“How bleedin’ dare ye?”
“If you don’t lower your voice, we’ll be kicked out of my favorite coffee shop.” Gabe lifted a hand but didn’t dare touch his sister. She was bristling like an angry badger. “Sara, I can explain.”
“I’m going to start charging you thruppence every time you say those words to me.” She slashed a hand toward him across the table. “Or any man, for that matter.”
“What can I do to calm you down?”
She took an angry sip of coffee, belting the hot liquid back and slamming the mug down onto the table. “Start by telling me why you crept behind me back to make some arrangement with Thomas.” Before he could answer, she added, “Didn’t you think he’d wish to marry me without you bribing him to do the deed?”
“I never bribed him. And I didn’t creep behind your back.” Gabe gripped the back of his neck before taking another swig of black coffee. “As your only living male relative, it’s not unusual that I would wish to arrange a dowry on your behalf.”
Sara snorted and glared at him. “You speak like we were born in Belgravia. I wager there’s never been a King girl wot had a dowry paid for her.”
King was their father’s name. Adam King. He’d been killed in the prize-fighting ring, according to their mother, but Gabe didn’t possess a single memory of the man. As their mother told the tale, he died the year of Sara’s birth, when Gabe had just turned two.
“Well, I’m content to start a new tradition. And you mustn’t direct your ire at Tidwell for expecting me to assist with getting you two off to a good start. He has high hopes, your man. Plans to be a solicitor one day.”
“He is ambitious,” she conceded, “but he says we must wait on you before arranging our wedding and new lodgings. Not sure I like that he must have my brother’s money afore he’ll be my husband.”
“I asked him to wait.” Gabe leaned closer to whisper. “Before I knew about the babe. You two should start out with as much as you can. Consider the blunt a wedding gift.”
“ ’Twould be happy to, if Thomas weren’t determined to have the sum before we wed.”
Gabe had stopped by the bank and withdrawn nearly every pound to his name. He lifted the notes and coins from his inner coat pocket and laid them on the table between them.
Sara dove toward the pile and clasped her arms over the cash as if a gang of pickpockets were at her back. “Are you mad, Gabe? A man doesn’t flash his coin in public. Especially when he’s carrying such a pile.”
Gabe placed his hand over hers. “This is Knightsbridge, Sara. I think we’re safe.” Lifting her hands, he gathered the notes and coins and placed neat piles in them. “Now, take this and get yourself to the registry office. Tell Thomas I’ll send more as soon as I’m able.”
“And you’ve still enough for rent at the boardinghouse?”
He offered her a smile that felt stiff and unnatural on his face. “This month’s rent is paid. I’ll find more for next month.”
“Find more?” As she stuffed the money into her pockets, her brow pleated in a fretful crease. “Won’t your wages be coming next week?”
Gabe raised his mug to drink the gritty dregs of his coffee. “I quit my job at Ruthven’s. Another will come along.” He heard the lie in his tone. There wouldn’t be another assistant as loyal as Daughtry, nor an employer as willing to trust his judgement as Kit Ruthven. There sure as hell would never be another Clary Ruthven.
“This has to do with the daughter.” Sara’s fingers were cool as she reached for his hand. “You told her the truth, didn’t you? About Rigg and what you did to get your position at Ruthven’s?”
“She deserved the truth.”
“I cannot disagree.” Settling back, she placed her palms against her belly. “I’m only sorry she couldn’t find forgiveness in her heart.”
“Clary has more forgiveness in her heart than anyone I’ve ever known,” he retorted. And too harshly.
Sara’s eyes widened. “Clary, is it? Goodness, you took my advice, then? Told the young lady what you felt for her?”
Gabe scrubbed a hand across his face. “She knows what she means to me.” Yet he hadn’t said the three words to her that she’d said to him. I love you. Because he wasn’t at all sure he could back up the words with actions. Clary had every inch of his rotten heart, but could he give her all that a loved one deserved? Could he provide for her? Protect her from his past?
“And yet you still gave up the post that changed everything.” Sara ducked her head to catch his gaze. “You did enjoy your work, didn’t you?”
“Every single day. I relished having a purpose of my own choosing. Knowing that the money in my pocket had been fairly earned, and no one had to bleed for my earnings.”
“Then why did you give her up?”
Gabe wasn’t sure whether his sister had referred to his job at Ruthven’s or the woman he loved. “I got them both by lying. Clary didn’t know the truth of who I am the first time I touched her. She sure as hell didn’t know I’d blackmailed her father for a job.” He hunched over his coffee cup as he would a mug of beer or a glass of rotgut gin, inhaling the fumes, considering whether he could manage another cup. “I don’t deserve her, Sara. I’m not sure I ever will.”
“Codswallop.” She pointed an insistent finger at him. “You listen here, brother of mine. We don’t choose whom we love, and we don’t choose where we’re born or to whom. Her father was a right bastard, according to Rigg’s girls. Our mother was little better. What does any of that matter now? You love the girl. If she loves you, go to her, Gabe. Marry her.”
