Undone by His Kiss (2 page)

She nearly floated up the narrow stairwell to find the office space and meeting room exactly as she’d remembered when she signed the lease two days past. The landlord must have been in, as a packet of documents was left on a side table along with a vase full of fiddleheads. How very pleasant and thoughtful.

Making haste to the sink in the kitchen area, she refilled the vase and strode to one of the windows overlooking the busy street below. Carriages rushed past on their way to a plethora of appointments, couples strolled on the sidewalks, some carrying packages and other’s meant for a leisurely day out. A few older gentlemen congregated on the corner, deep in conversation.

This is what independence felt like. She breathed in deep and held the emotion tight inside. This represented the freedom for which her soul yearned and heart ached. Later, when she returned home, she would be reminded of every reason she needed the league to survive, but for now when she could stand in
her
office, every decision in
her
command, she couldn’t imagine a better feeling in the world.

Tears filled her eyes with sentimental relief. She’d done it…accomplished independence and a true purpose to her days. And no one, no man, would ever take it away from her.

Chapter 2

Jasper surveyed the pedestrian traffic through the large window at the front of the newly opened office space. “Why doesn’t someone come in?” The question was laced with barely contained impatience, his eyes flicking left and right as people bustled by without a glance in his direction.

Randolph Beaufort, friend and business associate, sat at his desk across the room, his hands folded behind his head and feet propped atop the marble as if he hadn’t a care. “I suppose it will take a little time for our business to become popular. Not to worry. We only opened this morning.”

Jasper turned, intent on finding something to do rather than watch people
not
entering. “It may be a good time for us to review the information I’ve gathered for referral.” He settled behind his desk, adjusted his inkwell and blotter, and opened the top drawer to remove a long file full of papers and notations. “Mr. Nasmyth has contacted me concerning his ideas for a steam hammer. If he manages to perfect the design, his invention could revolutionize factory work.” He withdrew a folder paper from the portfolio and opened its contents flat on the desktop. “He’d like us to secure investors so he might continue his progress with the project.”

“Sounds like a smart chap, despite he’s from Scotland.” Randolph let loose a chuckle before straightening in his seat and adjusting his silk waistcoat. A very fine dresser, he smoothed his palm down each side of the tri-color embroidery embellishment and then matched eyes with Jasper across the room.

“Were we to have a client…” Jasper cleared his voice and restarted. “When we have clients, I believe Nasmyth’s design should be our strongest suggestion. He will need further collateral to fund his project and the outcome for all involved would equal wealth once he succeeds. I haven’t believed as vehemently in any invention since the mousetrap.”

“Clever, the way we snapped that idea up and walked away with the cheese.” Randolph laughed at his joke and then both men slue their eyes to the front where a gentleman paused to read the lettering on the window glass.

Jasper held his breath, willing the man to enter, yet after a tormenting moment, the passerby continued down Bond Street in no particular hurry.

“It will take time.” Randolph’s attempt to soothe his disappointment did little aside from reassure he was a loyal comrade.

“It’s the waiting, I suppose, that has me at sixes and sevens.”

“Well, it’s barely two o’clock. Are you up for a little nuncheon before we continue our business pursuits?” Randolph stood and snatched his hat from the corner of the desk.

“We may as well.” Jasper agreed, although his tone sounded cross as crabs. “I’m hungry and a full bread-basket always improves the day.” He patted his stomach to underscore the sentiment and made for the door.

Emily tapped her wooden gavel gently against the escritoire situated at the center of the sitting room in the town house she shared with her mother. She’d moved the furniture and arranged an assortment of chairs, then requested refreshments from the housekeeper. A female needed to be independent in many ways, not just the obvious. It hadn’t been too difficult to drag the writing desk forward and she’d only needed to stop twice to tug at her sleeves and adjust her bodice, the encumbrance of her gown an additional challenge to the feat.

