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It was not to be. Linda had been stuck in her room, spending the evening alone, for the sake of her reputation. At least the weather was nice with mid-summer putting on golden sunshine and a light breeze to ensure it wasn’t too hot for their ride back to Manchester.
“What a glorious day for a ride.” As they walked into town, she found herself keen to see her sisters, and even more curious to hear her Father’s opinions on Sir Bartleby and how to deal with the repercussions from her kidnapping. The main roads turned into narrower streets before they ended up on the wide boulevard near the canal and her family’s mansion.
“It is. How was your dinner last night?” Marti asked. She’d eaten in her room alone as Marti had rushed off to do some task for the inn keeper, and Mr Clark had eaten with the other servants. It wouldn’t be the done thing to eat alone in public as an unmarried woman, so she’d had only herself for company in her clean, functional room.
“The fare was excellent. My compliments to the cook.”
“I will tell Aunt Doris that you approve.” Marti had been very formal with her today and she couldn’t work out if he was nervous about getting his reward, or if the presence of Mr Clark meant he was sticking to propriety. Boring. She asked her borrowed horse, a rather nice hunter, to trot because she wanted to get home and get back to her life before she’d met Sir Bartleby.
Soon enough they walked down the mews beside the house and handed the horses over to the stable staff. She walked towards the house, then realised Marti wasn’t following her.
“Come along.”
“I’ll just stay here with the horses.”
“Is there a problem? You’ll need to come with me to claim your reward.” Her father was the one who had the ability to hand over the coins. Linda found this aloof nonsense frustrating. First men made all the decisions about her life and then they did illogical things without explaining their decisions. And, more importantly, she didn’t want to do this—face her father—alone and Marti had been so kind so far. She thought they had an understanding, but perhaps she’d latched onto him too quickly and was just annoyed that he was abandoning her now.
“I don’t want your father to recognise me.”
Oh. It wasn’t about her at all. He didn’t want her father to know him as the person who used to be their neighbour. “Tell him you are related to the Babbitts who lived next door, but not the details.”
“You guessed.”
She shook her head quickly. “I didn’t. You volunteered the information; presumably because you trust me?”
“I do trust you.”
“Then trust me on this. Father will see you as you are now. A man who saved his precious daughter from a fortune hunter. Talk about your duelling pistols or some other manly topic of conversation, and all will be well.”
Marti fidgeted, not a lot, just small nervous movements, picking at his jacket and shifting from foot to foot.
“Or if ten guineas means nothing to you, then stay here.” She called his bluff and his chest puffed out in a most interesting way as he breathed in.
“Lead away.”
She hid her satisfied smile as she walked into the house, through the back door and along the main hallway to the drawing room. The kitchens were detached in this old house, so the ovens and chimneys weren’t a risk to the main house, and the servant’s quarters were in the attic. The entire ground floor was dedicated to family living. Their butler, Ushnish, stood in the hallway outside the drawing room.
“Ushnish, where is Father?”
“In his office. He has a visitor.”
“We will wait in the drawing room.” She started to walk past him to the doorway, when Ushnish leaned in close.
“Miss Dexington, the visitor concerns you.”
She didn’t know what that meant. “Stop prevaricating, Ushnish. Who is it? And what does Father want me to do?”
“Sir Bartleby de Muis.” Ushnish’s usual impervious expression held some contrition.
“Excuse me?” Rage filled her veins and roared in her ears. He must’ve travelled in the night to beat her home; to her home. How dare he...
“I don’t have instructions on what to do, however, I suppose you could follow me.” Ushnish strode down the eastern hallway to her father’s office. Frustration surged, like kerosene thrown on a fire, and she supposed she could follow him. What other option did she have but to confront whatever nonsense Sir Bartleby was bound to be saying about her?
“Will you be well?”
“What?” She whipped around and glared at Marti.
“Seeing Sir Bartleby again. It’s been less than a day since he kidnapped you.”
She snorted. “You were the one who shot him.”
“I was wearing a mask. He won’t recognise me.”
She sent him a pointed look. “And that makes it all better?”
He had the decency to appear uncertain and that moment helped her believe in him; perhaps he wouldn’t be like all the other men in her life, running rough shod over her opinions because his thoughts were obviously more sophisticated and important than any of her own. Perhaps ... She breathed in. Just perhaps she might have an ally in this ridiculous situation.
“Let’s discover if that is true.” She waited while Ushnish knocked on the door and was granted entry. She waited while she was introduced. And she waited until she was asked to sit. Then she sat. Marti—Mr Babbitt—stood beside her chair.
Sir Bartleby preened himself, as he sat there with his arm heavily bandaged, and Father casting an assessing glance between herself, Marti, and Sir Bartleby.
“This is quite the situation.” Father eventually said.
