chapter 23
Caroline looked up from her desk and stared at Jack in the doorway of the mill office. Her breath caught and her heart raced. He looked so good she wanted to spring off the chair and race to hold him.
He smiled, and memories of every tender touch poured through her with molten heat. Her bones melted under the onslaught.
Slowly, she became aware that the scratching of pens had stopped and all the clerks in the office were staring at Jack. He wore a business suit and looked more like a man of moderate means then a mere laborer.
Swallowing hard, she drew back her chair and stood. “Mr. Applegate.”
What on earth was he doing here?
Leaning heavily on a cane, Jack limped across the floor toward her. “Mrs. Broadhurst.”
Her mouth dropped open.
His forehead veed and his lips pressed together each time his weight landed on his right leg. The below-the-knee plaster cast interfered with the smooth lay of his trousers. But he was walking.
Tears sprang to her eyes. Her emotions seemed to have gone wayward lately. One day she missed him so much it was all she could do not to sob all through the day, the next she was glad the temptation was removed, and other days she prayed fervently for his success so there was a chance they could have a future.
Jack’s gaze shifted behind her. “I’ve come for the job you promised me.”
Caroline turned as Mr. Broadhurst came out of his office. Since she’d told him of her suspected condition, the gentlemen had gone home and Mr. Broadhurst resumed control of the mill, as if her interlude in charge meant nothing.
“Step inside my office and we’ll discuss terms of your employment, Mr. Applegate.” Mr. Broadhurst returned to his chair behind his desk.
Questions burned in her mind, but she couldn’t ask them for fear she would give away her feelings. Instead she ducked her head as Jack moved past her. Was he back because he too found every minute of every day apart an eternity?
Jack leaned against a tree halfway between the Broadhurst house and the mill. The early darkness was nearly complete, and the December air was brisk.
The one bright spot about returning was that Caroline had looked thrilled to see him. Her eyes lit up, her carriage lifted, and she eagerly leaned toward him as if she too wanted to greet him more warmly. But her excitement quickly turned to dismay. She slipped him a note midday asking to meet in front of the house after dinner.
He’d been dreading and anticipating being alone with her, but he didn’t know how to answer her questions. Oddly enough, he hoped he’d failed to get a child on her too. He’d failed at everything else.
Even the physicians of the Royal College were unable to do more than marvel at the ingenuity and advanced treatment of the country doctor who saved his leg when they would have amputated. All they were able to do was give him a new plaster of paris cast that allowed him to walk, warning him his ankle was locked in place and he’d likely need the solid cast or a brace for the rest of his life. Then they shook their heads over his inability to command his toes to move.
The front door of the Broadhurst house opened, allowing a brief spill of light onto the stairs. Then the silhouette of a woman scooted through the opening.
Caro. Even though he couldn’t make out her face, and her form was bundled in a long cloak, he knew her.
His heart racing, Jack pushed away from the tree and walked out to the center of the drive.
Looking left and right, Caroline hesitated at the bottom of the stairs.
“I’m here,” he called softly.
She walked briskly toward him for a few steps, then trotted, then broke into a full run.
He leaned against his cane, bracing for an impact that was likely to send him to the ground. The cast didn’t exactly provide him with the same stability as having two good legs. He’d found he could barely tolerate bearing weight on it for more than ten minutes, but at least his back didn’t hurt the way it did when he used the crutches for long periods. But he wouldn’t have stopped her headlong hurtle into his arms for the world.
At the last second she drew up. He didn’t know if his disappointment or his relief was stronger.
“Jack,” she breathed.
His disappointment. He wanted to feel her against him.
Unable to help himself, he reached to brush his fingers across her cheek. “I missed you.”
She caught his hand and squeezed. “You mustn’t. We mustn’t. Oh, why are you here?”
The cold wind gusted, stealing his breath.
Staring at him with glittering eyes, she took a step back and then another.
