Brentwood's Ward (39 page)

“Oh? Yet another of your famous pressing engagements, eh?” Kirby’s gaze assessed him. “Yet it appears this one is of another nature from your usual. Well, I shan’t be back until this afternoon, though from the looks of it, I doubt this engagement involves any fisticuffs.”

Nicholas grinned as he watched the doctor set his long legs into motion. Somehow, Kirby had guessed—or come close to a correct conclusion about—what Nicholas would be doing this day. Did love show on a man’s face? Even one trained not to tip off his emotions?

But the good doctor was right. He wouldn’t need Kirby for bandaging or stitches. Fatigue, maybe, for he intended to show Emily just how much he loved her—and that would take a very long time.

Nibbling on her fingernail, Emily narrowed her eyes at the image in the mirror, blurring her focus to see more clearly the outline of her shape. Mary had worked hard the past few weeks to refashion this gown into a wedding dress, but the maid was no skilled seamstress. White silk poofed out a little too much at the waist, and…wait a minute. Emily turned, cocked her head, and yes. Just as she suspected. The fabric behind billowed out in a most unbecoming way.

She spun to Mary, the quick movement attracting her pug. Alf scampered over with a yip, and she bent and wagged her finger. “Do not even consider it, little prince.”

He parked his chubby little body at her feet and tilted his head at a sharp angle. One eyebrow rose then the other, back and forth until she couldn’t help but smile. “Scamp!”

Straightening, she pointed to the dressing table, heaped with ribbons and lace. “Mary, could you bring over the blue satin? I think it will be just the thing.”

Her maid retrieved the shimmery trimming and pursed her lips. “I like the idea of a splash of color, but where exactly would you like it?”

She pressed the poof against her rib cage, flattening the fabric into place. “Tie it as a sash, and make sure to catch up the extra bit of fabric behind me.”

“Ahh, good idea, miss.” Mary smoothed the ribbon into place then scooted behind her to tie a bow. “I’d like to thank you again for recommending me to Miss Grayson, though I daresay you’ll miss having a maid.”

“Did I not tell you?” She quirked a glance over her shoulder. “Mr. Brentwood has secured a wonderful new assistant for me.”

“Oh?” The maid’s tone pinched as tight as the ribbon she knotted.

“Chin up, Mary. You know I’d keep you if I were able, but an officer’s salary doesn’t stretch very far.” In spite of herself, Emily smiled. Trifling over expenses would indeed be a challenge—one she’d forget about every night when Nicholas held her in his arms. “My new maid is nine years old, a sweet young thing he rescued off the streets. In time, Hope will become proficient, but until then, you’re right…I shall feel your loss.”

“You’re very kind, miss.”

A rap on the door and a yip from Alf ended the conversation. Mrs. Hunt peeked in, frightening the pug into the corner. “There’s a gentleman downstairs to see you, miss.”

Emily sprinted, heedless of the impropriety and Mary’s complaints. Why care if a bow was looped to perfection when green eyes and broad shoulders waited for her in the sitting room? Shoving past Mrs. Hunt, she flew down the stairs and raced across the foyer, not slowing until she dashed through the door.

Then she froze.

Broad shoulders met her, all right, along with a barrel chest and cinder-grey eyes. Captain Daggett stood stiff as a ramrod, his hat clutched in front of him with white knuckles. “Good day, Miss Payne. I wasn’t quite sure if you’d see me.”

“Well, I—” she bit the inside of her cheek, holding back the
had I known it was you, I’d have turned you away
. At the very least, she should call for John or Mrs. Hunt, for this rogue was not to be trusted. She opened her mouth, then paused. Where was her fear? Pounding heart? Why did his presence not instill any trepidation?

On second look, his shoulders sagged. The usual hard set to his mouth softened with humility. Even the haughty gleam in his gaze was gone. For the most part, the outside trappings of the man were the same, but something was different on the inside.

Taking a deep breath, she searched for the right words. “Good day, Captain. Excuse me if I seem a bit surprised at your visit.”

He cleared his throat, looking for all the world like a man about to face the gallows. “Rightfully so. I merely came for…what I mean to say is…”

The bill of his hat crumpled into a tight wad beneath his fingers. Morning sun from the window highlighted a fine sheen on his brow. If she didn’t know better, she’d swear the man was every bit as broken beyond repair as his hat.

A small ember of empathy sparked in a dark corner of her heart. “Go on.”

His chest swelled and ebbed with a sigh. “What you said in my cabin, that it’s never too late to make things right, well…I took that to heart. By God’s grace, I am a changed man. I wish to make things right with Miss Hunt and…” His gaze darted from door to ceiling and finally to hers. “I acknowledge I have no right whatsoever, and in truth expect to be turned down on all accounts, yet I feel compelled to ask. May I speak with your maid, Miss Payne? Fully in your presence or anyone else’s, of course. I should not like to frighten her, or hurt her any worse than I already have.”

Emily pressed her lips tight to keep her jaw from dropping. Was he serious?

“Wren is no longer my maid, Captain. She lost her employment when it was found she was with child.” She cast the words slowly, watching for his reaction as they sank in.

Emotions rippled across his face, one chasing another. His hat, or what remained of the mangled bit of banded felt, dropped to the carpet. “Please, I…” He fumbled inside his greatcoat and pulled out an envelope, offering it over to her. “I know I shall never be able to compensate for what I’ve done, yet I wish to make some kind of amends. If nothing else, I would like to support the child and its mother. Would you see that she gets this?”

The envelope weighed heavy in her hand, padded thickly with what felt like a small fortune. “I would be happy to, Captain.”

“Thank you for your time, Miss Payne. You have been more than generous with me.” He swept up his cap and strode past her. “Good day.”

