Longing for a Liberating Love: A Historical Regency Romance Book

by Bridget Barton

  ***

  The inn in Richmond was a smoky, overcrowded affair. Theo ducked inside, his eyes searching the tables for the sight of his uncle. He found the man at one of the back booths, tucked under a casement with a meal of stew and bread before him.

  William Pendleton was Theo’s father’s younger brother, but years of working at a stressful job had aged him more than Theo remembered. He’d only met the man once before, five years ago when the whole family had come to tour London, but even now he was struck with the feeling that he was home in his uncle’s company.

  “You’re looking a little worn around the edges,” William said, standing and embracing his nephew.

  “I was going to say the same about you,” Theo said, forcing a smile. “Has business been a trial lately?”

  “A fine turn of phrase,” William said with a matching grin. “Yes, I lost my partner to a disease of the brain two years back and the work is spiraling out of control. Sit, boy. Shall I order you some ale?”

  Theo shook his head. “And no food, either. I’ve no appetite at present.”

  William ran a hand over his full white beard. “I was right, then. You are suffering.”

  “That’s a forward thing for a man to ask someone he hardly knows.”

  “You’re family.” William reached across the table, pushing his glass of wine into Theo’s hand. “And besides, I’m American. We never stand on ceremony when we can help it.”

  Theo thought of Alina and his heart filled with what felt like a bottomless ache. He wanted so much to tell this man, who seemed like a father figure though they’d hardly met, of everything that had gone awry. Instead, he took a tentative sip of the wine and sent it back across the table to William.

  Then, he sighed. “In fact, I’ve fallen on a bit of hard luck lately.”

  “Have you?”

  “Financially, I mean. I had a rather prosperous partnership, if you remember correctly, with a man named Verner.”

  “Don’t tell me your partner was stricken with the fugue, as well.” William smiled, but then, catching the expression on Theo’s face, he dropped the grin. “I’m sorry. I can see this is serious. Are we talking about a dissolution of your business?”

  “More or less.” Theo shrugged and lowered his gaze. “A dissolution of my character would be more correct. I ran afoul of a man who has a lot of power here in London, and he has made it his mission to ruin me. I didn’t care too much at first—there was something else that claimed my attention more—but now, I have seen what my lack of caution has wrought.”

  He leaned back on his bench. “It’s a pity, too. I worked long and hard for what I had here in London. I fought against the unjust, and I was fairly well-respected before our local judges.”

  “Those are traits that do well in America.” William raised an eyebrow. “People often talk about the States as the land of milk and honey—”

  “No, Uncle, you do. In reality, that phrase was reserved for the biblical Promised Land.”

  “Well, it’s a good enough description for the way I feel about it. America’s given my family a chance to make a name for themselves. There’s less emphasis on class and connection. If you can distinguish yourself with hard work, you’ll be enough of a self-made man to catch the interest of the nation.”

  Theo nodded. “That would certainly be a refreshing change. I feel I’ve worked all my life to distinguish myself now, and I am laughed out of even the small circles where I once made a difference.”

  “How did you get on this powerful man’s bad side?” asked William curiously.

  Theo looked at him intently. “It’s actually encouraging to speak with someone in London who doesn’t know.”

  “Well, I’m technically a foreigner, now.”

  “Have you heard of Jonas Hartley, the shipping tycoon?”

  “Yes,” William confirmed. “He actually has a large dock rental in Boston Harbor. He brings things back and forth here and the States, whenever the taxes are reasonable.”

  “Yes, well, I handled his financials. I was an intimate of the family for many years, and grew to know details about his life that were far from reputable.”

  “It comes with the job,” William said, taking a generous bite of his stew. “You can’t let it get in your head too much.”

  “Jonas Hartley was declared lost at sea almost a year ago, and I handled the distribution and management of his estate,” Theo went on slowly. “He had a wife, and a son. Both were…special, though you wouldn’t have known it to hear Jonas speak of them. He disdained his wife, and found his boy to be nothing but an annoyance.”

  “Was she worthy of disdain?”

  “Few people are,” Theo said, “but this woman least of all. She was very remarkable, and as the months of mourning passed, I began to hope she would see me as something more than her husband’s barrister.”

  “Ah.” William leaned back in his chair. “Yes, I heard that Jonas Hartley had made a miraculous reappearance.”

  “He did—and with it, he brought the end of all my hopes.” Theo sighed. “He thought he discovered evidence of my having an illicit affair with his wife. It was innocent enough, although if he’d stayed away awhile longer I’m not sure what I would have done. Perhaps he was right to distrust me.”

