“I’m not a wealthy man, Miss Croome. I have rooms in Cheapside.”
“You are allowed to lease in Cheapside? Papa couldn’t.”
He knew what she meant. Her father’s means didn’t open all doors. His race surely kept many closed.
Arthur fisted his hand. The injustice whipped through him. He knew a portion of what that felt like when his name, the one given to him at birth, made doors slam, made grown men curse that he’d been born. He forced his fingers to unclench and rubbed at his neck. “I live by actor benefit nights based on the success of my plays. I am a saver, very frugal, but even all my savings cannot compare to the home I took you from. Now you say you lived here above a warehouse. Are you ready to live this simply again, with no servants?”
“Bex, you don’t misunderstand. I love the house at Nineteen Fournier. I’m fond of Mrs. Fitterwall and Clancy, the best housekeeper and butler I’ve ever known. I love my frilly room with the softest linens, and the chance to have a warm bath with lilac soap anytime I want.” She pointed to the roof of the warehouse. “But I also loved living here. Life was simpler. It was honest. It was true.”
She clasped his hand and took him to the door. “Papa has an office on the main level, but we lived in two rooms upstairs.”
Compelled to look at her beginnings, he pried at the door, but it was locked. “There’s no entering here.” He slipped betwixt her and the doorway. “You liked living here.”
“My parents worked hard and built a business. They fiercely loved and protected our family. My sister Ruth and I laughed so hard in our small room, peeking through the floorboards at the workers below. I miss those times, but I’m not afraid of building a new life with you, Bex.”
Concerns starting to subside, he took her hand in his. Her shimmering cream gloves in his worn, tanned-leather ones looked different, but no different than if he’d taken the countess’s palm. “It’s good not to be afraid.”
On the vacant street, he twirled her to the long horn sound of a barge sailing up the Thames. The air had that sour smell of waste, nothing like the freshness of the sea in Liverpool, yet the sounds of the boats—that was the noise he missed most—the noise he couldn’t quite forget. “I don’t want you to be afraid of me, Miss Croome. I want your trust.”
He stopped when they walked under a streetlamp. “Did I mention how lovely you are, and how inappropriately dressed for travel?”
“Thank you. I think.”
She held his gaze as he unwrapped her shawl and saw the glitter of the silver, like angel wings, swirling above her light blue dress. “Very inappropriate. Very beautiful. I’m glad to dance with you under this streetlight.”
She looked back toward the warehouse, then at him. “Life was simpler here. My family was whole. Yes, I’d love to live like that again in a house filled with honesty. We are both coming to this marriage with nothing to hide. That is what I am most thankful for.”
At that moment, there was nothing he’d rather give, but he was hiding something so awful, it would ruin this marriage as much as it had ruined his life. “That’s an awfully big promise. I don’t know—”
“Shhh.” She giggled. “I’ve been in love with your voice so long, but I need you to be quiet and listen. The Croomes didn’t always have money. I remember being hungry, but I also remember being happy. The fact you care enough to consider my feelings, speaks volumes about your character. I want to get to know you, Bex, and I want nothing more than to be a good wife to you. Have no doubts about that.”
The shy girl had a palm upon his lapel, and it blew away his internal scoring. The street lighting on her face revealed a hint of snow-white teeth between plump lips that had become a great deal more fascinating. “Now, let’s continue, Mr. Bex. Help me back in the carriage.”
He wanted to stay in that moment, examining her mouth a little longer, but that wasn’t wise. “We are supposed to be eloping. I guess we should continue.” He put his hands around her waist and lifted her back to the platform.
Again, he noticed she was firm in all the right places that his hands could attest to and not cross a boundary. “Yes, ma’am,” was all he could muster. His thoughts were divergent, dashing between failing her trust and what would it take to win her love, love beyond theater infatuation. “Let’s keep going.”
Pushing his top hat down, he climbed aboard and sat beside her. His conscience wouldn’t let him make the horses go. He couldn’t be completely honest, so he put the reins down. “I think I should turn the phaeton around. You could tell your parents that we just took a drive by the river. They will be angered that we did so without a chaperone. Then perhaps they’ll allow me to court you the right way. We could take more time to get to know each other.”
She took up the reins, put them in his hands, and kept her fingers on his, trying to force him to flick his wrist and make the phaeton move. “I can’t go back. People will see me returning with you. Unchaperoned. I’ll be shamed. My mama won’t be able to lift her head. No there’s no sneaking back into Nineteen Fournier. Let’s go, Bex. I’m ready for our new life.”
Nothing would make his horses move without a firm hand. “Miss Croome, I’m not sure that you and I are ready. We haven’t been alone that long. We could—”
“Then why did you come to Nineteen Fournier, Bex? If you’ve changed your mind, you didn’t have to arrive and raise my hopes. I didn’t have to risk my reputation for you to quit now.”
“I came because I said I would. I am a man of my word.”
She gripped his lapel and leaned up. “That is what I want. Not the money or the servants, but a man of his word. I want someone who I can count upon to be honest and faithful. So unless you have decided you can’t be that type of man for me, I suggest we head to Gretna, because I know I can be that type of woman for you.”
“I like a brave woman, Miss Croome. I’m a little older, maybe a little wiser. We’ve reached the point of no turning back. There could be things that we learn of each other that will make you unhappy. I don’t want you ever to be unhappy about choosing me.”
“Bex, you have changed your mind.” She released him and covered herself in her shawl. “You’re the famous Arthur Bex. You’ve decided you are not interested in marrying me, a Blackamoor bride. I’m not a desperate woman. There are easier marriages. One of the same race as you would be easier for you.”
That was what she thought the hesitation was. Yes, he was white, and she wasn’t, but she was also pure and devoid of scandal. He wasn’t. His uncle had done so many atrocities to people who looked like her, but he couldn’t risk saying it aloud.
He bent and lit the small lantern and held it up to his face. “Ester Croome, I want to marry you, but I can tell you are the type of woman who is used to more and deserves more. I want you to be happy with your choice—that is all. He put the lamp on the seat and slipped a glove off, then put his bare hand upon her face. The glow of the light exposed tears which he flicked away. “There’s nothing about you that is deterring me, only my wish to be assured that this is the best path for you.”
“You are the best, Bex. I know that more than ever because you are so caring about me—a stranger.” She put her moist lips together and blew out the lantern. “Now drive us. Let’s get as far from the past as possible. I want our future.”
