Chapter Nine
“I simply can’t countenance it. A settlement deed allowing a female to inherit.” Paper rattled in Mr. Kendall’s hand. “I can count on one hand the number of fee tail arrangements I’ve seen that allow such a thing.”
“As you can see, everything is in order.” Her mother’s voice was more firm than usual this morning.
Correction. This afternoon.
Livvy glanced at the drawing room clock chiming half past twelve. She’d kept vigil at the glass door overlooking the garden, waiting for a certain blue-eyed pirate coming to call on her tower. The snow was pristine save last night’s footprints…and those were melting under the bright winter sun. Azure skies rolled on forever, beautiful enough to shock a body into believing summer had come.
It all added up to a day of contradictions. Like her.
She traced a rosette in the carpet with the toe of her lavender slipper. Hair piled high and pearl earbobs dangling, she was the picture of purity in a beribboned day gown. Cream silk bows populated her person, from her chaste bodice to the split lavender and cream skirt. For goodness’ sake, she was twenty-four not twelve. Wide panniers saved the gown from girlish excess. Pinching one irritating bow at her elbow, she knew why her mother requested she wear this gown. With its high cut bodice and soft colors, the gown said youth and purity.
The soreness between her legs told her otherwise.
In her vigil, polished black shoes came into view. The shoes and the well-turned calves above them were inches from her hem, a shade too close for propriety.
“Miss Halsey, are you finding these negotiations tedious?” Mr. Haggerty’s voice was a silky tenor.
She met his black-eyed gaze, a pleasant frisson touching her skin beneath the pile of silken skirts. He’d said once his mother was of Portuguese descent. That explained his black hair and black eyes. Today, he wore a periwig and velvet suit a shade of port wine. Empirically speaking, her betrothed was a handsome man, a picture of refinement and sophistication.
“Why couldn’t he look like a toad?”
Mr. Haggerty cocked his head. “Beg pardon?”
Her eyes rounded. “Did I say that aloud?”
“Indeed, you said something about ‘looking like a toad’.” The corners of his sculpted mouth turned up. “Were you referring to me?”
Cheeks prickling hotly, her mouth opened to spout polite nonsense to deter him from her faux pas, but it’d be a waste of air. The man already knew he appealed to women. No need to further stoke his ego’s fire. Deflection wouldn’t work either. Little slipped past Mr. Haggerty’s notice. The man sniffed out charlatans on a daily basis. Buying and selling antiquities attracted all sorts. A man in his position had to be as comfortable taking tea with Europe’s finest families as he did muscling his way around dockside rufflers.
It crossed her mind to ask glibly if he’d ever been a naughty man, haunting London’s docks and taverns, but she bit her tongue when her mind veered to Jonas and his tale of a dockside tavern. Perhaps, maturity meant putting aside her forward nature? She ought to be elegant and demure like Elspeth.
Standing taller, she called on years of excellent breeding. “My apologies. I have been a neglectful hostess, haven’t I?”
“You do seem distracted.” His chin jutted at the animated discussion on the settee. “Is it the negotiations?”
Her mother listed specific household items meant for Elspeth, a line pinching above her nose. The young, fair-haired solicitor insisted on seeing the pieces before cataloging them for perpetuity. Mr. Haggerty chuckled low as the two left the room, hotly debating the valuation of Tuscan pottery.
“Mr. Kendall is a stickler for monetary details. It makes him a perfect business partner.” Mr. Haggerty gave her a pained smile. “Unfortunately, it takes all the finesse out of courtship.”
“I don’t remember that happening. The part about courtship. Nor do I recall you saying Mr. Kendall is your business partner.”
His nod was full of patience and understanding. “There is much we don’t know about each other.”
Her mind toyed with the idea of full disclosure, but her mother’s request came to the fore. To speak plainly at this delicate juncture would be rash.
Mr. Haggerty took appraisal of her as if a new, interesting facet came to light. She imagined he gave the same subtle assessment to everything else he acquired, and make no mistake—this was an acquisition of mutual benefit. His smile widened, denting both sides of his mouth. It made her believe he’d worn a fine mask with her all morning, and now the real Mr. Haggerty was beginning to show. The beauty of his face could melt a woman except for one thing—her betrothed didn’t own her heart.
