18. Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Eighteen

Maybe she should change into the ivory dress, the one with the embroidered flowers, instead of the mint green. When she wore that dress, he always looked up and stared a little longer than at other times. But the green was bright and fresh and a contrast to high summer. Green spoke of new beginnings.

‘And my white bonnet, please, Letitia. The one that sits back from my face.’

Letitia removed the white cotton and lace from the box. Rosanna steadied the fluttering in her stomach. It was only one tiny sentence. Simple, especially for her, who always had a word for the silence.

I want you to be my real husband. I want to live here, even after everything is sorted. I don’t want a lord or an heir or anyone else. I want you.

Oh, the agony. It wasn’t something she could blurt out over breakfast or tuck into a conversation over the headlines. How could she find the right moment to spill the secrets of her heart?

What if he said no?

On the walk home from the exchange the night before, her arm linked in his, her every step and breath heavy with incandescence and exhilaration, the words had hummed on her lips. But when she looked to him, he looked away. When she eased into him, he pulled back. He had seemed to fold in on himself, lost. The man who had been so transparent and giving had shuttered himself more rigidly than ever before. But after sharing so much, feeling so much, and touching so much, she couldn’t be imagining the spark. There had to be the possibility of more.

‘There you go, milady. Pretty as can be.’ Letitia straightened a curl into obedience. ‘Is there anything more? Are you going riding today?’

‘I’m hoping to spend the morning with my husband,’ she replied.

Rosanna rose from her seat before the dresser and checked herself in the mirror. Smooth dress, cinched waist, neat hair… Perfect. Her slippers hushed along the hallway, and as she walked, she trailed her fingers over the fabric wallpaper that she had chosen, which Felix and Hugh had hung the week before. As her fingertips rubbed each ridge between the joins, her body felt a little more grounded, like the walls welcomed her, like she might belong in this house. At the top of the stairs, she paused to settle the fear and hope in her chest.

Just three words, Rosie. Of all the millions you’ve spoken in your life, it’s only three words.

The wood pressed firm through her slippers as she swept down the stairs. Maybe over breakfast she’d suggest that she could join him on his morning walk to the bank. Or he could take her to the hotel. Or she could…

A scuff and a knock came from the entrance. In the lobby at the base of the stairs, Rosanna turned away from the hall that led to the dining room and the smell of their small mornings. She inched around the corner.

‘Have you already broken your fast?’ she asked, her voice catching.

Phineas barely flicked a glance at her, staring at the paper in his hands. ‘I am heading to the bank early. We have a new client. He is very particular about his margins.’

‘No, you aren’t.’ Rosanna stepped fully into the entrance hall. The sun streaming through the arched window over the door had turned the air stifling, and it clogged her next breath. ‘You don’t have your umbrella. You never walk to the bank without your umbrella. You’ve carried it all summer, like every bank clerk.’ She sidled around the room to stand between him and the door. ‘Where are you really going?’

‘To the bank,’ he repeated. He opened his coat, but before he could shove the note into his pocket, she strode forwards and ripped it from his grasp.

‘That’s my mail!’ he growled, and lunged to snatch it back. But Rosanna was too fast. If she could sneak the last biscuit from a plate before the other Hempel children, she could out-swipe Phineas. She shook the piece of paper out and scanned the typeset of black and red ink.

‘Argonauts Trading have a warehouse by the docks? I’ll get my coat.’

‘No!’ Phineas snapped. ‘It’s too dangerous! If Lord Richard sees you there, he might try to hurt you. And you… You’ll only make a mess of it. You will cause problems, like you always do.’

‘Make a mess of things? I help you,’ she protested. ‘I picked the lock. I figured out the duplicate ledgers, and I—’

‘Beginner’s luck, Hempel,’ he said, his tone flat and dry. ‘I don’t need to rely on it. This is too important. I’ve had enough of this city and of you. It’s time this finished. We both need to move on.’

The bitterness of his words hung in the architraves longer than their echo. Silence lingered until it ached, and her heart, that pathetic lump in her chest, seemed to stop beating with the harsh whipping of his words. He snatched the paper from her grasp and kept his head bowed as he folded it into an uneven mass, halved over and again too many times, then shoved it into his coat pocket.

‘But—’ her voice scratched. She needed three words. Three little words.

‘Pack your things,’ he said, each syllable hard and splitting. ‘You’ll be home before nightfall. I hope so, anyway.’

‘You hope so?’ Anger, frustration, and damn it, embarrassment clashed and collided in her chest. ‘You hope I will be gone? You started this.’ She stabbed an accusatory finger at him. ‘You brought me here. You insisted we do things according to your plan—’

‘And you forced yourself into my work, and you made everything complicated! You filled my house with people and noise and mess—’

‘With life!’ Damn the pleading in her voice. ‘I thought you liked it. I thought you might—’

Love me. I thought you might, one day.

A knock came at the door, a brassy beat that echoed into the emptiness.

‘Out of the way, Hempel. I have work to do.’

Rosanna held her ground. If he went, he might get hurt. If he went, he might solve the mystery without her.

If he went, he might not come back.

The thump at the door came again, more insistent. Hugh stepped into the entrance, humming to himself as he forged an oblivious path between them.

‘I am not taking callers,’ Rosanna said as she sidled out of the way. ‘I am about to go out.’

‘Like hell you are,’ Phineas growled.

