An Honest Heart (31 page)

Oliver leaned back in his chair, fingertips pressed together in a steeple. Baroness Cranston. If he recalled correctly from her debut around five years ago, she had been a pliable, buxom redhead with a pleasant laugh and a sweet smile. “She has no children?”

“None. But Baron Cranston was quite old.”

Oliver tapped his fingers together. “Yes, quite old.” He nodded and sat up straight, lifting his glass high. “Gentlemen, to a season of conquests.”

They joined the toast.

“Speaking of conquests, how goes it with the seamstress?” Doncroft waved the footman over again and took the bottle of brandy from him before shooing him away.

Oliver tried to hide a grimace at Doncroft’s question.

“Do not tell me you are losing the stomach for the seduction of the woman. Or has she turned you down outright?”

More than he hated hearing Caddy Bainbridge disparaged, he despised being teased, especially by Doncroft. “No, of course not. With Edith now out of the picture, I intend to escalate my plans for Miss Bainbridge.”

Two hours later, Oliver climbed the stairs to his room in his parents’ London home. His friends had been quite helpful in rounding out his ideas to close the deal with Caddy. Especially Radclyffe. The man had been a secret romantic all along. Dorcas Buchanan was bringing out the best in him.

Begging and pleading had not helped. Nor had tears. Edith dropped with more force than necessary on the plush seat of the private first-class compartment on the train. Not only was she being banished from London. But after all the trouble Edith had gone through to show Lord Thynne the kind of person her cousin was, he was going to marry her anyway.

At least Kate had to go stay at a home for wayward women until he returned from his holdings in Argentina to prove she could be faithful to him. Edith could take a modicum of pleasure that she wasn’t the only one being punished for Kate’s perfidy.

When her maid opened her mouth to speak, Edith quelled her with a quick glare, and the girl left the compartment to go ride in third class.

The trip home seemed to stretch out forever, but they arrived in Oxford before noon. True to his word, Papa had wired ahead to alert the Wakesdown staff to send a carriage for her. The trunks full of Edith’s gowns, the ones she’d had made in London as well as those made in North Parade, weighed down the back of the carriage and made the ride bumpier than usual.

Halfway to Wakesdown, Edith banged on the roof of the coach with her parasol. It rolled to a stop and one of the footmen opened the door. “Yes, Miss Buchanan?”

“Take me to Miss Bainbridge’s shop.”

He looked down, uncertain. “That is on the other side of Oxford, miss. Are you certain?”

Edith leaned forward, shaking the tip of her parasol in his face. “I am certain that if this carriage does not turn around in five seconds, there will be a driver and a footman without jobs once we return to Wakesdown.”

“Yes, miss.” He closed the door, and about ten seconds later, the carriage made a wide, cumbersome turn and headed the opposite direction.

Edith did not look in her maid’s direction, as she did not want to see the confusion written on the young woman’s face.

If she could not keep her cousin from marrying the viscount, the least she could do was ensure that Oliver did not engage in an affair with her seamstress.

The trip from the west side of Oxford, back through town, and then up to North Parade took almost an hour. By the time the carriage rolled to a stop, Edith found herself wishing she’d gone home and seen to this task tomorrow.

She straightened her skirts as soon as she stepped down to the walkway, feeling a momentary despair at the wrinkled state of the wool organza. But that was only until she saw the handsome giant of a man with light hair standing outside the shop door, staring at it as if trying to will himself to enter.

Edith’s mouth went dry at the sight of him. She’d seen tall men, and she’d seen handsome men—some of the handsomest England had to offer. But she had never seen one built like this one: broad shouldered, lean waisted, and long legged.

Mayhap she would allow Oliver his little dalliance with the seamstress if she could strike one up with this man.

Before she could speak, he entered the shop, a determined set to his square jaw. Edith followed him, her curiosity making her forget why she’d come here in the first place. Why would a man like him be entering a women’s dress shop alone?

Edith’s eyes were still adjusting to the dimmer interior of the store when Cadence Bainbridge emerged from a door behind the counter that ran across the end of the narrow room.

“Dr. Stradbroke, how may I be of—” The seamstress broke off when she saw Edith behind him. “Miss Buchanan. What a pleasure to see you. How may I be of assistance?”

The doctor turned and stepped aside, allowing Edith to sweep past him. She swung him a sultry glance before stepping forward to accept Miss Bainbridge’s greeting.

The bell on the front door jangled again.

“Special delivery for Miss C. Bainbridge.” The messenger, in the train company’s livery, held a letter-size packet aloft.

Caddy stepped forward and extended her hand for the delivery. “I am Miss Bainbridge.”

After she signed his delivery schedule, he handed her the parcel.

She slid it into the pocket of her apron, then started to turn back toward Edith.

“If you please, miss, I’m to wait for a reply.”

Edith swallowed her groan of frustration and shot the handsome doctor another inviting glance. But he wasn’t looking at her. His eyes were fixed on Cadence, watching her long fingers untie the twine that held the packet together.

When she unfolded the exterior parchment, four smaller pieces fell onto the floor.

The shop girl who stood nearby bent to pick them up, then squealed in excitement. “Oh, Miss Bainbridge. Passes to the opening day of the Great Exhibition—and train tickets to London! Whoever is it from?”

“Never you mind—”

But the girl, who could not be any older than Dorcas, sneaked a glance at the letter over Caddy’s arm before the seamstress could hide it.

