Chapter Nineteen

Nineteen

London, England

March 1863

The first step in Teddy’s journey toward independence was one of mobility. For that, he didn’t just require his wheeled chair. He required a suitable conveyance.

It was Tom Finchley who helped him to procure one. Deceptively innocuous in appearance, with a slim build and a bookish demeanor, Tom was, as Teddy had written to Stella, a solicitor of infinite resources. He was acquainted with people in every corner of London, including the odd horse trader, wheelwright, and carriage maker. Many of them owed him favors for having helped them out of a spot of legal bother. Others were in his debt for more sinister reasons.

“I haven’t always been the decent, upright citizen you see before you now,” Tom said wryly as they exited the Finchleys’ elegantly appointed house in Half Moon Street.

Teddy had been staying there for the past two days, along with his sister and brother-in-law. It was their regular stopping place when visiting London. The Finchleys would have it no other way.

“Are any solicitors decent and upright?” Teddy asked, wheeling his chair through the door.

Tom’s eyes twinkled behind his silver-framed spectacles. “You may well wonder.”

Outside, three stone steps led to the street below. With Tom’s help, Jennings eased Teddy’s chair down them without first removing Teddy. The wooden wheels clattered with bone-jarring sharpness, prompting Teddy to grit his teeth. It was rough going. He nevertheless preferred it to being carried down separately. It was less bother for only a few steps, and far less spectacle.

Half Moon Street was moderately busy this afternoon. Fashionable carriages passed with regularity, and several people were out walking, taking advantage of the fine weather. It was the first day of spring, a day that had dawned rather inauspiciously with a heavy downpour. Fortunately, the foul weather hadn’t lasted. By breakfast, the dark clouds had dissipated, burned away by a brilliant blaze of sunshine.

It boded well for Teddy’s meeting with Stella tomorrow in Rotten Row.

Assuming she’d be there.

He didn’t yet know if she’d managed to find her way to London. He fervently hoped she had. Stella’s arrival was as much a part of his plan as his search for lodgings and his purchase of a carriage.

The Finchleys’ groom awaited them in the street. He stood at the head of a sturdy, liver chestnut gelding. Samuel, as the placid horse was called, was hitched up to a gleaming black and vermillion lacquered wagonette.

Teddy had bought the smart-looking vehicle only yesterday. Larger than a tilbury, it had four wheels instead of two, with a front-facing bench for the driver, and two rear benches arranged so that passengers could sit facing each other. It wasn’t as dashing as a sporting gig, but the back area was large enough to accommodate Teddy’s wheeled chair while he was driving.

“I don’t expect you’ll need to worry about your horse bolting,” Tom remarked. “He appears a quiet sort.”

“?‘Unflappable’ is what the seller said,” Teddy replied. “And easy to keep, whatever that means.”

“It means that wherever you end up, you’ll require a coach house and a stable. Either that or a livery stable nearby. Keeping a horse in London is no small expense.”

“Two horses,” Teddy said, recalling Stella’s advice. “Horses are herd animals. I have it on good authority that it’s cruel to keep one alone.”

“Another expense to keep in mind as you look at properties.”

“I’m keeping a thorough mental accounting.”

Jennings assisted Teddy out of his chair. Hoisting him by the waist, he lifted him up onto the leather padded driver’s seat of the wagonette.

“All right, sir?” Jennings asked.

“Right enough,” Teddy said. He straightened himself on the seat, carefully positioning his legs in front of him, before taking the reins from the groom.

He’d driven the wagonette around the park when he’d tested it before buying it, but driving down the busy streets of London’s commercial district was quite another proposition. A flicker of apprehension made his fingers curl tighter on the leathers. He had no desire to find himself pitched out, helpless, onto the paving stones.

Jennings placed Teddy’s wheeled chair in the back of the wagonette before climbing into the back himself.

“Alex and your sister will be returning from Harley Street at any moment,” Tom said. “Are you sure you won’t wait for one of them to accompany you? I know they’d like to view any potential lodgings.”

