Wedded in Sin (8 page)

Making a swift decision, Penny turned back to the women and began issuing orders. They were all dear women, but sometimes they lost sight of the proper order of things.

“Mrs. Appleton,” she said to Helaine’s mother. “You stay here with Irene and Tommy. Wendy, if you and Tabby could take care of the cart of fabric? We can’t just leave it out there alone. I shall go look for this boy and Mr. Morrison.”

Irene straightened her shoulders. “Don’t be ridiculous. You can’t go out there alone. I shall—”

“You are the one being followed. Just point out the direction they ran. Never fear, I will be quite safe.” Mr. Morrison, however, would get quite the tongue-lashing from her if she ever saw him again. It was irrational of her, she knew. He was probably just being helpful as he chased the boy. But at the moment, she had all this anger and it needed an outlet. So long as she never voiced her thoughts out loud, there was no harm.

And so a moment later, she was out on the streets, wandering as she searched fruitlessly for an unknown boy and a missing man. She had no belief that she would find them, but she had to go through the motions nonetheless.

She’d gone only a few blocks when she saw a small crowd gathered. They were milling about and some were arguing. Already her mind had linked the crowd to Mr. Morrison. He seemed to be a man who created a stir wherever he went. So she shouldered her way to the center only to curse under her breath when she saw him.

Mr. Morrison lay sprawled on the ground. A lump had already formed on his temple and a bit of blood was already matting his hair. He was blinking, so that meant he was alive, but his expression was vague and rather dull. That, more than anything, alarmed her. She was on her knees beside him before she even realized she’d moved.

“Goodness gracious,” she said as she used her skirt to wipe away a small trickle of blood on his forehead. “You got laid out by a boy?” That wasn’t at all what she meant to say. She’d meant to ask how he was feeling, if he could stand, if they needed to call for a surgeon or something. Most of all, she wanted to know if his brains were still intact. But instead, what had come out but the most shrewish comment?

He blinked again, his eyes coming into focus on her face. And bit by bit, his expression shifted into a frown. “Wasn’t the boy,” he said. “Dunno what, but it weren’t the boy.” She was still wiping uselessly at the bit of dried blood and he winced in pain. “That doesn’t help, you know.”

She stilled her hand with an act of will, slowly dropping it into her lap. And when had she knelt beside him like a long-lost lover? She forced herself to calm down and study him dispassionately. The color was coming back into his cheeks, along with a myriad of other lovely shades by his temple. And intelligence had returned to his gaze.

“Do you need a surgeon?” she asked.

He shuddered. “Goodness, no. Damn bastards just make things worse.” He pushed himself up to a fully seated position against the wall. Then he glanced beyond her to the folks peering at him. “Nothing exciting to see. Just a gent who got knocked sideways. Happens all the time.”

A couple people chuckled at that; others just shrugged. But bit by bit, everyone wandered off. He even helped them disburse by waving good-bye. But despite his carefree attitude, Penny couldn’t shake the horror that he’d been knocked unconscious.

“Surely this can’t be a common occurrence for you,” she said.

He shrugged. “Me? Never. Well, perhaps a few times when I was younger. Well, more than a few times, in fact. Happened at school all the time. As a rule, people don’t like know-it-alls, and schoolboys hate them more than most.”

That she believed, both that he had been an annoying know-it-all and that he had received a few knocks on the head from it.

“But never,” he continued, “in the last few years. Been a paragon of nonviolence ever since I left the army.”

She frowned. “You were in the army?”

“It didn’t take.” Then possibly to cover his embarrassment, he pushed up onto his knees then all the way up onto his feet. She stood as well, a hand out to help him if he needed it. He didn’t, and in the end, she let her arms drop uselessly back to her sides.

“Though,” he continued in the way he had of sometimes nattering on, “I am touched that you were so worried about it. Nice thing to wake up to a woman terrified that you had expired. Most gratifying.”

“I wasn’t afraid you were dead,” she said. “I could see you breathing.” Her words came out harsher than she had intended because, truthfully, she had been worried. Terrified even. And she wasn’t entirely sure why.

