Three

Raeni woke early, the hard floor of the church making her back ache. She was not alone. An assortment of women and children slept on the floor. Some were black, some white, and two came from a place called China. She knew this because she’d seen sailors who looked like them in the harbor in Jamaica, and her father had told her they’d sailed from a place called China.

Raeni realized she had woken because of a small child’s cry. His mother lifted him into her thin arms, her dirty blond hair falling over her forehead as she tried to calm him. He was probably hungry. Though the church caretaker allowed this needy group to sleep on the floor of the choir room, he could not afford to give them much to eat. Raeni usually gave any food passed to her to one of the children. She reached into her pocket now, withdrawing a piece of bread she had saved from Mr. Gaines’s tray, and handed it to the mother.

“I can’t take this, Raeni,” Alice, the child’s mother, said.

“It’s for George,” Raeni insisted. “I have a position now. I can buy more.”

Alice took the bread and gave it to George, who stuffed a bite of it in his mouth and ceased crying. “How will you buy more? Surely you haven’t been paid yet.”

“I’ll be paid Saturday, and that’s not long.” It was two days away. Surely, she wouldn’t make any more mistakes before then. And when she was paid, she’d take her earnings for the four days she’d worked and buy food and a night at an inn. There was one not far from the church, and she could have her own room for a shilling or two. It was an extravagance she probably could not afford, but she was desperate for privacy and a soft place to sleep.

“And now I had better get up or else I’ll be late.” She had to walk almost an hour to reach Bond Street, and she liked to give herself plenty of time in case she wanted to slip down a side street and away from the groups of men she often saw. Upon arrival, she’d quickly learned London was a dangerous place. She hadn’t been here a day before she’d had her purse stolen. She hadn’t even known it was gone until she’d reached for it and found her pocket empty.

She’d held onto her valise of clothing and keepsakes a little longer. But one day when she’d been tired, she’d set it down and turned to look at a man who played an instrument with a small monkey who danced. When she’d turned back, her valise and all she’d had in the world was gone. Now she owned the blue serge dress she wore and this turban and that was all.

As though she had read her mind, Alice said, “What about your dress?” She fed George another bite of bread.

Raeni considered the dress as well. She’d cleaned the spilled chocolate and milk as best she could, but she couldn’t afford to have it laundered and she didn’t have any way to really clean it here. “I suppose it will have to do,” she said. The stains were mostly on the skirt and she could pull the fabric to hide them somewhat.

“Here, take this.” Alice lifted an apron from her small pile of things and handed it to Raeni. The once-white apron was gray from use and many washings, but it would cover the stains. Raeni took it gratefully.

“Thank you. I’ll bring it back tonight.”

An hour or so later she was almost to Bond Street Coffee & Tobacco. She had arrived before it opened, so she stood across the street and pretended to read an old copy of The Midnight Cryer she’d found on a bench. In reality, she studied the shop. Bond Street was still relatively quiet at this hour, although carts full of goods disturbed the quiet when they rumbled past.

Someone had arrived even earlier than she and washed Mr. Gaines’s stoop and windows. Everything glittered in the morning sun. Although it was autumn now, it had not turned cold enough to kill the flowers in the boxes and they were an orange and yellow contrast to the white exterior. Her gaze lifted to the first floor window. She wondered if Mr. Gaines was in his room now, lying on his chaise, one powerful arm slung over his head.

She shook her head. She hadn’t wanted to admit it, but the sight of him shirtless had affected her—not simply because of the scars he bore from the lash. She was filled with more lust than sympathy. She’d seen men without shirts many times, and she had always admired the male form. But something about Mr. Gaines was different. Her belly tightened and her cheeks heated. She wanted to touch his hard biceps and run her tongue over the powerful ridges of his shoulders. Even more than that, she wanted to step into the comfort of his arms and know she was safe.

Perhaps the thought of safety made her a bit more cautious because her gaze fell on a man at the corner near The Greedy Vicar. He was white and well-dressed, and he seemed to be watching her. Raeni’s entire body went rigid with fear. How long had he been watching her? Had he followed her? Had he been following her? She risked glancing at him again, and now his attention seemed directed at Bond Street Coffee & Tobacco.

She had the overwhelming urge to run and keep running. She’d let her guard down and now one of her father’s slavers had found her. He’d grab her, stuff her on a ship, and take her back.

And she would die before going back.

