A Holiday by Gaslight Page 4

  Miss Appersett’s eyes flew to his, a hint of accusation in her gaze. And something else, too. Some flash of emotion he couldn’t interpret.

  His heart gave a queer double-thump. “Besides, beauty wasn’t my only requirement.”

  “No? What other reason could you have had for approaching my father?”

  He shrugged. “I suppose I thought I could make you happy. Apparently, I was wrong.”

  A shadow of vulnerability passed over Miss Appersett’s face. For the barest moment, she looked far younger than the self-possessed lady he’d lately squired about town. “If I hadn’t ended our courtship, would you have done?” she asked.

  A damnably awkward question. Especially when he’d already agreed that they didn’t suit. He ran his hand over the back of his neck. “Perhaps. Eventually. I don’t know.”

  “You can’t have been very comfortable.”

  “Is courtship meant to be comfortable in your world?”

  Any response Miss Appersett might have given was arrested by a firm rap on the office door. It shook the doorframe and rattled the glass, causing them to jump away from each other as if they’d been caught in the midst of committing a crime.

  Walter Murray popped his ginger head into the room. “Forgive the interruption. The carriage has arrived. Shall I have the driver wait?”

  Ned silently cursed his friend’s bad timing. “We’ll be right down.”

  Walter withdrew, leaving the door open behind him. A not-so-subtle hint that Ned must observe the proprieties. As if he needed reminding. Miss Appersett’s visit already verged on the scandalous. It was going to be a pretty trick to bundle her into the hansom and send her back to Green Street without arousing any more attention.

  She seemed to read his mind. “It was unwise of me to come here.”

  “Yes. And, if I may add, very unlike you, Miss Appersett.”

  Her expression cooled. “And may I add, Mr. Sharpe, that you don’t know me at all.”

  He inclined his head in silent acknowledgment. An excruciatingly civil gesture that was precariously close to mockery. “Indeed, ma’am.” He held the door open for her, wide enough to accommodate her skirts.

  But Miss Appersett made no move to exit. She merely stood there, her hands clutched in front of her and her bosom rising and falling on an agitated breath. Twin spots of color rose high in her cheeks. She looked rather magnificent. “In answer to your question,” she said, “I don’t know if courtship is comfortable in my world or anywhere. The truth is, you’re the first gentleman who’s ever asked leave to court me.”

  Ned’s hand fell from the door. He couldn’t have been more surprised if she’d hauled off and slapped him across the face.

  Was it possible? Could it be true?

  He cast his mind back to his first meeting with Sir William. Ned had called on him in Green Street. Had asked leave to court his eldest daughter. All the while, painfully aware that he was not quite one of them. Not quite good enough.

  “My daughters have many admirers, Mr. Sharpe,” Sir William had said.

  And yet…

  He’d never explicitly stated that there were rivals for Miss Appersett’s hand. He’d implied it, of course. Had made Ned feel he must compete. Must prove himself better than all the rest. Indeed, it was after that first meeting with Sir William that Ned had purchased that damned etiquette manual.

  “No one?” Ned asked her. “In your entire three-and-twenty years? I find that hard to believe.”

  “Believe what you will,” she said. And then: “I have no dowry, sir.”

  “I’m aware,” he said. She made no reply. A long silence hung between them, prompting him to say, somewhat indecorously, “I understand that your father lost it on speculation.”

  Miss Appersett flinched. “Is that what he told you?”

  “It isn’t true?”

  “Not precisely.” She hesitated. “If you must know, my father used my dowry to have Appersett House fitted for gas.”

  Ned blinked. “He what?”

  Her blush deepened. “It was once a showplace. One of the finest estates in Derbyshire. My father means to make it so again.”

  “At the cost of his daughters’ dowries?”

  “No,” Miss Appersett said. “Just mine.”

  Sophie allowed Mr. Sharpe to escort her from his office and back down the stairs. He said nothing to her. Not a grunt of acknowledgment when she thanked him for holding the door. Not a murmur of warning when she encountered an uneven step (though his hand did tighten on her elbow to guide her over it). Indeed, shortly after her disclosure about her dowry, he’d withdrawn behind his familiar wall of implacable silence.

  Perhaps she’d confided too much? Or perhaps he was merely irritated that she’d kept him from his dinner engagement. Her visit had absorbed far more of his time than the five minutes he’d marked with his pocket watch.

  By the time they emerged from the building, the sky had darkened and the fog had rolled in off the river. The glow of the gas lamps illuminated the street. A carriage awaited her there. But it was not a hansom cab or a brougham. It was a glossy black four-wheeler hitched to a team of matched bays.

  She turned to Mr. Sharpe, a question in her eyes.

  “It’s my carriage,” he said in an odd, flat voice. “Murray must have summoned it.”

  “Why ever would he do that?”

  “Because he’s meddling in things that don’t concern him.” Mr. Sharpe’s face settled into an expression of grim resolve. He stepped forward, his hand still at her elbow. “Come. We shouldn’t linger.”

  The footman on the box moved to descend, but Mr. Sharpe motioned for him to remain where he was. He opened the carriage door himself and set down the steps.