“Mr. Oliver Carmichael.” The shop girl danced around with the passes and tickets. “Opening day of the Exhibition.” She stopped. “You will get to see the queen in person!”

The other women in the store crowded around the shop girl.

Edith thought she might be ill. Oliver had sent passes—which were not easy to come by—and train tickets to Cadence Bainbridge of all people? Why hadn’t he sent them to the woman he was planning to marry?

She stormed out of the shop and flung herself into the carriage. “Take me home!”

Oliver had thrown the gauntlet now. She would return to London and arrive in time to thwart anything he might be planning to do with Miss Bainbridge. She did not know how yet—for Father surely would not be happy to see her show up on the doorstep of his house before he decided to lift his banishment. But she would do it. Somehow.

Neal closed his eyes, waiting for a shattering sound when Miss Buchanan slammed the front door. But instead of the windows breaking, he felt as if shards of glass had pierced his heart.

Why would Caddy even consider him as a suitor when she had the only son of a baron courting her? He forced his eyes open, ready to leave, but the messenger blocked his exit.

“Phyllis, that is quite enough, thank you.” Caddy held out her hand, palm up, her expression stern.

The shop girl stopped dancing around and placed the passes and tickets in Caddy’s hand.

Finally, Caddy turned to face Neal. “I—”

But whatever it was, she could not bring herself to say it. She stalked from the shop back into the workroom.

He should leave, and he should do it now while she was gone. But the messenger still stood in front of the door, and Neal’s riding boots seemed to have grown roots into the floor.

Several long minutes later, after Phyllis had returned to cutting fabric and the other customers to picking out ribbons and buttons, Caddy returned, drawing everyone’s gazes. Behind the counter, she pulled out sealing wax and folded a new note around Mr. Carmichael’s and the passes and tickets. She made sure everything was held within the parchment before sealing it and then tying it up with twine.

She handed the packet back to the messenger along with a coin. “Please see this is delivered to Mr. Carmichael in London by the next train. No response is necessary.”

An ember of hope flickered to life in Neal’s chest. He could not have mistaken that for anything other than Caddy turning down Mr. Carmichael’s generous gift. And she wouldn’t have done that unless . . .

She gave him a tight-lipped nod, then spun on her heel and returned to the workroom, closing the door between them.

Well. That hadn’t been quite the response he’d hoped for. But she had acknowledged his presence. That was better than yesterday and the day before, when she’d seen him in the street and looked right past him.

He sighed, then looked down at a feather-light touch on his sleeve. Small, precocious Nan stood there looking up at him. With a crook of her finger, she motioned for him to lean over. He crouched, balancing himself with one knee on the floor. “Yes, Nan?”

She leaned forward until she was almost cross-eyed keeping eye contact with him. “Do not give up, Dr. Stradbroke. Miss Caddy might be angry at you right now, but I know she misses you. I’ve seen her staring out the windows at the apothecary shop or whenever she thinks you might go by on the street.”

The ember of hope ignited into a flame at the girl’s words. “Thank you, Nan.”

“She really does want to go to the opening of the Exhibition. She just doesn’t like that Carmichael fellow, and I don’t either.” Nan nodded, grinned, then skipped away to continue sweeping the floors.

Caddy wanted to go to the opening of the Great Exhibition. Neal was in a position to get her a pass—several, in fact—if he acted quickly. But would Caddy accept the peace offering, or would she turn him down as unceremoniously as she had Mr. Carmichael?

Only one way to find out.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-
F
OUR

N
eal had been in London for a week after taking Mrs. Longrieve and Ivy to Portsmouth. He’d come back for three days and then left again. And now, more than a week after that awful scene he’d witnessed when she’d received the delivery from Oliver Carmichael, he was still gone.

Caddy punched her pillow and tried to get comfortable. But ever since she’d told him about Alastair, she’d been unable to sleep, not knowing if there was any chance that they could find happiness together.

She climbed out of bed and sat in the chair beside her window. Across the street, the windows of Neal’s apartment were dark, as they’d been the past several evenings. Of course, if he’d been home, a lighted window this late at night would have meant something bad had happened somewhere for the doctor to be awake.

Caddy turned her eyes up to the star-strewn sky. As a child, when she couldn’t sleep, the advice her father had given her was to pray. For letting anxiety or worry needle her until she could not sleep kept God from being able to do His work. Or so Father had said.

“Gracious God in heaven,” Caddy whispered, her breath fogging the window, “I miss him.” Now who wasn’t being completely honest? “I love him. I want to be with him. But how can I when he can’t trust me? The only thing I can think is that his secret is something that will hurt me deeply. Therefore, I need Your help. Whatever it is, whatever secret he is keeping, change my heart, Lord, to be able to accept the truth, no matter what it is.” She went on to pray for her mother and her continued recovery from bronchitis, for Mary, Phyllis, and the apprentices. “And please watch over Neal, dear Lord. No matter where he is, let him be safe and know that he is loved. Amen.”

Shivering, Caddy climbed back into the bed and drifted almost immediately to sleep.

The next several days were busy, finishing orders for women who hadn’t canceled their requests for gowns to wear to the opening of the Great Exhibition. With each stitch, Caddy tried to convince herself she was not jealous. She’d held two passes in her hands. It would have been so easy to accept them and go, to tell herself that it meant nothing.