Longing for a Liberating Love: A Historical Regency Romance Book Read online

  Alina watched him with a sad smile on her face. She’d read once, in an old text, that the harmless little rhyme had actually said “and one for the little boy who cries down the lane” before it was switched in the 1600s to be more child-friendly, and even now, she felt it was haunted somehow by a shadow. She was sitting inside by the bay window. It was open so she could hear his little voice, and he sent occasional glances in her direction to make sure his adoring fan was still in attendance.

  Jinx looked more like his mother than his father—small for his face, with wide blue eyes. But he had that shock of dark, curly hair and his father’s temper, both things she knew would be tamed in time if he tended to his own character as she hoped.

  He tired of the game, and came up to her window with a posy smashed in his little fist. He lifted the wilted flower, unable to quite reach his mama’s hand, and she bent far out of the window to touch his fat little fingers.

  “Sing with me, Mama,” he pleaded with a slight pout in his rosebud lips.

  She smiled tenderly. The run-in with Jinx’s father had been almost a week ago now, and they’d had a week of peace while he was on his trip across the sea—a week where she knew she would neither have to worry about his open philandering in London or his brooding maliciousness at home. “What would you do with a bag of black wool, anyway, little boy who lives down the lane?”

  He frowned in thought, his forehead wrinkled. “I don’t know,” he announced at last. “What is wool?”

  She laughed at how sober-minded and serious he could be. It was a sunny day, and he was dressed in only trousers and a light linen shirt, but she had a woolen throw beside her on the window seat and she dropped the edge out of the window so that he could feel it. “See how heavy it is?” she asked gently. “It’s like your overcoat in the winter months or when there’s a chill in the air. That’s wool. Sheep make it like fur and then, when you cut it off, you can spin it on a loom into thread and weave it into a blanket.”

  Clearly only one part of that sentence had made an impact, for Jinx’s face grew at once deeply concerned and he cried out in alarm, laying hold of the blanket with expressive tenderness. “They cut off all the fur? But then they would be dead!”

  Alina resisted the urge to laugh tenderly at his misunderstanding and answered him quite seriously. She always wanted to encourage his curiosity, and tried not to punish him for mistakes made out of childish ignorance. “No, my little man. For sheep, fur is like hair. You can shave it all off without taking the skin, and it grows back in only a short amount of time. They don’t die—they can keep giving wool all their lives.”

  The anxiety drained from the little boy’s face and he smiled again. He’d always been this way—quick to make judgments and to jump to conclusions, but easily assuaged by his mama’s explanations, as well.

  “Why don’t you go to your horsie?” she prodded him, not wanting him to abandon the pleasant outdoors just yet. It was so good for him, soaking up the sun and getting dirt on his trousers. Jonas was always trying to keep him pristine indoors, accusing him of both being too reckless and too childish.

  Jinx skipped away from the window to his hobby horse, which rocked peacefully in the shade of a tall oak tree. There was a swing there, too, and Alina knew later that day, when the sun was just sinking in the sky, he would beg for a push out there in the cool evening air—he always did, and she went through with the little bedtime ritual as often as possible. Afterwards, they would trip inside like schoolchildren and she would tell him a story or sing a song before tucking him into bed. Alone, without Jonas, they were generally happy.

  “You coddle the boy,” Jonas would scold, even as he fed sweets to Jinx to keep the boy from asking questions at dinner. Alina hated the way he treated his own son like a dog to be enjoyed when it pleased him only to be kicked to the corner when Jonas grew annoyed.

  “I don’t coddle him,” she’d protested. “He takes discipline very well, and is obedient to his mother.”

  “I can hardly believe it,” Jonas shot back in front of Jinx, who was cowering at the sound of anger in his father’s voice. “There is no world in which a boy is more obedient to his mother than to his father, and as he seems to listen rarely to me I can only assume he exhibits the same behavior with you.”

  She didn’t know how to tell him that he held no sway over Jinx if he was never home, and that his shouting fits only frightened the boy into momentary submission. In truth, she suspected Jonas was already sowing seeds of disgust in his son’s sweet little heart—she wanted desperately to have Jonas be a good husband to her, but she would be satisfied if he would at least be a good father to his little boy. A little bit of genuine love and affection, even a moment of careful instruction or inherited wisdom, would bless her more than words could say. But again and again, as in all things, Alina was disappointed.

  She stood, and caught sight of herself in the long mirror over the parlour armoire. She looked small and frail, too skinny. She remembered with a pang of lost happiness that at one point she had been the talk of the county, a robust little thing with pink cheeks and loose curls who was sought after at every dance and wooed by many. Jonas had come along so early in her youth, though, that she’d never fallen in love. Even now, staring at the wan little face in the mirror, she knew she had still never been in love. She took a few steps toward her reflection, reaching up to touch her cheek with a shaking hand. She was wearing a red dress—it was Jonas’ preference, and much of her wardrobe now was scarlet, but it did nothing for her fine complexion. She loosened her hair with her fingers and thought for a brief, wild moment that she ought to weave a daisy into those honey strands.