He gazed at her with his head tipped down. “I have no job, sister of mine. No means of paying my rent next month. Where would we live, me and this lady to whom I want to give the world on a silver platter?”
“Has she no money?”
“She was as happy as I to receive her wages at the end of the week.” He waved Sara’s eagerness off. She’d chosen the worst possible moment to start being impractical. “Clary is independent. I’m not sure she’d considered marriage. To anyone.” That thought made him want to smash the table and chairs in front of him into a thousand pieces. Of course another man would come along who’d want her. Woo her. Another man who’d be able to offer the kind of life Gabe couldn’t.
He clenched his fists and glared out the window toward Ruthven’s. How long until some other gentleman caught her eye? A clever man, well bred, with lined pockets and manners that didn’t slip when irritation stoked his ire.
“What will you do, Gabe? You’ve backed yourself into a corner.”
He thought long and hard, of items he could sell, money he could borrow and from whom, skills he might barter.
“There’s a way out.” He lifted the crumpled note from Rigg out of his inner coat pocket. “A hundred pounds for one fight.”
Sara snatched the paper from his hand, reading the message quickly. “No, Gabe.” She shook her head emphatically. “Don’t even think of going back to ’im.” She tore Rigg’s message in two, and then in halves again, and again, just as Clary had torn his rejection letter and stuffed the tattered pieces in his pocket before pressing her palm against his chest. A twinge of pain and a rush of heat warmed the spot as he remembered her teasing grin. “I won’t let you go back there,” Sara said as she let the pieces rain down on the tabletop like grungy bits of snow.
“It’s now or never, Sara. This will get Rigg off my back and put money in my pocket. Then I can start again, find a job on my own merit.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Maybe then I can deserve her.”
Clary signed the invoice a clerk had placed before her. “You know where these books go?” she asked the young man.
“Yes, miss. Been expecting this shipment for months.”
“Good.” She handed him the signed document. But rather than leave Gabriel’s office, he waited with his hands crossed in front of him. When he caught her eye, he jerked his head toward the shelf of ledgers behind her head.
“Boss usually notes the bill number, date, item, and amount in the blue book, miss.”
After retrieving the heavy ledger, she opened the book to where a thin strip of grosgrain, no wider than a shoelace, had been used to mark the last entry. Gabriel’s immaculate script stared back at her, and a little catch pinched her throat.
“Thank you,” she said to the young clerk as she entered the details. “I wouldn’t want to ruin his records before he returns.”
The young man shot both brows up in surprise. “Is he returning, miss?”
“I certainly hope so.”
When the clerk had gone, she replaced the ledger, ran a finger gently over the others to align them, and sagged into Gabriel’s chair. She placed her palms carefully on the armrests, aligning her hands where his would have laid. Where are you?
Kit had departed in the morning, and the rest of the day had stretched on, feeling like one of the longest of her life. Not because she was stuck behind a desk. She rather liked the busyness of attending to all of the many matters that would have come before Gabriel in a given day. She’d been so busy during the lunch period that Daughtry had brought her a sack lunch and a cup of tea from the shop down the street. Of course, she’d taken special care not to spill crumbs or leave a ring of tea on Gabriel’s blotter.
She was ever aware that the space was his. Now, sitting in his chair, she understood the satisfaction of the orderliness he’d created for himself. There was a comfort in knowing where each item she needed was and replacing them to that exact spot when she was finished with them. The single day wouldn’t transform her into a tidy person, but she understood the allure of tidiness better than ever before.
The allure of Gabriel’s scent was one she’d always recognized, and he permeated the room. The scent was somehow greater now that he was gone. She’d press a hand to the chair’s leather, and the smell of his sandalwood shaving soap would come wafting up. Or she’d reach for a document in his vertical cabinet and catch a whiff of his clean-laundered smell.
“Good evening to you, miss,” Daughtry said as he entered to place a piece of paper at the edge of the desk. “The daily.” He pointed a wrinkled finger at the document. “Boss required me to provide a daily tally of who attended work, timeliness, productivity, and the progress of various projects under way.”
“Thank you, Wilbur.” Clary collected the sheet and scanned the information, though her eyes began to blur with tears she refused to shed. Daughtry’s sympathetic gaze stayed on her, and she was tempted to crumble and confess her misery to the kindly old man. Tempted, but she wouldn’t let herself burden him or anyone else. “Good night to you, and convey a hello to Mrs. Daughtry.”
“Of course, miss.” He waited an extra moment, as if expecting, or hoping, she would come around and tell him the rest of the story. From Kit, he and all the rest of the workroom staff had heard a curt recitation of Gabriel’s letter and nothing more. Finally, when she said nothing, Wilbur Daughtry turned and started for the front door. As he headed out, he called back to her. “Young lady to see you, miss.”
