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‘But then there will be no more violets growing from the walls.’
‘Weeds.’
‘Not weeds, but the sweetest of all flowers. They used to grow in an old garden wall I knew very well.’ The expression on her face was as if she were remembering and the memory both pained and pleased her.
Emma looked round at Ned then and there was something in her eyes, as if he were glimpsing through the layers she presented to the world to see the woman beneath.
‘I will remember that, Emma de Lisle,’ he said, studying her and everything that she was. A man might live a lifetime and never meet a woman like Emma de Lisle, the thought whispered again in his ear.
Their eyes held, sharing a raw exposed honesty.
Everything seemed to still and fade around them.
He lowered his face to hers and kissed her in the bright glory of the sunshine.
She tasted of all that was sweet and good. She smelled of sunshine and summer, and beneath it the scent of soap and woman.
He kissed her gently, this beautiful woman, felt her meet his kiss, felt her passion and her heart. Felt the desire that was between them surge and flare hot. He intensified the kiss, slid his arms around her and instinctively their bodies moulded together, as their mouths explored. He was hard for her, felt her thigh brush against his arousal, felt the soft press of her breasts against his chest, the slide of her hand beneath his jacket to stroke against his shirt, against his heart.
And then her palm flattened, pressed against his chest to stay him.
Their lips parted.
‘It is broad daylight, Ned Stratham!’ Her cheeks were flushed. Her eyes were dark with passion and shock. ‘Anyone might see us.’
He twitched his scarred eyebrow.
She shook her head as if she were chiding him, but she smiled as she got to her feet.
He stood, too.
A whistling sounded and a man’s figure appeared from the corner, trundling his barrow of fish along the road—Ernie Briggins, one of the Red Lion’s best customers. ‘Morning, Ned.’
Ned gave a nod.
Ernie’s eyes moved to Emma with speculation and a barely suppressed smile. ‘Morning, Emma.’
‘Morning, Ernie.’ Emma’s cheeks glowed pink.
Ernie didn’t stop, just carried on his way, leaving behind him the lingering scent of cod and oysters and the faint trill of his reedy whistle.
Emma said nothing, just raised her brows and looked at Ned with a ‘told you so’ expression.
‘I better get you safely home, before any more rogues accost you.’
‘I think I will manage more safely alone, thank you. Stay and enjoy your view.’ Her eyes held to his. ‘I insist.’ She backed away. Smiled. Turned to leave.
‘Emma.’
She stopped. Glanced round.
‘I’m going out of town for the next week or so. I have some business to attend to. But I’ll be back.’
‘Developed a compulsion for the porter, have you?’
‘A compulsion for something else, it would seem,’ he said quietly. ‘We need to talk when I return, Emma.’
‘That sounds serious.’
‘It is.’ He paused, then asked, ‘Will you wait for me?’
There was a silence as her eyes studied his. ‘I am not going anywhere, Ned Stratham.’
Their eyes held, serious and intent, for a second longer. ‘I will wait,’ she said softly.
They shared a smile before she turned and went on her way.
He watched her walk off into the sunlight until she disappeared out of sight.
A man might live a lifetime and never meet a woman like Emma de Lisle. But not Ned.
A fancy new dress and Emma wouldn’t be out of place in Mayfair. Ned smiled to himself and, lifting his hat, began the long walk back across town.
* * *
The letter came the very next morning.
Emma stood in the rented room in the bright golden sunshine with the folded and sealed paper between her fingers, and the smile that had been on her face since the previous day vanished.
It had taken a shilling of their precious savings to pay the post boy, but it was a willing sacrifice. She would have sold the shoes from her feet, sold the dress from her back to accept the letter and all that it might contain.
Her heart began to canter. She felt hope battle dread.
The paper was quality and white, her father’s name written on the front in a fine hand with deep-black ink. There was no sender name, no clue impressed within the red-wax seal.
She swallowed, took a deep breath, stilled the churn in her stomach. It might not be the letter for which her father and she had both prayed and dreaded all of these two years past.
The one o’clock bell tolled in the distance.
She placed the letter down on the scrubbed wooden table. Stared at it, knowing that her father would not finish his shift before she left for the Red Lion, knowing, too, that he would probably be asleep by the time she returned. She was very aware that the answer to what had sent her mother to an early grave and turned her father grey with worry might lie within its folds.
Kit. She closed her eyes at the thought of her younger brother and knew that she could not get through the rest of this day without knowing if the letter contained news of him. Nor would her father. He would want to know, just the same as Emma. Whether the news was good...or even if it was bad.
She pulled her shawl around her shoulders, fastened her bonnet on her head and, with the letter clutched tight within her hand, headed for the London Docks.
Chapter Four (#ulink_1ba2fdf7-26a9-557b-97b6-587aa82a32b0)
Emma knew little of the warehouse in which her father worked. He had spoken nothing of it, so this was her first insight into the place that had become his world as much as the Red Lion had become hers.
All around the walls were great racks of enormous shelving stacked with boxes and bales. The windows in the roof were open, but with the heat of the day and the heavy work many of the men were working without shirts. She blushed with the shock of seeing their naked chests and rapidly averted her gaze, as she followed the foreman through the warehouse. Eventually through the maze of shelving corridors they came to another group of shirtless men who were carrying boxes up ladders to stack on high shelves.
‘Bill de Lisle,’ the foreman called. ‘Someone here to see you.’