Jonas did.
As each hour passed, she grew convinced of another fact. He’d deserted her.
She twisted the bow at her elbow. Bland emptiness washed over her, the same as when Jonas left ten years ago without a farewell. “Perhaps you can tell me about your business. Mother tells me you opened a shop in Bath.”
“Miss Halsey, I’d be happy to share business details with you, but something tells me it would bore you to tears.”
“Not at all.”
He raised a placating hand. “Please. We’re about to embark on a union that will change everything. The least we can do is be honest with each other.”
Why did he have to be so reasonable?
“You are a good man, Mr. Haggerty.”
He was also the one person in London her mother had confided in about her father’s condition. He’d been helpful, buying up almost all the relics in their tower that could be restored, selling them to collectors and museums alike. In the same spirit of assistance, he’d suggested a marital arrangement. The proposition had taken her by surprise. He’d flirted with her in the past, the mild sort that sophisticated men like him did. But, she couldn’t picture him growing old, doting on children, or being satisfied with a country ramble. Mr. Haggerty was a Town creature, while she was purely rustic.
“Why don’t you tell me what you’ve been doing in your tower?”
“What I’ve been doing in my tower?” She winced. Repeating what the man said was worthy of a dullard. She cleared her throat. “I’ve been copying my father’s notes for his final volume.”
“What about the pieces from the Learmouth excavation?”
“Well, there is an interesting mosaic fragment, depicting a horse race in the Hippodrome.”
“What about the curule chair? Your mother tells me a local furniture maker is assisting with the restoration.”
She blanched. “He’s doing all the work. He refurbished the hinges and saved the wood work in the chair’s back rest. Not a single bead was lost in the relief carving.”
“A craftsman of many years, I understand. Your mother mentioned his shop is a long-established business in Plumtree. Braithwaite Furniture and Sons.”
Was her mother spinning fiction of an old man toiling with her in the tower? Mr. Haggerty didn’t seem to be a jealous man. But she’d never had the chance to determine this about him, and when it came to the male mind, she was woefully uneducated.
“Mr. Braithwaite is talented. His hands are quite…skilled.” She focused on the brilliant skies beyond the glass door certain her cheek burned bright red. Her mind flashed on those skilled hands playing with her nipples, but that wasn’t the worst of it.
There had to be a special ring in Dante’s hell for all the deceptions she’d woven of late. Penning a book in her father’s name, restoring relics as if she were an experienced antiquarian, and now this small ruse about the age of the man she’d been locked away with in her tower.
“I envy Mr. Braithwaite. He must have your confidence. Otherwise you would not have allowed him into your father’s inner sanctum.”
“Inner sanctum?”
“The tower,” he said affably. “Your father never let me inside. He didn’t want me to see a piece until the restoration was complete; otherwise he feared I might decrease my offer if I saw it in a less than perfect state. Your furniture maker must know the depth of your father’s infirmity. Proof of your trust in the man.”
She managed a semblance of a smile. “Indeed.”
Were her shoes sinking in a bog of lies?
Voices blended in the hall. Her mother and Mr. Kendall re-entered the drawing room. This time, they discussed a rare Byzantine coin Mr. Haggerty had added to his personal collection.
“Why don’t you take me to the tower?” Mr. Haggerty asked.
“I couldn’t.” Her brain raced with how to put him off. She couldn’t go back to the tower…not with the blood-smeared sheets for all to see.
His brows shot high. “Couldn’t?”
Her brain raced for an idea, she said the first thing that came to mind.
“My shoes.” She raised her hem a revealing inch, showing lavender silk slippers tied with cream bows.
“Something tells me those are not your typical footwear.”
“Is my fidgeting giving me away?” She let go of her skirts. “Boots would’ve clashed with the angelic appearance.”
“Most assuredly.” He chuckled and formality melted with it. “You are a unique one, Miss Halsey.”
