A Modest Independence Read online

  Jenny removed her wide-brimmed straw hat and lay it on the seat beside her. “To what purpose? I have no need of her at the moment. And she’d far rather travel with her cousin. That was plain enough to see.”

  Doubtless the pair of them had a good deal to talk about, not the least of which would be on the subject of their new employer. Jenny prayed she hadn’t disappointed them entirely with her ramshackle ways. Servants wanted to be proud of their masters and mistresses. Helena always said it was one’s duty never to let them down.

  “I trust you’re getting on,” Tom said.

  “With Mira?” Jenny smoothed her gloves. Thus far, she’d had great success in avoiding Tom’s gaze. It didn’t alleviate all of the embarrassment occasioned by yesterday’s behavior, but it certainly helped make it more bearable. “As well as can be expected. She’s rather shy, isn’t she?”

  “She’ll warm to you.”

  Jenny hoped so. As for Ahmad, she didn’t have any inkling whether they’d suit. She’d hardly interacted with the man since boarding the steamship in Dover. That hadn’t stopped her from forming an impression, of course. If Mira was shy, her cousin was downright surly. “Were they long at Mrs. Pritchard’s establishment?”

  “Since they first arrived from India, I believe. Ahmad claims that there haven’t been any prospects for more respectable employment. Not if they wish to stay together.”

  “Mrs. Pritchard’s isn’t respectable? I thought it was a lodging house or a hotel of some kind.”

  “It is a hotel, in a manner of speaking. One that, ah, caters to gentlemen.”

  Her eyes jerked to his. “Do you mean to say you recruited my servants from a—”

  “Regrettably, yes. But Ahmad and Mira have no connection with the more sordid aspects of Mrs. Pritchard’s establishment. They’re honest workers. Capable, as well. I can speak for Ahmad in that regard. You could wish for no better protection on your travels.”

  “You can’t speak for Mira?”

  “I only know her through her cousin. Ahmad came to me last year. Some business over a baronet’s injured shoulder.”

  “And you saved him from being transported.” Jenny frowned. “But how? You’re not a barrister. You don’t argue cases in a court of law. Not that I’m aware of anyway.”

  “No. That’s correct. I don’t argue cases.”

  “Then how—”

  “I write. Briefs. Letters. Contracts. That sort of thing.”

  She felt as if she were missing something. “That’s all very well, but I don’t see how writing a brief or a letter can save a man from being transported. Or from hanging, come to that.”

  Tom smiled slightly. “My writing is very persuasive.”

  Jenny regarded him with a furrowed brow. Not for the first time it occurred to her that there was something sinister about Thomas Finchley. He’d told her himself that he found strength in knowledge. That he’d learned from a young age how to accumulate it. And how to leverage it too, apparently.

  Good heavens, he didn’t threaten people or…or blackmail them, did he?

  She very nearly asked him, but it wasn’t the kind of thing one just blurted out. It would be a scandalous accusation to make. And in very poor taste, too. Gentlemen didn’t take kindly to questions about their honor. To even imply that Tom had broken the law—and in such a despicable manner—could very well damage her friendship with him forever.

  Such that they had a friendship.

  Her spirits sank. “Is that what you do? Entangle your adversaries with words?”

  “That’s one way of looking at it.”

  She could think of no other. “I’d rather you not do that to me.”

  “You’re hardly my adversary, Jenny.”

  “No, but I’ve fallen victim to your machinations as surely as they have. Worse, I think. For I didn’t even know that we were adversaries.”

  Tom fell silent. She had the sense that her words had taken him off his guard—and that he was determining how best to counter them.

  She gave him no chance to formulate a reply. “I’m not a child, you know. You could have told me straight out that you wouldn’t release my funds unless I agreed to be properly escorted on my travels. I’d have railed at you, of course, and probably lost my temper, but we would have compromised in the end. We’re both sensible people, more than capable of finding common ground. You didn’t need to draw a net around me and trap me.”