“No one needs to know anything about Miss Dexington’s situation. If she marries me, it will all be hushed up.” Sir Bartleby’s eyes flashed as if he’d had a win, while her father’s eyes narrowed.
What situation? “I’m not going to marry you.”
Smugness spread across Sir Bartleby’s face and Linda saw her future flash before her eyes. If she did nothing, she would end up married to this selfish ass of a fortune hunter. She sighed. Ass was hardly a word that any gently bred woman should know, even one who’d grown up listening to factory workers argue with machinery.
“As I was saying, I’ve compromised Miss Dexington and we need to marry for the sake of her reputation.”
Oh for goodness sake. “Sir Bartleby lies. He did not touch me during the short time we were in a carriage together.” He threatened to, but that wasn’t quite the same thing.
“But we were alone in a carriage and therefore whether I touched you or not is irrelevant. All it would take is a quiet word to a few of society’s leaders...”
She wasn’t going to take Sir Bartleby’s threats easily. “I would rather marry Mr Babbitt.” Her head spun as all the blood dropped to her feet. Oops, she didn’t mean for it to sound like a consolation prize. Trying to untangle what she ought to have said felt impossible and she stared at the carpeted floor.
“I would be honoured.” Marti’s words sent a flush across her skin. He made it sound like her choice—like he forgave her for sounding petulant—and she adored him for it.
“Even if she’s carrying my child?” Sir Bartleby sneered. Linda knew it wasn’t possible, but neither her father nor Mr Babbitt knew that. For her father’s knowledge, it was more than the time she’d spent in the carriage with Sir Bartleby, she’d been gone a whole day and night without an approved chaperone.
“If there were to be a child, I would raise it as my own. I would love any child as my own and try my best to give them the best life possible.”
She wanted to hug Marti for such a considerate response—one she wasn’t sure she’d earned—and she dared not glance at Father to see what he thought.
“Everyone can leave now. I will think about the options.” Father’s declaration was one she’d heard plenty of times before and she glanced up at him, suddenly feeling at home.
“You can’t possibly believe a girl and a stable boy over me. I’m a Baron.” Sir Bartleby’s huffing did little, thankfully. Linda was gratified to see her father’s response, a subtle shift in his mouth that showed his disapproval of Sir Bartleby’s poor attempt to ingratiate himself. Father was an industrialist; a self-made man; he had a high degree of contempt for people who relied on inherited titles for status. Being born to the right parents was simply good fortune. Luck. What someone did with their opportunity of birth was what mattered a lot more to him.
“Out.”
Linda didn’t wait to see what Sir Bartleby would do. If he disobeyed or argued with Father, he would further undermine his case, and she wasn’t going to lose any strategic advantage that she might gain by being obedient. She followed Ushnish to the drawing room, where her sister Jacinda sat quietly sewing, while two of the servants stood at the side of the room, providing companionship.
“You can sit over there. I’m sure we can get some tea if you need.” She indicated to a chair for Marti, then sat beside Jacinda to ask her about her latest creation. But before she could speak, Sir Bartleby came rushing in, shouting commands at the servants.
“We will not be serving Sir Bartleby,” Ushnish said. The servants went back to their positions, and everyone sat stiffly while Sir Bartleby strode about making some huffing noises, but thankfully kept his distance from her. Eventually, Sir Bartleby decided to lean against the mantlepiece, placing his good arm on the marble, and making a fuss of his sling while he glared at everyone.
“Oh goodness. People.” Jacinda glanced up from her work.
“It’s only temporary. We will leave you in peace soon.” Linda reassured her sister with a gentle pat on her elbow and was pleased to see Jacinda nod once and return to her sewing. Linda kept her gaze low, half-focused on the fabric in her attempt to ignore Sir Bartleby’s domineering presence in the room. It was comforting to know Mr Babbitt could sit in a room without needing everyone to notice him; and the contrast between the two men and their approach to the world was as stark as coal dust on bleached cotton. She lost track of time as she waited, trying not to think too hard about her lack of options. The threat from Sir Bartleby about him taking her innocence had become tangible. He hadn’t had access to her body, but even if she married Marti, Sir Bartleby could suggest such a thing, spilling in the right ears as a secret at any time in the future which suited him. Maybe he would get tired of her once he couldn’t have her and switch his attentions to some other poor girl’s dowry, but immediately, a cool wind crawled over the back of her neck, and she hated that her brain was willing to sacrifice some other woman—even a hypothetical woman—to save herself from misery. If the world had any justice, Sir Bartleby wouldn’t marry anyone and wouldn’t gain his fortune through such a dastardly method.
“Miss Linda Dexington. You father will see you now.” Ushnish had his usual impassive expression and she started to stand when Sir Bartleby pushed past them both.
“I should speak first.”
“I wouldn’t recommend that course of action,” Ushnish said. Linda glanced at Jacinda who was smirking; she might get lost in her sewing at times but she never missed anything important.