  “No,” she said softly to the girl in the mirror, chiding her. “That is for maidens and lovers, and you are neither.”

  She heard Jinx again outside the window, calling her name, and she ran back to the little alcove.

  “Yes, love?”

  “I’m done with the horsie. Inside, please?”

  She smiled down. “Yes. Run around to nanny and have her bring you in. I’ll ring for some jam and toast and we shall have ourselves a little chat.”

  He took off away from her at full speed, disappearing around the corner of the house calling for his nanny. She followed through on her promise, ringing for the footman and requesting tea, and by the time Jonas had made it back inside his eyes grew wide with delight at the sight of his favorite snack amid the fine china.

  “Now, Mama?”

  “Almost.” She held out a handkerchief. “Clean your face and hands, and then you can set to.”

  The nanny stood awkwardly in the doorway. She was a rotund woman with cherry cheeks and sparkling eyes, but she always seemed uncomfortable around her mistress. It was this way with much of the servants, Alina had realized over time. Doubtless they all had secrets they knew about their master, and they were all struggling with their consciences about whether or not they ought to reveal this information. She wished she could put them all at rest, but to do so would have been to expose her own dignity and to buck the rules of society. She was not prepared for such ignominy.

  “Nanny Winters, thank you for your help today. Would you like to join me for tea?”

  Mrs. Winters looked shocked—rightfully so, Alina thought sadly. She would have loved some companionship, but it was not proper for a servant to sit and take tea with the lady of the house. “I was just wondering, my lady,” the nanny ventured, ignoring the invitation, “if young Jinx ought to eat upstairs in his rooms so you can have some peace. You’ve been keeping an eye on him all day, and I know a lady needs her rest.”

  Alina knew it was the thing to do to leave one’s children to other’s care, but she genuinely enjoyed her son’s company and preferred not to be separated from him. She smiled as convincingly as she could manage at the nanny. “It’s no trial. I’d rather Jinx stay with me.” She cast a conspiratorial wink in his direction. “We have much to discuss, don’t we laddie?”

  “Yeth,�
� he slurred through a mouthful of jam and toast. “We have to dithcuth.”

  The nanny smiled a little too indulgently and took her leave of mother and son. For a short time, they ate in happy silence, then, when Jinx had had his fill, he crawled over to his mother’s side and held up his plump little fingers to be cleaned. She wiped at him with her handkerchief, and summoned a smile to say, “I heard three days back that your father’s ship got off alright. He should be there and back in a few more weeks, if we’re lucky.”

  Jinx looked disinterestedly out the window. Alina wanted desperately for him to have a father he could love and respect. She reached for things he might find of interest. “You know, there are wild animals in the West Indies—monkeys and some large lizards they say have teeth that can eat a man—not that your father would be in danger,” she hurried to add. “I just mean that he might have some good stories for you when he gets back.”

  Jinx’s face fell, and he seemed suddenly sullen. “I wish he wouldn’t get back.”

  He said it so softly that Alina almost couldn’t hear him, but her keen ears caught the words and her heart ached with sadness at the sound. “You don’t mean that, little man.”

  “I do,” he said urgently, looking up at her. “I wish it was just you and me forever.”

  “But Jinx, you know your father has to come back. It’s only right for him to be here with us. We’re his family.”

  Jinx, who as always had as quick of a conscience as he had a quick temper, bit his lip. His eyes filled with tears. “I know, mama. I didn’t mean to be wicked but—” he raised his hand, still sticky with jam, and placed it softly on her cheek. It was an uncommonly gentle action from such a busy little boy and, even before he spoke, Alina’s eyes were filling with tears. “It’s just that you don’t smile when he’s here, Mama.” His eyes were big, earnest. “I think you smile more when Papa isn’t home. What if he stayed in the wild animals place forever?”

  Alina felt her breath catch in her chest, and she pulled Jinx close. “You aren’t wicked, Jinx. You’re very, very smart and very kind. But Mama’s okay. She will smile more around your Papa, I promise.”

  She felt a pang of guilt. She had no idea that Jinx had picked up on her own deep unhappiness. She knew he feared his father, and had even suspected that he didn’t like to be too long around his father, but she hadn’t realized her own role in the little boy’s dislike. She had to do a better job of hiding her shame and unhappiness, at least for his sake. It was too great a burden for a little boy to bear.

  “Did I tell you,” she said at last, when she’d regained her voice again, “about the first time I met your father?”

  “No,” he said warily, still snuggled into the crook of her arm.

  “It was after a race with horses,” she said. “Ladies don’t go to races, you know, but your grandfather found your Papa there at the track and liked him.” She winced inwardly at the falsehood in her own words. He hadn’t liked him, exactly—he’d just determined the man was rich and had grown almost dizzy with greed at the thought. “So they came over to the teahouse across the street where your grandmother and I were waiting. Right then and there, your Papa asked me on a ride across the city. He had four horses, all white, and we went through the streets for hours.”