  He might have flinched at that, but he didn’t dispute the charge. Neither did he try to defend against it. He merely looked at her, an expression in his eyes that was hard to read.

  “It didn’t feel very good, what you did to me. And after I’d kissed you goodbye, as well. I’ll wager you found that vastly entertaining.”

  His face went taut. “Is that what you think of me?”

  “What else am I to think?”

  “That I was doing what was best for you. That I had your best interest at heart.”

  “So you’ve said. But you didn’t listen to me. You didn’t mark my feelings at all. You simply did what you wanted. And you waited to tell me about it until I was wholly ensnared by your scheme. Until I had no choice.”

  “There was no solution that would have been ideal. And there was no time for talking things to death. You needed me to solve your problem and I did so, as quickly and efficiently as I could.”

  “I’m not one of your legal problems, Tom. I’m a person. Your friend, or so you claim.”

  He leaned forward. “You are my friend. Which is precisely why I couldn’t permit you to traipse halfway round the world unaccompanied. Anything might have happened to you, Jenny. Anything.”

  She exhaled. “I know that. I even accept that you were right to some degree. But that’s all beside the point.”

  “Forgive me, I seem to have lost the point. If you agree that having servants accompany you was the right thing to do, then what the devil are we arguing about?”

  “About the fact that you went behind my back. That you maneuvered me like a token on a board. And then…” Her cheeks flushed with heat. “You let me say those things.”

  He looked stricken. “Good God, Jenny, do you think I knew you were going to say anything like that?”

  “I only said it because I thought I was never going to see you again.”

  He gave a sudden huff. “Well, if that isn’t the most illogical thing I’ve ever heard.”

  She bristled. “What’s illogical about it?”

  “If you have a longing for a fellow, you don’t confess it five seconds before bidding him goodbye forever. You don’t leave him standing on Dover pier like a—”

  “I never said I longed for you. I only admitted to a pang—”

  “Of longing.”

  “Oh, what difference does it make? It was a ridiculous thing to have said. Had I known you were coming with me, I’d never have mentioned it at all. I’d have taken these dratted pangs or whatever they are—and that kiss I gave you—straight to my grave.”

  Tom’s mouth hitched in a reluctant smile. “If that’s truly the case, then I’m glad you didn’t know.”

  Jenny’s heart skipped a beat—or several. That lopsided smile of his did unsettling things to her constitution. It made her feel breathless and quivery and quite unlike herself. She wasn’t at all sure she cared for the sensation.

  She turned her gaze to the window until she regained her composure. It was raining out, the French countryside passing by in a blur of gray skies and brown winter landscape. “Why did you come with me? You needn’t have. Not now I’ve got Ahmad and Mira.” She shot him a narrow look. “And don’t say it was to keep me safe or to help me find Giles. We both know that’s nothing but convenient flummery.”

  “It also happens to be the truth. Though, I’ll admit those concerns weren’t at the forefront of my mind when I first
made the decision to accompany you.”

  “What, then?”

  “It was an impulse, initially.”

  “Rubbish. You’re not impulsive.”

  “Not generally, no. But when I woke in the parlor at Half Moon Street, I realized that I had to go with you. It was a feeling more than a thought. Nothing particularly logical about it.”

  She stared at him. “Do you mean…you only made the decision to accompany me yesterday morning?”

  “I told you it was an impulse. A powerful one, too. I got straight up from the sofa and took myself off to book my passage and arrange for my travel documents.”

  “My goodness, that was impulsive. And quite unlike you. I can’t think what could have prompted such rash behavior.” Her brows drew together in concern. “I trust it wasn’t Mrs. Culpepper’s visit.”

  “It wasn’t Mrs. Culpepper.”

  “Then why?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know.” A faint flush appeared high on his cheekbones. “Perhaps I’ve been having a similar pang to the one you described in Dover.”