“What would you know?”
“I have worked for Mr Dexington for many years. Once he has made his decision, nothing will sway him, and in my experience if you attempt to intercede now, he will be more inclined to decide against you.”
Sir Bartleby hesitated, obviously counting the money, because he clenched his jaw and returned to his position leaning against the mantlepiece. In winter, he might have burnt himself ... Linda’s wishful thinking grew petty as she walked away from her kidnapper. How on earth he was still standing here making demands was yet another unfathomable way that men allowed each other to get away with nonsense.
She tapped on Father’s office door.
“Come.”
She pushed open the door and walked inside.
“Oh, Linda. Are you alone?”
“Yes. Ushnish ensured it.”
“Excellent. Of all my daughters, you have a certain charm about you that I wouldn’t like to see squashed by someone like Sir Bartleby. He’s nothing but a fortune hunter who has already run through his first wife’s income. Why he thought he could con me into letting him have one of my daughters is an indication of his lack of forethought.”
“You do have a lot of daughters.”
Father almost smiled. “Having a plentiful collection of daughters isn’t going to make me a soft touch.”
“No.” It was foolish of Sir Bartleby to underestimate her father.
“However...” He dragged the word out. “You’ve created quite the dilemma.”
She wanted to protest; the words sticking in her throat because her father wasn’t someone who appreciated being argued with. Technically, Sir Bartleby created this problem, she was just the person unfortunate enough to have been targeted by him.
“The key problems are that Sir Bartleby—”
“Yes. He is the...” Cause of all this mess. Her heart skipped a beat. She wanted to make sure the blame was put squarely in Sir Bartleby’s court, where it belonged.
Father interrupted. “Unfortunately, when he kidnapped you, we sent messengers in all directions trying to find you, which means a lot of people are aware that you spent time alone with Sir Bartleby.”
She growled under her breath; couldn’t her family have attempted some discretion? They didn’t have to have told the world he took her. She’d rather be blamed for being a naïve silly nineteen-year-old than have all of Manchester know that Sir Bartleby had kidnapped her. The world never blamed the man for these things; she could easily be cast as a Jezebel and ruined over it.
“He’s a terrible fortune hunter, so I’m uninclined to agree to his demands of marriage, and I certainly don’t want to saddle another of my daughters with a man who cares more for status and money than his wife.” With three of her older sisters married, she couldn’t help but wonder whether he referred to Prudence, Hyacinth, or Imogen. It was unlikely to be Prudence, whose Mr Chan was very dedicated to her and her children.
“Mr Babbitt has offered to marry me.” If marriage would allow her—and her three unmarried sisters—to retain some respectability, then she’d much rather marry her former childhood friend who’d been so kind when she’d escaped from Sir Bartleby’s coach. She held her breath, awaiting her father’s decision.
“He is more of an appropriate age than Sir Bartleby, but I am concerned the timing of this current farce means I have not had the time to determine if he is a fortune hunter or not.”
“Perhaps you could put some conditions into the marriage contract?” She knew enough about the law, if not the details, to know that a contract could be written to suit any outcome. “Mayhap we could stay here for the first month of our marriage, while you assess him, and then—”
“Clever girl. Yes, let me think about a payment schedule that allows to you to live comfortably while also allowing me to assess his character.” He stood up and pulled the bell to summon Ushnish. “Are you certain you want to stay in this house?”
“Yes. I would like some time to get to know him before moving into a property of our own. And this way we can get the banns read and keep it all above board.” It would protect her reputation and make a mockery of Sir Bartleby’s claims as it would show society that she knew she had the time to wait. She assumed her father would buy Mr Babbitt a house, like he had for her sister’s husbands on their marriages. The unfortunate law that meant her sisters were now the property of their husbands with no ability to manage or control their own dowries, and housing was a good way to ensure their safety and health. It was an unjust law, like many laws of the land, although she did benefit in some ways given that her father was a wealthy businessman. Her sister, Elspeth, understood it all better than her, writing to the Gentlewoman’s Press about labour laws and the luddite movement and how they didn’t like loom technology because women were taking men’s job. Linda didn’t like the way women and children worked in their factories in often tricky conditions either; the whole issue was terribly complex, and she knew she was very privileged in not having to think too hard about it.
“Very sensible.” Her father’s approval warmed her, a habit borne of the years.
Ushnish arrived quickly at her father’s bellpull. “Please set up the blue room in the western wing for Mr Babbitt. Miss Linda has agreed to marry Mr Babbitt, and he will live here while the banns are read until I am satisfied that he is not a fortune hunter.”
Once the banns were read, she would have more freedom to spend time alone with Marti, and she couldn’t wait. He was so fascinating in the way he’d chosen to live his life and she needed—with a yearning in her chest—to know everything about him.