  The coachman called out to him. “To Cheapside, Mr. Sharpe? By way of Green Street?”

  Sophie stole a curious glance at Mr. Sharpe’s face. Cheapside? Was that the location of his dinner party?

  “Straight to Green Street, John.” Mr. Sharpe assisted her into the carriage. “You can come back for me afterward.”

  “It’s nearly quarter past, sir.”

  Mr. Sharpe grimaced. “Is it?” He checked his pocket watch. “Blast.”

  Sophie’s cheeks warmed at his language.

  He caught her gaze in the interior of the carriage. It was dimly lit by two softly flickering carriage lamps. “Miss Appersett, I’m at risk of being unforgivably late to an engagement. If you wouldn’t mind—”

  “Of course not,” she said. “You’re already late enough on my account.”

  He nodded once and, after a final word to the coachman, vaulted into the carriage and shut the door behind him.

  Sophie moved her skirts out of the way as he took a seat across from her. The carriage rumbled forward, to Green Street presumably.

  “Your parents will be expecting you?” he asked.

  She shook her head. Mama and Papa didn’t expect her home until nearer to midnight. “They believe I’m visiting Lady Dawlish.”

  “I see. And is Lady Dawlish aware of your deception?”

  “I shouldn’t think so. Her brother is lately returned from India. There’s a reception for him tonight. A very large reception. My absence will hardly be remarked.”

  “You didn’t wish to attend?”

  “Not particularly.” Sophie smoothed her skirts. “What about you?”

  “What about me?”

  “Your dinner engagement. Is it a formal party? Is that why you’re so concerned with being late?”

  He fell silent for several seconds. “It’s a dinner party at my parent’s house,” he said at last.

  She looked at him, bewildered. “In Cheapside?”

  He gave a terse nod.

  “But I thought your parents had retired to the country? Kent or Essex or somewhere.”

>   “They have a house in Kent, it’s true. They mean to retire there someday. Until then…” He shrugged.

  Her sense of confusion only deepened. Mr. Sharpe had never mentioned his parents. Not directly, at any rate. She knew they were in trade. It was how they’d made their fortune. But those days were long past, surely? Papa had said something to that effect. Something about how he and Mama would never have to suffer the indignity of dealing with Mr. Sharpe’s uncouth relations. “I’m sorry, but are you saying that your parents are presently living here? In London?”

  “They have apartments above their draper’s shop.”

  “And you never thought to mention that fact?”

  He leaned back in his seat, stretching his legs out before him. “To you? Why should I have?”

  “Because you were courting me. Presumably, if things had progressed, I would have been obliged to meet your parents.”

  “Would you have wanted to?”

  “Naturally. And it needn’t have waited. I would have been happy to meet them from the very first.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Did I ever give you reason to doubt it?”

  Another long pause. And then: “Perhaps you’re right, Miss Appersett. Perhaps I don’t know you at all.”

  “No, indeed,” she said with some asperity. “You appear to be laboring under a misapprehension about my character.”

  “Which is?”

  “That I’m a shallow, self-centered creature, too full of my own importance to see past the end of my nose.”

  “I assure you, ma’am, such thoughts never crossed my mind.”

  “Then why did you never talk to me?” She searched his face, what little she could see of it in the weak candlelight cast from the carriage lamps. “You’re not ashamed of your origins, are you?”

  He snorted. “Hardly. Just because I don’t see fit to bandy my lack of pedigree about in the streets—”

  “Confiding in me is a far way from the streets, Mr. Sharpe.”

  “Is that what you want from me, Miss Appersett? My confidences?”

  “I’d like us to be candid with each other. To make an effort to understand one another.” Her self-assuredness faltered. “Unless you truly don’t wish to renew your addresses to me. In which case—”

  “Candor,” he repeated. “Very well.” He folded his arms, his face growing solemn, as if he were contemplating his words with a greater than usual degree of care. “You asked me earlier why it was that I wished to court you. The answer I gave you was incomplete.”

  “You said it was because you thought me a beautiful creature.”

  “I did. But there are many beautiful ladies in London. I’ve never wished to court any of them before. With you, however, there was something different.”

  Sophie waited for him to explain, expecting she knew not what. Was it her intelligence that had appealed to him? Her grace and charm?

  “I believe it was your dress that first caught my eye,” he said.

  She blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

  “The gown you were wearing. A printed muslin, if I remember.”

  She knew the dress of which he spoke only too well. Her voice turned a trifle defensive. “What about it?”

  “It was worn and faded and, like your chip bonnet, very obviously made over to look like new.”

  A mortified blush rose hot in her cheeks. “And that’s why you asked leave to court me? Because I looked an absolute shag-rag?”

  “You misunderstand me. You didn’t look shabby at all. You were neat as a pin. And you stood there, on the promenade, so poised—so very regal—that you might have been one of the royal party.”

  Sophie didn’t know what to say. Surely he must be teasing her? The royal party indeed. “Nonsense,” she scoffed. “Mrs. Carstairs was dressed far better than I.”

  “And you shone her down.”

  Her face burned. Was he trying to put her out of countenance? “I doubt you even remember what I was wearing. How could you? It was months ago, long before we were courting.”