He glanced at her. “Of course. A most practical woman. I’d forgotten how levelheaded you are in a crisis. Must be because I’d just had my brains knocked sideways.” Then before she could respond to that, he narrowed his eyes and got the thoughtful look that on him could be rather frightening. “But you were worried. Pale, shallow breaths, and your eyes. Miss Shoemaker, your eyes were so wide I believe I could see all the way into your brain.”

“Don’t be silly.”

“Not at all silly. It’s a sight that I shall remember all my days. A woman as beautiful as you, terrified for me.”

She had no answer to that. He thought her beautiful. She shouldn’t be flattered by that, but she was. Lord, she was even blushing!

“Except,” he continued as he rubbed at his chin, “you saw me breathing, so you knew I hadn’t died. But there was definitely terror on your face.” Then he released a rather dramatic sigh, one worthy of the stage. “Oh, bother! You weren’t afraid for me, were you? You were afraid I had abandoned you.” He glanced about the street, and she could all but see the wheels turning in his head. “You rushed out here searching for me, didn’t you? Certain that I had left without completing my task.”

She looked away, this time the heat in her cheeks coming for an entirely different reason. Blast him for being so logical and for figuring out exactly what she’d been thinking.

“Men don’t tend to stick around for you, do they?” he asked, his voice surprisingly gentle even though he was exposing one of her darkest fears. “I shouldn’t let that concern you much. Men, as a rule, are rather stupid.”

“So you’ll be staying?” she asked, trying—and failing—to make her voice sound casual. “You still intend to take me to this bad solicitor.”

“Of course! Miss Shoemaker, I might get distracted by urchins spying on intrepid cits, but I never go back on a bet. And you have bet me that I can’t fix your particular problem when I most assuredly can.”

She exhaled, relief washing through every part of her. “But perhaps we should go another day,” she offered, though every part of her screamed not to. “When your head isn’t so…”

“Black and blue?”

“Red and black right now. And it probably throbs.”

He shrugged. “It does. But here is what I think. We should see your evil solicitor first, then afterward when we go to report his terrible crimes to the constable, I can add in the assault on my person. Two birds with one stone, so to speak. Or two crimes with one visit.”

“He will think you the most unlucky of gentlemen.”

“Well, then he would be wrong. Also, sadly, not an uncommon occurrence with the constable.”

She had no answer to that. He was clearly back to his normal odd self. Only an hour in his company, and she was already well versed in the unusual rhythms of his conversation. But she liked him, she admitted to herself. And she was very glad of his company.

“Well, then, Miss Shoemaker. Shall we go straight to the solicitor’s? Or stop by the dress shop first?”

“The dress shop. I’m afraid things were somewhat in disarray there. And my guess is that you want to ask Irene more about her mysterious boy.”

“I shall ask, I assure you, but I doubt she knows anything. She thought she was being followed by a whistling stable hand. But I do wonder why someone would pay a child to spy on her.”

Penny nodded, her mind too cluttered to sort that out. What possible threat could Irene be to anyone? “Penny.”

Mr. Morrison frowned at her and no wonder. She hadn’t intended to say her name out loud. “What?” he asked.

“Penny,” she repeated. “My Christian name is Penny, and…and I, um, give you leave to use it.”

His smile was slow in coming, but no less charming once it filled his face. “And you may call me Samuel.” He managed somehow to grab hold of her hand and perform an elaborate bow over it. Then he kissed her knuckles while stroking her palm with his index finger. It was quite the grandiose gesture—and a surprisingly intimate one—and once again her cheeks heated in a hot blush.

He noticed. He was a man who noticed everything, but he didn’t comment on it. When he straightened, he merely held out his arm to her. She took it as she had seen countless highborn ladies do. And together they walked back to the shop as if they were a lord and lady out for a stroll.

It was the most marvelous thing that happened that day. Or that week. Or most likely for her entire life. Sadly, the interlude didn’t last. Eventually they made it to the shop, where Tabby was standing in the doorway and pointing at them. Wendy stepped up a moment later, narrowing her eyes as she peered down the street. Eventually her eyes widened, and her face relaxed as she saw them. Then her keen eyes must have picked out the lump on Samuel’s forehead. She gasped and immediately ordered water and a cloth while Penny marveled at how easily Mr. Morrison had become Samuel in her mind. She had only known the man for an hour or so, and yet she felt as if he might be a friend. The concept was odd, to say the least. Certainly she had friends. Women, mostly, and there had been some male playmates when she was little, plus a couple men who had come calling later. No one who stayed, of course, but that was the way with things.

