Elizabeth Mansfield (30 page)

There was no answer. Where were they? Unless the activities of the various members of the household could be better organized, she would never get off on time the next day. And if she departed late, she might arrive in Southampton and find that the ship had sailed without her!

Feeling more than ordinarily hysterical, she ran out of her room to the top of the stairs. “Hicks?” she called. “Can you come up here, please? I need some assistance.”

Again there was no answer. “Where
is
everybody?” she snapped impatiently. “Will someone come upstairs to me?”

“Yes, ma’am,” came a muffled voice from the nether region.

She sighed in relief. “Thank you, Daniel. And bring up the small hat box which I left on the table in the sitting room, will you?”

She dashed back to her bedroom and began to pull her hats and bonnets from her wardrobe. She tossed them, one after the other, on her bed. It was difficult to decide which headpieces would be most suitable for shipboard wear. After all, she’d never sailed to the Indies—or anywhere else—in her life and had no idea what the weather conditions would be. Small bonnets that could be firmly tied to the head would probably be best, she surmised.

There was a tap at the door. “Come in, Daniel,” she said, not looking round. “Just put the box on my dressing table, and then come and see if you can close the portmanteau.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The sound of the voice made her breath freeze in her chest. She wheeled around. “
T-Thomas
!”

He was standing in the doorway, dressed in his footman’s everyday livery and holding her hatbox before him as if it were a present on a silver tray … the very model of footmanly decorum. “Yes, ma’am?” he asked politely.

“Wh-What are you
doing
here?”

“You called, I believe.”

“Stop that!” she almost stamped her foot in impatience. “I don’t want to joke. What are you doing here?”

“I’m employed here, am I not, ma’am? I don’t believe I’ve been discharged. In fact, if I recall, you said I had a position here for as long as I wished.”

“You are
not
employed here! You’re the first mate of the
Athena
, and you are sailing tomorrow. Now what is this all
about
?”

“I
was
the first mate of the
Athena
. I’ve run off. I found that I couldn’t sail with her.”

“But that’s nonsense! You love every plank and sail of that ship. You belong there.”

“No, not after
you’d
been there.” He tossed the hatbox on a chair and came up to her. “I kept seeing you on the deck … and remembering what a coward I’d been that afternoon. I began to realize that there was no joy in it for me any more. You weren’t there, you see.”

“I don’t understand …”

“It became clear to me that I’d find life more bearable if I were close to you—even as your footman—than if I were far away as a seaman,” he said softly, smiling down at her.

Her knees seemed to give way. “Oh, Thomas!” she breathed, sinking down upon the bed, ignoring the fact that at least two of her bonnets were being crushed beneath her.

“May I not come back on the staff, ma’am? I shall be the most invisible, inaudible footman that ever was.”

She gave a tearful laugh. “A likely tale! You can’t be invisible and inaudible to me any more. I should always be watching you from the corner of my eye to see if you were going to pull me into your arms and kiss me, as you did so brazenly before.”

He grinned. “I can see where that might present some difficulties. Then if I won’t do as a footman, do you think you could try me as a husband? You’ve already given me a kind of trial. I didn’t do badly, did I?”

“No, you didn’t.” She looked down at the hands clenched in her lap. “I … liked you as a husband very much indeed.”

“Oh, Camilla!” He swept a few of the bonnets aside, sat down beside her and took her in his arms. “I do love you so,” he murmured and kissed her hungrily.

“But, Thomas,” she asked when she could speak again, “you cannot have been serious when you said that you’d run away from the
Athena
. You do want to sail on her, don’t you?”

“I’ve taken a day’s leave.” A small, worried frown creased his forehead. “But I won’t sail on her if you have objections to being a sailor’s wife. Hang it, Camilla, let’s not talk about it now. Ever since I let you leave the ship the other day, without telling you … I’ve been like a man possessed. I must kiss you again … just to convince myself that I really have you in my arms at last.”

After a while, she put her hands to his chest and held him off. “We are really behaving in a shockingly disreputable way,” she said, blushing. “This is my
bedroom
!”

“So it is.” He lifted his head and looked about him happily. “Do you know, my love, that you are sitting on your hats?”

“Am I?”

“In fact, the room seems in an inordinate state of disorder. I think you
need
another footman, ma’am. From the look of things, you need all the assistance you can afford.”

