An Honest Heart (28 page)

“Australia?” Oliver barked a laugh. “A land filled with brigands, thieves, and cutthroats? Why on earth would you want to go there?”

He felt her shrug against his shoulder. “I have heard that Australia is not as horrible a place as we may have been led to believe. I have been reading about it recently, and I learned of several expeditions of settlers—good Christian people—who chose to go to Australia to build new lives. And now that gold has been discovered, I am certain even more people will choose to make their lives there.”

Considering she was the only “good Christian” person he knew, Oliver did not feel adequate to comment on her statement. “I suppose we should wait and see what happens in the next few years, then.”

“Yes, I suppose.” Her soft voice drifted away on the breeze, and Oliver had a feeling he’d lost her in a world of her own imagining.

They neared North Parade, so he needed to hasten the conversation along. “Miss Bainbridge, I wonder, if it is not too much of an imposition, whether I might ask you to wire me, or write to me, to let me know when you will be at the Exhibition so I can meet up with you and take you around to show you what I’ve discovered there.”

“I . . . I do not know. I am certain you would much rather spend your time showing Miss Buchanan or some others of your own . . . circle of acquaintance around. I would not wish to be the cause of your being subjected to gossip and rumors.”

He pulled the gig to a stop in front of her shop. Before he could get out and help her down, she climbed out.

“Thank you for a lovely evening, Mr. Carmichael.”

He caught up with her at the door when she paused to fumble in her reticule for the key. “Miss Bainbridge, please say you’ll meet me at the Exhibition.” He could not let her go without a promise—he might not see her again otherwise.

“I cannot agree to meet you there.” She looked up at him, her eyes gray in the waning moonlight.

He recognized the moment she softened toward him—she lowered her gaze and her square shoulders rounded.

“However, should I run into you, I would be happy to accompany you on a tour of the Great Exhibition.”

Oliver grinned and raised her free hand to kiss the backs of her exposed fingers. “Thank you, Miss Bainbridge. I shall count the days until I see you again in London.”

“But—”

“Nay—while you may not be able to promise to meet me, I do promise that I will try my best to see you there.” He bowed and leapt back into the gig, waiting until she’d gone inside and locked the door behind her before driving off.

Now the only thing he needed to do was ensure she did run into him there. And though he’d begun learning his tactics from his father, he’d perfected them beyond his tutelage. Caddy would never try to push Oliver away when he cornered her and stole the kisses that would win his bet. And the Exhibition was by far the perfect place for it to happen. He’d scout out a corner where he could do it and make sure Doncroft and Radclyffe were there to see it.

Once that conquest was complete, he could resign himself to courting and marrying Edith Buchanan.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-
O
NE

A
fter completing his rounds in Jericho on Saturday, Neal bypassed the apothecary shop and headed across the street. Both Phyllis and Mrs. Longrieve were assisting customers when he entered Caddy’s shop, and several others waited for their turns to have fabric or notions cut to their specifications.

He angled his head toward the door to the workroom, and Phyllis nodded with a shy smile and a blush that brought the illusion of contours to her thin cheeks. The woman whose fabric the shop girl measured gave him an appraising, almost knowing, look.

His breath caught in his throat. Unlike calling on a woman in her home, which might be kept somewhat private, Caddy Bainbridge’s situation—with so many eyes observing her every move—ensured that everyone in North Parade knew he was courting her.

He stopped short of the door, his hand reaching out for the knob. Courting? Were they truly at that point? Nothing had been said to define their relationship, but yesterday’s kiss made it impossible to think they were anywhere but on the road to the altar. And while he used to balk at the idea of marriage, he’d thought of little else since meeting Cadence Bainbridge. He could only hope—pray—she felt the same. Especially once she knew the truth.

And because of her he was praying again. The realization made him smile. She’d been a good influence on him, most likely without even realizing it. After all, he’d only returned to church because she was guaranteed to be there.