“What gave me away? My discomfort in this hideous gown?” She dragged both palms over her waist. “The design belongs to a girl in the school room.”
His gaze lit with male appraisal, drifting over the length of her, pausing on her high, stuffed bodice before landing on her face again. “When I dress you, it will be in vibrant colors.”
Her hands froze on her stomacher.
The toe of Mr. Haggerty’s shoe disappeared under her hem. He nudged her chin with one finger, the daring touch lingering while he searched her eyes.
“Yes. Bold, autumn shades, I think, with contrast trim and very little lace.” His voice dropped for her ears alone. “And a low, low neckline.”
“Ah.” She swallowed hard. His black eyes could put a woman in a trance. “Such expertise…an unexpected benefit to have a husband know how his wife should dress.”
“I will take pleasure in it.”
“I am a rustic, you know. Plumtree is in my blood. I’ve never cared about Town or about the latest fashions.”
His hand dropped from her chin to seek her hand. He lifted it to his mouth. “I wouldn’t want you any other way.”
And he kissed her knuckles. The same spot where Jonas planted his kiss.
“You will be my pet project,” he murmured.
“Mr. Jonas Braithwaite, ma’am.” Mrs. Tillmouth’s announcement cut through the drawing room.
Livvy gasped, her attention snapping to the door. Jonas stared daggers at her hand resting in Mr. Haggerty’s. Blood rushed from her head. Mr. Haggerty’s grip tightened. Blinking at Jonas, she tried to pull her hand away, a discreet pull, a yank, followed by a heartier wrenching that finally set her hand free.
Her mother made introductions, detaining Jonas with a light touch to his arm.
“Your furniture maker,” Mr. Haggerty said for her ears only.
At least Jonas wore plain blue broadcloth today. His nattier velvet attire would make convincing Mr. Haggerty of Jonas’s wood-working skills nigh to impossible.
“He is the grandson of Mr. Braithwaite of Braithwaite and Sons Furniture Company,” she said quietly. Or was it Braithwaite Furniture and Sons? Her pulse pounded in her ears, and her face felt hot.
“And you toiled alone with him in your tower?”
“I had little choice.”
Mr. Haggerty hummed his doubts, an air of formality cloaking him again. It had to be his armor in the world. Despite it, he seethed with jealousy, taking in the gold earring and leather breeches as Jonas made his announcement.
“I’ve come to work on the chair.” But his eyes were on Livvy, saying I’ve come for her.
Yet, he was silent. Where was the bold man of last night?
“I do not think you needed to come to the drawing room to announce that,” Mr. Haggerty said. “The servant’s entrance would have been more appropriate.”
“Mr. Braithwaite is a longtime friend of the family’s.” Her mother actually took a half-step between the men, her voice modulated. “We all owe him a debt of gratitude for the work he’s done on the curule chair.”
“It’s true,” Livvy put in. “If it had been me, the hinges would’ve disintegrated. Half the bead carvings lost and the chair’s arched back rest split in two.”
Mr. Haggerty stood taller beside her, glaring across the room. “That talented are you?”
Jonas’s eyes burned a shade of cobalt. “A deft hand, the right amount of lubricant…yes. I have a care with everything I touch.”
She wanted to crumble on the spot. Jonas was a touch crude. Her betrothed bristled beside her while Mr. Kendall coughed politely in his balled fist. She wasn’t an expert at sexual things, but that sounded a little off and highly charged with innuendo.
Swallowing hard, she said, “We shouldn’t keep Jo—uh, Mr. Braithwaite from his work.”
“We’re all counting on him,” her mother put in, a fine reminder they needed him.
Mr. Kendall sat down on the settee and shuffled papers. “We won’t keep you from your work, then.”
Her mother smiled benignly, both hands clutched at her waist.
“I’ll have to go with him.” Livvy’s gaze shot from Mr. Haggerty to her mother and Jonas. “To let him into the tower. It’s locked.”
