Undone By His Kiss

“Where are you going?” his friends objected in tandem.

“I expect Dash to poke holes in my dreams. He’s been doing it for so long, no matter I recovered our family solvency. But the two of you doubt my ability as much as he. Does everyone consider me a beetle-head?”

“No one called names, Jasper. Sit down, you’re making a spectacle of yourself.”

The scowl on Kell’s face caused Jasper to pause, but only for a heartbeat. Then he turned and grabbed his hat from the hook on the wall, nearly upturning a chair in his hurry to the door.

Emily Shaw approached the fine brick building on upper Bond Street with pride and confidence. Chin held high, her eyes admired the sleek glass-paned window of the lower office and fashionable mahogany door flanked by white plaster columns. The brass knocker glistened in the slanting sunlight.

Her heart beat harder.

This was her dream realized.

Proof of her hard work.

No longer would her charitable league sit in the parlor of the Nelson Square town house she shared with her mother and voice hope-filled whispers over tea and biscuits. A legitimate meeting place cemented her dedication to the cause and with membership growing, a true assembly was needed where determined women could plan their future and prepare for happily settled spinsterhood without the burden of a man’s interference.

Emily smiled from the heart, satisfaction heating her face and likely flushing her cheeks pink. Her eyes skittered higher to the double windows of the upper office, the space she’d leased for a year’s term.

The landlord, a compact, bald man with an outlandish mustache, had been gracious and considerate, hardly asking a question or prying into her business as to why a woman of twenty-three years would need to reserve a two-room office on one of London’s busiest thoroughfares. Nor did he question her funding or insinuate she’d need a gentleman’s advisement. Instead, the landlord had smiled and pressed the key into her hand with a twinkle in his eye and wish of good fortune.

If only all males could show such restraint of curiosity and overbearing advice. Not so, unfortunately. Having little use for men and their intrusive opinions served as a freeing proposition. She’d mastered the impulse to follow in the traditional path of gentle ladies. Her nose wrinkled with the thought. Gentlemen who wielded authority and wealth proved the worst of all, bullying through society by virtue of title and purse. That very sentiment brought her to form her league nearly two years prior. That, and the determination to live as an independent, beholden to no one.

If only her mother could adopt the same vein of enlightened thinking.

With a small shrug, she dismissed the lugubrious threat to her joy, and paused at the entrance of the office building. The door stood locked with the bottom tenant nowhere to be seen. It would appear they’d share the same hall and entry. She hoped the gentleman was a bearable sort, although she had no intention of interacting with him or his clients. The lettering across the large wood-framed window read Inventive Investment. A silhouette of a dove flew below the inscription. She gave it no further consideration and inserted her new key in the lock, a thrill of anticipation and accomplishment straightening her spine with a ripple of pride.

She nearly floated up the narrow stairwell to find the office space and meeting room exactly as she’d remembered when she signed the lease two days past. The landlord must have been in, as a packet of documents was left on a side table along with a vase full of fiddleheads. How very pleasant and thoughtful.

Making haste to the sink in the kitchen area, she refilled the vase and strode to one of the windows overlooking the busy street below. Carriages rushed past on their way to a plethora of appointments, couples strolled on the sidewalks, some carrying packages and other’s meant for a leisurely day out. A few older gentlemen congregated on the corner, deep in conversation.

This is what independence felt like. She breathed in deep and held the emotion tight inside. This represented the freedom for which her soul yearned and heart ached. Later, when she returned home, she would be reminded of every reason she needed the league to survive, but for now when she could stand in her office, every decision in her command, she couldn’t imagine a better feeling in the world.

Tears filled her eyes with sentimental relief. She’d done it…accomplished independence and a true purpose to her days. And no one, no man, would ever take it away from her.

Chapter 2 (#ulink_0b25fc3b-1fd0-5a63-b773-8dfc27e039e8)

Jasper surveyed the pedestrian traffic through the large window at the front of the newly opened office space. “Why doesn’t someone come in?” The question was laced with barely contained impatience, his eyes flicking left and right as people bustled by without a glance in his direction.

Randolph Beaufort, friend and business associate, sat at his desk across the room, his hands folded behind his head and feet propped atop the marble as if he hadn’t a care. “I suppose it will take a little time for our business to become popular. Not to worry. We only opened this morning.”

Jasper turned, intent on finding something to do rather than watch people not entering. “It may be a good time for us to review the information I’ve gathered for referral.” He settled behind his desk, adjusted his inkwell and blotter, and opened the top drawer to remove a long file full of papers and notations. “Mr. Nasmyth has contacted me concerning his ideas for a steam hammer. If he manages to perfect the design, his invention could revolutionize factory work.” He withdrew a folder paper from the portfolio and opened its contents flat on the desktop. “He’d like us to secure investors so he might continue his progress with the project.”

“Sounds like a smart chap, despite he’s from Scotland.” Randolph let loose a chuckle before straightening in his seat and adjusting his silk waistcoat. A very fine dresser, he smoothed his palm down each side of the tri-color embroidery embellishment and then matched eyes with Jasper across the room.

“Were we to have a client…” Jasper cleared his voice and restarted. “When we have clients, I believe Nasmyth’s design should be our strongest suggestion. He will need further collateral to fund his project and the outcome for all involved would equal wealth once he succeeds. I haven’t believed as vehemently in any invention since the mousetrap.”

“Clever, the way we snapped that idea up and walked away with the cheese.” Randolph laughed at his joke and then both men slue their eyes to the front where a gentleman paused to read the lettering on the window glass.

Jasper held his breath, willing the man to enter, yet after a tormenting moment, the passerby continued down Bond Street in no particular hurry.

