To Catch a Rake (7 page)

“So you see,” Meta said, “you were quite wrong to believe Lily’s name appeared in this man’s book.”

His brow smoothed as he returned to his seat. “The note provides little explanation and is rather terse.”

“It provides the necessary information, surely. Now that you understand this whole nonsense is just a mix-up, please speak to Lily again.”

“Lynette Bearsham? That name is fictional, don’t you agree? I’m acquainted with many of our aristocracy, and I am not aware of a family named Bearsham. It seems this Mr. Drexel cannot be relied upon to tell the truth.”

“James, his field guide is fictional, so the names are fictional too.” She considered James to be one of the most intelligent of men of her acquaintance. However, the fact that the field guide was fictional seemed to be irrelevant to him. It didn’t surprise her, since many gentlemen were blind when it came to the subject of females and romance.

“I don’t understand why this man went to the trouble of writing this note. I need to know more about this so-called gentleman. What is your evaluation of his character, his manners? What if word got out that I sought his assistance?” His eyes grew wide again.

She finally realized his obvious fear that any whiff of scandal would harm his future appointment. “I can assure you, no personal confidences were revealed. Lily has told me very little about your conversation. I merely suggested that Mr. Drexel might help a young couple by clarifying an unfortunate situation he caused. The man is a gentleman, although perhaps not a normal one. His manners can turn dreadfully bearlike, and you’re correct, his conversation can turn a little terse in seconds. Otherwise, I was pleasantly surprised. He is not at all like a scoundrel who would pen a book like the field guide. Behind his bluster is a gentleman who does care about setting the situation to rights for the sake of his reputation, if nothing else. He is an engineer, working on Mr. Marc Brunel’s Thames Tunnel. Personally, I believe his brevity is because he has taken on too much work for himself and shoulders serious responsibilities.”

“The Tunnel!” James smiled, and for the first time in their interview, he seemed to relax. “I know one of the lawyers overseeing the endeavor, and I do so admire Mr. Brunel. He is our greatest engineer, although it would not suit to say that in front of some members of my club, since he is a Frenchman. Still, his tunnel is important, and we all eagerly anticipate news of the latest progress.”

“I’m delighted to hear that. Perhaps now you will take Mr. Drexel as a man of his word and resume your attentions to Lily.”

He glanced at the door, presumably in the direction of his mother. “I’m sorry, Meta. While I do admire Mr. Brunel, I have never heard of this Mr. Drexel. My future is too important to rely upon the word of—now here I must disagree with you—the word of a man who could pen that book, a true rogue.”

“But here is your chance to correct your mistake and prove your independence to your mother.”

“There is another reason you are unaware of. If I did as you ask, there is every chance she would deny me my living. I’d be forced to live like a pauper. No, Meta, I understand you mean well. I just do not see a pathway to happiness that will please everyone. I cannot help but be conflicted.” He hung his head slightly, revealing his thinning hair on top. “I know you must hate me. Indeed, the whole family must hate me. I dare not even imagine what Lily must think of me. Instead, I must believe a girl with her beauty and sweet nature will undoubtedly find a husband worthy of her.”

She tried to lighten his mood. “Together you’d be happy paupers. Besides, a respectable living is a moot point. Lily’s fortune is sufficient for two responsible adults to live on. Therefore, when you wed, you will have a living adequate for any lawyer with higher aspirations.”

He paused. “I’m glad to hear that, but it’s not just the living. This perceived scandal in her past might harm my future ambitions. Chief justices, judges, and Polite Society are not so forgiving as you would imagine.”

“Seems to me a career is a small price to pay to marry the woman you love. Surely if your advancement fails due to some misconception about Lily’s reputation, there are other professions available?” For the first time, she became aware of James’s stubbornness and unsure if he was indeed worthy of her sister. He seemed to value ambition over love. But she knew Lily loved him, loved him enough to be terribly hurt by this whole affair. “What can I do to change your mind?”