“I call the League of Virtuous Equality to order.” She tapped her gavel a second time and donned a wide smile. “I’ve exciting news, ladies.” Her eyes scanned the eight members seated in a horseshoe around the desk. “I’ve secured a verified meeting place for our organization. An office where we can enroll new participants, pursue our goals, and further exercise independence without interference from males. As our core belief states, equality in all things.” Saying the words aloud ignited a delicious flutter of excitement to the announcement and she straightened her posture with pride.

The room erupted in reaction. Gasps intermingled with jovial comments, while questions and demands for details were voiced.

“Our new address…” Emily paused to regain control of the room, although another fulsome smile threatened to surface. “Our new address is located on upper Bond Street at the heart of the business sector. Not only will the league be easily accessible, but we’ll be highly visible. A shining example to all women and proof life extends far beyond the social expectation to marry and produce children.”

“My heavens, Emily, an office in such prime position must demand an exorbitant rent. Our dues are less than a trifling and meant to compensate for tea leaves. However will the league survive?” Margery Danford, the oldest of the ladies at twenty-eight, worried about finances more than any other member. The history she’d shared when joining their league related a modest upbringing with few advantages or choices for that matter. Her heart’s desire was to own a hat shop where she could sell her creative designs and why shouldn’t her dream be realized?

“Money, no matter it poses a distasteful subject, should not be of concern. I’ve been honest with each of you.” She slid her gaze from one woman to the next. “Finances need never be a debate.” Emily would by no means confess her mother and she possessed coin to spare. She flicked a glance downward, her butter-yellow gown unpretentious and serviceable more than the cut of fashion. Money served as a tool for all the right reasons and not something to be wasted on indulgences.

“Perhaps we should take a collection or solicit donations,” Thomasina Gordon piped up, forever the problem solver and thinker of their group.

“Asking for donations undermines our main purpose of establishing independence and would only prove to
men
—” Emily intoned the word to emphasize her odious opinion “—that women are forever dependent upon their services.”

“Some services are necessary, I would think.” Cynthia Maddox suppressed a giggle given the forbidden topic.

“Ladies.” Emily’s fingers itched to tap her gavel. “Let’s not detract from our purpose today. Having a legitimate meeting place establishes our league as a force within the social order. It ensures our cause, to motivate women in pursuit of virtuous equality free of societal pressure and instead, promotes the belief that females have as much decision in their future as any male in London.”

“Or beyond.” Forever dreaming, Portia Edmonstone voiced the words and shared a brilliant smile.

Portia yearned to travel the world, unencumbered by a chaperone or escort. Her parents treated her as if she was daft and her sisters were all settled with two or three babes, making her view of the future appear all the more outlandish. Portia’s life’s hurtle was daunting, yet proved more so than anyone else’s in the room, that a league devoted to encouraging independence was a timely and valuable necessity.

“I realize we normally meet twice a week,” Emily continued, imbued by the reality members needed to make excuses for their absence or risk the censure of parents and siblings. “But I propose we come together tomorrow in celebration and exploration. We can gather at the Bond Street office and reaffirm our cause with a toast.”

“You aren’t suggesting liquor?” A few ladies murmured the same concern, although Margery’s question sounded most aghast.

“Of course not, ladies, I shall provide tea, although someday we will need to learn spirits and their distorting effects. Every iota of information is valuable and may provide solutions for someone’s journey toward independence.”

Rapid applause circulated the room, a plethora of plans taking shape. Emily, encouraged more than she’d been in some while, basked in the reverie. She’d return the meeting to order in a few minutes. Thomasina had prepared a presentation on banking to share this afternoon. Her father forever fell asleep with his ledgers open and she’d gleaned extensive knowledge by peering over his somnolent form. These scraps of information reclaimed from the male world offered their league empowerment.

Matters couldn’t be better. Well, with the exception of her mother of course, but in the meantime Emily would absorb the joy of accomplishing yet another step to progress.

Two hours later, when the ladies had departed and Emily had managed to replace all the furniture, she settled in an overstuffed chair near the fire, a cup of chamomile tea in hand, and reviewed the day with secret delight. Having a meeting place for the league would benefit everyone, but Emily most of all.