  The train rattled noisily along the track through acres of rain-soaked pastures, forests, and vineyards. But in the first-class compartment where Jenny sat across from Tom Finchley, the passing French landscape, the jolt of the brakes, and the sounds of the whistle and the hissing steam all faded from her awareness. She heard nothing, saw nothing, but him.

  His words sent a shockwave through her body, stunning her as surely as a shock from one of those newfangled electrical machines she’d lately had experience with. She went perfectly still; her gloved hands clasped tight in her lap. Even her breath seemed to have stopped. “Do you mean to say that you have feelings for me?”

  “Is that so hard to believe?”

  “It is, rather.” Her gaze dropped to her hands, her heart and her mind battling for supremacy. The very notion that he bore some small affection for her was as bitter as it was sweet. “I wish you hadn’t told me.”

  “Why?”

  She raised her eyes back to his. “Because nothing can come of it.”

  “Who says so?”

  “I do. You know I don’t wish to marry. Not you or anyone. I haven’t earned my freedom only to exchange it for another form of servitude.”

  “I’m not proposing to you, Jenny.”

  A blush bloomed in her cheeks. “I know that. I didn’t mean—”

  “Indeed,” he said. “Marriage needn’t even enter the equation.”

  And just like that, all of the oxygen seemed to leave the railway carriage.

  Jenny stared at him, lips still half parted on words that had evaporated the instant he uttered what had to be the most incendiary sentence she’d ever heard in her life.

  Marriage needn’t enter the equation?

  Great God almighty, had Tom Finchley lost his mind?

  He didn’t appear to be suffering from any visible head injury. Nor did he seem to be under the influence of strong spirits. He was regarding her calmly, steadily, as if he hadn’t just uttered those seven fateful words. Except…

  No. He wasn’t calm at all. Any semblance of such was only the thinnest veneer, beneath which he was unnaturally still, his muscles taut as he waited for her to say something. Anything.

  She moistened her lips. “What is it that you’re suggesting?”

  Tom’s breath gusted out of him. He pushed his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know. But we’re together now and will be for a long while to come. There will be ample time for us to explore this…attraction…or whatever it is between us.”

  Jenny’s heart threatened to hammer straight out of her chest. Her voice dropped to a scandalized whisper. “Do you mean…?”

  A rush of scalding color swept up his neck. “My God, no. Nothing like that. I wouldn’t presume… That is…What I’m talking about…What I propose—what I very much wish—is that we might dispense with this pretense of being indifferent to one another. That we might…”

  “What?”

  “Find some degree of solace in each other’s company.”

  “Solace,” she repeated.

  “By which I mean companionship.”

  “Oh.” The single word was no more than a breath. A disappointed breath. She’d expected something more daring. Holding hands or sharing a kiss, perhaps. Both actions would be highly inappropriate, of course. They weren’t an engaged couple. Neither was he courting her. Nevertheless…she privately admitted to a distinct curiosity.

  What would it be like to be kissed by Tom Finchley?

  Her mouth went dry at the thought. She liked to think herself an adventurous person. A bold female who didn’t let society’s rules dictate her every behavior. But to kiss a gentleman who wasn’t her intended? It passed beyond the scandalous and into the realm of the outrageously wanton.

  She didn’t wish to be thought of as shameless. And yet…

  Her gaze lingered on Tom’s lips. It took an effort to raise her eyes back to his.

  “Or,” he said, “if you like, we can agree to forget this entire conversation.”

  “Are you jesting? You must be, for I don’t believe I’m capable of forgetting a single word you’ve said.”

  His expression turned rueful. “That shocking, was it?”

  “That’s certainly one way of putting it.”

  “Forgive me. I spoke too boldly. I beg your pardon if I’ve offended you.”

  The rain beat a steady rhythm against the velvet-curtained windows. Jenny contemplated accepting Tom’s apology, if for no other reason than to put this incident behind them. They needed to be comfortable in each other’s company. Awkwardness and embarrassment during a journey of this length would be unbearable. Far better to brush off his bewildering proposal and set her mind to the prospect of her forthcoming adventures.