The space between them was like a dull knife carving out his heart. “Caro.”
“We can go to the mill office and talk.”
He didn’t want to talk. He wanted to pull her to him, to kiss her, and to make love to her until dawn.
She walked faster than he could manage to follow. The office wouldn’t exactly provide a soft bed, but it would get them out of the wind. All he could think about was tasting her. His body tightened and his thoughts swirled with memories of the texture of her skin, the softness of her sighs, the eagerness of her hands on his body.
He closed the door behind him as she lit a lamp in the inner office. Making his way through the darkened room, he wove between desks and chairs until he could lean against the door frame and take the weight off his bad leg.
She stood behind her husband’s desk and folded her arms. “What happened?”
“The company owner didn’t think I could do the necessary work with my leg in a cast.” Jack rubbed his face. The man might have been right.
She stepped forward and her hips hit the edge of the desk. “Did you tell him you would eventually heal?”
“He wasn’t interested. He couldn’t see past my injury to even look at my designs.”
She rubbed the upper part of her folded arms. “Couldn’t you have tried with other companies? You have other ideas, other drawings.”
“No.”
Her face fell, and he couldn’t bear that he’d disappointed her.
He held out his hand, palm up. “I haven’t given up yet. I just didn’t have money to stay in the city. I figured being a clerk for a while would give me a chance to save again.”
She stared at his palm.
“I’m sorry, Caro. As soon as I have some savings again—”
“What did you do to your hand?”
Belatedly, he remembered that the blisters and raw spots from holding his crutches hadn’t entirely healed. He fisted his hand and pulled it back. She came around the desk and peeled open his fingers. She reached for the other hand and did the same.
“The crutches didn’t like me much,” he said lightly. “Took a lot of walking to get around London.” And home from Manchester. He’d hitched rides when he could and crutched when he couldn’t.
“I gave you money for cabs.”
Jack sighed. “That’s all I had to get to the city.”
She raised her head and stared at him.
“I saved over two hundred pounds, but my stepmother took it and bought a new stove and paid off the note on the house while I was recovering.” His jaw tightened.
“I could have given you more money.”
He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I don’t want your money. What good is success if another has bought it for you?”
“Jack,” she protested. “You should have let me help you. I can give you two hundred pounds. You could have stayed at one of my sisters’ houses. The cost would have been negligible to us.”
“It’s not negligible to me.” It had taken him a decade to save two hundred pounds. “I’ll be the best damn clerk the Broadhurst mill has ever seen. I’ll earn my keep and I’ll save again. I have lots of ideas. I don’t have to design mill machinery. I’ve been thinking about rubber.”
He wondered if coating the handles of his crutches would have saved his hands, not to mention coating the tips, which might have kept them from slipping so easily.
Her forehead puckered.
He pulled her against him. She resisted at first, her body tensing, but he let the fight drain out of her before he tightened his hold and pressed a kiss to her temple.
“Just believe in me, Caro. I need you to believe in me. I need to know that you will be mine when I am successful.” He wanted her to say that she would wait for him.
She tilted her head back. Then they were kissing and clinging to each other. Even if she wouldn’t say the words, her body said it for her. She moaned.
With her in his arms he was home. He could make it through the days of struggling to write and spell legibly, to cram as much learning into his head as it would hold, to hide his feelings from Broadhurst if he had this to look forward to at night.
She made a sound of protest and pulled back. With her hand planted firmly in the center of his chest, she pushed him back. He lost his balance, but fortunately only careened into the doorway while holding onto her arm to stay upright. Steadying his feet underneath him, he regained his equilibrium.
“Jack, we can’t do this.” Her blue eyes looked bruised and accusatory. “I can’t promise you anything. I’m married.” She looked down and her voice grew tinny. “I don’t need you anymore. I—I’m pregnant.”
