The Gentleman Rogue

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‘As if I would have a husband from round here.’ Her forced smile felt like a grimace.

Will you wait for me? In her mind she could see that soul-searching look in Ned’s eyes.

And hear her own reply. I am not going anywhere, Ned Stratham...I will wait.

‘I am glad you have not forgotten your vow to your mother, Emma.’

‘How could I ever forget?’ She never would, never could. Family was family. A vow was just that, even if it was at the expense of her own happiness. She felt like her heart was torn between her family and the man she loved.

She told herself that Ned might not love her, that she might have misunderstood what it was he wanted to talk to her of. After all, he had made no promises or declarations, and despite all those late-night conversations and all their passion, they knew so little of each other. But in her heart, she knew.

She knew, but it did not change what she had to do.

‘You know you have to take this chance, Emma.’ Her father’s eyes scanned hers.

‘Yes.’ One small word to deny the enormity of what was in her heart.

‘I will go past the mail-receiving office on the way home, pay for paper and some ink and write to Mrs Tadcaster.’

She gave a nod.

‘Let me escort you from this place.’

Emma placed her hand on his arm and walked with him, without noticing the shirtless men who stopped working to watch her pass with silent appreciation.

She was thinking of all the days and nights she had worked so hard to escape Whitechapel, of all the times she had prayed for just such an opportunity. And now that her prayer had finally been answered she did not want to leave.

She was thinking of a man whose hair the sun had lightened to the colour of corn-ripened fields and whose eyes matched the cloudless summer sky outside; a man who had captured her heart, and to whom there would be no chance to explain.

* * *

On the afternoon of Ned’s return from Portsmouth, he went straight to a meeting in White’s Club. But now the meeting was concluded, the necessary introductions made and ideas discussed. He shook hands with the Earl of Misbourne, Viscount Linwood, the Marquis of Razeby and Mr Knight.

‘If you will excuse me, gentlemen?’ A nod of the head and he and his friend and steward, Rob Finchley, were out of the room and walking down the corridor.

Further down the corridor, he saw the small group of men who knew his secret. Men who were bursting with longing to take him down, to expose his real identity, but could not. They knew what would happen if they did. He met each of their gazes in turn across the distance, held them so that they would remember why they could not tell what itched upon their tongues to be out. And in return they glowered with all their haughty disdain.

Rob cursed beneath his breath. ‘They look at you as if you’re a gutter rat in their midst.’

Ned smiled at the group of arrogant young noblemen. It had the desired effect, twisting the knife a little deeper. ‘But remember what it costs them to stand there and suffer my presence.’

Rob grinned. ‘I feel better already.’

They were still smiling as they crossed St James’s Street and climbed into the waiting gig. It was a top-of-the-range model, sleek, glossy black exterior, cream leather seats; a small white circle enclosing a red diamond shape adorned the front plate. Ned did not look back. Just took up the reins and drove off.

‘I think you hooked Misbourne.’

‘Let’s hope.’ The wheels sped along. Ned kept his eyes forward concentrating on the traffic. ‘I can’t make Dawson’s ball tonight.’

‘Not like you to miss a big event like Dawson’s.’

‘I have a commitment elsewhere.’ His face was closed and impassive, his usual expression when it came to dealing with friend and foe alike.

‘All the bigwigs are going to be there.’

‘I know.’

There was a small silence before Rob said, ‘Must be important, this other commitment.’

‘It is.’ Ned slid a glance at his friend, let his eyes linger for a moment, in that quiet confrontational way, and smiled.

Rob smiled, too. ‘All right, mate. I get the hint. I’ll stop fishing about your mystery woman.’

* * *

A few hours later, Ned walked alone into the Red Lion Chop-House. Some heads nodded at him, recognising him from the weeks before. Ned felt the usual comfort and ease that sat about the place, felt it as soon as he crossed the parish boundary that divided the East End from the rest of London. The taproom was busy as usual, the tables and rowdy noise of the place spilling out into the alleyway in front. His eyes scanned for Emma, but did not find her.

The first suspicion stroked when he saw that it was Paulette who came to serve him.

‘Your usual, is it?’

He gave a nod. ‘Emma not in tonight?’

‘Thought you might ask that.’ She smiled a saucy knowing look. ‘Emma’s gone. Landed herself some fancy job as a lady’s maid again. An offer she couldn’t refuse apparently, lucky mare. She left a message for you, though. Said to tell you goodbye. That she was real sorry she couldn’t tell you in person. Said she hoped you would understand.’

He dropped a coin into her hand for passing on the message. ‘Forget the lamb and the porter.’ He didn’t wait.

There were other chop-houses in Whitechapel. Other serving wenches. But Ned didn’t go to them. Instead he made his way up along Rosemary Lane to Tower Hill and the ancient stone bench beneath the beech trees. And he sat there alone and watched the day shift finish in the docks and the night shift begin. Watched the ships that docked and the ships that sailed. Watched until the sun set in a glorious blaze of fire over the Thames and the daylight faded to dusk and dusk to darkness.

Had she waited just one week...a single week and how different both their lives would have been.

Loss and betrayal nagged in his gut. He breathed in the scent of night with the underlying essence of vinegar that always lingered in this place. And he thought of the scent of soap and grilled chops and warm woman.

He thought of the teasing intelligence in her eyes and the warmth of her smile.

He thought of the passion between them and the sense that she made his world seem a better place.

He thought of what might have been, then he let the thoughts go and he crushed the feelings. Emma de Lisle had not waited. And that was that.

Ned was not a man who allowed himself to be influenced by emotion. He had his destiny. And maybe it was better this way. No distractions, after all.

He heard the cry of the watch in the distance. Only then did he make his way back across town to the mansion house in Cavendish Square.

* * *

Along the Westminster Bridge Road in Lambeth, the evening was fine and warm as Emma and the Dowager Lady Lamerton approached Astley’s Amphitheatre.

‘I say, this is really rather exciting,’ her new employer said as they abandoned the carriage to the traffic jam in which it was caught and walked the remaining small distance to the amphitheatre’s entrance.

‘It is, indeed.’ It was only Emma’s third day returned to life in London’s high society, albeit at a somewhat lesser level to that she had known, and already she was aware that there was a part of her that had settled so smoothly it was as if she had never been away—and a part that remained in Whitechapel, with her father...and another man.

She wondered again how her father was managing in his new lodging. Wondered if he was eating. Wondered if Ned Stratham had returned to the Red Lion yet and if Paulette had passed on her message.