He gave her a direct stare, his eyes wide. “I don’t know…”

His intransigence forced her to speak without reserve. “If you resolve to abandon your engagement, your actions may reinforce society’s belief that the initials are Lily’s. She’d be wrongfully judged by the public. She was eighteen at the time of the first publication. Eighteen! If you do love her, how could you put her reputation in jeopardy like that?”

He jumped to his feet, horror crossing his features. “I-I-I had not considered that.”

Meta waited for a reply, but he just stood there. “Perhaps if this Mr. Drexel paid a call and explained the situation, you’d gain confidence that the scandal you believe might happen in the future can be avoided.”

“If only that were true.” He shook his head, sighed, and collapsed onto his chair. “But I don’t see how.”

“You must give Mr. Drexel a chance to explain the situation. Maybe there are facts we are unaware of, like only a few copies were printed.”

“No, no, they were all laughing about it at my club, you understand.”

“Please think of how happy you both will be together with this misunderstanding put behind you.”

They exchanged heartfelt smiles.

“Please give my idea a chance,” Meta said. “I will go and speak with him again. Maybe together, and with Mr. Drexel’s assistance, we can find a way to change society’s perception and find our way out of this unfortunate muddle.”

* * *

A day later, Meta sat in her carriage, her palms damp, all because she journeyed to the south side of the Thames to meet George Drexel again. This time she understood his attractiveness to females, so she should easily be able to steel herself from his charms or at the very least ignore her own response.

Before she reached the Thames Tunnel site, she glanced out the window at the crowded streets and mulled over the best method to persuade him to visit James in person. She could plead, demand, attempt tears, ask kindly, or bribe. Perhaps, “Mr. Drexel, I must insist you consider the feelings of…” No, that plea would fail. Meta knew any mention of
feelings
would bring out the appearance of the bear. Then the angry beast would refuse to join her in convincing James that Lily’s name was not in the field guide or help devise a plan to counter the public’s erroneous perception, such as removing the initials from the book entirely. If he refused to join her, it would end her last hope to rob James of his excuse to call off his engagement. How about, “Mr. Drexel, since you are a gentleman…” No, she doubted that tactic would work either, since he impressed her as a man who might achieve a certain thrill from considering himself
not
a gentleman, a most perverse individual.

She had plenty of time to formulate her request in a manner Mr. Drexel could not possibly refuse, since it took her over an hour to cross the Thames. This wait was not news to her, but it brought into focus the advantages of a low-cost tunnel to travel to the south side of the river.

Once she reached the tunnel site in Rotherhithe, she observed a large, round brick pit, similar to the model she had observed in Mr. Drexel’s rooms. The spectacular iron-ringed pit impressed her immediately, since it was much larger than she had imagined. She watched sixty or so men hard at work: bricklayers, ironworkers, men hauling bags slung over their shoulders, and at least twenty men surrounding a structure that must be the twelve frames Mr. Drexel had described. The sounds of hammers, whistles, and shouts filled the air around them. Awed by the sight before her, and thankful that the day turned out to be a warm, sunny one, she stood and watched the workers for at least twenty minutes.

During this time, she noticed Mr. Drexel amongst the gentlemen directing the men who levered one of the twelve frames of the great shield into place. She had failed to recognize him at first, because he dressed like one of the workmen. His sleeves were rolled up, his waistcoat unbuttoned, his hat removed, and his white shirt quite stained with soot.

The first time she saw him standing in his drawing room, his sturdy figure reminded her of a well-dressed, upside-down pile of coal: a dark figure wider on top and narrower in the hips. But here with his sleeves rolled up, forcibly shouting instructions, he resembled a man who took charge of his world. Her heartbeat raced again, and she enjoyed watching him.

Only when he looked up at the crowd, holding his hand up to shield his eyes from the sun and glancing in her direction, did she realize he must have seen her. The expression on his face was unreadable; however, he neither smiled nor waved. He said something to the man next to him and then started for the pit’s staircase.

