A Holiday by Gaslight(11)

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 Indeed, shortly after her disclosure about her dowry, he’d withdrawn behind his familiar wall of implacable silence.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.