Clary stood and peered through the open door. A young woman she’d never seen before stood just inside the workroom. Daughtry spoke quietly to her, even patted her on the arm, and then departed, locking the door behind him with a decided snick.
“Hello,” Clary called to the lady. The moment she came out from behind the desk to greet her, the young woman rushed forward. Clary gasped when she came into the gaslight of Gabriel’s office.
Cool blue eyes. Pitch-black hair.
“Sara?” Clary questioned as her heartbeat kicked into a canter. “Miss Adamson?”
“The name’s King, actually. Soon to be Tidwell, if I have my way.” Gabriel’s sister stepped close to greet Clary. “And you’re Miss Clarissa Ruthven. A real beauty, you are, and the cleverest girl in England, if my brother’s to be believed.”
That was a looming question for Clary. Was Gabriel Adamson to be believed?
“Please sit, Miss King.” Clary scooted one of the visitor chairs close to the other, turning the furnishings so that they almost faced each other. She didn’t wish to converse with the woman from behind Gabriel’s desk. “I wish I could offer you refreshment.”
The young woman planted a hand on her belly in the way she’d seen other women do when they were increasing with child. “A bit unsettled today. Wouldn’t take anything if you did.” Tall but much thinner than her brother, Miss King moved with much more frenetic energy, and she flitted around the office, submitting every inch to a thorough inspection before taking the seat Clary indicated. “Looks very much like Gabe, it does. Neat as a pin. He’s always hated dirt and muck and mess. Even when we were living in the midst of worst of it.”
“I’d like to know more about his upbringing,” Clary said as she settled beside Sara. She perched on her chair, turning to face the young woman who bore such a striking resemblance to her brother.
“Would you, indeed? I suspect you’ll have a fine time of it, trying to get more details from Gabe. As much as he hates mess, he loathes thinking about the old days more.” Sara waved at her. “If he’s told you anything at all, then he must adore you. Never speaks of what he’s been through to anyone.”
Clary had a sense his history was far darker than the horrors he’d confessed, though she found it difficult to imagine much worse than a child being caged.
“Would you mind if I’m blunt and sharp this afternoon, Miss Ruthven? There’s no time to waste.” She leaned forward, and Clary could see that her skin was pebbled with perspiration. “I’ve come to plead with you. I think you’re the only one who can stop him.”
Clary shook her head. If only she had that power, he’d still be with her. He’d never have walked out of Kit and Phee’s front door and left her behind.
“Yes, miss,” Sara insisted. “Now hear me out. He’s gone to Whitechapel. I rue the day I ever mentioned our mother to him a few weeks ago. He went back to find her, when he hadn’t stepped foot in that godforsaken place for years.” She bowed her head to stare at the floor a moment before meeting Clary’s gaze again, her eyes beseeching. “Please, miss. You must help me stop him. He’s gone to fight for Rigg.”
Ice filled her veins, and Clary shivered. “No, he wouldn’t do that.” The shivering wouldn’t stop. From her feet to her forehead, she quivered as if she’d been dunked in the icy depths of the Thames. “He hates that man.”
“He hates the notion of losing you more.” Sara shook her head. “You see, he has nothing. He’s given us, my Thomas and me, all his savings for a dowry.”
“Congratulations,” Clary told her, still unable to make sense of what she’d been told. “But how could Gabe think of going back to fighting?”
“He needs to pay his rent, Miss Ruthven. Find employment, the honest way.” She shrugged and rubbed a hand over her belly. “Says he hopes to win you back some day.”
“Win me back?” Clary stood and prayed her shaking body would keep her upright. “He left me, Miss King. Resigned his position here. He didn’t lose me. He left me.”
Sara stood too. “Men aren’t always easily understood, and what they call logic, we might call rubbish. But Gabe hasn’t stopped thinking of you for a single second, I vow that to you.” She laid a clammy hand on Clary’s arm. “The old devil’s offered Gabe as much as he’d earn in a year for one fight in the pit. Gabe thinks he needs that money to have you.”
Clary could recall the sodden feel of the messenger boy’s note in her hands. Gabe hadn’t even wanted her to read it. And he wouldn’t have gone back into that life of horrors willingly. Unless he felt trapped, with no other choices.
If he’d only come to her, they could have found a solution together.
“I’m hoping that fierce look in your lavender eyes means you’ll help me.”
Clary patted the young woman’s hand where she still had a hold on her arm. “Of course, I will.”
“Tell him the money means nothing to you,” Sara pleaded. “Even if it’s a lie. I know as well as most that money matters a great deal, but say anything you must to dissuade him from this terrible course.”
“The money doesn’t matter to me.” Her body stopped quivering, and Clary pressed a hand to where her heart was beginning to thump with something other than the misery she’d felt since parting from Gabe. “And I’m terrible at lying,” she told his sister, “but I do have another idea.”