“It will take time.” Randolph’s attempt to soothe his disappointment did little aside from reassure he was a loyal comrade.

“It’s the waiting, I suppose, that has me at sixes and sevens.”

“Well, it’s barely two o’clock. Are you up for a little nuncheon before we continue our business pursuits?” Randolph stood and snatched his hat from the corner of the desk.

“We may as well.” Jasper agreed, although his tone sounded cross as crabs. “I’m hungry and a full bread-basket always improves the day.” He patted his stomach to underscore the sentiment and made for the door.

Emily tapped her wooden gavel gently against the escritoire situated at the center of the sitting room in the town house she shared with her mother. She’d moved the furniture and arranged an assortment of chairs, then requested refreshments from the housekeeper. A female needed to be independent in many ways, not just the obvious. It hadn’t been too difficult to drag the writing desk forward and she’d only needed to stop twice to tug at her sleeves and adjust her bodice, the encumbrance of her gown an additional challenge to the feat.

“I call the League of Virtuous Equality to order.” She tapped her gavel a second time and donned a wide smile. “I’ve exciting news, ladies.” Her eyes scanned the eight members seated in a horseshoe around the desk. “I’ve secured a verified meeting place for our organization. An office where we can enroll new participants, pursue our goals, and further exercise independence without interference from males. As our core belief states, equality in all things.” Saying the words aloud ignited a delicious flutter of excitement to the announcement and she straightened her posture with pride.

The room erupted in reaction. Gasps intermingled with jovial comments, while questions and demands for details were voiced.

“Our new address…” Emily paused to regain control of the room, although another fulsome smile threatened to surface. “Our new address is located on upper Bond Street at the heart of the business sector. Not only will the league be easily accessible, but we’ll be highly visible. A shining example to all women and proof life extends far beyond the social expectation to marry and produce children.”

“My heavens, Emily, an office in such prime position must demand an exorbitant rent. Our dues are less than a trifling and meant to compensate for tea leaves. However will the league survive?” Margery Danford, the oldest of the ladies at twenty-eight, worried about finances more than any other member. The history she’d shared when joining their league related a modest upbringing with few advantages or choices for that matter. Her heart’s desire was to own a hat shop where she could sell her creative designs and why shouldn’t her dream be realized?

“Money, no matter it poses a distasteful subject, should not be of concern. I’ve been honest with each of you.” She slid her gaze from one woman to the next. “Finances need never be a debate.” Emily would by no means confess her mother and she possessed coin to spare. She flicked a glance downward, her butter-yellow gown unpretentious and serviceable more than the cut of fashion. Money served as a tool for all the right reasons and not something to be wasted on indulgences.

“Perhaps we should take a collection or solicit donations,” Thomasina Gordon piped up, forever the problem solver and thinker of their group.

“Asking for donations undermines our main purpose of establishing independence and would only prove to men—” Emily intoned the word to emphasize her odious opinion “—that women are forever dependent upon their services.”

“Some services are necessary, I would think.” Cynthia Maddox suppressed a giggle given the forbidden topic.

“Ladies.” Emily’s fingers itched to tap her gavel. “Let’s not detract from our purpose today. Having a legitimate meeting place establishes our league as a force within the social order. It ensures our cause, to motivate women in pursuit of virtuous equality free of societal pressure and instead, promotes the belief that females have as much decision in their future as any male in London.”

“Or beyond.” Forever dreaming, Portia Edmonstone voiced the words and shared a brilliant smile.

Portia yearned to travel the world, unencumbered by a chaperone or escort. Her parents treated her as if she was daft and her sisters were all settled with two or three babes, making her view of the future appear all the more outlandish. Portia’s life’s hurtle was daunting, yet proved more so than anyone else’s in the room, that a league devoted to encouraging independence was a timely and valuable necessity.

“I realize we normally meet twice a week,” Emily continued, imbued by the reality members needed to make excuses for their absence or risk the censure of parents and siblings. “But I propose we come together tomorrow in celebration and exploration. We can gather at the Bond Street office and reaffirm our cause with a toast.”

“You aren’t suggesting liquor?” A few ladies murmured the same concern, although Margery’s question sounded most aghast.

“Of course not, ladies, I shall provide tea, although someday we will need to learn spirits and their distorting effects. Every iota of information is valuable and may provide solutions for someone’s journey toward independence.”

Rapid applause circulated the room, a plethora of plans taking shape. Emily, encouraged more than she’d been in some while, basked in the reverie. She’d return the meeting to order in a few minutes. Thomasina had prepared a presentation on banking to share this afternoon. Her father forever fell asleep with his ledgers open and she’d gleaned extensive knowledge by peering over his somnolent form. These scraps of information reclaimed from the male world offered their league empowerment.

Matters couldn’t be better. Well, with the exception of her mother of course, but in the meantime Emily would absorb the joy of accomplishing yet another step to progress.

Two hours later, when the ladies had departed and Emily had managed to replace all the furniture, she settled in an overstuffed chair near the fire, a cup of chamomile tea in hand, and reviewed the day with secret delight. Having a meeting place for the league would benefit everyone, but Emily most of all.

It had nothing to do with the sitting room upheaval twice a week. She didn’t mind the work, despite Mary, the housekeeper, reprimanded her sternly. She begrudgingly consented to a blow at equality that gentlemen possessed natural strength in their physique, where lifting a rug or repositioning a desk required minimal effort.

Women were strong in other ways. More important ways. Emotionally, indeed. Males, often regaled as the backbone of society, were lacking in strength of heart and moral fiber. She lived with daily proof of the supposition.