The Promise Read online

  She stopped on the landing. “Thank you, Annie. This gentleman...was he looking for a tutor for a young one?”

  “He didn’t say anything about that, ma’am. But I shouldn’t think so. He arrived in the city two days ago, intending to stay at least for a few days at the Inn. Demanded a room to himself, if you can imagine.”

  “Well, thank you, Annie.” Rebecca opened the front door.

  “He is a lawyer, you know…from England.”

  A tight knot gripped Rebecca’s middle and she froze with her foot on the doorstep. Slowly, she turned to the woman. “Who…who was it exactly that he…asked for.”

  Annie shifted the bundles of bread in her arms. “For you. He asked for you. The mother of the boy with the crippled hand. To be perfectly honest, my first thought was that your Jamey must have been up to no good again down on the wharf. If I were you, I’d box the lad’s ears once a day whether he needed it or not. I’ve been meaning to speak to you about it. I’ve seen him down there myself, Mrs. Ford. Don’t think I mean to give a dog a bad name and hang him. I mean, he’s just a lad, to be sure, but you don’t know the way he runs wild down there, scaring the fancy lassies coming off the ships with that claw of his, and then running off with those hellions who live beneath you.” The woman squinted up meaningfully at the Butlers’ windows.

  The tension in Rebecca’s belly eased a bit, but not much. “Thank you for telling me all of this, Annie. I’ll have a long talk with him.”

  “A good strong willow reed across his backside is what he needs, if you ask me, Mrs. Ford. If your husband was alive…”

  “Very well, I’ll see to it. Thank you.” Rebecca didn’t wait to hear any more, and with a quick wave she closed the door and started up the narrow steps to the upper floors.

  There was not much of what Annie had said that she didn’t already know. Jamey had become a little wild this spring, but with so much going on, with Rebecca working at so many jobs, there were only so many hours in the day that she could be tutoring him, or watching him, or scolding him. Not that she had the heart to do much scolding. After all, he needed to stretch his wings a bit.

  But this was another reason why she had to find him a school. He needed a place where he could find some direction for his energy. He needed a way to mold the growing defiance in his character into a positive quality.

  As expected, Molly Butler’s door was open as Rebecca passed, and the neighbor—her belly big with child—waved her into the all-purpose front room. A small fire was crackling in the fireplace on the far wall, and Molly turned her back to stir a pot of stew hanging from an iron rod over the hearth. Satisfied, the rosy-cheeked woman eyed Rebecca as she sat heavily on the large settle beside the fire. Twin girls, barely toddlers, were napping side by side in a little bed in the corner.

  “You don’t have to tell me. Your face shows.”

  Rebecca dropped the scroll of paper and her bag on the table before walking to one of the two front windows. “That’s not the last school. There are others.”

  “You know I love him like my own, but not for your Jamey, I shouldn’t think.”

  She didn’t feel like arguing, and let the comment pass.

  “I can tell, you are already thinking.”

  Rebecca turned and smiled. “You know me, Molly. I’m always thinking.”

  As she sat beside her friend, the pregnant woman cut a slice off the loaf of bread that sat on a small table next to the settle. Without asking, she set the table in front of Rebecca and pushed the small pot of apple butter next to the bread. “You didn’t have any lunch, darling, and seeing how pale you look, I’d wager you didn’t eat anything this morning, either.”

  “Jamey is not back yet?”

  “Don’t fret about him. I sent my Tommy along with George and Jamey. With the older brother along, there is only so much trouble those two urchins dare to get into.”

  Thomas, the oldest of the Butler’s four children, was twelve and quite grown up for his age. He was already riding along occasionally when Mr. Butler would carry passengers Mondays and Thursdays from Strawberry Alley to the Trenton ferry for the first leg of the journey to New York. George, on the other hand, was exactly Jamey’s age and just as unruly.

