Chapter Two #2
She rounded the corner in a rush, only to slam into a gentleman.
He was taller than her and solidly built.
That was all about him that she knew, except that he smelled of sandalwood and was excessively strong, for he caught her with one hand and tugged her upward and into his body before she tumbled over backwards from their impact.
“Are you well?” he asked in a baritone voice, a tone she easily recognized from her years of teaching music. “I do apologize, miss, or is it ma’am?”
“Miss,” she responded in a dumbfounded manner. “It was my fault, sir. I should not have hugged the buildings to avoid the rain. I know my place. Forgive me, sir.”
“Thompson,” the gentleman said with a brief smile. “Lord Thompson, and it is I who should apologize. I have been quite distracted of late, and I was not paying attention to where I was walking. I have an umbrella and should not be claiming the bit of protection the overhang provides others.”
People streamed around them, but, evidently, the gentleman did not notice.
Victoria acknowledged his apology with a nod of her head.
“If you will pardon me, my lord…” She looked to where his hand still rested on her arm.
“I should be on my way or I shall be late, and then I shall be dismissed from my position.”
“We cannot have that now, can we?” His lordship looked about as if seeing the streets for the first time. “Permit me to escort you. With this rain you will be drenched before you reach your destination. Is it far?”
“I could not ask it of you, my lord,” she said dutifully, while finding she liked the warmth of his eyes when they looked upon her. It had been a good while since anyone had treated her with kindness, and Victoria truly missed the art of civility.
“You did not ask,” he corrected with another smile, the type she could quickly consider addicting. “I volunteered, and you cannot refuse an earl in need of serving society’s woes, rather than his own.”
“Heaven forbid you might serve your own agenda,” she said with a matching smile.
“Terrible to think of all my obligations,” he began, but she took a stronger grip on his arm while saying, “We may discuss the merits of your diligence as we walk, my lord. I truly must not be late.”
“As you wish, my girl.”
The earl tucked her into his side and adjusted his stride so as not to drag her along behind him, but, rather, they walked together as might any couple out on a day where the weather had turned sour.
Ironically, they did not converse other than the occasional warning on his part about a puddle being deeper than expected or a carriage throwing up a spray of water.
At length, the drapery shop was in sight, and Victoria said, “Just up ahead.” When they reached the shop, Lord Thompson opened the door for her, closed his umbrella, and stepped inside behind her.
“Miss Whitchurch?” her employer began in what she suspected was to be a chastisement, for she was to use the rear door, but quickly Mr. Sustar swallowed his words and changed his tone to one of welcome. “My lord. How might we serve you?”
“I was simply seeing my dear friend to her position in your shop in this rain,” his lordship said smoothly. “I could not have her arriving soaked to the bones, now, could I?”
“No, my lord. It was very kind of you,” Mr. Sustar said.
His lordship slipped a card from a case tucked into a side pocket and presented it to Mr. Sustar.
“Perhaps you might call on my man of business next week. I have several new properties that will require refurbishing. You may bid on them if such is of interest to you. My man will explain what all is required and arrange for you to view the properties.”
Mr. Sustar’s eyes opened in wide amazement. “Thank you, my lord. Very gracious of you.” He bowed deeply.
Lord Thompson ignored all the fawning. Instead, he said, “You may keep the umbrella, Miss Whitchurch,” he instructed with a lift of his brows, for Victoria had purposely not told him her name.
“I could not, my lord,” she objected. “The rain has yet to relent.”
He smiled again, and Victoria found she liked how his smile softened his features, especially the darkness of his eyes. “In case you did not take notice, Miss Whitchurch, my carriage is waiting outside. It followed us as we walked.”
Victoria was not to be outdone. She enjoyed how this particular gentleman treated her. It had felt like forever since anyone had seen her for herself. “And here I thought you were playing the gallant, my lord. You made me walk in the rain when we could have ridden.”
His smile widened. “Next time you may choose the mode of transportation.”
Leaving the lady behind, Benjamin climbed into the coach, telling his driver to take him home.
He could not resist turning to look at the drapers’ shop.
“First time I have felt human in more days than I can recall. To meditate on the very great pleasure which a pair of fine eyes in the face of a pretty woman is something else indeed. All this business with attempting to discover Duncan’s shooter has drawn me away from how it feels to be a man enjoying the playful flirtations between him and a woman. ”
As he closed his eyes, he could feel his body surrendering to the fatigue which followed him around of late.