“I do
not
need another footman. I am going on a voyage, and a footman would be decidedly in the way. This confusion is only because I’ve been packing.”

“Packing? For a voyage?” A light seemed to flare up at the back of his eyes. “A voyage where?”

“To the Indies, of course. Where else?”

He grasped her shoulders with eager intensity and pulled her to him. “Oh, God! Don’t joke, woman! Were you
really
coming to me?”

“Yes, isn’t it shameful? I couldn’t bear to be without you either.” She lifted a hand to his cheek. “Don’t look at me in that adoring way, my love, or I shall cry. Do you think you might just … kiss me instead?”

Pippa and her friend Sybil, strolling down the corridor together, passed the open door and peered inside. “Egad!” Sybil exclaimed. “Who’s that?”

Pippa beamed. “That’s
Thomas
! I
knew
he fancied her.”

“Your mother is sitting on her bonnets.”

“Yes, I see. It’s love sickness, I believe. It makes one a bit confused.”

“Does it? Then I hope I never catch it.”

“Love sickness? They say it’s very enjoyable when you’re older.”

“It looks very dull to me. They haven’t moved at all since we’ve been watching,” Sybil observed in disgust.

“Well, I expect that kissing is more entertaining to
do
than to watch. Would you like to do something else?”

“Yes. Let’s go back to your room and sit on your bonnets.”

“All right. It will probably make them easier to pack.” And the girls turned away from the still-embracing couple and strolled back down the hall.

Keep reading for a special excerpt from the next eBook by Elizabeth Mansfield

THE BARTERED BRIDE

Available April 2012 from InterMix and Signet Regency Romance

The patrons of Hollings and Chast, Linendrapers, gasped audibly. One of the clerks had actually accused a young woman (who seemed the epitome of sweet-faced innocence) of trying to steal! He may not have said it in so many words, but his meaning was clear to everyone in the shop. They stared in speechless dismay as the color drained from the poor girl’s face. Her lips turned so white that the onlookers feared she might swoon right then and there.

The incident would not have been quite so dreadful if the girl weren’t so shy. Her shyness made everything worse, for it prevented her from speaking up for herself with any conviction. Never in her life before had Miss Cassandra Chivers been so horribly humiliated, but humiliation is the sort of emotion that makes shyness even more pronounced. The girl, who would never be described as outspoken even at the best of times, could not be expected to express herself well when things were at their worst. And what could be worse than hearing a booming-voiced clerk shatter the air of a large, busy, very fashionable shop with the accusation that one was
stealing
? It was no wonder the poor little chit became utterly tied of tongue. She could only stammer, “But I p-paid you!” in a small, unconvincing voice.

Mr. Dorking, the clerk behind the counter, sneered. He was the senior clerk, the most important of the fourteen clerks who handled sales for the firm of Hollings and Chast. Hollings and Chast, Linendrapers (established in 1790 and doing a thriving business at this, its original location on Wigmore Street, London, throughout the quarter-century since its inception) was a favorite shop for members of the
ton
and ordinary citizens alike, for it was bountifully stocked with the widest possible selection of fabrics at all prices. At this very moment, for instance, all manner of patrons were making an amazing variety of purchases. At one counter a plainly dressed woman was examining a length of fine kentin for night-clothes; at another, a uniformed cavalry officer was selecting shirting. Here an overweight matron was bargaining for a remnant of muslin, and there a modish young lady was looking at a bolt of luxurious Persian silk. Every clerk was busy, and a number of customers were waiting to be served. And right before all these people, the shy Miss Chivers was being accused of thievery.

The clerk’s loud accusation could be heard throughout the shop. All activity ceased. The clerks paused in their measurements or their cutting of the fabric or their rewinding of the bolts to watch Mr. Dorking “spear another sharper.” Most of the patrons were too well-bred to stare, but they were not too well-bred to eavesdrop on the drama being enacted in their midst.

Dorking, the accusing clerk, was a long-nosed, thin-lipped, toplofty fellow who’d been employed by Hollings and Chast since he was a boy of fourteen. Hardened by his two decades of dealing with clutchfisted, crafty, cunning, conniving customers; mostly female, he was convinced he’d seen every kind of swindle the human mind could devise. He liked to brag to his associates that he could sniff out a deceitful canarybird at twenty paces, so he was not going to be fooled by
this
little cheat, pretty though she was. She might look as innocent as a newborn babe, but he’d learned long ago that appearances could deceive. Therefore, he looked down his nose at the trembling girl with complete disdain. “I would
remember if you’d paid me, wouldn’t I?” he asked loudly.