In that, he’d succeeded. He looked at her belly, but of course she wasn’t showing yet. She was going to have his baby late next summer. His emotions bounced around. He was exhilarated. He was disappointed, yet proud. And he was concerned about her. “What the hell were you doing running?”
Her swimming blue eyes jerked back to his.
“You have to care for yourself.” He reeled her back into his arms and she didn’t resist.
Instead she trembled.
He held her loosely. “I was hoping we’d have to try some more.”
She stiffened.
He stroked her arm. “Don’t worry. I understand.”
“Do you, Jack? Because if Mr. Broadhurst finds out you’re the baby’s father, I don’t know what he’ll do. I have the protection of family and a brother who has the queen’s ear.”
He didn’t. He had a family who stole from him.
“I am certain he ordered Mr. Whitton killed after he had been with me. They say a highwayman in a greatcoat and pulled low hat shot him, and I saw a man dressed like that go into Mr. Broadhurst’s study the night Mr. Whitton left.”
The description niggled at a faint memory in Jack’s brain, but he was too intent on the stark despair on her face.
“We have to end this. I can’t see you anymore. It’s too dangerous.” Her voice quivered. “We have to pretend there is nothing between us and that there never was anything between us.”
“It’s all right, sweetheart.” She was breaking his heart, but at least she wasn’t rejecting him for being a failure.
“I have to get back, before I’m missed.” She didn’t move away, though. Instead she tucked her head under his chin and rested against his chest.
“Shhhh, just let me hold you a little while,” he whispered into her hair. “It seems as though I have been away from you for years, not weeks.”
She plucked at his shirt. “How did you get back? How did you pay for your trip if you didn’t have any more money than what I gave you?”
Damn, she was going to make him tell her everything. “I cleaned up a barroom.”
She leaned back and looked at him.
“I begged.” His voice cracked. He struggled for composure, looking at a chipped brick on the far wall. “Being a cripple is good for something. One man gave me a sovereign and it was enough to get me looked at by physicians at the Royal College and get me home.” Mostly. “They don’t think I’ll ever get back full use of my leg.”
He hadn’t meant to tell her that.
“Oh Jack.” She leaned into him and rubbed his shoulder. “They can’t know for certain.”
“I just thought a job—even a clerk job—was better than begging. When I get stronger—”
She put her fingers in front of his lips. “It’s all right. I’m glad you’re back. I’m glad you’re safe.” He could feel her pulling away, even as she shook her head. “I really have to get back.”
Letting her go was like cutting off a limb. He’d known this was temporary, that she’d have no use for him after he got her with child.
“I’m staying at the midwife’s house, if you need me,” he said.
Her forehead furled.
“It is the one place in town you could go without question,” he added by way of explanation. And he sure as hell wasn’t going back to his father’s house. Mrs. Goode hadn’t liked the idea either, but she had a spare bed—which he insisted he’d vacate if she had a patient, and sleep on the floor in the apothecary. He promised to man the counter when she was out delivering babies and pay her half his wages. He also told her he wouldn’t stay above a year.
Caroline’s eyes widened, but she backed away. “It’s over, Jack. I will always be fond of you, but I can’t be with you in that way ever again.”
He nodded. A lame clerk wasn’t ever going to be good enough for her. What was worse, he wanted to hate her, but he knew she was right. He’d spend the rest of his life just trying to keep his head above water. If he could keep this job, it would take him another ten years to save two hundred pounds. By then he’d be thirty-eight. It took time to see ideas into fruition. How much time would he have if he didn’t do something now?
They left the office. She went her way, he his.
Leaning heavily on his cane, Jack walked to the apothecary shop. He crossed through the store and into the back room, where he found his pack and his crutches.
“Where were you?” asked Mrs. Goode.
“I have to learn how to use this leg sometime,” he muttered.
Standing in the storeroom doorway, the midwife pushed back a strand of white hair.
Jack dug out the pewter mug he’d taken from the tavern, crutched to the back door, yanked it open, then pitched the stolen tankard into a refuse heap. So help him God, he would never steal or beg again. And he’d find a way to make something of his life, or he’d die trying.