“I loathe unanswered questions,” he told the empty coach.
“Though the lady was a pleasant distraction. Yet, you cannot be distracted often. Your family has been threatened. There are still too many questions requiring answers—answers you have yet to discover.”
He sank heavier into the soft squabs and closed his eyes.
Unsurprisingly, Miss Whitchurch’s image rose quickly to his mind.
“A real beauty,” he murmured. “Dark hair. Wavy. Blue-green eyes. Very feminine, but there was a strength about her. The way she held herself. The way she did not look away or pretend to be fawning over my title. The strength in her grip on my arm, while still being very fragile at the same time.” He was still daydreaming, or perhaps it was a real dream when his carriage rolled to a halt before his London townhouse.
Most in society thought him miserly by living on Gracechurch Street, but his needs were simple.
“For what does a man alone in the world require of a stylish house in the middle of Mayfair? Such a house would be more to impress the world rather than to speak to his goodness. I would rather the funds be spent on those struggling to survive or those needing their own leg up in the world.” After he rushed inside, he handed off his hat and gloves to his butler.
His body screamed for rest, and so Benjamin said, “I am more than a bit exhausted, Mr. Patterson. I believe I will rest for a couple of hours. Please wake me in time for a proper meal before I must be at Parliament.”
“Absolutely, my lord.” Patterson placed Benjamin’s hat and gloves in the nearby cabinet.
“That reminds me,” he told Patterson. “I will require a new umbrella.”
“Did you lose another one, my lord?” Patterson asked with a smile. Benjamin was infamous for placing his umbrella down and forgetting to retrieve it. His staff were known to fetch them from Duncan Place or the homes of his brothers.
“I actually presented the one today to a young lady who I, quite literally, nearly knocked down when we bumped into each other. She was on her way to her position in a drapery shop.”
“An enchanting young lady?” Patterson teased.
The man had been the valet to the last Lord Louis Thompson, Benjamin’s uncle and the previous earl.
As Duncan had seen to a valet for Benjamin when he had gone to live at Duncan Place, Benjamin had promoted Patterson to the position of butler at Macalhey House.
Naturally, Benjamin did very little entertaining, with the exception of his brothers and Duncan, but it was best to have a proper staff in place.
He was, after all, an earl, not a man who lived in Cheapside to be near his warehouses.
He found himself smiling when he thought of Miss Whitchurch. “Enchanting indeed, but it is not as if a lord of the land might call upon a shop girl.”
Mr. Patterson bowed in respect. “As you say, my lord, yet, I wonder what might be the advantage of being a lord if you have more restrictions on you than do your staff? I know for a fact your uncle, the previous Lord Thompson, would act upon his interests.”
Benjamin did not respond beyond a shrug.
Instead, he climbed the steps to his quarters.
When he laid out across his bed a quarter hour later, an image of Miss Whitchurch filled his mind.
He wondered what might be her Christian name.
“Something majestic,” he murmured as he rolled to his side to claim a few hours of rest.
He was tempted to stifle a yawn when one of the pages serving those attending Parliament on this day tapped softly on Benjamin’s shoulder.
“Pardon, my lord,” the page whispered. Without another word, Benjamin claimed the note from the salver the page carried.
He glanced to where both Navan Beaufort and Alexander Dutton were seated.
They, too, had received similar messages.
Ironically, they all three knew the notes were from Duncan. As if rehearsed, they each palmed the message and rose as unobtrusively as possible. Beaufort climbed the steps to a passageway on the left and disappeared through a side door.
Alexander rose when there was a change in speakers and moved towards a different passage than had Beaufort.
Before the speaker began his objections to the bill being discussed, Benjamin rose and stepped around Lord Monroe, who whispered, “A note from Duncan?”
“Yes, sir,” Benjamin confirmed with a small smile. “We are not too conspicuous, are we?”
Monroe grinned. “There is not a man in the room who would respond differently.”
Benjamin shot a glance about the chamber. “I am counting on you to keep me informed.”
“As always, my lord.”
Benjamin made his way towards a side exit on the right only to find Beaufort and Marksman waiting for him. He had not yet read Duncan’s note, but there was no need, for Beaufort said, “Titan has brought Duncan a coat, and they all think it is the one the shooter wore.”
“Finally,” Benjamin growled as they fell in step together. “I was beginning to believe we had all imagined the same event.”
“An event that has turned into a nightmare,” Beaufort remarked, as he walked off towards where his coach waited.