An Unexpected Encounter ( Half Moon House, Novella 1)

The characters and events portrayed in this
book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or
dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely
coincidental.

An Unexpected Encounter

Copyright 2013 by Deb Marlowe

Cover Design by Lily Smith

Smashwords Edition

Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Epilogue

About the Author

Other Books in the Half Moon House
Series

For Ava Stone, with many thanks for her
laughter, her generosity and her incredible ability to do a
thousand and one things and do them all spectacularly well.

For Claudia Dain, who talks me down, props me
up and understands connecting the dots.

For Michelle Marcos. I am so glad that an
accidental butt bump turned into a lasting friendship!

Prologue

British Museum, London

1810

Hestia Wright—formerly known as First of
England’s Fashionably Impure, once crowned Queen of Europe’s
Courtesans—was more than passing familiar with the evils of man. In
her long and notorious career, she’d witnessed a disheartening
number of the tactics men used to rain ruin and destruction down
upon each other, and every one they habitually brought to bear
against the fairer sex. These experiences had unerringly altered
her fate. Now she was in the business of altering the fate of
others.

She found great satisfaction in offering
shelter and opportunity for women left with neither. She relished
her reputation as a champion for all women suffering under
society’s often harsh and unjust tyranny. But the burdens that came
with such a life were heavy. They could, if unchecked, skew her
toward a woeful imbalance of spirits. She countered the effect with
the occasional rare day to herself—and she often spent those days
here, in the British Museum.

Here she could experience the other side of
the coin. Here she could forget her worries and indulge in the
strange and the wondrous. Anonymous amongst the crowds she could
enjoy history, art and artifacts, and let herself wallow for once
in the beauty wrought by man.

Today was meant to be such a holiday.

Today, though, her vocation had followed her
to the museum. And not once, it appeared, but twice.

The first case had come to her attention
early in the day. Several times throughout this visit she’d
encountered the little girl, usually in and about the natural
history rooms. Reasonably well dressed and shod, she showed no
tendency to be loud, to run about weaving amongst the throngs as
other children did. No, this appealing little scholar studied the
displays intently, seemingly fascinated with anything related to
exotic and foreign animals. And always she appeared to be utterly
alone. Right now she stood at the top of the grand staircase,
focused on the ragtag trio of preserved giraffes standing guard
over the landing—and still there was no sign of a parent, sibling
or even a servant tasked with the watching of her.

Hestia’s second concern had also come to
roost on the landing. Quite an unusually pretty young woman, she’d
also wandered the museum alone today. In contrast, though, Hestia
had never seen her pay a moment’s attention to any of the treasures
in the buildings. All of her awareness remained centered on the
people moving through the many rooms, and as the afternoon faded,
so did the young lady’s countenance. She stood now at the top of
the stairs, examining faces as they moved up and down, passing to
and from the entrance hall below. A pendant watch, fairly
expensive, hung from her waist. She checked it often, her shoulders
drooping further as each newcomer failed to be the person she so
obviously awaited.

Hestia’s instincts told her that both of
these females needed her. She moved forward, her mind already
awhirl, conjuring the right words, and options for the future. But
something gave her pause. She looked between them once more.
Perhaps what they needed . . . was each other.

Hestia had long ago learned the wisdom of
listening to her inner promptings. Smiling, she stepped forward
again.

Chapter One

Lisbeth Moreton was a listener.

True listening was, in fact, a harder feat to
accomplish than most people realized—and a far more valuable asset.
Really listening when someone talked gained one more than
knowledge. It allowed Lisbeth to see more than others wished to
reveal. It gave her insight into intent, motivation, and
occasionally even truth. She tried to truly listen as often as she
could. Which was why she now had to stop putting off the inevitable
and listen to the truth that had been trying to make itself heard
for the better part of the afternoon.

He wasn’t coming.

Lisbeth stopped watching the faces of the
people moving around her. She leaned against a great window and let
the awful certainty wash over her with the late afternoon sun.
She’d put all of her faith in the Honorable James Vickers, heir to
Lord Bridgeford—and he had failed her.

The steady stream of visitors moving up and
down the Grand Staircase slowed to a trickle, as did the blood in
her veins. Three hours ago they were to have met. Another bit of
excited hope and expectation died with each tick of the clock
since.

She clutched numb fingers about her
portmanteau. Her hands had gone freezing, despite her best gloves,
despite the fact that the rest of her was flushed hot and
perspiring beads of fear, anger and panic.

Silently she cursed the one person she had
steadfastly
refused
to listen to. Her wretched stepfather
disguised insult as concern, even as he labeled her as headstrong,
impetuous and too forward in her ways. She let out a long,
shuddering breath. Now she’d gone and proved that he’d been right
all along.

She’d known it was a gamble, writing to James
for help. But she’d been frantic, and it had largely been a
symbolic gesture. Even as she’d posted the letter, she’d expected
it to go unanswered, as had nearly all of her earlier
communications. His swift reply had been a shock, but his outrage
on her behalf had been a balm to her soul. His precise
instructions—to meet him here, on this landing, on this day, at
noon—well, they had felt like an answer to her prayers.