Deciding his lack of acknowledgment meant he was displeased with her presence and not desiring a full dressing-down in public because she interrupted his work, she fled from the approaching bear and started back to her carriage. She’d postpone her request to a more suitable time and give him fair warning of her arrival. The second she turned the corner on Lilypond Street, she heard her name called. She ignored it and quickened her pace.

“Mrs. Russell!”

She heard the tone of the angry bear. Should she turn to face him or run away?

“Madam, please stop.”

Any lady of good manners could not resist the power of the word “please.” She stopped and steeled herself for a possible confrontation.

He reached her in several long strides, then glared down at her.

Luckily, she wore her largest poke bonnet. She tilted the angle of her head slightly downward, so she could respond without catching sight of the bear’s snarl on his lips. “I am so sorry—I didn’t mean to interrupt your work. I mean, you are always busy. Please excuse me, I…” She held her breath.

He laughed. “Bear got your tongue?”

She glanced up to his face and found him grinning broadly, his dark eyes gleaming.

He extended his arm. “Come, come, I want to show you the tunnel.”

She exhaled and relaxed. If she did have any fears about her reception, she certainly was not going to reveal them now. She took a deep breath, focused on the compliment of his desire to show her the tunnel, and took his offered arm.

He bent down sideways to catch her eye, winked, and gave her a smile.

She couldn’t help but smile in return.

Together they headed back to the edge of the pit and the tunnel entrance.

Thankfully, he carried on the conversation with nothing more from her than a general comment offered now and then. He spoke with more eloquence than she expected. With patience, he described every feature in great detail, but only after she conceded an interest in the subject. So she did not become bored with a long recital of features that failed to interest her, like engines and power. He explained the carriage entrance and pathways where people would enter the tunnel in a manner that she could easily imagine. Without doubt he believed this tunnel would spur England on to a glorious future.

After the first ten minutes of his tour, her nerves were fully restored, and she realized her error in fearing a dressing-down. In fact, he was so amiable, she might bring up the subject of paying a call on James after all.

“Providential, madam, that you have visited the site today, since it spares me a journey to Broadsham House.” By then they had reached a storage area behind the brick engine house in front of a pile of bricks. Since the bricks were the only place available to sit, he removed a handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket and carefully placed it on the pile.

She recognized the well-practiced gallant and supposed any successful seducer must possess that quality in abundance, as well as natural charm. Her cheeks began to warm, so she looked up at the sun, planning to use that as an excuse if he noticed her blush.

“Your brother, Fitzy—a great gun you have there. The young man reminds me of myself when younger, a fresh and eager learner, anxious for success just around the corner in five years or so.”

Pleased by the compliment, she faced him squarely. “Ah, I do see the similarities. Fitzy could speak of nothing else other than the amazing Drexels after our visit. I wish to thank you and your father for your generous attentions to him.”

“Your brother mentioned something about engineering drawings to my father. We have use for a young man to take some of the drafting burden off of me. He will even get some time down in the pit, delivering and copying the latest plans. We will of course pay him for his help. It won’t be much, but he’ll gain valuable experience—skills that might come in handy when he studies to become a member of the Royal Academy. Would you consider allowing him to assist us?”

She jumped to her feet. Nothing could make her happier than for Fitzy to leave the isolation of his old schoolroom to join these men actively toiling here. He’d gain a valuable lesson about the effort needed to create a major achievement. “Yes, I will put the matter before him. I really don’t see any reason he should refuse…”

She spontaneously reached to shake his hand in a gesture of thanks. Once holding on to his palm, she did not let go. Instinctively, she examined it closely. When they had first met, she noticed his palm was unusually large. Now she noticed the strength visible in every sinew of his fingers, his wrist, and his lower arm. All this power lying just underneath a covering of tanned skin marked with a few healed cuts. A canopy of dark hair shadowed his forearm and traveled up to become a visible shadow under his white linen shirt. More heat stole up from under her collar and warmed her face.

“Do you need a hand, madam?” He gave a low chuckle.

She instantly dropped his palm. “I have never seen a gentleman’s hand that dirty.”