  “Rebecca, I still think you should consider Mr. Butler’s advice and let Jamey start earning his keep by working in a smith’s shop or…“

  “I can’t.” Rebecca shook her head, staring at the slice of bread before her. “I am writing to the headmaster at Germantown. There is a good chance they’ll take him at the school there.”

  “Mr. Butler tells me they have over two hundred pupils there already, and even if they were more understanding of your Jamey’s situation…”

  “I have to keep trying, Molly.”

  Molly shook her head. “You, of all people, a woman who gets nervous when your son spends half a day out of your sight. How are you going to cope with him boarding with strangers in Germantown? Worse than that, Rebecca, how are you going to afford it?”

  She took a bite of the bread. She could not bring herself to reveal to Molly her plans of moving. The two women had been friends from the time Rebecca and Jamey had arrived in Philadelphia. In this very house, the two families had lived for nearly ten years. In this very room, Rebecca had learned so much about childrearing from her friend.

  But there was more to their friendship than that. Much more. Many a night Rebecca and Jamey had joined the Butler family at their table for supper. How many Christmases had they shared together? From the beginning, there had always been a gift for the two of them…as if they were kin. And when Jamey was burning with fever as a child, Molly had sat with her at his bedside. And in the same way, when Molly was ready to deliver the twins, Rebecca and Jamey had taken in Tommy and George for a fortnight.

  With John Butler away as much as he was, running the “coachee” to New York, the two women had formed a friendship that only deepened with the passage of years. There was no denying it, outside of Jamey, the Butlers were the only family that Rebecca had known in all of her life.

  But right now, as tired as she was, as dispirited as she felt, talking about a move that would change everything was not Rebecca’s idea of an inviting discussion.

  “Forget about eating. Seeing how pale you look, you should go upstairs and lie down before your afternoon lessons. I’ll send some of this stew up when it’s ready.”

  Rebecca shook her head. “I’m fine…really I am.”

  She came quickly to her feet at the sound of Tommy and George shouting up from the street. Crossing to the window, she spotted the two boys looking up at her.

  “Is Jamey back yet?” the older boy called as she raised the sash.

  Rebecca leaned out the window. “I thought he was with you two.”

  “He was,” George said. “But this fancy-dressed gentleman stopped us on the corner of Front and High Street. Said he wanted to have a private word with Jamey.”

  Molly’s voice shrieked over Rebecca’s shoulder, waking the two girls. “You’re not telling us you left him alone with a stranger, are you?”

  “Nay, Mama,” Tommy hurriedly responded. “But we couldn’t hear what the macaroni says, either, as they stood a few paces from us. Then, a couple of sweeps come a-shoving and a-barging along the bricks. Well, by the time the bloody soot-suckers cleared off, all we see is Jamey pushing the man away and running. I ain’t never seen him run so…except maybe the time we snuck up the bell-tower of Christ Church and got almost caught coming down…“

  “You did what?”

  Rebecca pulled abruptly back from the window, giving room to Molly to question the boys about this latest misdeed. There was something very wrong. What was it that Annie had said about the lawyer who had asked about her? But he really had been asking questions about Jamey.

  She had to find her son.

  Without another word, Rebecca rushed to the door and started down the stairs. She hadn’t descended even two steps, though, before spotting his folded
form on the bottom stair.

  “Jamey!” she cried, crouching next to him. She took his face in her hands and brought it up until she could look into his face in the dim light of the stairway. “What’s wrong, Jamey?”

  There were tears in his eyes. He wiped away at them with the back of one sleeve. Before Rebecca could ask again, though, he threw his arms around her and buried his face in her lap.

  “Don’t let them take me away, Mama. Please don’t let him take me away.”

  “I would never do that.” She lifted his head until he was looking into her face. “Do you hear me? I promise you I will never let anyone take you away!”

  She crushed him against her chest, rocking him in her arms as the tears flowed down his cheeks.

  Molly appeared at the top of the stairs. “Praise God, he’s back. I’ll skin those two rogues of mine…What’s wrong?”

  Rebecca shook her head at her friend. “He’s fine, Molly. Just tell the boys he’s here.”