She took a step back and then another. She had to find somewhere else to hide. London had seemed so large and crowded. She’d thought it would be impossible for anyone to find her, even if she wanted to be found. But somehow he’d managed it. She took another step back. Her carelessness had led him right to her place of employment and—

She stepped into a hard, unyielding shape she thought was the stone of the building behind her until she realized stone would not have been so warm or smelled so lovely. Raeni spun around and looked into the expressive eyes of Mr. Gaines. With a shocked gasp, she jumped back and almost toppled over. Mr. Gaines caught her arm and countered her backward momentum by pulling her toward him. She landed right where she had moments ago longed to be—in his arms.

Her gaze met his for a long moment, their mouths inches apart. She felt the hand on the small of her back tighten just a fraction and watched as Mr. Gaines’s attention drifted down to her lips. He licked his own lips before taking a breath and stepping back from her. “Miss Sawyer, I apologize for startling you.” His voice was deep and steady, while her own throat had closed up and she could barely take a breath.

“It’s my fault, sir,” she said breathlessly. “I did not see you there.”

“What were you backing away from?” he asked, his gaze sweeping the street. Her own gaze flew to the man she’d seen outside The Greedy Vicar, but to her relief he was no longer there.

“I...” She tried to think of some plausible explanation. She could not tell him the truth—that he was harboring a fugitive. He had already overlooked so many of her failings. She shuddered, thinking what would happen if her father’s man really had found her. But now that the man in question was no longer in sight, she realized she had probably overreacted. She had only been in London a fortnight. Even if her father had sent men after her the day he realized she was gone, it would have taken time to secure passage on a ship, to cross the ocean, and to determine she’d stayed in London when her brothers had gone to the countryside to study at the school where places had been secured for them. The man she’d seen could not have been her father’s.

“You’re cold,” Mr. Gaines said, misinterpreting her shudder. “Come inside and have some coffee to warm up.”

“I don’t want to be any trouble.” Raeni couldn’t help but think Mrs. Price would be none too pleased to see her in the coffee room again.

“I think it’s too late for that, Miss Sawyer,” he said. But he said it with a smile, and she could not help but smile in return. He held out an arm and she took it, allowing him to escort her across the street. Bond Street Coffee & Tobacco had two doors leading inside. One was to the shop, which sold coffee beans and tobacco from all over the world. The other was the door where she had stood the day before, welcoming patrons into the coffee room. The two sections of the establishment were divided by a low wall that did not run the length of the ground floor but gave each section some semblance of separateness.

Mr. Gaines withdrew a key from his pocket and put it in the lock for the coffee room door. When he had the door open, he held it for her, allowing her to step inside first. The room was still shadowed as the sconces hadn’t yet been lit, and the dark scent of roasting coffee wrapped around her, drawing her in. She drew in a breath, inhaling the rich aroma and feeling the last of her sleepiness fade away.

“It’s an intoxicating scent, is it not?”

She turned to see Mr. Gaines smiling at her.

“I would have thought you had tired of it by now.”

“I don’t think any man can ever tire of the scent of newly roasted coffee. Why don’t I fetch us two cups?”

Appalled, Raeni shook her head. “I should go upstairs and begin filing. I made some progress yesterday.”

“I saw that, and I was pleased. But there is still almost an hour before the other workers arrive. Cook always brews a pot of coffee for me to enjoy when I arrive, and there’s plenty to share.”

“But sir—"

“I insist, Miss Sawyer. Now sit down. I will return in a moment.”

She looked at the table and chairs he’d indicated. “Surely I should be the one to fetch the tray and serve,” she said.

“I have seen your skills at serving, Miss Sawyer. Forgive me if I prefer to do it myself.”

She might have felt chastised if he hadn’t smiled and winked when he said it. And so she sat on the edge of one of the chairs and looked out the front window. Every few minutes a servant from one of the wealthy houses in Mayfair would pass by, basket full of bread or fruit or whatever they’d been sent to collect. Their steps would slow as they passed the shop and she could all but hear them inhale deeply.

Mr. Gaines returned, balancing a tray easily on one arm, and deposited an array of cups and plates and saucers before her. He did it with an easy grace, and she gave him a questioning look. “Surely you didn’t think I started out as the master of a shop,” he said. “I began as a server and worked my way up, saving and scraping until, with a little luck, I was able to rent my own space.”

“I doubt very much it had anything to do with luck,” she said, her eyes widening at the assortment of dishes placed before her. He’d brought a sampling of most of the offerings from the kitchen. She would try not to salivate while he ate his breakfast.

She lifted the cup set before her, grateful for the coffee to fortify her this morning and ignoring the gnawing in her belly.

“Have you tried the cinnamon cake?” Mr. Gaines asked, lifting his own cup of coffee and breathing the scent in before sipping it.

“No, sir, but I would not dream of eating your morning meal.”

“Oh, I’ve already dined, Miss Sawyer. This is for you.”