What made Samuel different was that he was a toff. He didn’t have a title in front of his name, but he was a gent nonetheless. He wore a gentleman’s clothes, talked like a gentleman ought, and knew the kind of people gentlemen knew. Those men, as a rule, did not talk to her except to order her to do something. Or ask to get beneath her skirts. Never had they approached anything like friendship with her.

Except for this man, and the thought was unbelievably exciting. She, Miss Penny Shoemaker, friends with a toff. An odd one, to be sure, but friends nonetheless. She patted his arm as she gestured to the shop. “I believe you are about to be coddled and fussed over.”

He gave a mock shudder. “Heavens. Lovely women fussing over me. I shall insist everyone stop immediately after a day. Maybe two.”

Penny chuckled as he had intended. Obviously he had not been fussed over much in his life. But even the nicest women could be irritating after an hour. “You must tell me if it becomes too much. And if your head truly pains you, we can get you a cab to take you home.” She had to force herself to say the last part. She was beyond anxious to get on with their visit to the solicitor, but his health was most important. Especially as he was now a friend.

He smiled and gently covered her hand with his. His fingers were long and his palm was warm, but nothing matched the understanding in his eyes. “I am fine, Penny. You are the only woman I want ministering to my no doubt colorful bruise. And we shall leave for the solicitor’s in fifteen minutes. Mark the time.”

“But—”

“I begin to think you want to be rid of me.”

“No!” she gasped. Then she realized that he was teasing her. “Oh, I am an easy gull, aren’t I?”

“You have just lost your home and your livelihood. I count that as an excellent reason to be distracted.” Then there was no more time to talk privately. They entered the shop and were immediately surrounded by anxious women.

Tabby brought the water, and Penny—feeling an irrational surge of possessiveness—took the cloth from Wendy’s hand and began to dab at his wound. There was little point. The area was swollen, not bleeding anymore, but it was cool water and so she pressed it against the bump and prayed it helped. And all the while, a fluttering in her stomach had her flushed and unsettled.

Meanwhile, Irene stepped around Mrs. Appleton and Tommy to begin her questions. “Did the boy do this to you?”

“Oh, heavens no,” Samuel answered. “I make it a man of above-average height but at least fifteen stone weight.”

Penny peered at him. “I thought you didn’t see him.”

“I didn’t. The blow to my temple came from a haymaker punch, but at an angle.” He gently removed her hand and the wet rag from his forehead. “Do you see how it is more on my cheek than my temple? That indicates a shot from a man less than my height, but not short. A shorter man would have caught my chin instead.”

“Oh,” she said, impressed anew by his intelligence. Especially after receiving such a blow.

“And,” he continued, “given that the force was enough to knock me unconscious for a few minutes tells me he had weight behind his blow.”

“But who was it?” Irene asked.

He turned to look at her. “I have no idea. Tell me why you believe someone has been following you.”

She shook her head. “I have no idea, but I have been feeling it lately. Like an itch between my shoulder blades.”

He pressed his lips together and said nothing, which obviously irritated Irene.

“You are thinking that I am a ridiculous female, new to this stuff as a buyer and a widow. Clearly I am imagining all sorts of nefarious things.”

He tilted his head at her. “Do you generally imagine nefarious things?”

“Of course not!”

“Then why would you start doing so now?”

Her mouth went slack for a moment, obviously startled and a bit ashamed by her accusation. “My apologies. I have tried to talk to my father-in-law about this, but he thinks I am a silly fool. Thinks I’m imagining things because of all the robberies lately.”

“Men generally underestimate women. Sadly, I was unable to catch the boy, but it doesn’t matter. He was a common street child, bought for a coin. Someone hired him to watch you.”

“But why?” gasped Mrs. Appleton from where she had picked up Tommy as if to protect him.

Samuel leaned back, his gaze going slowly about the shop until his eyes landed—and lingered—on Wendy.