She stood there a moment, hardly believing what had just happened, then crossed to the curio desk to tuck away the envelope. What a strange and wonderful oddity. Wren would want for nothing, leastwise financially.

Out in the foyer, the click of the front door closed, then clicked open again. What more could the captain possibly have to say? When she turned, her heart caught in her throat. The long lines of Nicholas Brentwood’s body filled the doorway. His dark hair was combed back, his face clean-shaven and smooth. Sunlight brushed along the strong cut of his jaw. His white silk cravat stood out in stark contrast to his midnight-blue tailcoat. Matching breeches rode the curve of his thighs.

“I came to escort my bride to her wedding.” He lifted his chin, pinning her in place with his green gaze. The space between them charged with desire and promise. “Have you seen her?”

She crossed the room in a heartbeat and thumped her finger into his chest with each of her words. “You, sir, are a rogue.”

“And you, miss”—his voice softened—“are beautiful.”

She tilted her face toward his, and when his lips came down, she raised to her toes. Closing her eyes, she surrendered to the urgency of his kiss and the strength in his embrace. His mouth moved along the arch of her neck to the hollow of her throat. The sweet sensation radiated through her, stealing her breath, her thoughts, her heart. He tasted of distant horizons—altogether consuming and far too heady.

He groaned and loosened his hold, setting her at arm’s length. “No more.” His husky tone shivered through her. “Not until I can finish the job.” His eyes glimmered with the knowledge of what lay beyond, after the ceremony, when vows were committed to action.

The heat in his gaze sent a tremor up her arms and down her back, settling in her legs and turning her knees to jelly. She swallowed, praying to keep her quivers from warbling her voice. “Then we’d best be about it.”

A slow grin slid across his face. Capturing her hand, he tucked her fingers into the crook of his arm. Steely muscles moved beneath the fabric. “So, I was correct about your grand designs all along, was I not?”

Her nose scrunched up, and she was glad he reached for the door instead of noticing her likely resemblance to her pug. “Whatever do you mean?”

Pausing, he turned to her. “The first morning we took breakfast together, you all but admitted your goal for the season was to garner yourself a husband.”

Fire spread across her face. Had she really been that shallow?

“Don’t be embarrassed, my love.” He bent and pressed a kiss against her brow. “For indeed, that is exactly what you have done.”

Author’s Note

Who Were the Bow Street Runners?

T
raditionally, every male householder in London was expected to police the streets in their neighborhood, and every citizen was to report anyone they witnessed committing a crime. This changed in the eighteenth century because of increasing concerns about the threat of dangerous criminals who were attracted by the growing wealth of London’s middle class.

Prompted by a postwar crime wave in 1749, Magistrate Henry Fielding (who himself was a playwright and novelist) hired a small group of men to locate and arrest serious offenders. He operated out of Number Four Bow Street, hence the name “Bow Street Runners.”

Fielding petitioned the government and received funding, but even so, he soon ran out of money to pay these men a worthy salary. Still, the runners were committed to justice, so they took on odd jobs such as watchmen or detectives for hire or even—as in the case of Nicholas Brentwood—guarding people or treasures.

What attracted my interest as an author was an old newspaper advertisement put out by Fielding. It encouraged the public to send a note to Bow Street as soon as any serious crime occurred so that
“a set of brave fellows could immediately be dispatched in pursuit of the villains
.” I wondered about those “brave fellows” and what kind of villains they might come up against, and thus was born Nicholas Brentwood.

Despite Bow Street’s efforts, most Londoners were opposed to the development of an organized police force. The English tradition of local government was deeply ingrained, and they feared the loss of individual liberty. So, as gallant as the runners were in tracking down criminals, the general public did not always view them in a positive light. Even the nickname given them by the public—Bow Street Runners—was considered derogatory and was a title the officers never used to refer to themselves.

Bow Street eventually gave way to the Metropolitan Police, and by 1839, the runners were completely disbanded.

Interested in further reading? Here are a few of my favorite resources:

Beattie, J. M.
The First English Detectives: The Bow Street Runners and the Policing of London, 1750–1840
. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012.

Cox, David J.
A Certain Share of Low Cunning: A History of the Bow Street Runners, 1792–1839
. New York, London: Routledge, 2012.

Hale, Don.
Legal History: Bow Street Runners, Scotland Yard & Victorian Crime
. Coast & Country, 2013. Kindle edition.

Discussion Questions

1. In
chapter 3
,
Emily Payne
is told by her guardian that she needed to begin building trust with him by keeping her word and being completely honest. Of course we should always speak the truth, but are “little white lies” permissible, especially those that would keep the hearer from becoming hurt?

•  Read Ephesians 4:15, 25 and Zechariah 8:16

•  When was the last time you were tempted to tell a little white lie?

2. In
chapter 4
,
Jenny Brentwood
tells her brother Nicholas that she’s “dandy and grand,” her trademark response when asked how she’s feeling though she’s dying of tuberculosis. What circumstances tempt you to give in to self-pity?

•  Read Philippians 4:8 and Proverbs 17:22

•  Do you know someone who has a great attitude despite life’s challenges? Take the time to write them an encouraging note today.

3. In
chapter 9
,
Wren (Lauren) Hunt
tells Emily, “Only by losing everything could I gain the one thing I would’ve overlooked. Need.” Why would she see need as a gain instead of a detriment?

•  Read Psalm 34:18 and Romans 8:28

•  What tragic circumstance has happened in your life that may be considered a blessing in disguise?

4. In
chapter 11
, when
Nicholas Brentwood
makes a visit to the morgue, he reflects that “God should so bless everyone with a visit to the dead house.” Why in the world would looking at corpses be a blessing?

•  Read Psalm 90:12 and Psalm 39:4–6

•  When is the last time you took a moment to meditate on the brevity of life?