She understood that her father wanted to protect her; she just wished he couldunderstandher as well. Her need for autonomy and freedom. Whenever she tried to follow her passions, all she received were lectures…and, even worse, Papa’s disapproval.
“Don’t blame yourself, Fi. Keeping our activities secret this long has been no small feat,” Glory said with feeling. “Slip-ups are bound to happen from time to time. Do you remember when Mama found the beard that I’d accidentally left in my reticule? I had to convince her that it was for a play we were putting on to raise funds for impoverished widows.”
“Your parents are more trusting than mine,” Fiona said darkly. “My papa keeps tightening the reins. Meanwhile, Max is allowed to do whatever he wants. If Max wanted to be an investigator, Papa would likely applaud him for his initiative. It isn’t fair.”
Her friends nodded in empathy. They also had brothers who were permitted more freedoms by virtue of their sex. In Fi’s case, however, her father favored Max not only because he was a boy; Papa preferred her brother because he was a better person than she was. Max was not rebellious. He never got into trouble. Instead, he was helpful, considerate, and kind.
In other words, Max was annoyingly good, even to his own detriment. Although Fi bickered with her brother, she was fiercely protective of him. Growing up, she’d had to step in when his so-called friends tried to take advantage of his generosity or bullies his gentle nature. She’d always shrugged off Max’s gratitude; someone had to look after his interests. While she would not admit this to anyone, a tiny part of her wished that she could be as well-behaved and well,nice, as he was.
Life would be so much simpler,she thought wryly,if I could follow rules, respect authority, and think the best of everyone.
“If females had the same rights as males,” Glory said indignantly, “then we wouldn’t have to waste energy hiding what we do. We could tell our families the truth.”
“Unfortunately, I don’t think equality between the sexes will happen any time soon.” Fi set down her cup with a clink. “Secrecy is the only thing that allows us to carry on our work.”
“Marriage to the right husband is an alternative,” Livy chimed in.
“And have one more person telling me what to do?” Fiona rolled her eyes. “I need that like I need a run in my stocking. Anyway, I’ve handled my parents for now. In exchange for coming here, I promised to attend the Hartefords’ supper party tonight.”
Livy and Glory exchanged grins, for Fi had told them about her encounter with Hawksmoor and his paramour. While her bosom chums had been outraged on her behalf, they’d also found the earl’s mysterious immunity to Fi’s charms amusing. They’d even given him a nickname.
“Will the Enigmatic Earl be present?” Livy’s eyes twinkled.
“Probably,” Fiona muttered. “Although the bounder will likely avoid me like the plague.”
“That is most unusual behavior for a fellow.” A sly smile tucked into Livy’s cheeks. “No wonder you are intrigued by him.”
“I am not intrigued by a pompous old scholar,” Fi scoffed.
Although she might have done atinybit of digging on Hawksmoor. After all, it was wise to know one’s enemy. She’d learned that Hawksmoor was considered a polymath, which apparently meant that he was an expert in not just one boring subject but a bunch of them. The list of his interests included mathematics, physics, philosophy, astronomy, and history…just to name a few. He’d published treatises on everything from hieroglyphics to engineering. He’d even invented a calculation machine for which he held a patent.
Fiona further discovered that the earl had married young. As he’d preferred seclusion for his work, he’d locked himself and his poor wife away at their country seat. The pair had rarely been seen in Society. After his countess’s death three years ago, Hawksmoor had gradually re-emerged and showed no interest in remarrying, despite his mama’s wishes. Fi’s own mother had said that Lady Helena fretted over her eldest’s happiness and prayed that he would find a suitable match.
Not that Fi cared, but theon ditwas that he’d had a few discreet affairs since his wife’s death. None had lasted for long. It was whispered that, in bedroom matters, the earl was as emotionless andtirelessas the machines he designed.
Approaching voices announced the arrival of the latest client. Fi and the others took their places at the squints, which gave them a view of Charlie’s study. Charlie entered first; with her honey-blonde ringlets framing her stunning face and her willowy figure clad in a lace-trimmed gown, Charlie was the epitome of a woman thriving in her independence. Her elegant office, with its raspberry silk walls and rosewood furnishings, underscored her status as a lady of power and means.
With her looks and fortune, Charlie could have conquered Society and had any husband she wanted. She chose instead to live by her own rules. She saw widowhood as an opportunity to pursue her ambition of helping other women. To Fiona, Charlie was a role model for feminine independence.
Charlie led the client into the study. From an earlier briefing, Fiona knew the woman was named Geraldine O’Malley, and she was a housekeeper from Yorkshire. Short and thin, she had salt-and-pepper hair and a triangular face stamped by time.
“Why don’t you have a seat, Mrs. O’Malley?” Charlie poured out the tea.
Mrs. O’Malley sat, smoothing her plain bombazine skirts.
“It is kind of you to see me, my lady,” she said, accepting the offered cup. “My employer, Baroness Markham, said that you were once of great help to her and that you might be able to help me too.”
Charlie folded her hands on the desk. “What is the nature of your concerns?”
“I want to find my daughter Lillian.” Mrs. O’Malley took a drink of tea; when she replaced the cup, the slight rattle against the saucer betrayed her anxiety. “She is only nineteen, and I fear that something has happened to her.”
“When did you last see your daughter?”
“Nine months ago. On my last visit to London.” Mrs. O’Malley drew a steadying breath. “A year and a half ago, Baroness Markham moved her household from London to Yorkshire, and I assumed my daughter would come along. The baroness even offered Lillian a position as a lady’s maid, but my daughter turned her nose up. Said she was meant for more than a lifetime of service, even though it was a servant’s wages that paid for her upbringing. Lillian and I argued—we have a habit of locking horns—but there was nothing I could do to sway her. She stayed in London to pursue her dream of being an actress.”
Her expression sympathetic, Charlie said, “Tell me more about your contacts with your daughter. And why you fear that something may have befallen her.”
“When I saw Lillian nine months ago, she seemed her usual self. Headstrong, determined to make a go of being an actress.” Mrs. O’Malley shook her head. “My husband died when Lillian was a babe, and I brought her up on my own as best I could. But she was always a handful…always so much work to manage.”