“B-but I
did
pay you,” the frightened Cassie Chivers whispered tearfully. “You
m-must
remember! You said the cambric was thirteen shillings fourpence, and I gave you a whole g-guinea!”

The clerk, aware that the scene he was playing was attracting the attention of the other customers (and pleased as punch to be performing the major role), smoothed his thinning hair in a gesture of pure arrogance and sneered again. “If you gave me a guinea, miss, then where is it, eh? Is it in my hand? No. Is it lying there on the counter? No. Is it on the floor? No. Is it in the parcel? No. Then where, I ask you, can it be?”

“I d-don’t know,” the girl murmured, her face painfully flushed. She tried to avert her head, as if to protect herself from the curious stares of the shop’s patrons, but the selfeffacing movement only made her seem more guilty. “But I
gave
it to you, t-truly! That guinea was all I had with m-me, except for a few pennies. Here! S-see for yourself!” And, her hands trembling, she turned the contents of her reticule out on the counter before him.

The contents were pathetically meager: only a handkerchief, a vial of smelling salts, a comb, an envelope on the back of which was scribbled a short shopping list and three pennies. The clerk eyed them with contempt. “And what do you think
that
proves, eh?” he asked scornfully. “You could have hidden your guinea anywhere on your person, if you ever had the guinea at all. Do you take me for a flat?”

“Hidden it on my
p-person
?” Cassie stammered, appalled. “Why, I would n-never
think
of such a—!”

“What on earth,” came an angry voice from the back, “is going on there, Mr. Dorking? Do you realize you are creating a scene?”

It was Mr. Chast, the only partner of the partnership of Hollings and Chast still alive. He had emerged from his office at the rear of the shop and, in a stride befitting his importance, came marching across the floor to the counter where the scene was taking place. The other clerks immediately resumed their work, and the eavesdropping customers quickly turned their attention back to their own business, all except the calvalry officer, who continued to watch the proceedings with a troubled frown.

Miss Chivers lifted her head and glanced fearfully over her shoulder at the linendraper who now loomed ominously behind her. She saw a tall, potbellied, dignified gentleman whose posture, expression and striped-satin waistcoat all contributed to his air of authority. It was plain that this gentleman was in charge of the shop. Was he going to clap her in irons, she wondered, her heart pounding in terror? “I … I—” she muttered helplessly.

Mr. Chast, ignoring her, frowned angrily at his clerk. “
Well
, Dorking?” he demanded in a tone that clearly revealed his dislike of public scenes.

“Sorry, Mr. Chast, but it’s this ladybird,” the clerk said, his demeanor suddenly becoming obsequious. “She’s trying to—”

“Keep your voice down, man!” Mr. Chast chastized. “And you will
not
refer to any of our patrons as ladybirds, is that clear?”

The clerk bit his underlip in chagrin. “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. But I do get so sick of these ‘ladies’ who try to filch goods. Thirteen an’ four worth of cambric I cut for her, and now she says she handed me a guinea, which I swear on my mother’s grave she never did.”

“But I
did
!” Miss Chivers insisted, turning a pair of large, pleading eyes on the linendraper. “A whole guinea. All I had with me. I p-placed it right in his p-palm.”

Mr. Chast studied the girl carefully. She was a small, pale-skinned creature with a pair of lovely, dark, expressive eyes and a wealth of curly auburn hair which she’d crammed haphazardly into a dowdy
brown bonnet.
At least she’s not one of the nobs
, he told himself in relief. It would not have been the first time that a member of the
ton
tried to cheat one of his clerks. Bitter experience had proved that the nobility were just as prone to dishonesty as the rest of humanity. The difficulty was in getting justice when it was a nob you were dealing with. Mr. Chast had very painful memories of trying to exact payment from an earl whose daughter had filched a bolt of figured damask. He’d been thrown out on his ear! But
this
person, thank goodness, was not an earl’s daughter … or even a baronet’s. No baronet’s daughter—or any young lady of the ton—would appear in public in such sturdy shoes and so drab a bonnet.