  “He was dead, man. Or at least you thought so.”

  “Regardless, he has set about to besmirch my name and the name of all those associated with me. As you can imagine, my clients have melted away like mist on a sunny day.”

  “Villain.” William mimed the motion of spitting over his shoulder.

  Theo was warmed by his uncle’s loyalty, however little the man had observed of the actual events. He thought again of Alina, and the decision she had made. “Uncle,” he said in a tight voice. “Were you serious about needing another partner at your firm?”

  “Indeed.” William said, but his eyes were shrewd. “That would, of course, be if you could make the journey to Boston with me. You’ve been through much upheaval as of late, and I leave on a ship back across the ocean in only a matter of days. I suppose you could arrange passage later—”

  “No,” Theo said coldly. “No, I have nothing to keep me here. If you have a place for me in Boston, then I will travel with you as soon as you set sail.”

  William nodded, chewing contemplatively. At length, he cleared his throat and said, “You say you have nothing keeping you here? I know you are a man of some thoughtfulness, but I want to make sure your decision is not rash. Will you cross the ocean and be found there pining for the arms of the woman you left behind?”

  “Yes,” Theo answered, smiling slightly at the look of surprise his response brought to William’s face. “I suspect I will be pining for her. I know I ought to say that I can leave all this behind, but I know in my heart that I will think of her until the day I die.”

  He sighed, taking a deep, stabilizing breath. “Still, Boston offers me a chance to start over, to build a life that, if lacking love, at least has success and respect from my peers. In Boston, I will not have to hear her name tied to the name of that monster; I will not have to drive by their cobbled street on my way to the park; I will not run into the opposition of the Hartley brothers whenever I attempt to clear my name.”

  William nodded, his eyes reflecting a deep sadness. “The more you talk, the more certain I am that a move to Boston would suit you. My family will support you—you’ll have a community, and a blank slate from which to begin anew.”

  Theo stood. “I will make the necessary arrangements if you can send me the name of your ship and company. Please, send it to my flat—I will no longer be in the office, for Verner’s sake.”

  “A wise man.” William gave a nod of approval. “But in one thing you are not wise. You have given your heart over to this woman, when I hear nothing that sets her apart from any other bored upper-class lady.”

  “I could not explain to you,” Theo said, “except to say that you would know if once you met her. And I w
ill make one more request of you. I will travel with you across the sea and serve at your firm, but I will not have her name spoken again in my presence.”

  William nodded. “So be it.”

  Chapter 32

  Jinx took a long gulp of his warmed chocolate, looking up at Mrs. Forrester with an idolizing stare. “Thank you,” he said in an awed tone.

  “He didn’t get warmed chocolate much before,” Alina explained with a smile. “You’ve made a friend for life, though—here’s nothing that will earn a boy’s loyalty like a mug of sweetness.”

  “I know a thing or two about children,” Mrs. Forrester said with a wink, sinking back into her armchair and watching Jinx with a fond smile. “I do so miss having the pitter-patter of little feet running about, but my children are grown and gone now. I rarely see them.”

  “You haven’t lost your touch,” Imogene pointed out. “This one is wrapped around your finger.” She turned to Alina and said significantly, “What of the other thing we were to discuss? Any news?”

  Alina knew she meant the revelation they’d discovered at Gretna Green, but she didn’t want to speak about it in earshot of her son. She cleared her throat and shook her head ever so slightly. “I’ve a guest coming over later to speak on the subject,” she said with a piercing glance at her friend, “but other than that, I do not wish to discuss the matter at this time.”

  Jinx seemed oblivious, sucking down his chocolate with a near-giddy smile on his face. When he’d finished, he slid the cup neatly to the side and picked himself up gingerly from the floor, limping over to his mother’s side.

  Alina put her hand on the small of his back. “Does this still hurt?”

  “Not so badly,” he replied cheerfully, “but my stomach still hurts something awful.”

  Alina knew by now that he was not speaking about indigestion. Unable to fully understand what the ribs did, he only knew that when he turned side to side his torso split into agonizing pain, and this he credited to a wayward stomach.

  “Just try not to turn too much,” Alina instructed, unable to keep the strain of concern from her face. “It makes your stomach worse.”

  “I miss playing,” Jinx said with an endearing shrug.

  “But if you wait, and allow yourself to heal, you’ll be able to play so much better in the future.” Alina drew him into a hug and then patted him on the shoulder. “Now, we should you off to bed.”