Did her shoes sink deeper into the carpet’s pile? She imagined Dante’s circle for liars expanding again for her and the colossal mistruth she’d just said. Her mother’s knuckles turned white against her plum silk skirts, and Jonas, well, her pirate simply smiled easily for the first time since entering the drawing room. The tower door hadn’t been locked in years.
“Yes. He certainly can’t repair the chair in here, now can he?” her mother said smoothly.
“If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, Mother.” Livvy snatched handfuls of her odious, beribboned skirts and scurried for the doorway.
“Olivia, don’t tarry over your father’s notes,” her mother called after her. “We have our guests to attend.”
Her heels clicked fast on the entry. Her shoes. She couldn’t trounce through the snow in a perfectly good pair of silk slippers. She snatched her black wool cloak off the hook.
“We’ll have to take the servant’s door.”
“The servant’s door,” Jonas grated. “Is that for his benefit?”
No need to say whose benefit. Mr. Haggerty stood at the epicenter of the drawing room, arms crossed tightly, an elegant scowl on his face as he watched her and Jonas in the entry hall.
“No. It’s for mine,” she hissed, her gaze darting to Mr. Haggerty. “My boots are there. Mrs. Tillmouth noticed they needed a good cleaning after last night.”
“Because you were with me.” Jonas slipped into his coat.
“Exactly.” Keeping her voice low, she marched off to the kitchen. There was nothing graceful about her charge.
Jonas lumbered silently beside her, but he gloated. She’d seen the same expression on his face when he’d bested other village boys in summer foot races or fisticuffs. But, this was not a game, nor was she a prize to be won.
“I may as well have announced to the entire household I was not at the Sheep’s Head. If I was, the mud from Plumtree’s roads wouldn’t have been on my boots,” she said under her breath while pushing into the kitchen. “Because I was chasing down a certain stubborn man.”
Mrs. Tillmouth sipped a dish of tea at the kitchen table, the household account book open before her. “Mr. Braithwaite, Miss Olivia. How nice to see you.”
Mrs. Malcolm, the cook, wiped her hands in her apron, beaming at Jonas from her place by the stove. “Bless me! I’d heard the young Mr. Braithwaite was back in Plumtree. Now that I’ve clapped eyes on you, I’ll bake your favorite biscuits. You always had the heartiest of appetites.” Her apple cheeks deepened as she added, “And what a fine, strapping man you’ve become.”
“Thank you Mrs. Malcolm, Mrs. Tillmouth. It’s good to be home.”
Mrs. Tillmouth set down her tea. “Rumor has it you’re not long for Plumtree. Are there more fascinating adventures ahead?”
“At present, ma’am, I’m bound for the tower. It’s both fascinating and an adventure in there.”
“You sound just like Miss Olivia and her father, bless the man.” The housekeeper tittered. “I had hoped you would rescue Miss Olivia from that pile of stones.”
“He’s working on the Roman chair that was delivered from the Learmouth excavation,” Livvy said. “I’m to show him something, and I need my boots.”
“Of course. Your mother told me about Mr. Braithwaite helping the family. A good thing he learned at the Captain’s side all those years. A fine trade, furniture making.” Her smile sparked with mischief as she looked to Livvy. “Your boots are on the back step. I had to take a brush to them.”
Did the whole household know she was up to no good? Livvy led Jonas through the kitchen to the servant’s door. She grabbed a ring of keys off a hook. Jonas cocked his head when she dropped them into her pocket.
“The tower does have a lock. It’s rusted and hangs behind the door.”
“We wouldn’t want your Mr. Haggerty to have any doubts,” he said as she swept outside the servant’s entrance.
Mr. Haggerty’s snipe about the servant’s door stung and, no doubt, the swipe struck a blow to Jonas. Growing up, she and Elspeth took the servant’s entrance when they came home from a ramble, their shoes dirty from a summer day’s adventure. Their friends had done the same, stealing Mrs. Malcolm’s warm biscuits from the kitchen table.
Her mother and father had acted as tutor when they were young. It wasn’t until both girls were older that a governess came to the Halsey household. The sole purpose of the governess was to instill decorum and teach French. For Livvy, the latter was a dismal failure. The former was, too.
