That meant knowing for certain which workhouse had arranged for his passage to America.
However, Thomas’s days in London were limited. He needed to spend time with his own family as well. Christmas would soon be here, and he had a few more gifts to purchase. Plus, he needed to work up the nerve to call on Frances, something he hadn’t expected to take so much courage.
His parents were puzzled by his determination to help Peter and thought it enough that he’d brought him back to London. But if Thomas didn’t help Peter find his parents, who would?
“This reminds me of when you were not more than five and found a kitten and brought it home, dear,” his mother had said just that morning. “You have always had a good heart and determined to reach out a hand to anyone in need.”
“Christmas is a good time for charitable acts,” his father had added. “But shouldn’t you be concentrating on your future instead?”
As a second son, Thomas was expected to find his own path in life. His father, the Earl of Penworth, had been supportive of Thomas joining the Navy and rather disappointed when he’d sold his commission earlier in the year.
But it hadn’t taken Thomas long to know military life wasn’t for him. He’d done his best with each assignment and reached the rank of Captain but never felt as if he’d truly earned it.
Traveling was interesting but living abroad not as much. He’d rather be home surrounded by friends, family, and creature comforts.
How ironic that he’d left the military only to move to America soon after, still searching for his purpose.
But he hadn’t found any other opportunity that with time and experience would provide an income to even partially support Frances Melbourne in the manner to which she was accustomed. He knew her father would demand no less in order to consider his suit.
He told himself that his life in America was temporary, and he hoped that was true. That was the only thing that made it bearable to be so far from home. He didn’t want to move there permanently and hoped that after gaining experience, along with funds that proved his success, he could return to London and find employment there.
“Home, please,” he told his driver upon returning to his carriage. They had just turned onto Charing Cross Road when Ames & Clarke, Booksellers, came into view. An idea came to mind, and he rapped on the roof. “Stop at the bookshop,” he called out.
His father had mentioned a book he was interested in, which would make him the perfect Christmas present.
The small shop that specialized in rare and antique books was tucked next to a bootmaker. Thomas hopped out, advising the driver he wouldn’t be long, then entered the rather austere shop where the ding of a bell heralded his arrival.
“Good afternoon, sir,” the thin man behind the counter said. “How may I be of assistance?”
“Afternoon.” Thomas walked to the counter.
Though the displays of books tempted him, he knew if he started browsing, he’d lose track of the hour. He’d spent much of his spare time reading since his arrival in America, though mostly books that shared financial strategies, investing, and banking information. The idea of reading for pleasure was more than appealing. Miss Melbourne liked to read and her mention of books during the house party made him determined to read more.
But Peter, who was spending the day with the servants, was waiting for him, along with his mother. He needed to purchase the book and return home posthaste. “I’m looking for a first edition of Charles Dickens.”
“Of course.” The clerk nodded, adjusting the spectacles on his thin nose. “Which one?”
“A Christmas Carol if you have it. If not, The Pickwick Papers would do.”
“Allow me to see what we have available.” With a dip of his head, the clerk moved toward the back of the shop.
Thomas glanced around the small space, reminding himself of his tight schedule, only to see Frances standing near one of the shelves of books, staring at him in disbelief.
“Miss Melbourne.” His entire body tightened in surprise at the sight of her and suddenly he was out of breath. “How nice to see you.”
Nice? After months away with her ever in his thoughts, all he could say was that it was nice to see her? He nearly groaned at his unfortunate word choice.
She cleared her throat, her gaze falling to the floor. “M-Mr. Sinclair. How...unexpected.”
He drank in her presence, his thirst so great that he had to hold back the urge to gulp. This was a moment to be savored. She looked beautiful. Her cheeks held a hint of color, and her dark brown hair, a rich mahogany, was twisted into a clever coil in the back.
A slate blue hat was perched on her head, making her creamy skin look all the smoother. Her gown was the same color, simple but of fine quality with black braid trim, covered by a short grey cape. The V-neck of her gown contained ruffles of cream-colored lace that peeked forth.
Perhaps distance truly did make the heart grow fonder.
Only now did he realize a maid stood near the door, no doubt Miss Melbourne’s chaperone.
He walked closer to the lady who had held so many of his thoughts these past few months. “In truth, I’m delighted to see you.” There. That was better.