In spite of Jack’s concern, Caroline ran most of the way home. Mr. Broadhurst was an intelligent man. She didn’t need him realizing she had gone walking on the first night Jack was back.
She was out of breath when she entered the drawing room, but the running didn’t account for the pain in her chest. Jack had asked for her belief in him, but she’d denied him that, just as she refused to admit her love for him. She didn’t care that he’d had to beg, except his admission drained the light from his eyes. That part she hated.
For his own safety, she had to break all her ties to him. She had to leave him thinking she had only used him and didn’t care for him. If only that were true, she might not feel as if she were only a shell around a hollow core.
“Where did you go, my dear?” asked Mr. Broadhurst.
His question might have sounded solicitous, but Caroline no longer took it at face value. “My stomach was upset, I thought a walk might soothe it.”
“Did it?”
Her stomach churned as she moved to pick up her sewing. She’d begun a layette for the baby. “For a bit. The cold helps.”
He nodded toward the little cap in her hands. “We should go to London and buy everything for our son.”
Caroline put her hand against her flat stomach. What if the child was a girl? What if she lost it? She fought for calm. “It is early days yet, and for now I like the idea of sewing things myself. After all, the finest cotton can be found here.”
Mr. Broadhurst’s brows lowered speculatively.
Caroline suddenly wondered if the question were a trap. Most of their gentlemen guests, including her brother, had returned to London for the opening of Parliament. Perhaps she should have wanted to see her lover again.
She had to distract her husband, and the only thing that might serve was to refocus him on business. “I think we should move my desk into the back office.”
Mr. Broadhurst scowled. “Why would I do that?”
“So the transition, when it is necessary, will be smoother. At some point I will need to be in charge until our child is ready to take over operations. Besides, the outer office is a little crowded now.”
“Well, that may not last long.”
A cold chill ran down Caroline’s spine. Did he mean to be rid of Jack as soon as an opportunity presented itself?
Caroline stopped stitching. “I’ve been meaning to ask you. How did you get your start with the mill?”
“It isn’t important.”
“I want to be able to answer whatever questions our child has. Did you start small with one loom or did you build the entire manufactory right away?”
“You have never been interested before.”
“That’s not true. I have asked before, but you have always dismissed my questions.” She hadn’t pursued it, but now she wanted to understand how one went about building a successful enterprise. She wanted to know for Jack’s sake. If she could give him any pointers so he could avoid pitfalls . . . “I just think our son will want to know where he came from. I want him to be proud of your success and know your history as well as mine. Did you work for someone else to learn the cloth business?”
“My mother had a loom. When I came into money, I built the mill.” Mr. Broadhurst stood as if her questions made him uncomfortable.
“Why here? Why not in Manchester or near a established town?” she persisted. She knew that Mr. Broadhurst had made money on the village lots, but now their isolation was limiting. Without other industry nearby, they had to continue to employ men while other mills went to female labor forces.
He paced to the fire and held his hands out. “The land was cheap, not fit for more than grazing sheep. Building my own village gave me more control.”
“Would you do it the same if you had it all to do over again?”
Her husband shrugged. “If I had coal mines like Granger, I could employ the men in the mines and the women in the mill and keep the cost of labor down. There are too many cotton mills now, but it was a good thing when I started it.”
“If you were to start another industry, what would it be?”
“It’s too late for me to start a new industry.”
Caroline pressed her lips together, rather than ask again.
Mr. Broadhurst stared into the fire. “It is probably too late to get ahead of the train industry, though machinery of all kinds look promising. Oil and its by-products, especially the polymers and resins, or rubber, are likely to become big profit makers.”
A frisson of excitement rolled through Caroline. No one could doubt Mr. Broadhurst’s business sense. If he thought it was time to strike with rubber, perhaps Jack was on to something.