One of the men stepped forward and she was horrified to see it was her father.
‘Papa?’ She forgot herself in the shock of seeing his gaunt old body, all stringy from hard labour.
‘Emma?’ She heard her shock echoed in his voice. In a matter of seconds he had reclaimed his shirt and pulled it over his head. ‘What has happened? What is wrong to bring you here?’
‘A letter. Addressed to you. I thought it might contain news of...’ She bit her lip, did not finish the sentence.
‘If you will excuse me for a few moments, gentlemen,’ her father said to the men behind him. ‘And Mr Sears,’ to the foreman who had brought her to him.
Her father guided her a little away from the group.
‘Bill?’
‘It is what they call me here.’
She gave a small smile. The smile faded as she passed the letter to him. ‘Maybe I should not have brought it here, but I thought...’ She stopped as her father scrutinised the address penned upon it. ‘The writing is not of Kit’s hand, but even so... Someone might have seen him. Someone might know his whereabouts.’
Her father said nothing, but she saw the slight tremble in his fingers as he broke the red-wax seal and opened the letter. He held it at arm’s length to read it since his spectacles were long gone.
She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry with anticipation. Rubbed her clammy palms together and waited. Waited until she could wait no more.
‘Is it good news?’
Her father finished reading and looked up at her. ‘It is the best of news, Emma...’
The breath she had been holding escaped in a gasp. Her heart leapt. The terrible tight tension that held her rigid relaxed.
‘...but it does not concern your brother.’
The warm happiness flowing through her turned cold. She glanced up at her father. ‘I do not understand.’
‘The letter is from Mrs Tadcaster, who was second cousin to your mama. She writes to say that the Dowager Lady Lamerton’s companion has run off with one of the footmen.’
‘Why is that good news?’
‘Because, my dear—’ he smiled ‘—the dowager is in need of a new companion, a woman of gentle breeding who would understand what was required of her and might start in the position with immediate effect.’
The penny dropped. Emma suddenly realised why her mother’s cousin had written to impart such trivial gossip. She knew where this was leading. And she should have been glad. Indeed, had it been only a few weeks ago she would have been. But much had happened in those weeks and the feeling in the pit of her stomach was not one of gladness.
‘Mrs Tadcaster had spoken to her ladyship of you and Lady Lamerton has agreed to take you on as her companion.’
Emma could not say a word.
‘Such sudden and surprising news after all this time. Little wonder you are shocked.’
She was shocked, but not for the reasons her father thought.
We need to talk when I return.
That sounds serious.
It is. Will you wait for me?
Ned’s words and all they might mean had not left her mind since yesterday. Her stomach felt hollow.
‘I cannot go.’
‘Why ever not?’ He stared at her
How could she tell him about Ned? Not a gentleman, but a Whitechapel man. A man who was tougher and more dangerous than all he had warned her against. A man who could best five men in a tavern fight and who had worked on these same docks. A man who made magic somersault in her stomach and passion beat through her blood. Whose kiss she wanted to last for ever...and who had implied he wanted a future with her.
‘I could not possibly contemplate leaving you here alone.’
‘Nonsense. It would be a weight off my mind to know that you were living a safe, respectable life with the Dowager Lady Lamerton. Do you not think I have enough to worry over with Kit?’
‘I understand that, but you need not worry over me.’
‘You are a serving wench in a tavern.’
‘It is a chop-house, Papa,’ she corrected him out of force of habit.
‘Emma, chop-house or tavern, it makes no difference. Do you think I do not know the manner of men with whom you must deal? Do you think there is a night goes by I am not sick with worry until Tom sees you safely home and I hear you coming through that front door?’
She felt guilt turn in her stomach at the thought of him worrying so much while she enjoyed being with Ned.
‘Were you with Lady Lamerton, I could find lodgings closer to the docks. There are always fellows looking for someone to share the rent on a single room. It would be easier for me. Cheaper. More convenient. And they are a good enough bunch in here. Tease me a bit, but that is the extent of it.’
‘Lady Lamerton will see this as an opportunity to glean every last detail of our scandal from me. You know she is chief amongst the gossipmongers and has a nose like a bloodhound.’
‘Clarissa Lamerton likes to be queen of the ton’s gossip, not its subject. She will grill you herself, but protect you from all others. What is this sudden change of heart, Emma? This argument is usually the other way around. You have always been so strong and committed to returning to society and tracing Kit.’
Emma glanced away.
‘Lady Lamerton’s ability to discover information is all the more reason to accept the position. You would be well placed, in one of the best households in London, to hear news of Kit. Lady Lamerton’s son has an association with Whitehall. Rest assured young Lamerton will hear if there is anything to be heard and thus, too, his mother. You have to take this opportunity, Emma, for Kit’s sake and mine, as well as for your own. You know that without me telling you.’
She did. That was the problem. She understood too well what he was saying and the truth in it.
‘If you stay here, you are lost. It is only a matter of time before one of these men makes you his own. Indeed, it is a miracle that it has not already happened.’
She glanced down at the floor beneath their feet so that he would not see the truth in her eyes.
But he reached over and tilted her face up to his. ‘You are a beautiful young woman, the very image of your mother when I met and married her. I want a better life for you than that which a husband from round here could offer you.’
She wanted to tell him so much, of Ned and all that was between them, but she could not. Not now, not when her duty was so pressing.