  Clutching his hand, she led him up the stairs to their rooms. Molly followed them up, carrying the pot of apple butter and the bread.

  Jamey just shook his head at Molly’s offer of food and escaped into Rebecca’s tiny bedchamber.

  “Something’s wrong,” Rebecca muttered to Molly before going after her son.

  In the other room, she found Jamey curled up on her bed and clutching tightly to her old shawl.

  “Do you want to tell me what is wrong?”

  He didn’t respond. She crouched down next to the bed and took his chin, turning his face until his large blue eyes met her gaze.

  “What happened, Jamey? Who was the man that stopped you on the street?”

  Fresh tears glistened in the boy’s eyes.

  “What did he want?” She gentled her tone. “What did he say?”

  She caressed his sandy blonde hair, pushing it away from his brow. She used a kerchief from her sleeve and wiped his tears.

  “He already knew my name, Mama. But…he called me…James.”

  “What else, love?”

  “He grabbed my arm and stared at my hand.”

  “Hush!” she cooed as more tears rolled down his cheeks. This wasn’t the first time that the child had faced people looking at him as an oddity. True, she had made every one of those incidents a battle—a battle against ignorance—but she didn’t remember Jamey ever reacting as strongly to it as he was now.

  “I love you, Mama. I promise to do my best.” There were hiccups mixed with the words. “I promise I will never pretend to not to hear. If you take me back to the Friend’s school, I give you my word this time I’ll behave. I’ll answer their questions and everything. Just don’t send me away.”

  “I love you, too. And you are not going anywhere without me. But I need to know,” she said more firmly, “what that man said to you, Jamey.”

  But before he could answer, Molly appeared at the door. Rebecca looked up in surprise.

  “There is someone here to see you.”

  “Take their name, Molly. Send them away.”

  Her friend shook her head and motioned for Rebecca to come into the other room.

  A fear as potent and as crippling as the one she’d felt in that library in London so many years ago pierced her body. She ran a hand over Jamey’s forehead before forcing herself to her feet. Her movements were slow, almost painful, as she closed the door behind her.

  Molly motioned toward the door leading to the stairs.

  Rebecca took a deep breath and opened it, her fingers tightly wrapped around the latch.

  “Mrs. Ford?”

  She nodded at the fashionably dressed gentleman on the landing.

  “I am Sir Oliver Birch, ma’am, of the Middle Temple in London. I am here on behalf of the earl of Stanmore.”

  “What can I do for you, Mr. Birch?”

  “I am here to collect and accompany James Samuel Wakefield, the future earl of Stanmore, back to England.”

  Rebecca stared at him for only an instant before slamming the door as hard as she could.

  CHAPTER 4

  London

  The white silk slid upward over the muscled back of her lover. As he pulled the shirt over his broad shoulders, however, Louisa’s lips curved into a practiced pout. She stretched like a cat between the rumpled sheets of the giant bed and watched him dress.

  Carnally fulfilled she was, but the familiar sight of Stanmore leaving her bed and her house immediately after their lovemaking never failed to diminish her pleasure. Even now, the acrid, metallic taste of disappointment was in her mouth, but she forced herself to look casual, soft, alluring.

  She was not above asking him to stay. She was not even above pleading with him. But she refused to yield to such a fatal inclination. She was far too clever for that. Louisa Nisdale had no wish to join Stanmore’s long list of castoff paramours. She had invested the entire three years of her ridiculous marriage and the first two years of her widowhood keenly studying—albeit from a safe distance—the man and his restlessness. Samuel Wakefield, the earl of Stanmore, was openly disdainful of the women who swooned at his feet. He was impossibly arrogant toward the men of his station, especially those who tried to engage him in activities he saw as frivolous. Drinking, gaming, and whoring were beneath him, it seemed. It certainly seemed to matter not to him that the rest of his class found the diversions entertaining.

