Page 5 of Gentleman Jim

“Jenny says that the last time she ever heard anything of him, he was on his way to Bristol. Perhaps if I can find him, if I can convince him I’m his son, he’ll allow me to stay with him. To ride with him on his travels.”

“But you don’t even know for certain that Gentleman Jim is your father! Jenny has never admitted—”

“She’s never denied it. And everyone who remembers what Gentleman Jim looked like says I’m the very image of him.”

“Yes, I know that, but no one has seen him in ages. What if you can’t find him?”

Nicholas’s jaw hardened. “I will find him.”

Maggie glared at him, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “Confound you, Nicholas Seaton, you know there’s no time to argue!” She stamped her foot. “Oh, very well.” She reached into the folds of her cloak and drew out a small, heavily filled sack. “If you insist upon going, then you must take this with you.”

Nicholas eyed the sack warily. “Is that what I think it is?”

“Yes. Most of my pin money and all of the little tokens Papa has given me in the last several years. A shilling here, a guinea there. I daresay it has added up to a tidy sum. I was going to give you a few coins to sustain you until Papa returns from London, but under the circumstances I think you must take it all.”

“No.” Nicholas took a step back from her. “It’s a king’s ransom.”

“Good. Then I’ll never have to worry about you freezing to death or going hungry.” She thrust the sack of money at his chest. “Take it. And take Miss Belle, too. Ride her as far as the crossroads and then set her loose. She can find her way back to Beasley Park from anywhere in the county.”

Nicholas swallowed hard as he accepted the money. “Maggie Honeywell, you’re an angel.”

At his words, the first tears spilled over onto Maggie’s cheek. She dashed them away with her hand. “I know I will never see you again.”

Nicholas stepped closer, and reaching out, caught her cleft chin in his hand. It was an old habit. Something he’d done since she was a little girl. But this time the gesture wasn’t playful or teasing. He didn’t, as a brother would, give her chin an affectionate pinch and then let her go. Instead he gently tipped up her face so that her large blue eyes were forced to meet his. His thumb brushed away a tear, and then, before Maggie could guess his intention, he lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her very softly on the lips.

It was a brief kiss, and considering her tears, not a particularly romantic one, but it was the first kiss they’d ever shared. And it was nothing at all like the kiss that a brother would give to his sister.

“Wait for me, Maggie,” Nicholas said. “I’ll find Gentleman Jim, and when I make my fortune, I’ll come back for you.” He held her gaze for what seemed like an eternity. “No matter how long it takes,” he vowed. “I will come back.”

London, England

Spring 1817

Margaret Honeywell sank back into the velvet cushions of her father’s traveling coach and closed her eyes. Last night had been spent at a rather inhospitable inn, the landlord of which had relegated her and her maid, Bessie, to a cramped bedchamber overlooking the stable yard, complete with a smoking fireplace, a lumpy mattress, and a door with a very unreliable lock. Between the noise, the discomfort, and the fear that they would be murdered in their beds, Maggie had hardly managed to sleep a wink.

“That’s right, Miss Margaret.” Bessie draped a carriage rug over Maggie’s lap, tucking it in all around her. “You close your eyes and rest.” She untied the ribbons of Maggie’s bonnet and lifted it from her head. “And don’t you fear dropping off to sleep neither, for there’s a good two hours before we arrive at Lord and Lady Trumble’s, and I’ll wake you in plenty of time to put you to rights.”

“You must rest too, Bessie,” Maggie murmured without opening her eyes. “You slept as little as I did last night.”

“Don’t you worry about me, miss.” Bessie settled her enormous bulk back into the seat across from Maggie. “A ten-minute nap, and I shall be as fresh as a nosegay.”

The rhythmic rattling of the coach lulled Maggie to sleep. When next she awoke, they were within the city limits of London.

Bessie was at the ready with the dressing case, and having once again moved to sit beside her, combed out Maggie’s curls and secured them with a few artfully placed hairpins. “Pinch your cheeks, Miss Margaret,” she commanded in the same brisk, no-nonsense tone she used when directing Maggie to drink a vitamin tonic or to eat an extra spoonful of restorative jelly. “I mayn’t be your nurse any longer, but I’ll not have it said that you lost your bloom under my care.”

Maggie dutifully pinched her cheeks, but when Bessie began forcefully tugging at her carriage gown in an attempt to straighten out the wrinkles, Maggie slapped her hands away. “Enough, Bessie! You’re making me as nervous as a cat with all of your fussing. Leave me be for now. It’s only Jane who will see me, and she’ll not mind my hair and gown.”

Undeterred, Bessie picked up Maggie’s bonnet and began to dust off the crown. “Miss Trumble may not mind it, but you can be sure that dresser of hers, Miss Jenkins, will have something to say about your appearance. And any fault she finds will be hung round my neck, make no mistake. It’s jealousy, is what it is. For all you aren’t the daughter of a baron, she’d give her right arm to do for you instead of Miss Trumble. Not that Miss Trumble isn’t a sweet girl—far sweeter than you are, Miss Margaret, truth be known—but she isn’t what anyone would call a beauty.”

“In tonnish circles, Jane is considered quite pretty.”

Bessie snorted. “I’ll wager no gentleman ever compared her complexion to Devonshire cream, or said her eyes were like two Indian sapphires.”

“It would be rather silly if they had. Jane’s eyes are brown.”

“And what about those gentlemen during your come out, Miss Margaret? The ones that called you the Pocket Venus? I can’t imagine anyone saying the same about Miss Trumble, no matter how many frills and furbelows Miss Jenkins puts her into.”

“Naturally, they wouldn’t. Jane is tall.”