It had nothing to do with the sitting room upheaval twice a week. She didn’t mind the work, despite Mary, the housekeeper, reprimanded her sternly. She begrudgingly consented to a blow at equality that gentlemen possessed natural strength in their physique, where lifting a rug or repositioning a desk required minimal effort.

Women were strong in other ways.
More important ways
. Emotionally, indeed. Males, often regaled as the backbone of society, were lacking in strength of heart and moral fiber. She lived with daily proof of the supposition.

Financial considerations presented no worries either. Her father had left them with deep wealth though she had little care for the money. Oh it served a purpose, sending her to the finest schools and affording the comfortable town house she called home, yet Emily would never feel beholden. The black line of a bank register had little to do with the ease of one’s heart. She enjoyed spending the funds left by her father for no other reason than the knowledge she worked toward good with the distasteful reminder of his existence.

Startled by footsteps in the hall, she shook the contemplation away and turned to see her mother enter.

“Has everyone gone?” Bianca Shaw hesitated within the doorframe, as if waiting for Emily to confirm what she likely observed from her bedroom window upstairs.

“Yes.” Emily produced a smile. “The league left over an hour ago. Come. Would you like some tea? I can ring for Mary to bring us a fresh pot.” She hemmed her lower lip waiting for her mother’s decision.

“That sounds fine.” Bianca spoke without inflection.

Doing as she suggested, Emily watched her mother settle in the chair closest to the hearth and lace her fingers in her lap, her posture perfect. “You look lovely. Is that a new gown?” It was foolish prattle, really. Bianca rarely left the house and when she was forced to do so, it was not for a trip to the dressmaker.

“One never knows who might come to call. A lady must always look her loveliest.” Her mother’s umbrageous tone secured Emily wouldn’t disagree.

“Yes, of course.” If only one could erase the depth of sadness in her mother’s eyes or fine creases of perpetual worry marring her skin.

Mary entered with the tea kettle and a fresh tray of scones, the distraction provoking a sigh of relief. Some subjects were better not discussed. A prickling of unease warned Mother wasn’t in a reasonable mood. “Are you hungry?” Emily nudged the plate with her fingertip. “Apricot is your favorite.”

“No, thank you.” Her mother touched the button at the neck of her gown. “Your father always complimented my figure. I wouldn’t wish to gain an ounce by indulging in sweets.”

Cautious of how to proceed, Emily adopted a gentler tone and matched her mother’s eyes. “But he’s gone now.”

Bianca rose from the chair and walked to the front window, a favorite location in the house. Eventually, she broke the long-drawn silence. “Your league is filled with such pretty girls. It’s a pity no one holds an interest in falling in love. What kind of woman wouldn’t want to be adored by a man? It’s wrong to portray men as the enemy. It disrupts the natural order of things. Marrying well is every woman’s purpose.”

So she’d pricked her mother’s disposition and now she’d pay the cost. Emily struggled to keep emotion at bay despite her intellect rebelled at each word. “Not at all. We’re a league of equality. We wish to experience the same opportunities offered to gentlemen, not to exclude them from our lives. Marriage is certainly an option if it becomes the lady’s choice, not obligation or duty.” She didn’t add she needed a man to meddle in her life the same way a mouse needed a cat. “You’ve persisted with this conversation before, as if the answers will change when I’ve experienced some revelation or come to my senses.” Her mother had never voiced these accusations, but Emily believed them true. She perceived it in every disappointed glance or censorious word. Rising from the chair to meet her mother eye to eye, she took a few steps before stalling with hesitation and her mother pounced on the pause to reprimand her further.

“I once considered your attitude immaturity more than confusion, but it’s been years now and you haven’t altered your thinking. You believe you understand everything concerning relationships, but the knowledge you protect so close to your heart would fill a thimble.”

The words were spoken in such a vehement tone Emily didn’t dare contradict them, still the sting of fresh tears burned the corners of her eyes and she turned toward the fire, away from her mother’s condescension.