Teddy was certain they would. He was equally certain that none of the premises he had in mind would meet with their approval. Especially not now that Laura was beginning to feel the effects of her delicate condition.

Approaching the third month of her pregnancy, her bouts of morning sickness had only increased. Alex had insisted they consult with a physician while they were in town. One of those highbrow society accoucheurs who would insist on wrapping Laura in cottonwool. The very sort of man whose restrictions would further serve to impinge on? Teddy’s grasp for independence.

“No, thank you,” he said. “I’ve an appointment with Mr. Chakrabarty in Newman Street. I’m already cutting it rather fine.”

“Very well.” Tom backed away from the wagonette. “But take care, Teddy. London isn’t Grasse. It isn’t even Paris. I should know. I’ve traversed the worst of these streets. You don’t want to find yourself at the end of the wrong alleyway.”

“Jennings can handle himself.” Teddy urged the dozing Samuel into a walk. The wagonette gave a rattle before lurching forward into the street.

“Give Chakrabarty my regards,” Tom called after him.

“I shall!” Teddy replied.

It was Tom who had provided Teddy with the introduction. Mr. Chakrabarty was himself a solicitor, with premises in Regent Street. He dealt primarily with estate matters, acting in the role of agent for various properties in London, and was reputed to have more than a passing familiarity with the art community.

Teddy navigated his new wagonette through the midday traffic, steering Samuel in the direction of the British Museum. The house in Newman Street was the first property he would be visiting today, and, if the solicitor had taken Teddy’s list of requirements into account, hopefully the last.

On arriving in front of the house’s imposing redbrick facade, he found Mr. Chakrabarty waiting. He was a short, stocky gentleman, with an air of impatient efficiency.

“Mr. Hayes, I presume,” he said as Teddy brought his wagonette to a halt. He stepped up to the driver’s bench to meet him. “How do you do, sir?”

“Mr. Chakrabarty.” Teddy shook the man’s hand. “Sorry for the delay. The traffic around Oxford Street was rather worse than I anticipated.”

Mr. Chakrabarty nodded in sympathy. “A perpetual challenge, the congestion in London. One must accustom oneself.”

Jennings hopped out of the back of the wagonette. He lifted Teddy’s chair down to the street and wheeled it up alongside the driver’s bench.

“You have your manservant, I see,” Mr. Chakrabarty said. “Could Mr. Finchley not accompany you?”

“He isn’t involved in my letting a place,” Teddy said. “But he does send his regards.”

“An excellent fellow, Mr. Finchley. You take care to tell him that I’ve done right by you.”

“I shall.” Teddy looked up at the towering building. “Is this the house?”

“It is, sir,” Mr. Chakrabarty said. “Are you able to come inside? Perhaps if your man would help you?”

“Quite.” Setting the brake and tying off the reins, Teddy motioned to Jennings.

Jennings helped Teddy into his chair. Mr. Chakrabarty stood back, politely averting his eyes until Teddy was settled. He then enlisted a neighbor boy to stand with Samuel while he and Teddy entered the house. Jennings followed close behind.

“It was built in fifty-nine,” Mr. Chakrabarty said as he escorted Teddy through the lower reception rooms. “A good house, and a good street for an artist. Mr. Rossetti had his studio here for a time, and there are still many others hereabouts who draw and paint.”

Teddy was familiar with the works of Rossetti and the rest of the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood. There was no question they were talented. Groundbreaking even, for their time. But their lush, vivid paintings, which had found fame in the previous decade, were nothing like the new school of art embraced by the painters Teddy had studied with in Paris. He found no inspiration in the Pre-Raphaelite’s religious themes and medievalism. It was light Teddy was after.

“It won’t do, I’m afraid.” He turned his wheeled chair toward the exit before Mr. Chakrabarty could persuade him to venture upstairs.

Mr. Chakrabarty was crestfallen. “But it is a very good house, Mr. Hayes,” he said, trailing after Teddy. “The best on offer, and only slightly more than the top of your budget.”

“The extra cost would be nothing if the light was right. Not to mention all these stairs.”

“Stairs are unavoidable, sir.”

“Yes, but I’d rather there not be so many of them. The floors above would be all but useless to me.”

