She put her hand on his again, this time smearing a little dark charcoal on his glove from her sketching. She wet her thumb on her tongue and swiped the smudge away.
His chest felt lighter as he marveled at how comfortable she’d become with him. Barely a week had passed since they’d met over the newspaper advertisement, and she’d become more at ease with him, even reaching for him as she slept. He’d taken his time driving back to London, taken his time letting her become accustomed to his weight shifting beside her and his arm draping her, holding her about the delightful bosom she was so shy about sharing.
He grasped her hand as he made the final turn into the mews behind his flat. “We’re here. Your new home.”
Her shy smile had returned, with those ever so soft lips opening. If not for seeing Jonesy approach, he’d take the invitation. “Wait for me, Ester, to help you down.”
He jumped down and handed the reins and a coin to his red-haired young friend.
The boy fingered a scratch on the side. “You had a bit of an accident?”
“A small one.” He could feel Ester rolling her eyes, but he kept his focus on the young man. “There’s an extra farthing if you can buff it out.”
“Yes, sir.”
The boy started unhitching the horses but stopped when Arthur handed Ester down.”
“A new maid, sir. Miss, let me tell you. Mr. Bex like his things clean, cleaner than new.”
“Jonesy, this—”
“Come along, Mr. Bex. Let me see this new place I have charge of.” Her fake cockney accent came out again, and he shook his head and extended his arm. This time he wouldn’t allow her to pretend. With an arm draped about her waist, he turned her to Jonesy. “Young man, this is my wife. She’s a bit of an actress. If ever she needs anything, you see to it. There will be more than a farthing in it for you.”
“You married…her?” The boy looked down then up. “More than a farthing. Sure thing, Mr. Bex. Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Bex. Mr. Bex is a good tipper.”
Ester stared in Jonesy’s direction a few seconds longer, and Arthur hoped she wouldn’t ask about his cleft lip. The sheltered girl probably hadn’t seen anything like it.
Arthur held out his arm again to Ester. “Shall we?” He put her hand in the crook of his arm. “We can’t usher in change if we hide. Now let’s go. Jonesy, when you are done, bring my bag.”
The boy had one horse unhitched. “Sure thing, Mr. Bex. More than a farthing?”
“Yes. Jonesy.”
Ester tried to retake her bag from him. “I don’t want you hurting that arm.”
He could only shake his head and admire how she wanted to protect him. It was a nice feeling. “Come along.”
They walked out onto the street, and Ester stopped, her mouth gaping.
Arthur looked around but saw nothing amiss on the street, only storefronts and pedestrians. “Ester, what is it?”
“I’ll be living in Cheapside. Papa will be impressed.”
“Well, there is nothing as grand as Nineteen Fournier around here. You’d have to travel to Mayfair to see the likes.”
“The groom Jonesy, was he hurt in an accident?”
“No, he was born with a defective lip.” Hoping she wasn’t being missish, he stopped and looked at her. “Oh, please don’t think less of him. He’s been abandoned and on his own since he was twelve. He is such a good worker.”
“Abandoned like you? He must be so hurt.”
Arthur had accepted being alone, he just hadn’t focused on the hurt part of that kinship with Jonesy. “Perhaps, but he dreams of being a groom at a fancy house like your parents’, but no one will hire him because of his looks.”
“Bex, why don’t you advocate for him and people like him? That is something you are much more connected to than abolition. It might be safer.”
He grasped her hand and walked her to his building. “Abolition is the cause of my heart. Not abandonment. And can you question it, Ester, after hearing your mother? You and your sister would be enslaved back in Jamaica. Slavery must end.”
Her gaze never strayed. Her topaz eyes cut through him as if he’d said something stupid. “I know of its importance. My whole family knows. My mother is a quiet person, but she shared some of the horrors of growing up on a plantation in Jamaica. Her father treated his enslaved people as if they weren’t human. The slave ships from your Liverpool stole her mother and her brothers, her whole family from Africa and brought them to Jamaica. It’s a death sentence for those that work the sugar cane fields. And a different kind of death to be kept in the master’s clutches. Yes, Bex, I know.”