With a deep, calming breath, he opened the workroom door. His heart, however, was anything but calm when Caddy looked up at him. She knelt on the floor in front of a dress form, pinning the hem of a dress the rusty-orange color of a sunset.

He offered her his assistance in rising and did not want to release her once she was on her feet. But with Letty, Alice, and Nan looking on, he had no choice but to relinquish her hand.

Without a word, she led him from the workroom and up the stairs to the family quarters. But instead of the sitting room, she led him to the back of the apartment and opened the door to one of the bedrooms.

“Mother, Dr. Stradbroke is here.”

Once Neal saw Mrs. Bainbridge, he was glad he had not stopped at home and left his kit there. He wrapped his free arm around Caddy’s waist, both to give her a squeeze of reassurance and to move her out of the narrow passage between wardrobe and bed.

Mrs. Bainbridge’s breath came in short gasps and the gray hue of her skin bore witness that this was no feigned illness. One touch to her forehead established that she had no fever, but his stethoscope confirmed the congestion in her lungs.

“It’s pneumonia, isn’t it?” Caddy hovered behind him, and her warmth seeped through his frock coat.

“I do not believe so. Lung infections are common among those with weak hearts. Has she been complaining of pain in her side? Did she have a chronic cough?” He moved the stethoscope to listen to her lungs through her right side.

“She’s had a chronic cough ever since I can remember, though it has sounded a little worse the last few days. But she has not complained of pain in her side, not to me. Mary?”

Neal glanced over his shoulder to see Caddy chewing on the tip of her thumb, her face drawn in anxiety. Mary rose from the straight-backed wooden chair in the corner of the room, her face almost as gray and wan as Mrs. Bainbridge’s.

“She complained of pain only after her cough worsened and became more frequent.”

Neal listened to his patient’s left side—first her lung, then her heart.

“Nan and Letty were both ill earlier this week.” Caddy pressed forward, her skirts now pressed up against his leg. “Nothing more than mild fevers and running noses and sneezing, but I tried to keep Mother away from them.”

He straightened, set the stethoscope aside, and laid his hands on Caddy’s shoulders, waiting until she turned her worried eyes upon him. “I am certain you did everything you could to minimize the risk to your mother.” He looked over the top of her head to Mary. “I do not mean to sound indelicate, but I must ask. When she coughs is there any . . . discharge?”

Mary nodded. “Aye. Started off as a whitish yellow, but then became darker.”

He blanched. “Any traces of blood?”

“Oh, no sir.” She glanced at Caddy with a grimace. “Darker . . . yellow.”

Neal drew a relieved breath, then returned his gaze to Caddy. Her face still turned up toward his, her eyes wide and searching. He lifted his left hand and ran his thumb along her cheekbone. “It sounds like bronchitis. I shall go to the apothecary and have him mix an expectorant elixir. She will need to cough out the congestion. It will take a few weeks for her to recover fully.” He squeezed her shoulders. “But she will recover.”

Her throat worked hard as she swallowed, and she blinked a few times. “Thank you.”

Leaving his bag for the moment, he gently escorted her into the hallway, closing the door behind them. “Why did you not send for me?”

Caddy frowned. “Did you not receive my note?”

“No. If you sent someone with a note, he never found me.”

“I left it at your flat. I thought you had seen it and that’s why you came.”

He chuckled and almost unconsciously brushed aside the wing of hair hiding her stitches. “I didn’t stop at my flat. I came straight here . . . because I wanted to see you.”

Even her forehead turned pink and warm with the force of her blush. “People are starting to gossip about the amount of time you spend here.”

He cupped her cheek with his hand and leaned forward to kiss her forehead just at the hairline where the scar disappeared. “Let them. I have nothing to be ashamed of in people knowing that I fancy you.”

A delicate shudder passed through her, and he smiled, placing another kiss at the soft V between her fine, dark eyebrows. Like hers, his breathing quickened. He raised his right hand and settled it on her waist, his fingertips pressing into the small of her back, drawing her closer.