“Your servants could make use of some of the rooms,” Mr. Chakrabarty suggested. “The others you might rent out for a fee.”

“To people who would disrupt my work with their incessant comings and goings? No, thank you. I’ve no interest in being a landlord.” Teddy cast one last look about him, frowning. It was a pity the house didn’t suit. It was in a prime location. “I trust you have other properties to show me?”

“One or two in your budget,” Mr. Chakrabarty said. “The neighborhoods, however…They are not so genteel as this.”

Teddy wheeled himself out the door. “Show me.”

?Nearly two hours and three houses later, Teddy was beginning to feel discouraged. None of the residences the estate agent had shown him were what he had in mind.

As they exited the final property, Mr. Chakrabarty paused to think. “Is your budget fixed, sir? I have another house coming available soon, but you might find the cost of refurbishing it excessive.”

“I have some flexibility,” Teddy said. He wheeled his chair to the edge of the street where his wagonette was parked. “Where is this property?”

“In Covent Garden,” Mr. Chakrabarty said.

Teddy gave him an alert look. “Where in Covent Garden?”

“In Maiden Lane, sir.”

Teddy’s pulse leapt. Good God. Was it possible? Could there truly be a suitable place on the very street where Turner had his famous beginnings?

“It’s in a poor state of repair,” Mr. Chakrabarty said, “but it has a good deal of potential. If you’re willing to look past its deficiencies—”

“I’d like to see it,” Teddy said abruptly. “Do you have time to show it to me today?”

Mr. Chakrabarty withdrew his pocket watch from his vest to check the time. He nodded slowly. “Yes, yes, if we make haste.”

“To Maiden Lane, then,” Teddy said. “With alacrity.”

?Stella joined Evie and Julia in an upstairs bedroom of the Earl of March’s stately town house in Arlington Street to assist Anne out of her wedding dress and into her traveling clothes. Anne and Mr. Hartford would be departing for their honeymoon within the hour. Their destination was so far a secret. It was considered bad luck for the guests to know where the bride and groom were headed. But judging by the steamer trunks the servants had been carrying down earlier, with instructions to convey the luggage to St. Katharine’s Docks, Stella suspected that a honeymoon in Paris was in her friend’s near future.

It would certainly fit with the romantic theme of the day. And it had been a romantic day, from start to finish, from the moment Lord March walked Anne down the aisle to the moment when Anne and Mr. Hartford had bounded, beaming, to the vestry to sign the registrar.

After departing the church, they and their guests had repaired to Arlington Street for a sumptuous champagne breakfast. It, too, was hosted by Lord March. Better him acting as patriarch, Anne had stated before the wedding, than her odious distant cousin Joshua Deveril, the new Earl of Arundell. Anne loathed the man, and neither he nor his equally odious mother had been invited to the ceremony.

“I don’t regret excluding them,” Anne said as her maid helped her to step out of the lace-trimmed, white satin skirts of the exquisitely tailored wedding gown that Mr. Malik had designed for her. “And I don’t give a toss that some of the Deveril relations are saying that Joshua should have given my reception in Grosvenor Square.”

It hadn’t been the only source of gossip at the wedding. The presence of Mr. Hartford’s half-siblings, sitting unashamedly in a pew at the back, had prompted its own share of outraged whispers.

“Ignore the gossips,” Evie said. “Don’t let them ruin your day.”

“And what a beautiful day it’s been!” Julia proclaimed, flouncing the double skirts of her apricot silk bridesmaid dress as she took a seat on the edge of the bed. Her cheeks were flushed as much from the romance of the occasion as from the two glasses of champagne she’d imbibed at the wedding breakfast. “Did anyone else see the rainbow that fell across Anne’s gown inside the church?”

Evie and Stella wore matching apricot silk dresses, each of them short sleeved and double skirted. Wreaths of roses and lilies adorned their hair, made to match the stunning bouquet that Anne had carried down the aisle.

Stella helped unfasten the tiny, satin-covered buttons on Anne’s bodice. She was grateful for something to do. Anything to take her mind off her own troubles.