Her gaze snapped to his, and he held out a hand in a gesture for her to go ahead. When she hesitated, he said, “And do not tell me you have already supped. I will not believe it.”

“But, sir, you cannot keep feeding me.”

“Someone must, and it appears that privilege falls to me. Besides, I cannot have my new clerk fainting in the middle of filing.”

Raeni felt her cheeks heat. “I do apologize for that, Mr. Gaines. I think I moved too quickly.”

“No need to apologize—unless you do not intend to eat any of this food. Then I will be most put out.”

Too hungry to argue further, Raeni ate until her belly ached. Mr. Gaines was quiet, seeming content to merely sip his coffee in silence and watch her dine. He also watched the passersby and after one group paused to peer inside before moving on, he set his cup on the table. “I must confess I was rather unprepared for the number of patrons to the coffee room since we’ve opened. I instructed Mr. Miller to hire more servers and brought two of my waiters from Wapping until we can hire Londoners.”

“But why should you be surprised?” Raeni asked, dabbing her mouth with a napkin to remove any traces of cinnamon. “The aroma alone will attract people, and of course they are drawn to the pleasant aspect.”

“I suppose because it took some time for my coffee room in Wapping to turn a profit,” he answered. “But I’m learning that London is not Wapping.”

Having only a passing familiarity with Wapping, as her ship had docked there and she’d passed through it on a coach on the way to London, Raeni could not offer much insight. “It seems to me that London is a city of debutantes. My...” She caught herself before she referenced her father. “I have been told that there is a Season where young women are presented and attend dozens of balls so they might attract the attention of eligible suitors.”

“I’ve heard the same and understand it is one of the busiest times of year for the modistes and tailors in the area.”

An idea had occurred to Raeni, but she was not certain she should share it. Her father had not liked it when she showed too much cleverness. But Mr. Gaines was nothing like her father. “Then forgive me if I am too forward, but perhaps the best way for you to go about introducing your new business is to behave like a debutante and have a big come out.”

Mr. Gaines became very still, and Raeni worried she had said something wrong. “If that is a ridiculous notion, then I apologize—"

He held up a hand. “It is not ridiculous. I wonder I hadn’t thought of it myself.” He stood abruptly and paced across the room to the window and back again. “An opening celebration,” he said, his speech rapid and filled with obvious enthusiasm. “We will offer free food and coffee to encourage people to come to the shop and the coffee room. Once they have been here, they will return again. They will tell their friends.”

“That is the general idea.”

Mr. Gaines grasped her hands and pulled her out of her seat. “Miss Sawyer, you are a genius.” He swung her around, and she laughed as much from surprise as from the contagion of his own joy.

It was the first time she had laughed in months, not since she had learned she’d been sold and decided to run away. After the difficult days and nights in London she had felt as though she might never laugh again. But it seemed a natural thing to do with Mr. Gaines smiling down at her and spinning her around. She was pleased she could be of some help to him after he had been so kind to her yesterday.

She smiled up at him, staggering a little from dizziness when he ceased spinning her. He caught her with a hand on her waist before she could knock over a table, and she caught her breath as he held her just a fraction longer than necessary. His smile faded and his look turned intense.

He wanted to kiss her. She knew that look. And she wanted to kiss him back. She tilted her face up in invitation just as she heard the footsteps. Mr. Gaines must have heard them as well because he released her suddenly and stepped away from her, putting a good foot between them.

“Ah, Alfred,” he said. “Good morning.”

Raeni turned to smile at Alfred, who looked confused to see her there. “Do you want to look at the sales from yesterday, Mr. Gaines? Or if now is not a good time—” His gaze slid to Raeni.

“Now is just fine.” He nodded at Raeni. “Miss Sawyer, please finish your breakfast. You still have three-quarters of an hour before your work day should begin.” He nodded at her, formal now, as though he hadn’t just spun her about the room.

As he started away, she spoke. “Mr. Gaines.”

He stopped and looked back at her.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to go to your office and begin now. I have some ideas for the event we discussed. I’ll make note of those and then begin the filing.”

His brows rose. “I’d be very interested in hearing your ideas, Miss Sawyer. Perhaps over a light meal this afternoon?”

She could not keep allowing him to feed her. “You needn’t—”

“It’s settled then. I will see you later today.” And he strode away. Raeni watched him go and put a hand to her lips, wondering what it would have felt like to kiss him. It was probably best if she never found out.

***

THE HOURS BETWEEN BREAKFAST and his midday meal seemed interminable. Thomas approved the accounts, discussed matters big and small with Alfred, took his carriage across Town to sample the tobacco from a new distributor and then finally returned to Bond Street about half past twelve. He was hungry for food and for Miss Sawyer’s company.