  No, the earl of Stanmore took his politics seriously. A hero of the French wars in America, he was now an outspoken member of the House of Lords. He was regal in bearing and fiercely proud of his lineage, with ancestors who had served their kings back to the time of William the Conqueror.

  More important than any of that, though, Lord Stanmore was incredibly generous with his friends. And this was a virtue that Louisa highly esteemed in him—particularly in light of her highly developed taste for gambling and spending.

  It was like a lovely play, she thought. And credit her own astuteness as a player, for here she was at the end of nearly a month’s run of pleasure and passion...and no hint of a finale in sight.

  Cheered by her own thoughts, Louisa pushed the covers away and rolled to the edge of the bed. From here she had a full view of Stanmore’s handsome face in the mirror as he tied his cravat by candlelight. She savored the heat spreading through her at the sight of his eyes darkening as they traveled the length of her naked back and buttocks. She rolled onto one elbows, giving him a full view of her breasts.

  “About Lady Mornington’s invitation for Friday night...” She gathered her long mane of blond hair in one hand and rolled back onto the pillows. His eyes followed her movements in the mirror. She tilted her head up and casually kicked what remained of the sheets off her legs. “Could you arrange to come for me here at six thirty? I much prefer to arrive there with you and--”

  “I’ve already declined Lady Mornington’s invitation.”

  “But she is such a good friend of mine. She shall be greatly disappointed if we do not go.”

  He moved away from the mirror and reached for his waistcoat. “I only spoke of my own plans regarding this engagement. You are, of course, free to do as you wish.”

  “I cannot understand what you have against her. This is the fifth invitation from that good lady that you have declined in the past month.”

  “If it were the fiftieth, I would still decline. I have no interest in gaming establishments nor in gambling.”

  “But that’s not all that she offers her guests. Why, she is a respected--”

  “I have no interest in attending.”

  Louisa heard the change in his tone. It was a subtle shift, nearly imperceptible, but she’d heard it before and recognized it. Stanmore did not raise his voice, but the note of danger was unmistakable.

  “Ah, well…” she said, sliding gracefully off the bed and walking slowly toward him as he pulled on his jacket.

  She knew that a little time was called for. Time for his flash of temper to subside. Time for his eyes to focus on her body onc
e again and appreciate the display of her charms. But the earl seemed distracted, if not disinterested, and this alarmed her more than she wanted to admit.

  Louisa Nisdale, however, had a gambling soul, so she picked up her dressing gown of the sheerest silk and draped it loosely around her.

  “In fact, Stanmore, I have a much better idea.” Running a finger along the taut skin of his neck, she drew his gaze to her face. She moved into his arms and rubbed her body seductively against him. He towered over her. The dressing gown fell open, and a thrill raced through her at the feel of her soft skin against the superfine cloth, at the sight of her own creamy flesh pressed against the black fabric, at the heat of his buckskin clad thighs pressed against hers. “You and I…Saturday evening…strolling through the pleasure gardens at Ranelagh. As we pass by the arches with all the parties sitting at tea, you can whisper in my ear all the wicked things you’d like to do to me. And I, in turn, can whisper all the…”

  “No, I think not.” Gently but firmly, he pushed her away and turned toward the door.

  She reached out quickly and took a hold of his sleeve. “We don’t need to go anywhere,” she said, working hard to keep the note of panic out of her voice. “Perhaps here…we can…”

  “I’m leaving town for Hertfordshire for a few days. Perhaps I’ll see you sometime next week, Louisa.”

  She stared at him for a moment. Take me with you, she nearly cried out as he leaned down to place a kiss on her forehead. But she knew better and bit back the words, instead sliding her arms around him and lifting her lips to be kissed.

  Again, he disengaged himself from her and started for the door. She felt the color flood into her cheeks.

  “I understand. You are restless because you are impatient with the waiting. It has been several months now, has it not?”

  He came to an abrupt stop at the door and looked back at her. His eyes were black, but she could see that distinctive light gleaming deep in their depths. She felt the danger heat the air around her. She had overstepped her position, but now she knew she had to hold her ground.