The initial exultation she’d felt at leaving the vicarage forever—that potent fizz of possibility that had propelled her into Captain Blunt’s hired carriage—had gone flat within hours of departing Derbyshire. Now, Stella felt only a building apprehension at the reality of her situation. She had no home any longer. No family. It was a terrible thing. Even when one’s family was terrible themselves.

But she still had her friends. They were more precious to her than ever. She refused to let any of her cares spoil Anne’s special day.

“It was the sun shining through the stained glass in the Venetian window,” Stella said. “I believe it came out today just for you.”

Anne smiled. “I can’t take credit for the sunlight. We must chalk that up to the season. But I won’t argue with the sentiment. It was a magical day, wasn’t it?”

Stella smiled warmly at her friend in return. “Completely enchanting.”

Although the day had begun with showers, by the time Anne arrived at the church, the skies had cleared, culminating in a bright and wholly perfect spring day.

The first day of spring.

It was a fact that had been lingering at the back of Stella’s mind since she’d awakened to the sound of raindrops against the windowpanes in her elegantly appointed room at Brown’s Hotel. She had sent up a silent prayer for sunshine as she’d washed and dressed, knowing only too well that a downpour would put paid to any hope she had of meeting Teddy tomorrow.

He’d said he would be in Rotten Row waiting to meet her. There, on the rail, during the fashionable hour. The prospect of seeing him again had been one of the only things that had kept Stella from falling into despair after breaking with her brother. Teddy believed in her. Believed she was destined for great things.

Perchance it was only flattery designed to persuade her to sit for him. But Stella didn’t think so.

“It was the most beautiful ceremony I’ve ever witnessed,” Julia said. “Equally as moving as Evie’s wedding and my own.”

“High praise,” Anne said.

“And so passionate, too! Did you see the look on Lady Brookdale’s face when Mr. Hartford kissed you in the vestry?” Julia laughed merrily to recall it. “I thought I would need to lend her my smelling salts.”

Anne carefully stripped off her lace-covered bodice, with Evie’s help. She handed it to her maid, who promptly placed the delicate garment inside a shroud of tissue paper. “Hartford’s aunt is one of those ladies who believe embraces should be confined to the bedchamber,” she said. “And sometimes not even then.”

“How sad for her,” Julia said.

“Or for any lady who finds acts of affection unseemly,” Evie added. “If you love someone, there’s no part of marriage that need be a chore.” She smiled, adding wryly, “Except perhaps tending to the account books.”

Julia paused in folding the dainty, cerulean blue wedding handkerchief that Anne had kept tucked into her corset during the ceremony. “You tend to the household ledgers yourself?” she asked, curious.

“For both my husband’s shop and for our home,” Evie said. “I’ve a good head for numbers. I used to keep the accounts at home in Sussex, too, much as I disliked it.”

“You don’t like reconciling numbers?” Julia asked. “Even though you’re good at it?”

“Being good at something doesn’t mean you enjoy doing it,” Stella said. “I’m good at organizing my brother’s notes, but I despise playing secretary.”

“You needn’t do so any longer,” Julia said. “Not now that—”

Stella silenced her friend with a stern look. Both Julia and Evie had agreed not to tell Anne about Stella’s troubles until after her honeymoon. It was the only way to ensure Anne’s happiness. Stella knew that the moment Anne learned of her difficulties, she would be incapable of focusing on anything else. Anne had never yet met a problem she didn’t rush to solve—even to her own detriment.

“We’re all good at riding, however,” Evie interjected, coming to Stella’s rescue. “And that we do love, thank heaven.”

Anne affected a scolding air. “Don’t mention riding.” She removed her corset cover. “I’m furious with the three of you. To think, you’ve brought Hephaestus, Cossack, and Locket to town and shall be enjoying gallops in the park without me.”

“Furious, ha.” Julia helped fold away Anne’s garments as Anne discarded them. “You’ll be too busy enjoying your honeymoon in Venice to think about riding.”

“Or is it Rome?” Evie teased.

“Paris, I’d have thought,” Stella said, smiling. “Complete with romantic strolls along the Seine.”

