Hayes spoke first. “Come,” he urged. “I have a case I wish to discuss with you.”

  Hayes wanted to consult with him? Owen was so stunned he could do no more than sit there with his mouth open for a long minute. “Yes, of course, sir,” he finally said, hopping up to collect his great coat.

  He tried to think only of his case and Hayes’s case. And not puzzle over whether he intended to see Temperance, and whether he hoped she’d like that — or not.

  The law was much simpler.

  “Package for you.” Ginny gave Temperance a small parcel. Her sisters, scattered again around the drawing room, turned from their various pastimes.

  “Thank you. Just this? No one at the door?”

  “No, came by messenger.”

  Temperance unwrapped the parcel. Inside lay two elaborate gold earrings, cascading with diamonds. A small, folded paper was nestled between them.

  I’m sure you’ll puzzle this out was all the note said.

  She frowned and tucked the note in her pocket. Did Godfrey really think such a bungling gesture would influence her decision? She meant to keep the earrings regardless of her answer.

  “Do you have a reply?” Ginny asked. “The boy’s waiting.”

  She had a reply, still right in her pocket. All she had to do was take it out and hand it to Ginny.

  “Tell him ‘thank you,’” Temperance said.

  Ginny nodded and retreated.

  Why was she even entertaining this possibility? Godfrey clearly had no respect for her or her family.

  But, then, the dark, dreadful kind of hope returned to her mind. Perhaps if she married Godfrey, she’d forget Owen and the mourning in her heart.

  “What did you get?” Patience asked.

  Temperance picked up one of the jewels, and it glittered in the light.

  “Temperance!” Constance gasped. “Diamond earrings?”

  “Perhaps if I wait another week, he’ll send a full parure.” Temperance pretended to consider that idea. “I think I shall have to try.”

  Verity laughed. “Mr. Sibbald surely wishes to marry you.”

  Temperance checked Constance’s reaction. She looked ill. Of course, wi
th her weak stomach, she often looked ill. Temperance closed the parcel again and slid it into her pocket.

  Constance collected herself and the board and checkers. “Are you certain you don’t wish to play?” she asked.

  “Yes,” she said. How could she think of any games with the other letter positively burning her pocket?

  Six words. How could she seal her fate with just six words? The thought made her as sick as Constance faced with something rotten.

  Everything was rotten.

  Temperance rocked in her chair, staring at the fire. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t bear this. Godfrey cared nothing for her. He had proven he wouldn’t respect her or her family members. He wished to conduct separate lives, and Temperance didn’t have the faintest idea what that would mean for him. She was frightened to ask.

  Temperance Hayes was never frightened of a man, especially not one so weak-willed as Godfrey Sibbald.

  But if she sent this reply, she was consenting. She was consenting never to ask about his affairs. Him not asking about hers hardly seemed an equal trade.

  Mercy dropped a knitting wire, and Patience snatched it up. “Come, we should play fox and geese when one of us has a chance at winning.”

  Temperance offered a weak smile. She wasn’t certain whether Patience meant Temperance didn’t intend to play or she was so distracted she’d be easy to defeat, but either way, she was right.

  Mrs. Godfrey Sibbald. Temperance Sibbald. It sounded terrible.

  Oh, it sounded fine, but she hated it all the same. Why not simply remain Miss Temperance Hayes? That had suited her for nearly twenty-five years. It would suit her fine to remain here in her parents’ warm and cozy home. Besides, Temperance Randolph wasn’t an option, so she had to put that out of her mind straightaway.

  The front door opened, and Papa walked in. “Sorry I’m late, my dears,” he called. “Have you already eaten?”

  “Yes,” Verity said. “Hours ago.”

  Even Temperance had to sigh at that exaggeration. “Dinner is still on the table,” Patience corrected her.

  “Thank you, dears.” Papa proceeded to the dining room.

  Owen Randolph followed him.

  The drawing room fell silent until they both entered the dining room. Then every eye turned to Temperance.

  They didn’t even know what she’d done, what a fool she’d been to pursue him, to kiss him. And they still stared at her. “What?” she said, forcing a light note into her tone.

  “Aren’t you hungry?” Constance asked, climbing to her feet. “I could use more of that custard.”

  Temperance grabbed her arm and pulled her back down to sit on the couch. “Don’t you dare.”

  Verity and Mercy set aside their knitting and mending. “You know, I should go see if Polly needs any help cleaning up,” Mercy said.

  Temperance held up a single warning finger, and her youngest sisters laughed.

  Patience stood, stretching. “They’re probably discussing an important case. I should go in and check.”

  “Patience, please.” Of all her sisters, Patience should be the one who understood most. Temperance would never have gone in to visit with one of Patience’s spurned suitors.

  Temperance wasn’t sure why she was objecting. What did she think Patience would do, try to take Owen for herself? She would never.

  She just didn’t want to be tormented, knowing her sisters were in the room with him and she couldn’t be.

  “Why don’t you go in?” Constance suggested. “You’re old friends, aren’t you?”

  Temperance grimaced. “I’m not sure we’re even that now.”

  The teasing mood fled, and her sisters clustered around her. She braced herself for the questions she didn’t want: why, what happened, can’t you reconcile?

  She didn’t know. She didn’t know the answer to any of those.

  But the questions didn’t come. Patience and Constance each took one of her hands, and Verity and Mercy sat at her feet. Verity leaned her head on Temperance’s knee, and Constance rested hers on Temperance’s shoulder.