So she’d tossed aside a lifetime of sensible,
practical behavior. She’d followed her flighty mother’s example,
ignored the needs of others and thought only of herself. She’d
rolled the dice. Packed her things, taken her pin money and a bit
extra from the household accounts—she’d more than earned it—walked
to the next village and hired an enterprising farm boy and his
wagon to carry her through the night and deliver her to London.

But her toss had come up empty. James was not
here. She was alone, in London, without friend, family or a place
to go. She’d risked all and lost. Her legs trembled, but she looked
down and past them to her boots, now set firmly on the path to
ruin. She could not, would not go back. She must come up with an
alternative.

James’s rambling letter had mentioned his
mother. It would have been lowering enough to allow James to
present her as a charity case, in need of support against her
miserly, manipulative stepfather. She’d have done it, though, to
escape his plans for her. No chance of that now. She could hardly
present herself on the woman’s doorstep without even the dubious
sponsorship of her son.

What else was there for her to do? Her mind
wandered to the other, unanswered letter she’d posted. Now there
was a London address that should have been a refuge. But darkening
that doorway would only gain her a speedy trip back home. She shook
her head. She had James’s address, but did she dare go to his
rooms? A lone young woman, showing up at a gentleman’s bachelor’s
quarters—she would truly be sunk beyond reproach. But was she not
already? What choice did she have?

“Excuse me?”

Lisbeth started and turned. She knew it was
not James behind her, but still her breath caught as her eye fell
upon the stunningly beautiful woman, standing close and smiling at
her. Late sun streamed over her, highlighting porcelain skin and
burnishing her hair to angelic gold. Lisbeth’s mouth dropped open.
Surely no real female had ever looked so perfectly . . . perfect.
She suffered the foolish notion that before her stood one of the
museum’s pieces of art, come to life.

The vision frowned—and the appearance of a
small wrinkle in that flawless brow relieved Lisbeth of her
fancies.

“I do beg your pardon, but I couldn’t help
noticing that you appeared to be looking for someone.” Shifting,
the woman gestured to the other side of the landing. “You wouldn’t
happen to be searching for that young girl, would you?”

“No.” Lisbeth craned her neck to look. “I’m
afraid I’m not acquainted with the girl.” She clenched a fist. “And
it appears that the person I was to meet has forgotten our
appointment.”

“Oh, dear. I was hoping that you were the one
responsible for her.” The other woman offered a friendly smile.
“Forgive the presumption, but I’m Hestia Wright.”

Lisbeth curtsied. “Miss Elisabeth
Moreton.”

Lowering her tone, the woman leaned in. “I
have an appointment myself shortly, one that must be kept, but I
can’t help worrying about the child. It seems she’s been left alone
here for the entire afternoon.”

A flash of sympathy jolted through her. “Oh?”
She glanced over at the girl again. She stood very close to the
rail separating viewers from three massive, stuffed giraffes. “That
is worrisome.”

“I knew you would understand!” Hestia Wright
beamed at her. “I wish I could take the child with me, but I cannot
bring her to a business appointment. And yet, neither can I just
leave until I know she has not been abandoned.” The woman raised
her brows. “I know it must be a dreadful inconvenience, but perhaps
you would keep an eye on her . . . just until I can get back?”

Lisbeth bit her lip. “I . . . I hardly—”

“Oh, do say yes?” the other woman pleaded. “I
fear if I come back and find her gone I’d be haunted, wondering if
she’d been found by her people or if she’d come to some harm. But
if you will just watch over her, then I’ll come and take her over
when I’m free. And if you agree, and if I were to return and find
you both gone, then I’ll know that you saw her safely seen to.”

Lisbeth hesitated. She had her own troubles.
She should be making plans, trying to find lodgings for the night,
attempting to figure out where she could go from here. But the
thought of the girl’s plight stiffened her spine. Who better than
to protect the child than she, who knew how damaging neglect could
be? It
was
strange that the child had been left here, on her
own, where anyone could take note of her vulnerability. Where it
was possible she might encounter any number of unsavory people.

She winced. Likely the girl’s family would
consider her one of those unsavory numbers, now that she’d gone and
nearly ruined herself. But what sort of family were they, allowing
her to remain alone for hours in such a place? An indignant wave of
empathy drowned out her sensible objections. She gave a nod. “Of
course, Mrs. Wright. I’d be happy to help.”

“Oh, thank you, my dear.” The other woman
flashed a bright smile. “But it’s not Mrs. Wright.” She held up a
hand to stall Lisbeth’s stuttered apology. “No, nor Miss, either.
I’m just Hestia. And you may call upon me for help at any time,
dear.” She began to move toward the stairs before Lisbeth could ask
what she meant. “I shall see you shortly, shall I?”