“There is still so much we do not know about each other.”

Neal kissed the bridge of her nose. “Yet that has not stopped us from falling—from forming an attachment.” He wasn’t certain what kept him from admitting he’d fallen in love with her, but he needed to be certain of her feelings before he proclaimed it.

Her eyes fluttered closed, and he dusted each eyelid with light kisses. Her hands came up between them to rest flat against his chest. He wished he did not have a coat and waistcoat to muffle the warmth of her touch.

To his astonishment, she pushed herself away from him. “No, Neal. It has not stopped us from forming an attachment. But I cannot—I will not—put myself into a situation in which I will likely be hurt again.”

“Again?” He let his arms fall to his sides. “What do you mean?”

She turned and paced to the window at the end of the narrow hall. “When I was twenty years old, I was engaged to be married.”

Neal’s knees almost buckled. Caddy had loved another man? And loved him so much as to want to marry him? He swallowed hard. “Will you tell me of it?”

Caddy wrapped her arms around her middle as if trying to ward off a chill, even though the sunlight coming through the west-facing window heated the hallway quite efficiently.

When she did not speak, he resigned himself to the knowledge that she did not trust him. And why should she? He had shown time and again that he did not trust her with his deepest secret. He did not deserve to know hers.

With a sigh, he moved toward the bedroom door. Mrs. Bainbridge needed her cough medicine, and helping her get well was all he could do right now to continue working to gain Caddy’s trust.

“His name was Alastair Hambleton.”

Behind her, Neal’s footsteps halted. Caddy could not turn to look at him. Once she told him this, once he knew how simple and gullible she’d been, he’d lose all respect for her.

“I met him in my last year of apprenticeship with Mrs. Gregson in London after my father’s death. He was also an apprentice, to a solicitor whose office was in the same street. It started innocently enough. I would see him at the farmers’ market or at church. He finally asked if he could walk me home one Sunday. I told him I wasn’t allowed followers, but he said to think of him as a friend who wanted to ensure I arrived home safely.”

The flow of air from the window turned chill, and Caddy pulled the sash closed. Her breath fogged the glass when she leaned her forehead against it.

Behind her, Neal made no sound, but she could sense his presence.

“After several weeks, instead of walking straight home, we took a turn around the park. He expressed such an interest in my work, and it had been long since I had anyone in whom to confide, that I shared more with him than I should have. He was so charming, so amiable. No man had ever paid such attention to me. I was flattered and beguiled into believing him in love with me, and I in love with him.”

Warmth stole across her back, and she turned, breath catching in her throat at Neal’s sudden nearness. She’d been so wrapped up in her memories that she had not heard him traverse the creaking wooden floor toward her.

“What did he do to you?” His blue eyes held an anger she had never thought to see there.

“Nothing to me, not exactly.” She leaned against the windowsill, her head resting on the glass, cushioned by the thick coil of braid covering her back. “Through me, he learned which of Mrs. Gregson’s clients were the wealthiest and which had the most to lose if they became involved in a public scandal.” She dropped her gaze to his deep indigo waistcoat. “He . . . became close to the women, then compromised them. He threatened to tell their husbands—or to provide proof of the affair to the newspapers—and made them pay him to stay silent.”

Neal clasped his hands tightly together and pressed his thumbs to his forehead, drawing Caddy’s gaze up once more. His eyes were squeezed shut and his mouth formed a thin line.

Her throat closed. She knew he’d not take it well that she’d allowed herself to become embroiled in such a scheme, even unwittingly. “I became suspicious of his activities because he had much more money than he should have as a lowly apprentice to a little-known solicitor on the fringe of London society. I began to pay closer attention to his activities. And I saw him flirting with our customers. Then not just flirting, but climbing into their carriages and being driven away by them, to return hours or even days later. And we rarely saw those same women in the shop again.”