  She remembered fondly the days when Jinx used to throw his head back and complain at the prospect of bedtime. Since his accident, his response had almost always been the same: “Yes, Mama.” He seemed always on the verge of exhaustion. Alina thought with a worried frown that she would have given much to have seen him complain again as he used to, an endless ball of energy.

  She helped him upstairs, walking through their normal bedtime routine in a strange place. Alina had watched Jinx carefully since leaving Jonas’ house, wanting to intercept any fears he may have and help him process the changes that had come about in the last few weeks. He’d been through a lot, and she wanted to be there for him now more than ever.

  The strangest thing of all was that Jonas had not yet sent word to demand Jinx’s return. Alina had watched for it all day, but the post remained silent. The only thing she could guess was that Jonas had not yet returned home—likely spending his money in some gambling hall or another—and Georges, Willa, and the head housekeeper had all refrained from filling him in on the latest development.

  Still, she was glad of the delay. She had some things to put into order first.

  “Mama, will you sing our goodnight song?” Jinx requested.

  “Yes, of course.” She leaned in and began the tune he loved most of all. “’Baa, baa, black sheep, have you any wool?’”

  He was asleep within minutes, wiffling sweetly against his pillow.

  Alina slipped downstairs again, and when she re-entered the parlour she was startled to see her guest had already arrived and was sipping tea opposite Imogene and Mrs. Forester.

  “Mr. Verner,” Alina said graciously. “Thank you for coming.”

  Verner rose suddenly, bowing toward Alina, and then stayed on his feet until she’d found her chair beside him. “I was surprised to receive your invitation, I’ll not deny it.”

  “Yes, I know there is much news of the Hartleys making the rounds these days,” Alina said.

  “Not for that reason,” Verner said, and there was a glint in his eye. “It’s just that Mr. Pendleton is your usual barrister.”

  “He is my husband’s barrister,” Alina pointed out coldly. “I thought he might be uncomfortable handling the issue I wish to discuss with you.”

  Verner said nothing, and Alina had the distinct feeling he was hiding something from her. She stood and took the papers Mrs. Forrester had gathered from the leather book in the desk nearby, then brought them back to Verner and handed them to him.

  “I would like you to take a look at these documents, if you please, and tell me whether or not you think they hold legitimate legal value. If you can, tell me also what effect they will have on my life and the life of my son going forward.”

  Verner opened the documents, his face still guarded, but as he continued to stare at them his expression changed into amazement. “Can this be?” he said softly.

  “We retrieved those notices from the blacksmith’s in Gretna Green,” Mrs. Forrester hurried to add. “They are copies of the originals, but I have the blacksmith’s assurance that the originals can be in our grasp in two days’ time if you have need of them for a case of any sort.”

  “A case?” Verner raised his eyebrows. “You wish to levy a suit against your husband, Mrs. Hartley?”

  “No,” she replied quickly, “but I have recently been expelled from his home because of some evidence he thinks besmirches my good character. I took my son, Jinx, with me, but I fear he will come after us and demand that the boy return. I would like to know if these papers might bend the ear of a court in my direction, should the matter come to that.”

  “Indeed.” Verner pulled out a pince-nez and stared more closely at the date and inscription on the documents before him. “Well, it doesn’t take much study, madame. The matter is fairly cut and dried.” He looked up and laid the papers aside. “Your husband, Jonas Hartley, is a bigamist.”

  He paused, as though expecting some sort of gasp of astonishment. If that’s what he was looking for, he was disappointed, for the three women in the room merely blinked at him and waited for him to continue speaking. He shrugged. “It appears that he was married before you, to Isadore—they were wed at Gretna Green one year before your marriage.”

  “Alina was a better match for his social aspirations,” Mrs. Forrester interjected.

  “Hush, let the man continue,” Imogene scolded with a comical frown.

  Verner cleared his throat. “I cannot speak for his motives, but I can confirm his actions. Presumably he had some means of keeping Isadore quiet about the first marriage—most likely he paid her a sizeable sum to do so—and perhaps he would have continued hiding the relationship if it weren’t for your friends’ discovery.”

  Alina nodded solemnly. “That’s what I thought. Correct me if I’m wrong, but now I feel that I have the upper hand over Jonas. If he comes to me with the letter in hand, threatening to prove me an unworthy mother, I can merely tell him I have the means to expose his illegal marriage.”

  “By doing so, you would also expose yourself, for Isadore is not the illegal wife—you are,” Verner cautioned.