Hugh paused for a long moment, his unsure gaze flicking between the two of them. The knock came again, and before Hugh could dither further, the door opened. A hand slapped against the wood, and Iris, her cheeks flushed as red as her hair, stamped into the entrance.

‘No one came.’ She clutched a roughly typed sheet of thin, blue copy paper in one hand and shook it at the two of them. ‘We have our meetings every Tuesday morning. We have held meetings on a Tuesday for more than a year. I plan and I organise and I compromise. People sleep through them. People avoid them. People pick fights and create issues, and still I try. But I shouldn’t bother because no one cares, because no one came!’

Cold guilt shot through Rosanna’s rage. She had completely forgotten, and to judge by the way Phineas adjusted his collar and bit his lip, he had, too.

‘I am needed at the bank,’ Phineas said softly, his tone weighted with apology. ‘Why don’t you discuss it with Rosanna? She is staying home this morning. Hugh, sort tea for the ladies.’

‘I am not staying home,’ Rosanna snapped. ‘I don’t give a damn what you say, I am going with you, and Iris should come too!’ Rosanna kept her eyes locked on Phineas as she pointed, rudely, at Iris. ‘No one knows Collins, Vincent, and Sanders like her. She can help.’

‘I cannot put the future countess in danger,’ Phineas said, with a glance over Iris’s shoulder to where Lord Dalton was just stepping off the road. He ascended the stairs, taking them two at a time.

‘Danger? Who’s in danger?’ Hamish reached the doorway and stopped beside his wife. ‘Are we going on an adventure?’

Phineas slapped his hand onto the entrance table, its thump resounding and silencing all discussion. ‘ We are not going anywhere.’ He gritted the words out between clenched teeth, his nostrils flaring. ‘There is no adventure. I am going to undertake some work for the bank. Like normal.’

Iris barked a laugh. ‘Normal? For heaven’s sake, Phineas, we all know you have some secret double life.’

Phineas’s mouth contorted through silent objections and questions. How delightful to see him not purposefully quiet, but utterly lost for words.

‘We do?’ Hamish said, looking between Iris and Phineas.

Iris rolled her eyes. ‘I’ve travelled the world and met many people. And yes, many people from banks. I may not know the specifics of what you do, but you are obviously more than a clerk. Now, what’s this about Mr Sanders? Has he been acting inappropriately ?’ Iris, normally so calm and kind, bristled with ire. ‘Hamish, call Mr Rogers to prepare the carriage. And will you sit with Papa until we return?’

‘No.’ Hamish may have been a future earl, but he could still stamp his foot like a petulant child. ‘I am not staying behind while everyone has another adventure without me.’

‘But…’ Iris stalled as she looked to her husband. A narrow, discordant gaze settled between them. Worry creased Iris’s brow.

‘Mason will manage,’ he said. ‘Or send for Jonah to sit with him.’ Hamish took Iris’s hand and kissed her knuckles. ‘You are my everything. You know that. But we need more than memories. We need fresh adventures.’

Outside of her own parents, Rosanna couldn’t remember seeing such a moment of normalcy, of marital misalignment, of two souls so perfectly suited butting heads. Of humble perfection.

A small grin tugged at Iris’s lips. ‘It has been a while, hasn’t it?’ She lunged at her husband and planted a kiss on his cheek. ‘Come on Lord La-di-dah. Fetch the cavalry. I’ll tell Gena.’ Iris rounded on her and Phineas. ‘I could spot a swindle from Scotland. You will not leave without me.’

‘But—’ Phineas stammered.

‘From Scotland!’ she repeated, and with a swish and a cackling laugh of excitement, Iris and Hamish rushed down the stairs and crossed to Number 4.

Phineas waved a hand in surrender as they left. Rosanna murmured to Hugh and gave him his leave. She leant against the wall while Phineas paced the length of the entrance, grumpy and agitated. With each frustrated turn, her heart tore a little more, the rip primitive and pained. This was it. Like Iris and Hamish, they were setting off on an adventure, but theirs would cast their lives into disparate directions instead of forging a new bond.

Phineas reached for his umbrella, then hesitated. Rosanna took a slow breath of confusion and maddening panic. The jagged edges of loving without receiving love in return grated, visceral and raw. She would help to free him from this life that he wanted to escape. She would cast him into the horizons of possibility by planting both feet firmly here, in the street of all her life. And at the end, she would let him go.

Inside the carriage, Iris settled beside Phineas. ‘Tell me everything,’ she said.

Hamish leant back in his seat, shook his head, and chuckled. ‘This street.’

The horses took each corner, travelled each street both too fast and too slow. Every pause jumbled Rosanna’s breath, and she stared out the window, only holding the world inside the carriage at the fringes of her awareness. Buildings, people, life jumbled and blurred as they passed. Eventually, Iris ran out of questions and reached across the carriage to hold her husband’s hand.

Phineas bunched his fingers into a fist and propped his chin against them as he studied the line of traffic outside. The carriage slowed, then stopped. Tall brick warehouses flanked each window, and in the distance, the Thames slapped against ships’ hulls. The clang of industry hummed through the air, a mix of engines huffing, whistles screaming, and the mournful bellow of a steamer. Phineas tapped her knee. ‘We’re here,’ he whispered, then flung the door open. ‘Ready for one last escapade, Mrs Babbage?’

‘After you,’ she said.

But he had already gone.