Wrung out and exhausted, she plopped down on the wet bench beside her boots drying in the sun. “I missed you this morning.”
Jonas donned his hat, frowning at the large, expensive carriage parked outside the Halsey barn. “I needed to talk with the Captain. I should’ve sent word.” His gaze pierced her from under the brim of his hat. “I didn’t know you were expecting guests.”
She tipped forward to untie her shoe, huffing at her impossibly stiff corset. “Mr. Haggerty’s arrival was a surprise. We didn’t expect him this soon.”
The stable master’s dog sniffed a carriage wheel. Head basking in the sun, he lifted a hind leg and gave the wheel a dousing. Jonas chuckled at the sight.
“But you did expect him.”
She tried again to bend low. “He is betrothed to me. A fact that didn’t seem to bother you last night.”
His mouth flattened in a grim line. She fussed with the bottom of her stomacher where a stay dug deep into the side of her waist. The corset, like the gown, was made for a youthful woman. The whalebone’s pinch and her ugly gown reminded her, she was twenty-four, not a young girl anymore. Life had changed and she needed to change with it, otherwise the things she wanted—a husband, children, to write a few Romanesque adventures—would all go up in smoke.
Like it or not, her best chance at what she wanted was inside her drawing room. Mr. Haggerty had made it clear what he wanted. Jonas had not.
She tried again to bend forward. “This blasted corset.”
“Here. Let me.” Jonas knelt before her and nudged her hem a discreet fraction. He was going to untie her shoes.
It was silly, watching him intently, his long, tanned fingers hooking the back of her shoe as he set the fripperies one at a time on the bench beside her. Wintry air nipped her. Toes curling, she started to hide them under her hem.
Big, warm hands wrapped around her silk-clad foot. Her arch tingled. A callused finger stroked a line from her ankle under her heel along her arch to the balls of her feet. The snagging sounds seduced her better than pretty words. She swallowed hard…last night’s passion. With fumbling hands, she raised her hood as if the cloth gave the privacy she craved with Jonas. He tucked her foot into one boot and took his time pulling up the leather.
His thumbs slid slowly up her calf.
“Jonas,” she whispered, glancing around the yard. At least they were alone.
Wide shoulders rose and fell with his measured breathing. Head bent and hat on, she couldn’t see his face, but he knew the impropriety of a man’s hands lingering under a woman’s hem. This was agony. To feel his warmth. To smell him and the spicy-scented soap he’d used to shave. Fisting in her cloak, she dare not touch him. If she did, they’d kiss. Full. Hot. Unguarded.
Jonas sought the second boot. His fingers dug into the leather. Would Mr. Haggerty with his grand plans to dress her be this affected? Her mouth clamped painfully. There was much to adore about Jonas and his silent strength, but even the best of men had to bare their hearts. Would Jonas count her worthy of the risk?
He tucked the second boot past her ankle, going faster. Officious hands left off with the leather half up her calf. “I expect to finish the chair in the next few days.” His voice was taut.
“That will be helpful.”
Jonas brushed her hem down and pushed off the ground. Hands clamped behind his back, he eyed the tower. His neck turned beet red, the color climbing up his cheeks. “About my conversation with the Captain…”
“Yes?” She rose from the bench, jamming her heel into the second boot.
The fit was awkward but they began their stroll to the tower, passing the kitchen garden with its rows of upturned soil. Chickens scratched through the snow, their beaks pecking the ground. She pulled the keys from her pocket and kept a respectable arm’s-length from Jonas.
“You know I came to settle things with the Captain,” he intoned. “It’s why I came back to Plumtree.”
Sunlight hurt her eyes, its blinding brightness bouncing off melting snow. She tugged her hood forward to shade her eyes. “Yes. To make your peace with him about the fire and your hasty departure.”
“And for being a neglectful grandson.” His baritone voice rumbled comfortingly at her side. “You, however, have been a fine example of family duty.”
They took a side path to the tower, but the manor’s back edifice was in full view. So, too, was the drawing room’s glass doors where Mr. Haggerty kept watch. Waving, she attempted a smile but her lips stuck to her gums. Mr. Haggerty scowled, giving her a curt nod.