  But a liaison with Tom would be an adventure, too.

  “You haven’t offended me,” she said. “Quite the opposite. I find myself intrigued.”

  Tom’s gaze found hers. “Do you?”

  “Yes, but…I’m not entirely certain what you mean by companionship. Something more than friendship, I gather. But how much more? And in what form?”

  He cleared his throat. “In general terms? Closeness, I suppose. Familiarity. Even tenderness, if we’re so inclined.”

  “You’re speaking of romance.”

  “If you like.”

  Doubt infiltrated her thoughts—and her voice. She shook her head. “We scarcely know each other.”

  “At this moment, you know more about me than almost anyone on earth.”

  She gave him a startled look. “Do you mean because I know about Mrs. Culpepper? Oh, but surely—”

  “You know me,” he said. “And we know each other. Better than most courting couples, I’d wager.”

  Her pulse accelerated, even as her stomach clenched. Was there ever such an unsettling feeling? It was equal parts fear and breathless anticipation. “Now you’re speaking of courtship.”

  “Must we put a label on it? Isn’t it enough to say that we’re fond of each other?”

  “I am fond of you. Enormously fond, as I believe you’re well aware.”

  A slow smile spread over Tom’s face. “And I’m fond of you. Enormously fond. As for the rest of it…we have plenty of time. An abundance of it. Hours until we reach Marseilles and then six days at least on steamer ships to Malta and Alexandria. After that…”

  “However long it takes to journey to Calcutta. Another three or four weeks, I think, depending on the trains and the weather at sea.”

  “Come. We can do better than that sad estimate.” He rose and crossed the short distance to sink down at her side. She had only a fraction of a second to snatch away her hat before he crushed it beneath him. “Where’s your Bradshaw’s?”

  She stared at him, he
r cheeks flushed with color.

  “Jenny?”

  “It’s in my reticule.”

  “Fetch it, will you? We can go over our route.”

  She retrieved the little cloth bag from its place at her feet, opened the drawstring mouth, and withdrew her battered travel guide. Each of her movements caused another part of her to brush against him, from the curve of her arm to the swell of her skirts. It was maddeningly intimate—and surely as disconcerting for Tom as it was for her. Indeed, he seemed to have stopped breathing altogether.

  “Let me see,” she murmured, flipping through the dog-eared pages. “Ah. Here it is.” She angled the book for him, her finger pointing to a miniscule line of print. “Calcutta.”

  Tom leaned closer, drawing his head near to hers as they pored over the train schedule. “And here we are.” He set his own gloved finger to a point on the accompanying map.

  “We have thousands of miles to go yet,” she said. “Weeks and weeks of travel.”

  “Every one of them taking us farther away from our lives in England.”

  Jenny detected an odd note in his voice. “Are you having second thoughts?”

  “A few,” he admitted. “Third and fourth ones as well.”

  “It’s not too late to turn back.”

  “And leave you to continue on alone?”

  “I wouldn’t be alone. I have Ahmad and Mira now. You said yourself that they’re more than capable of looking after me. And if you have doubts—”

  “It’s not that. It’s just…I still can’t quite believe I’ve done it. That I’ve left so much of my life behind. Being here with you—on a train rolling through the French countryside…it doesn’t seem quite real.”

  “No,” she agreed. And then she smiled. “But what an adventure.”

  Tom had it on good authority that there wasn’t a sleeper train in the whole of France. Instead, railway passengers embarking on overnight journeys were obliged to sleep sitting up—if they slept at all.

  As for himself, he didn’t feel much inclined to slumber. It was a quiet, moonlit night, intermittently interrupted by a shower of rain, the blackness of a long tunnel, or the sounds of raised voices and feet pounding down the corridor as the train stopped and started. New passengers boarded and old ones were ushered off, all to the accompaniment of the train’s whistle and the upraised voice of the porters.