Anne’s brown eyes glimmered with laughter. “I’ll never tell. But I shall write to you when I arrive there.”

With the assistance of her maid and her friends, Anne changed into a heavy silk cord traveling dress. Stella, Evie, and Julia—still in their fluffy bridesmaids’ gowns—followed her downstairs to the hall where Mr. Hartford awaited her. Like Anne, he’d changed into traveling clothes—an eyebrow-raising pair of blue-and-green-plaid trousers and a matching plaid coat.

Anne took his arm, her face aglow with unfiltered love for him. Hartford gazed down at her in return, a foolish, lopsided smile at his lips, as though there was no one else in the entry hall but the two of them.

The majority of the guests had already gone. Only Lady Arundell, Lord March, Mr. Fielding (Evelyn’s uncle), and Evelyn’s and Julia’s husbands remained.

Mr. Malik stood back against one of the silk-paneled walls, looking striking in an exquisitely cut, black three-piece suit. He’d no doubt tailored the dashing ensemble himself. Straightening to his full height, he extended his hand to Evie. She took it, allowing him to draw her close.

At the same time, the soberly clad Captain Blunt slid a protective arm around Julia’s midsection. He seemed to be aware that she’d had a trifle too much to drink. Julia leaned back against him gratefully, covering his arm with her own.

Stella lingered at the bottom of the stairs, wistfully observing her friends as they returned to their husbands. A hollow ache filled her chest. She felt, all at once, how utterly alone she was. Not friendless, no, but forever standing on the outskirts, with no partner to beckon her close—to shield her and protect her.

To love her.

Seeing Anne, Julia, and Evie so happy and fulfilled—so thoroughly accepted and looked after—Stella’s own romantic future appeared bleak in comparison.

She’d told herself that love didn’t matter. That it would be enough to find a husband who could support her. Respect her. But perhaps it wasn’t true. Perhaps she’d always be alone, even in marriage, so long as that union was lacking in love.

Lady Arundell came to join the newlyweds. Her expensive silk dress was black in color, but softened with ruffles and lace, it bore no similarity to her typical mourning garb. A dazzling diamond necklace and matching drop earrings illuminated her face. “Do you have everything you require, my dear?” she asked her daughter. “An extra handkerchief for the journey? And your shawl?”

“I have everything I need, Mama.” Anne briefly stepped away from Mr. Hartford to enfold her mother in an embrace.

Lady Arundell hugged her daughter fiercely. She had tears in her eyes. “Enjoy yourself,” she commanded, releasing Anne. “And don’t dare waste a thought for me. Fielding and I have a full diary of spiritualist business slated for the weeks ahead. I shall be well entertained.”

“I leave my mother in your hands, sir,” Anne said to Mr. Fielding.

Mr. Fielding was an older gentleman. Rather an eccentric, with a perpetual air of preoccupation about him. He and Lady Arundell had a longstanding friendship. “They are good hands, my lady,” he replied. “You may rest assured.”

There were more embraces, interspersed with handshakes and well wishes. Calls of “Good luck!” and “Bon voyage!” filled the air as Anne and Mr. Hartford exited the house.

Along with the others, Stella followed the happy couple outside to their waiting carriage. She waved them off, ignoring her feelings about her own desperate situation. This was Anne’s day, not hers.

She was still smiling, a bit painfully, eyes clouding with tears, when she felt a slim arm circle her shoulders.

It was Evie, bless her. She drew Stella close. “Tomorrow morning, we ride,” she said bracingly. “A good gallop will clear your head.”

Stella wrapped an arm around her friend’s waist, wordlessly conveying her gratitude for her support. Evie was right, of course. A gallop always put things in perspective.

Today may be bleak, but tomorrow Stella would be back in her sidesaddle. She’d have the wind in her face and the unstoppable power of Locket beneath her.

Yes. Galloping was something to look forward to.

And not only galloping.

Teddy would be there in the afternoon when Stella embarked on her second ride of the day. There, during the fashionable hour, waiting to see her.

It may not be a romance, but it was something.