  “I’m the son of a draper, Miss Appersett. And a part owner of three cotton mills. Do you think I wouldn’t recognized faded fabric?”

  She bent her head, feeling more disappointed than she’d imagined possible. “That’s the truth of it, then? Why you asked leave to pay your addresses? Because I was so obviously in reduced circumstances?”

  He gave a low growl of frustration. “No. No, that wasn’t it at all.”

  “Then why?”

  “Because it didn’t matter to you. You weren’t cringing with shame. You weren’t putting on airs. You were simply…you. A lady through and through. And one I very much wished to know better.”

  Ned waited for her to say something. Anything. But Miss Appersett merely looked at him. She appeared to be nonplussed. As if his words had taken her completely by surprise. “That’s the truth of it, at any rate,” he grumbled. “Make of it what you will.”

  The carriage clattered along the cobbled street. They must be fairly close to Miss Appersett’s house in Mayfair by now. It wouldn’t be much longer. He could deposit her in Green Street and correct course to Cheapside. His parents were probably waiting dinner for him. It wasn’t like him to be late. And certainly not by more than a quarter of an hour.

  Damn Walter and his interfering!

  What the devil had he thought would happen when he summoned Ned’s personal carriage instead of a hansom? Did he think Ned would feel compelled to renew his addresses to Miss Appersett? That he would invite her to meet his parents? That he would propose?

  No doubt Walter saw her arrival at their offices as a positive occurrence. Ned wasn’t convinced. When she’d broken things off with him, she’d been so sure of herself. So thoroughly decided against him.

  What had prompted her to come to Fleet Street?

  Granted, they didn’t know each other very well—unless one counted the many civilities they’d exchanged during their courtship—but it seemed that such a risk was entirely out of character for Miss Appersett. She’d always been so ladylike. So very proper.

  “Do you have anything you wish to say to me?” he asked. “Now that we’re speaking candidly with one another?”

  She turned her head to look out the window. There was precious little to see in all the fog, save the intermittent glow of the gas lamps. “What would you like to know?”

  “Why the change of heart?”

  “I’ve had a week to think it over. I realized I was too impulsive.”

  “That morning in Hyde Park? It seemed to me that you were being honest.”

  She turned her face from the window. “I was being honest. Just not very wise.”

  “So…not really a change of heart, then.”

  “More like a change of mind.”

  Ned appreciated her honesty, but her words stung all the same. She had no dowry, and therefore no practical choice. Which begged the question: what sort of sapskull would use his eldest daughter’s marriage portion to have gaslight installed?

  It was not that modernizations were uncommon. Far from it. In London, many townhouses featured gas wall sconces and gasoliers. But to have a country estate fitted for gas—especially when that estate was the size and antiquity of Appersett House—seemed absolute folly. Not only was there the expense of the installation, there was also the small matter of where the gas would originate. In London, it was provided by a central gas works. But in rural Derbyshire? Sir William would have had to commission a private gas plant.

  Was it any wonder he needed his daughters to marry into money?

  “What prompted this change of mind?” Ned asked. “Was it your parents?”

  “No. Though they weren’t best pleased with me. My father bellowed until he was red in the face. And my mother, she—” Miss Appersett broke off. Her brow furro
wed, her gloved hands clasped tight in her lap. “You must understand, Mr. Sharpe. Girls in my situation hardly ever marry for love. We haven’t that luxury. We marry for comfort and security.”

  “And to benefit your family.”

  She didn’t deny it. There was no reason to do so. They both knew why her father had permitted him to court her. “If we’re lucky, we come to respect our husbands. To like them, even.”

  “But you don’t like me. As we’ve established.”

  “I don’t know you. Which is why I came today, ill-advised as my visit was. I thought, if we could just talk. If we could just dispense with all of the stifling formality. I thought there was a chance that I’d been mistaken. About us being ill-suited, I mean. After all, I had no way of knowing—” She broke off. “Good heavens. How I’m rambling on.” She turned back to the carriage window. “I promised myself, if we ever met again, I wouldn’t talk so much.”

  “Did you?” He could see her face reflected in the glass, pale and solemn. “I always enjoyed the sound of your voice.”

  “You certainly heard enough of it.”

  The carriage rolled to a halt with a jolt and a clatter of hooves. Ned glanced out the window. It was difficult to make anything out in the fog, but it appeared that John Coachman had taken them to the mews. A discreet and sensible fellow. Ned wouldn’t have credited it.

  “Is this all right?” he asked.

  She nodded. “There’s a gate at the end of the garden.”

  The carriage rocked as the footman clambered down from the box. A second later, he was at the door. Ned heard him clear his throat.

  “Well, I suppose this is goodbye,” Miss Appersett said. “Unless…”

  Unless. There was a wealth of meaning in the word. It was chance and opportunity, risk and possible reward. It was also an olive branch of a sort. All he need do was reach out and take it. Ned swallowed his pride. “What would you like me to do, Miss Appersett?”

  Some of the tension went out of her face. He hadn’t realized it was there until it was gone.

  Good Lord, had she really believed he’d deny her? If so, she’d vastly underrated her charms. Either that or vastly overrated his strength of will.