It wasn’t that I opposed buying indentured servants. More than thirty years ago, Ben had arrived in Philadelphia the same way. He’d been just seventeen, without shoes on his feet or money enough to buy even a small loaf of bread. At the time, my father had been busy building his reputation as a merchant. Finding himself in need of a personal servant, he purchased Ben’s contract. The agreed length of service was five years, but when this time passed, Ben remained with his master despite many offers to set him up in his own trade. Since Ben, my father had purchased the contracts of at least two dozen more indentures. Many of those servants had gone on to be small farmers or tradesmen, though more than a few chose to stay and work for my father once their contracts expired. His most recent purchases were the contracts of Mary Finney and Alice Reed, after two chambermaids left to be married within a month of the other. Only a year into their contracts, Mary and Alice had grown hopelessly devoted to my family and intended to stay at Brighmor for their remaining days, or until proper suitors came along.
While the idea of indentures didn’t trouble me, my specific reason for buying Henry did. Not for a minute did I think he would willingly participate in my scheme if not bound by contract and threatened by the potential of a far worse situation. To save my own skin, I planned to manipulate another human being, just because I had the power to do so. This very decision made me a despicable creature—no better that Mr. Fletcher or Nathan Crowley.
Unable to tolerate the sight of my own face any longer, I stepped away from the mirror and started pacing the floor. Am I really as bad as all that? Certainly my offer was better than seven years of backbreaking labor in a brickyard under so cruel a master. Not to mention any additional duties Mr. Fletcher had in mind when purchasing such an attractive young man. And what about the other boy who allegedly stumbled into the oven? Could Henry have met a similar fate? Taking the whole picture into account, maybe I hadn’t acted the villain after all, but had in fact performed a great kindness.
With this new perspective, I stepped back in front of the mirror to check my appearance. According to the mantel clock I had been back in the room for well over an hour. Assuming that new clothing hadn’t proven too much of a hassle and allowing enough time for a proper bath and shave, I guessed Ben and Henry would be back to the inn within forty minutes. This gave me enough time to ring for tea and improve my own disheveled looks.
At the armoire, I studied the selection of gowns in search of something more dignified than the cotton frock from this morning. Nothing jumped out at once, but after a moment’s consideration, I decided on a dark blue silk for the sole reason that the color perfectly matched my eyes. Changing dresses was no small feat, and I had just sat down to fix my hair when the maid brought up the tea. She stayed long enough to help with the finishing touches before I sent her away, not wanting her anywhere near when Henry arrived. Hopefully Ben would be discreet, and Mrs. Bradford would be spared any undue scandal on my account.
To pass the remaining minutes, I sat down with a book of poetry. Generally an avid admirer of Anne Bradstreet, today the verses slipped away entirely unnoticed. Releasing a sigh, I put the book down and started pacing the room again only to find myself back in front of the mirror. I had slipped on a pair of pearl earrings and was pinching some color into my cheeks when Ben knocked on the door.
“Please, come in,” I called, thankful I hadn’t turned the lock again after the maid left.
As the two men walked into the room, my mouth fell open. The scruffy indenture from the docks was gone, and a breathtaking gentleman now stood in his stead—bathed and cleanly shaven, his light brown hair was neatly tied back with a black ribbon. They’d had good luck finding suitable clothing, and he wore a dark tan wool coat over a maroon waistcoat and a white linen shirt. Breeches of the same tan stopped right below the knee, giving way to white stockings and black shoes with large metal buckles. He offered a pleasant sight from head to toe, and I stared at him as though in a trance.
Ben cleared his throat, and I pulled my mouth shut with a snap. “Mr. Henry Alan to see you, miss,” he said.
“Yes, Mr. Alan, please come in and have a seat. Would you care for some tea?”
“Thank you, Miss Kilbrid.” He sounded surprised by the offer, but crossed the room all the same and took a seat near the hearth where the tea service had been set out on a low table.
“Ben, you may wait outside,” I said. Although propriety insisted he not leave me alone with the man, I wished no further witnesses for what I was about to do.
Ben raised his eyebrows to show he disapproved of my request. I raised mine in return, silently pleading with him to grant me some privacy. “Very well,” he said. “I will be right outside the door.”
Once Ben left the room, I readjusted my face into a smile before taking a seat opposite Henry. Cold sweat coated my hands and nerves squirmed inside me like newly hatched eels. In need of a minute to gather my wits, I focused on pouring his tea while I debated where to start. Henry looked at me most curiously when I handed him the porcelain cup, and I wondered if he, too, was counting how many rules I had already broken.
“Would you mind telling me some of your history?” I finally asked.