He sent Alfred to order a meal for two before walking through the shop and the coffee room. Both were busy, but business could always be better. He started up the stairs to his office, tapping on the door before entering. Ridiculous to tap on his own door before going inside, but when he’d entered yesterday afternoon, after Miss Sawyer had gone home for the day, he’d detected her subtle scent in the air. That light floral scent and the progress she’d made organizing his desk changed the feeling of the room, making it feel not so much like his space but their space.

He entered, and Miss Sawyer rose immediately from his desk. She smoothed the apron over her dress. He’d noted this morning it was the same dress she’d worn yesterday, which was not unusual, but she had not laundered it to remove the stains. She did not strike him as the sort to be slovenly, especially as she had a clean apron over the dress. So why had she not cleaned the dress? Did she not have the means?

“Mr. Gaines, I have placed the documents most needing your attention on the desk. I haven’t gone through all of them, but from what I have seen, these are the most pressing.”

He glanced at his desk, noting his piles of papers seemed smaller. “Thank you. I’ll look at them later. I have a tray of sandwiches on the way. Let’s sit at the table, shall we?”

She smoothed her hands over her apron again. “Sir, you do not have to feed me. I can continue working while you eat or I might assist Mr. Miller downstairs so you might have privacy, if you prefer.”

Thomas could tell it would be no easy task to find out the realities of her current situation. She was obviously averse to his charity. “What I prefer is to have the pleasure of your company and to hear the ideas for the opening celebration.”

“Of course. I have them here.” She lifted a paper from the desk. He took a seat at the table, prepared to listen. The door opened and Mary carried a tray in.

“Put that here, Mrs. Poole.”

“Yes, sir.” She gave Miss Sawyer a surreptitious look. Thomas knew the staff was probably gossiping about his relationship with Miss Sawyer. He was always careful to keep relationships with his employees separate from romantic relationships. The last thing he wanted was his staff gossiping about Miss Sawyer. But then Thomas had never been romantically interested in any woman who had worked for him before. If his choices were to let Miss Sawyer go or skirt the boundaries of his own rules, he would trespass just a little.

While Mary set the tray down and arranged the items on the dining room table, Thomas decided to do what he could to take control of the staff’s gossip. “Miss Sawyer, go ahead and share the ideas you’ve noted for the opening celebration.”

“Yes, sir. I made a list of possibilities. Shall I go through all of them?”

“Tell me your favorite.”

“Oh.” She looked down at her paper, seeming uncertain. He could see she had written enough to fill two sheets of paper. Curious that she should be able to read and write so well. He had taught himself when he’d arrived in England as slaves in America were forbidden from learning. As the law was intended to keep slaves in their place, the situation was the same in the islands of the West Indies. And that meant she could not have been a slave. She had mentioned organizing papers. Whose papers?

“I suppose my favorite is to have a celebration in the evening. I like the idea of having a string quartet playing and candles lighting the coffee room.”

Mary made a sound and Thomas arched a brow at her. “You don’t like that idea, Mrs. Poole?”

“No, sir. Bond Street is deserted at night. Once the shops close, most people go elsewhere for amusement.”

“The Greedy Vicar is still open,” Thomas pointed out.

“But we do not want to compete with a pub,” Miss Sawyer said. “Mary is right. I didn’t realize this area was not trafficked in the evenings.”

Another clue that she was not from London. Anyone who’d lived in London for long knew Bond Street was to be visited during the day.

Miss Sawyer tapped her paper and pursed her lips in obvious thought. “What would you say to an event in the late afternoon then? Clerks and shopkeepers might stop in before they started home. Businesses might close early or we could stay open a little later so the owners could have a look and perhaps a pastry after locking up for the night.”

“I think it’s brilliant.”

Mary nodded in agreement. “She’s a clever one, Mr. Gaines.”

“That’s what I thought, Mrs. Poole. Give my compliments to the cook, won’t you?” It was a subtle way of dismissing her, but he thought she had heard enough to dispel rumors that there was anything more than business matters between himself and Miss Sawyer.

When Mary had left, Thomas indicated the other chair at the table. “Sit and eat. We can discuss your other ideas later.”

“Thank you, sir, but I am not hungry.”

He sat back and crossed his arms. “You brought your own meal with you then?”

“No.”

“Then you bought something from the coffee room?”

“No.”

“Miss Sawyer, I do not know how it is you came to work for me, but now that you do I feel somewhat responsible for you. I am certain you think you have put on a good show, but it’s quite obvious to me you have no means at all. If I don’t feed you, I doubt you will eat. And now that I get a look at that dress in the afternoon light, I am beginning to think I might need to clothe you as well.”

