Wedded in Scandal

“Mama cried on and off for the first month. But only when Tommy slept. Then after that, she was too busy to cry. And Papa was too happy to finally have a boy to learn the trade.”

“Your father made beautiful shoes. I still remember the pair my father bought himself for Christmas one year. They were perfect, and he said they fit like a dream.”

Penny didn’t answer, and too late Helaine realized that it had been a mistake to mention her father. Penny was one of the few people who knew the truth of her past, knew exactly who her father had been. She couldn’t risk that information getting out. She couldn’t allow any of her customers to know her real name. They would frequent the shop of a known courtesan, but would never come to one owned by the daughter of the Thief of the Ton.

“Penny,” she began, hoping the panic didn’t show in her voice. “Penny, if you are to stay with me, you must remember: I’m Mrs. Helen Mortimer now. A dressmaker. Anything I might have been before, anyone I might have known before, is gone. Dead and gone. Do you understand?”

Penny finally lifted her chin, her eyes round with surprise and then a slow understanding. “That wasn’t your fault, what your father did. Everyone knows that.”

“No, my dear, they don’t.” Helaine stopped walking. They were at the top of an alley underneath a single large maple that had somehow survived the growth of the city around it. Tommy had finished his bread and was squirming to get down. Though it saddened her to do it, Helaine passed the boy back to Penny. She had to make the girl understand. “Surely you know about mistakes, Penny? About wanting to start again fresh and new?” She glanced significantly at the child. “My other life, my other name, is gone. You cannot tell a soul about it.”

An odd expression flicked over Penny’s face, a deep hurt as if Helaine had wounded her. “I understand, Mrs. Mortimer. I won’t tell a soul.”

Helaine released a breath, relieved all the way down to her toes. She remembered Penny as a quiet girl with large eyes and a clever mind. She didn’t think the girl would be one to gossip. “That’s good. If you can manage, the shop is not far from here.”

They started walking again in silence. It might have been awkward except that it was filled with babbling sounds from little Tommy. They were nearly there when Helaine at last found the words to break the silence between them.

“My mother will ask, you know. She was never one for discretion, not when you are to stay in our home with us. Will you tell us what happened to your family? Or shall I make something up?”

Penny lifted up the boy in her arms, tucking his head against her shoulder. She rubbed her cheek against the curly mop of his hair as if for comfort. But when she spoke, her words were clear and calm and filled with such anger that it stunned Helaine.

“My parents were murdered. Nearly six weeks ago. The creditors came and took everything they could. I have only our home, no money, and no one to care for Tommy while I look for work.” Then she lifted her head off the boy and looked Helaine in the eye. “So if you want me to keep your secret, you must make a bargain with me. Or I shall tell everyone who you are and what your father did.”

Chapter 9

Robert frowned at his desk, not at all pleased with the correspondence lying before him. There were the usual three piles. The first was a to-do pile of decisions regarding the family investments. It included letters from his stewards, management reports, articles, and a variety of scientific discussions regarding everything from mining to fishing rights. It was a very large pile and it sat at the top of his desk.

At the far left where he really didn’t want to look was the pile he called “family melancholia.” This included his father’s latest ideas, reports about his younger brother’s Grand Tour of debauchery through Europe, and finally the doctor’s missive on his mother’s ailment. She had chronic pain, or so she claimed. Mostly, the woman just sat in the dark and stared at the fire. Some days she didn’t even get out of bed. The pile was dubbed “melancholia” because, despite his best efforts, he had been singularly unable to affect any aspect of that pile. His father had more wild ideas every day; his brother, Jack, obviously planned to seduce every female on the Continent; and his mother would not step out of her room. So whenever he looked at that pile, he was buried beneath a tide of sadness mixed with futility. It had gotten so bad lately that he’d ordered Dribbs to put a full, bushy plant on top of the pile. The man never did, of course, but he did keep a full bottle of brandy nearby.

The third pile was easier to deal with, but no less small. It was simply bills. And his family had a lot of bills.

But none of those piles were the subject of his current disgust. No, what lay before him dead center was two notes. One from the delectable Helaine and another from Charlie, the new mine manager. Helaine’s note held his attention the most. He smiled at the rough linen paper, held it to his nose to detect the faint sprinkling of lemon, and even traced his fingertip over her soft curving letters. Very feminine, to his mind, and also unusually fine penmanship for a girl of the middle classes, even a courtesan. So she must have had a decent education. All of that made him smile. Her words, however, did not.

To Lord Redhill,

Three vendors visited me this morning with offers of credit. Thanks to your efforts, I have hopes of establishing my little shop as a premier dressmaker to the ton. Words cannot adequately express my thanks. All I can do is to offer this humble token of tea for your enjoyment as it reminds me of you. Please know that my deepest expression of gratitude will come to you through your sister. I shall work tirelessly so that she is the most beautiful bride any woman could hope to be.

With humble thanks,

Mrs. H. Mortimer

Robert snorted as he read it through again. He did not want her gratitude, and he certainly did not want it expressed through his sister. The very idea made him slightly queasy. Of course that was clearly the point. It was rather repulsive to think of his mistress also being his sister’s dressmaker. Only a madman would pursue such a thing, especially against both ladies’ wishes.

And yet he could not stop himself. Helaine drew him. She challenged his mind, she roused his protective instincts, and she made him harder than granite. No woman of his acquaintance had ever done all three things. He had barely spent more than a couple hours in her presence and yet he’d spent the better part of the last two days thinking of more ways to intrigue her. Intrigue her, tempt her, then seduce her. That was his plan, and he was spending an inordinate amount of time thinking of ways to do it.

The other letter on his desk was not nearly so enticing. It was from Charlie, the young man who had shown such strength of character down in the mines that one benighted day. After firing the old manager, Robert had promoted Charlie to the job. The boy wrote that the sacked Mr. Hutchins was stirring up the workers. He said that men who had not one month ago cursed Hutchins’s name were now following him as he fostered a revolt. It was all because Robert had shut down the mine for repairs. He would not allow one man, woman, or child inside the damn place until it was safe to do so. But men out of work had little to do but curse the people in charge. And Robert’s other decree, that he would hire no woman and no child under the age of twelve, had hit some families hard. They needed the extra income. Which meant that the whole area was a powder keg of unrest.

Damn. It would take more money and more time to settle this peacefully. And that would take him away from London when he really wished to be with Helaine. Enough dithering, he told himself sternly. It was time for action. So thinking, he grabbed his own stationery and pen. Two minutes later he had invited the lady to share tea with him at a small, intimate café. If she wanted to express her gratitude, then she could do so in person. Where he could persuade her to be more demonstrative of her thanks. A minute later, he rang his bell for Dribbs.

“Dribbs, I need you to send a footman to deliver a note for me, if you would.”

There was a deafening silence as his butler hesitated at the door, neither coming closer to grab the letter nor stepping outside to call for a footman.

Robert looked up with a frown. “Dribbs?”

“Er, might I inquire, my lord, is that perhaps a missive for Mrs. Mortimer, the dressmaker?”