  She’d already shed her tears for Owen, but now they threatened to come back, and every memory of that night tried to fight its way forward. She didn’t even understand what he meant when he said they had to defend their rights, the rights of the weakest among them.

  It didn’t matter. She knew what she needed to do. She squeezed Patience’s and Constance’s hands and stroked Verity’s hair. “I had probably better go upstairs so I don’t make things uncomfortable when he leaves,” she said. She stared down at her hands. “It was my choice, and I don’t mean to cause him further pain.”

  She was careful not to look at Verity, who would surely be brimming with emotion. Patience helped her out of her chair. “Do you want me to tell him anything? If he asks?”

  She wanted to shout Tell him I still love him. No, she wanted to run into the dining room right now and kiss him again. She wanted —

  She wanted someone who would be there tomorrow, not go marching off to his doom, rights notwithstanding. All she’d ever sought in a husband was stability, and starting a war was the opposite of stability.

  Temperance reached their room and sank down on her bed. The ropes that were supposed to support her mattress badly needed tightening.

  She pulled out her reply to Godfrey. She’d carried this around for a full day, intending to send it. He had offered her stability and freedom, a far sight better than many marriages could offer. And apparently also wealth. She pulled out the parcel of earrings again. They were lovely, and perhaps three months ago, that would have been enough to sway her. Not that she cared all that much about jewelry, but what it represented — security — what she’d thought she wanted.

  Security and a loveless, empty marriage in that frigid house full of ridiculing, scornful men.

  Compared to Owen’s tenement — didn’t matter.

  Her home was here, and she would have to be a fool to leave this warm, cozy haven for Sibbald’s mausoleum, for anything less than what she’d felt in Owen’s arms. She fetched Godfrey’s letter from under the false bottom of her drawer, trading it for the earrings. She dropped his letter and her reply into the fire and went off to check on Mama.

  She couldn’t set this to rights, but Temperance had better things to do than watch those foul papers burn.

  Owen was an idiot. He stared up at the scroll-framed scene on the cream-colored wallpaper of the Hayeses’ dining room, a shadowed man in a desolate winterscape. How had he convinced himself for a moment that he wouldn’t see Temperance if he dined at her house — or, worse, that he would see her, because he wanted to?

  Their gazes hadn’t even met, and he could think of nothing else except the fact that she was in the next room. And she didn’t love him enough to listen to him and care.

  That was beyond his control. He couldn’t make her believe anything. He wouldn’t want to. He just wanted her to choose him. Still, always, forever.

  Hayes had settled on his own concern — a matter similar to Owen’s negotiations for Mordecai. Owen was at least qualified to speak about it, even if he hardly felt adequate to give Josiah Hayes legal advice. Now Hayes directed the conversation to Owen’s case. The older man was already familiar with the facts, so they went straight to weighing the options of various defense strategies, none of which quite seemed to fit the case. Hayes’s frustration reflected Owen’s own sentiments.

  “Josiah?” David called before he walked in. “Oh, good afternoon, Owen.”

  “David,” Owen greeted him warmly. He pretended not to notice the tiny flicker of surprise on Hayes’s face at the familiarity.

  David took the seat next to Owen and declined an offer of food, having just eaten. “Have you spoken to Pedersen recently?” He pointed at the back wall.

  “No, is something the matter?”

  “I’m having trouble fixing a date.”

  “Business dealing?” Owe
n asked.

  “Of sorts.” David grinned. “I’ve purchased the house behind the Hayeses’, but we’re still waiting for the former owners to move.”

  “Last I heard,” Hayes said, “He didn’t mean to move until April.”

  David groaned. “I’m growing impatient.”

  “Oh, no,” Hayes said with a hint of humor, “you already were.”

  David laughed. “Fine, thank you for bearing with my faults, then.”

  “Papa?” One of the younger girls poked her head in the dining room — Verity. “Mama needs you.”

  Hayes scrambled to his feet. “Is she well?”

  “I think so.” Verity glanced at Owen, her expression of concern unchanged, before following her father.

  “A house?” Owen asked David. “Planning on expanding, are we?”

  “Don’t let Cassandra hear you say that.” David’s smile turned secretive, but Owen didn’t dare press him.

  David didn’t require pressing. “We’re expecting a baby. July.”

  “Oh! That’s wonderful; congratulations,” Owen said. He couldn’t help but reflect David’s grin.

  “Thank you. I’ll convey that to Cassandra; she’s the one doing the work.”

  “I assume the Hayes family knows.”

  David looked to the doorway, but no one appeared to answer the question. “I suppose Cassandra must have told them. I haven’t actually told anyone.”

  Owen regarded him again. He was the first person David had told? If he’d ever thought perhaps he was assuming too much of their friendship — and he had — clearly he was mistaken. “Congratulations,” Owen said again. “And on the house, too.”

  “Thank you. I just want everything settled as soon as possible, for Cassandra’s sake.”

  This might explain why he’d become so insistent she spend so much time resting. “She seems to be coping fine. Still going out to help with deliveries and doctors.”

  David contemplated the table. “I know, I just — we were starting to believe we wouldn’t have children before Elizabeth came along. I worry.”

  “I hope all will be well, then. Any sense of whether this one will be a boy or a girl?” His mother had always known, she said, except with Bess, who narrowly missed being named Oliver.