  “Four horses?” Jinx said, awe in his voice. “Where are they now?”

  Jonas had lost them in gambling debts long ago. Alina bit her lip. “They were beautiful, and I thought he was a very good driver.”

  The words cut her like shards of glass—not because they were lies, but because they were the truth. She had been swept up in the magic of Jonas’ pursuit, blind and idiotically naïve. She hated to think of it, but her story was working. Jinx was fixated on the horses, one of his favorite topics of conversation.

  “Did they go fast?” Jinx asked.

  “The wind blew my bonnet off!” she said, laughing lightly at the memory, trying to keep her voice peaceful and engaging. He doesn’t need to know everything now, she thought to herself. She didn’t need to tell him how the same thing had happened during their first week of marriage and Jonas had refused to go back for the bonnet, telling Alina in a snide voice that if she couldn’t care for fine things she didn’t deserve them.

  “Four white horses,” Jinx breathed again, cuddling closer. “I love you, Mama.”

  Alina’s heart melted, and she ran a playful hand through his hair. “And I love you, little man. I love you most.”

  Chapter 2

  Theodore Pendleton looked out the window of the carriage at the passing fields with a pit in his stomach. He had made this drive many times before, sometimes on horseback when the weather allowed, but this time it seemed to be flying by faster than usual—bringing him ever closer to a conversation he dreaded.

  When he’d first gone to school to study as a barrister, he’d been starry-eyed and excited to do something worthwhile, pulling himself out of the merchant life and the speculation that had marked his father’s descent into poverty. He’d made a name for himself and was part of a respected firm that serviced many high-class clients. Only 27 years old, and he found himself often helping lords and ladies cover over their indiscretions or crawl out of their gambling debts. The one thing he hadn’t expected in those idealistic beginnings, however, was the harsh truth he’d learned during his employ under Jonas George Hartley: you don’t get to choose the morality of the man you’re hired to protect.

  His last conversation with Hartley was still fresh in his mind. It had been only two weeks before, at Theodore’s office in London. He remembered it like it was yesterday, Hartley’s voice echoing harsh and demanding in his ears.

  “You can’t be serious,” Jonas Hartley was saying, almost spitting with rage. “If you can’t find the money I need, who can?”

  “I am only responsible for managing the finances that are at my disposal, and you have tied up quite a bit of your money in various speculations,” Theodore had answered. “I have told you before that you can reach into your main supply.”

  “And I told you that my main finances are privy to some of my business partners. This is a private matter, and I don’t need to tell you why I find it inappropriate to air such a matter in a public venue.”

  Theodore didn’t know who the woman in question was, but he did know that she existed and was receiving a substantial stipend from his client. He clenched his jaw at the thought. On many occasions, when meeting Jonas Hartley at Marshall Gardens in London, he’d had the pleasure of Mrs. Hartley’s company.

  She was a soft, delicate sort of person with a musical voice and a face that would have set the great painters to a state of inspiration. He could hardly look away when she was talking, and he was always reminded of the milky petals of a lily when he was in her company. Hartley, however, seemed ignorant of the gem he had and kept her locked away from the eyes of the world, child and all, while he cavorted about London doing whatever he pleased with whomever he pleased.

  Theodore had told himself many times that it angered him simply as one would be angered to see Michelangelo’s David defaced, but sometimes, the more honest part of his heart admitted that he was strangely sympathetic with Mrs. Hartley herself and hated to see her wounded at her husband’s behest.

  Now, riding fast in his carriage toward Marshall Gardens, Theodore was torn as he had never before been. He had received news that very day—a short message from the shipping company in Hartley’s name—to be delivered to Mrs. Hartley at the first available opportunity: Ship to West Indies lost at sea. All lost. Jonas George Hartley believed to be among the dead.

  Theodore searched deep inside himself for the regret and shock he knew ought to be there, but the most he could find was a kind of manufactured pity for Hartley—the remainder of his emotion was devoted to the widow and her son. He ached at the thought of telling her of the tragedy. Despite Jonas’ cruelty and infidelity, when Theodore had often seen them together, the wife had been nothing but kind and attentive to her husband.
He even suspected she cared deeply for him, and he hated what this news would do to that sweet face.

  Lost in thought again, another memory rose crystal clear to his mind: the sight of her a month ago at the ball—one of the few appearances where she’d joined Jonas—in a gown of scarlet with rubies at her throat. Unlike the other women, she had not given into the style of headdresses laden with jewels and feathers to show off one’s husband’s finery. Instead, she wore her honey-blonde hair in a simple twist off her neck, with only a few miniature red roses adorning it. He wouldn’t have thought that red was her color, but still, she’d looked radiant. He had spoken with her briefly, after she came off the dance floor on Jonas’ arm. He, being only a business partner and barrister, would never have dreamed of touching that hand or asking her onto the floor, but Jonas had pulled him aside nonetheless.