“We do what we must,” she said, facing the tower again.
“Which brings me to you.”
“Me?”
“As I said, you are a shining example of family honor and responsibility.”
“Don’t you mean a liar? This past year I’ve managed to deceive my father’s publisher and his antiquarian friends. And though I’ve not said marriage vows, I feel like I’ve cuckolded the man standing in my mother’s drawing room. I could allow myself those first sins because they help my family. But the last? It was all for me.”
Muddy snow sucked her boots. Misery was a stone in the pit of her stomach. Had she mucked up her future for an unwise tumble? The corset banded her ribs in a painful grip and the skin between her legs was sore. Jonas would soon put Plumtree behind him. No, Jonas would soon put her behind him. It had to be the reason for his stiff gait and lack of eye contact. He was ready to run off the same as he did ten years ago.
But, this time he’d not come back.
They walked into the tower’s shadow, the sun’s loss chilling her. She fussed with her skirts, trying to save her hems. It was daft since she wished the gown gone forever.
“For me, too,” he said.
Her head snapped up. “What?”
“Last night was…” Words trailing, Jonas squinted at nothing in particular.
She leaned in. “Yes?”
The toes of her boots pushed deeper in the earth. Her heart expanded as if it climbed into her throat. She couldn’t swallow. She didn’t breathe. She teetered, waiting, hoping.
“I want to do what’s right. I’ll follow your excellent example and do my best for the Captain.” Hands firmly behind his back and feet spread wide, Jonas spewed words. “I think we should, that is, considering what happened last night, we ought to come to an arrangement ourselves. You are a fine woman. My income cannot rival what you’ve enjoyed. I established a decent annuity from my work with the earl…that and re-establishing Braithwaite Furniture should count as worthy for your consideration. We’ll muddle through.”
“Muddle through?”
Jonas’s little speech had all the ardor of a limp vegetable. Who was this man standing before her with all his talk of family responsibility and income? Mrs. Bainbridge’s words of wisdom blended with her mother’s. An arrangement with a man was cold comfort. Jonas was doing his duty and giving her the promise of a comfortable life.
He wasn’t giving her his heart.
She opened the tower door. Her limbs numbed as if she’d slept oddly on them. Nothing worked properly, certainly not the man in front of her. Jonas tugged his cravat as if it were Tyburn’s noose.
No! No! No!
This wasn’t happening.
The back doors of the drawing room opened. Mr. Haggerty stepped outside, facing the tower and shading his eyes. In a way, the man waiting for her by the drawing room was willing to give her more than her friend of many years. It was heart-aching. Demoralizing.
“Thank you for your kind offer, but I cannot accept.” She faced Jonas, pained to the soles of her feet.
His jaw dropped. “Livvy?”
Jonas blanched. The blankness in his eyes searching her…he was empty. Hollow.
The numbness faded, replaced by discomfort. Everywhere. Her stomach churned. She wanted to cast up her accounts. Hand on her midsection, she pressed her stomacher.
“You don’t have to work on the chair,” she mumbled.
“Bugger the chair.” He took a step toward her and stopped when she took a step back.
Clarity was bright as the blinding winter sun. She knew what she wanted and she’d not settle for anything less.
“All these years, I didn’t know what I’ve been waiting for. But now I do,” she said, her voice growing steadier with each word. “It was you. Not some business arrangement or a man to choose me out of a sense of duty and responsibility. It was you I’ve wanted.”
Head shaking and arms spread wide, he said, “I cannot be more here than this.”
Jonas glowered at her, his black brows snapping in a fierce show of emotion. At least he showed anger well. She’d take it if it meant getting the rest of him. All of him. It was his love, his heart she wanted.
“I don’t know what else to do, what else to give.” His arms flopped to his sides.
Her fist clenched on her breast bone, a tremor edging her voice. “There’s only one thing I want from you, but you…I…”
She searched his eyes unable to finish. Then, quietly, proudly, she walked away.