Anabelle Bryant - Undone By His Kiss

Rapid applause circulated the room, a plethora of plans taking shape. Emily, encouraged more than she’d been in some while, basked in the reverie. She’d return the meeting to order in a few minutes. Thomasina had prepared a presentation on banking to share this afternoon. Her father forever fell asleep with his ledgers open and she’d gleaned extensive knowledge by peering over his somnolent form. These scraps of information reclaimed from the male world offered their league empowerment.

Matters couldn’t be better. Well, with the exception of her mother of course, but in the meantime Emily would absorb the joy of accomplishing yet another step to progress.

Two hours later, when the ladies had departed and Emily had managed to replace all the furniture, she settled in an overstuffed chair near the fire, a cup of chamomile tea in hand, and reviewed the day with secret delight. Having a meeting place for the league would benefit everyone, but Emily most of all.

It had nothing to do with the sitting room upheaval twice a week. She didn’t mind the work, despite Mary, the housekeeper, reprimanded her sternly. She begrudgingly consented to a blow at equality that gentlemen possessed natural strength in their physique, where lifting a rug or repositioning a desk required minimal effort.

Women were strong in other ways. More important ways . Emotionally, indeed. Males, often regaled as the backbone of society, were lacking in strength of heart and moral fiber. She lived with daily proof of the supposition.

Financial considerations presented no worries either. Her father had left them with deep wealth though she had little care for the money. Oh it served a purpose, sending her to the finest schools and affording the comfortable town house she called home, yet Emily would never feel beholden. The black line of a bank register had little to do with the ease of one’s heart. She enjoyed spending the funds left by her father for no other reason than the knowledge she worked toward good with the distasteful reminder of his existence.

Startled by footsteps in the hall, she shook the contemplation away and turned to see her mother enter.

“Has everyone gone?” Bianca Shaw hesitated within the doorframe, as if waiting for Emily to confirm what she likely observed from her bedroom window upstairs.

“Yes.” Emily produced a smile. “The league left over an hour ago. Come. Would you like some tea? I can ring for Mary to bring us a fresh pot.” She hemmed her lower lip waiting for her mother’s decision.

“That sounds fine.” Bianca spoke without inflection.

Doing as she suggested, Emily watched her mother settle in the chair closest to the hearth and lace her fingers in her lap, her posture perfect. “You look lovely. Is that a new gown?” It was foolish prattle, really. Bianca rarely left the house and when she was forced to do so, it was not for a trip to the dressmaker.

“One never knows who might come to call. A lady must always look her loveliest.” Her mother’s umbrageous tone secured Emily wouldn’t disagree.

“Yes, of course.” If only one could erase the depth of sadness in her mother’s eyes or fine creases of perpetual worry marring her skin.

Mary entered with the tea kettle and a fresh tray of scones, the distraction provoking a sigh of relief. Some subjects were better not discussed. A prickling of unease warned Mother wasn’t in a reasonable mood. “Are you hungry?” Emily nudged the plate with her fingertip. “Apricot is your favorite.”

“No, thank you.” Her mother touched the button at the neck of her gown. “Your father always complimented my figure. I wouldn’t wish to gain an ounce by indulging in sweets.”

Cautious of how to proceed, Emily adopted a gentler tone and matched her mother’s eyes. “But he’s gone now.”

Bianca rose from the chair and walked to the front window, a favorite location in the house. Eventually, she broke the long-drawn silence. “Your league is filled with such pretty girls. It’s a pity no one holds an interest in falling in love. What kind of woman wouldn’t want to be adored by a man? It’s wrong to portray men as the enemy. It disrupts the natural order of things. Marrying well is every woman’s purpose.”

So she’d pricked her mother’s disposition and now she’d pay the cost. Emily struggled to keep emotion at bay despite her intellect rebelled at each word. “Not at all. We’re a league of equality. We wish to experience the same opportunities offered to gentlemen, not to exclude them from our lives. Marriage is certainly an option if it becomes the lady’s choice, not obligation or duty.” She didn’t add she needed a man to meddle in her life the same way a mouse needed a cat. “You’ve persisted with this conversation before, as if the answers will change when I’ve experienced some revelation or come to my senses.” Her mother had never voiced these accusations, but Emily believed them true. She perceived it in every disappointed glance or censorious word. Rising from the chair to meet her mother eye to eye, she took a few steps before stalling with hesitation and her mother pounced on the pause to reprimand her further.

“I once considered your attitude immaturity more than confusion, but it’s been years now and you haven’t altered your thinking. You believe you understand everything concerning relationships, but the knowledge you protect so close to your heart would fill a thimble.”

The words were spoken in such a vehement tone Emily didn’t dare contradict them, still the sting of fresh tears burned the corners of her eyes and she turned toward the fire, away from her mother’s condescension.

Chapter 3

The following morning, Jasper awaited Randolph’s arrival at the office. While he’d concede he’d allowed too much time to travel from his town house to upper Bond Street, there was little traffic and no excuse came to mind why Randolph would be more than an hour late. Nearly two hours, now. He exhaled a frustrated breath. He’d need to reiterate his dedication and insist his friend adopt a similar attitude. As business partner, Randolph had no stake in the success of Inventive Investments other than to keep his daylight hours busy before perusing the night in search of lively reverie, but a lackadaisical attitude would benefit no one. This endeavor warranted a sharp mind and keen intuitive intellect.

Everything balanced on Jasper’s success. It wasn’t the money he was after this time, but reputation instead.

All considerations were cut short when Randolph entered, Kellaway fast on his heels.

“Look who I found at the haberdashery? I’ve convinced Kell to come down and have a look around.”

Kellaway seemed to be doing just that, although Jasper wouldn’t believe for an exhale the viscount had interest in their business. Kell was a notorious rake, and proud of the title. His expertise lay in bedrooms, not ballrooms; his skills honed to rolling dice, seducing women and pushing the limits too far. Society adored the handsome elbow-shaker, entertained by his renowned laissez-faire attitude as he played through life, one gaming hell to the next, a different woman in bed every evening. Unlike Jasper, he hadn’t a care of reputation and Kellaway’s was beyond wicked.

“Hello, Benedict.” Annoyed his associate had arrived late, Jasper weighed his words with care and settled behind his desk to open a file and scan the contents, meaning to evoke a serious tone. His comrades missed the mark. He clenched his teeth when their discussion turned to fashion. After fifteen minutes’ debating handkerchief squares and cravat folds, Jasper’s nerves frayed through.

“Randolph.” The two syllables resembled a baritone growl. “Have you reviewed the information I left describing the advantages of Nasmyth’s steam hammer?”