Her eyes blazed with indignation. “I do not need a man to feed and clothe me.”

“No doubt you do not.” She was obviously strong and capable. “But you could use a bit of help right now. If it makes you feel better, I can deduct a portion of these meals from your wages.”

Her brow furrowed.

“Or,” he suggested, “you can consider it part of your position. If you’re to be my clerk, you must look the part.”

“Your clerk?”

“Clearly, I need one, and you must be dressed appropriately. I’ll send for a seamstress.” He pulled out a pad of paper and made a note before tucking it into his coat pocket again. She stared at him as though uncertain what to think.

“As for sharing a meal with me, it’s part of the job. We will discuss work. Or, if you prefer, consider it a kindness. Poor Mr. Gaines has no one to dine with.”

She snorted in a most unladylike fashion. “I very much doubt that.”

“Do you? Sit down and tell me why.”

She hesitated for one long moment before finally taking the seat opposite him. He passed her a plate with several sandwiches on it and then filled his own.

“I suppose I find it difficult to believe that a man like you should want for company.”

“A man like me? Success is more likely to breed enemies than friends, especially when your skin is the color of ours.”

“I didn’t mean because of your success.”

He paused before taking another bite of his meal. “Then what did you mean?”

She looked down. Had he embarrassed her? He couldn’t think how.

“I meant a man like you.” She gestured to him, but he shook his head, still confused. “A man as handsome as you,” she finally clarified, her words quiet and strained.

Thomas could not stop himself from smiling. She thought he was handsome. Perhaps he was not the only one who was interested in more than talk of opening celebrations.

“I might say the same about a woman like you,” he said. “You’re very beautiful and yet you haven’t married or found a man to take care of you.”

“I don’t need either. I can do just fine on my own.”

“I believe it.” He considered her for a moment and then finally asked what he’d wanted to since he’d first seen her. “What is your Christian name, Miss Sawyer? Do you mind telling me?” He could have asked Alfred, but he wanted her to tell him herself.

“Raeni,” she said. “That’s the name I was given.”

He cocked his head. “Rainy? Like the weather today?”

“No, R-A-E-N-I. Where I come from, it means ‘like a queen.’”

“Like a queen,” he mused. “That’s fitting. And where is it you come from?”

Her gaze met his directly now. “Where is it you come from, Mr. Gaines?”

He blew out a breath. “I suppose we all have our secrets, Raeni. And call me Thomas. At least when we’re working together up here.”

“Thomas? That’s nice. Why did your parents give you that name?” Obviously, she did not intend to press him for his secrets. No doubt she did not wish to share her own.

“I don’t know. I never knew my father and my mother died from a fever when I was still young. I remember her, but if she ever told me why she gave me my name, I don’t recall.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t realize your parents had passed.”

“Yours are still alive?” He said it casually, hoping to lure her into telling him more.

But she was not so easily misled. “I think it would be better if we discussed the opening celebration further. I had some ideas for the food.”

***

THAT NIGHT AT HIS TOWN house in Cheapside, Thomas finally closed his ledgers when the clock chimed midnight. He should have been exhausted. He’d been working long hours, but there was something invigorating about a new business venture. The endless possibilities and the unforeseen struggles engaged him like nothing else.

He reached for the stack of mail that had been sitting at his elbow, neglected, and thumbed through it. One envelope stopped him, and he opened it and smiled. It was an engraved invitation on vellum, as fine as any one of the houses in Grosvenor Square would send out. The event was no less exclusive—an invitation to the Dark Ball.

The Dark Ball was held every year by the more prosperous Negroes in London—merchants, bankers, business owners. When Thomas had come to London he had joined several Negro societies and had heard of the coveted invitations to the Dark Ball. The date and location changed yearly as did the invitation list. The stated goal was merriment, but the underlying goal was for the parents of young women to find suitable husbands for their daughters.

Of course, the races could and did intermarry, but these marriages were easier for the lower classes. A black woman or man of some means who wanted to marry someone of a similar station risked a lifetime of disapproval from narrow-minded white families. The Dark Ball brought wealthy Negroes together.

Thomas was pleased to be invited, but he had no illusions as to how the night would progress. He would be flooded with attention from mothers who wanted him as a husband for their daughter, and though he might dance with a few women who were interesting and whose conversation he enjoyed, there would also be many spoiled and pampered young ladies he would have to endure.

Unless...

Thomas smiled. Unless he arrived with a woman on his arm. Then he might ward off the worst of the husband-hunting mothers and have a chance to dance with someone whose company he enjoyed.

He knew just the lady.