Page 21 of The Love Remedy (The Damsels of Discovery #1)

21

Two days and four bags of pasties later, Lucy had forgiven Juliet.

“ That is your new apprentice?”

Because she was so well-fed, Lucy was slow to reach Duncan and drag him toward the back of the shop before he could be overheard.

“Yes. Mr. Gentry is our new apprentice,” she confirmed in a harsh whisper.

When Duncan rolled his eyes, Lucy gave in to her worst instincts and pinched him.

“Ow,” he said. “Stop pinching me. What kind of apothecary apprentices a forty-year-old man? You’ll be a laughingstock.”

Praying for patience, Lucy leaned past Duncan to look at Mr. Gentry, who stood on a tall ladder, inspecting the contents of the tins on the highest of shelves. None of the Petersons had looked up there in ages, and Gentry’s task was to see which of the contents were salvageable. Lucy did not need him distracted when he stood so high up. He was forty, after all. He didn’t appear to have heard.

“I thought you were going to apprentice the shopgirl,” Duncan continued. “You’d still be an oddity, but having a grown man is just ludicrous.”

Lucy held a bouquet of hothouse lilies in one hand. Duncan had swept in a few minutes ago with the flowers while wearing a huge smile and an expensive beaver-fur-mantle greatcoat. For a moment Lucy had been speechless, not because the flowers were so beautiful—they were—but because her gaze had fixed on the gold buttons that glinted against the dark indigo wool of his coat.

Gold buttons.

Beaver-fur collar.

Paid for by her hard work.

All while Juliet had to walk to the clinic and listen to the sound of men screaming at her because she couldn’t afford a hack. All while Lucy worked herself to exhaustion because she couldn’t afford more help.

“Katie doesn’t want to be an apothecary, and Mr. Gentry has not only memorized Lavoisier’s catalog of known elements, but he’s agreed to forgo his wages until after the probationary period,” Lucy said. “Plus, he is my dear friend, so keep your voice down, please.”

Duncan slapped his tall brown topper against his leg and examined the brim, no doubt concerned that some of the dust at Peterson’s had snuck its way onto the hat.

“Your dear friend ? How many male ‘dear friends’ do you have, exactly?” he asked.

She hadn’t the energy to entertain such nonsense, so Lucy changed the subject.

“Have you spoken to your father yet? You promised to tell him the truth about the lozenges twice now this week, and I’ve heard nothing since.”

Throwing his hands in the air, Duncan huffed a sharp sigh as though he were dealing with a ninny. He took hold of the flowers and brought them to his nose, then set them down on the windowsill behind them. Golden pollen rose into a cloud like fairy dust, and Lucy opened her mouth to share the thought, then closed it again.

“Let’s never mind that,” Duncan said. “Why don’t we take the omnibus over to Rider and Son? The building next door has rooms to let, and we can look at them together.”

Lucy’s attention was drawn to the patterns the pollen made as it settled back onto the dark wood beneath it. The yellow motes mixed with the layer of dust beneath them. Another detail left unattended by their inability to pay for a full-time shop assistant.

She made to wipe it away when a tendril of an idea tapped at the base of her brain.

Some folks had reactions to flowers, couldn’t be in their presence long before they started sneezing and wheezing. Might it be the dust of the pollen rather than the flowers themselves? If so, how did the pollen reach their noses? Were there pieces of pollen that were smaller than the eye could see? How long would they sit in the air? What if there were other elements that were too small to see with the naked eye but also swirled about in the air?

“...when we move. We’ll need an extra room for the nursery.”

The word nursery yanked Lucy from her thoughts with a sensation of dread.

Nursery. Nursery?

“You want to have a baby with me?” she asked, shocked.

“What else do you think we’ll do once we’re married?” Duncan retorted.

“Married?”

Both Duncan and Lucy started in surprise, neither of them having paid attention to who was coming in and out of the shop.

Standing next to them with a look of horror on his face was her brother, David.

“David,” Lucy exclaimed. “Where have you been?”

“Never mind that,” he said.

Wherever he’d been had agreed with him. Gone was his London pallor. Her brother’s skin had sunned to a golden brown. Tiny white laugh lines had appeared next to his eyes, and his cheeks glowed with excitement. Although, right now, it looked more like anger.

“You cannot marry Duncan Rider of all people,” David said, pulling his dove-gray topper from his head and running his fingers through his hair. When he shook his head to let the hair settle, a few sighs of appreciation rippled through the shop.

“You do not make decisions for me,” Lucy retorted. “You leave without telling me where you’re going, so you can’t come back and be angry at what I’ve done. Also, your cravat is only half-done.”

David huffed in annoyance. “I don’t make decisions for you, but I am your brother. In some circles that would mean the head of the family, and in that role, I say, I’d rather you married Mr. Gentry than Duncan Rider.”

Lucy did not bother to check on the loud thump to the left of them, assuming that was Gentry having fallen off the ladder in shock. If he needed a surgeon, certainly he’d shout.

“Furthermore, this is referred to as a tie,” David continued, putting a hand to the knotted length of silk at his throat. “It is now de rigueur on the Continent to leave off with complicated knots when dressing for day.”

“Tie, cravat, it makes no matter.” Lucy’s cheeks heated in anger. She eyed David’s hat, thinking of all the things she wanted to do to it and wondering about its flammability. “You’ve gone and left me to mind the shop alone, again , you haven’t touched the ledgers in weeks, you still haven’t explained who Mr. Wilcox is, and you can’t tell me whom to marry.”

Like they were children again, David stamped his foot, and they faced each other, arms crossed in an identical manner, tempers high.

“I can tell you whom not to marry. That arse, Duncan Rider,” David said.

“I’m standing right here,” said Duncan with an air of disbelief.

Lucy and David ignored him.

“Tell me who Wilcox is and why Patel’s is cheating us,” Lucy demanded.

David’s face fell, his glow nearly diminished. “This isn’t how I wanted to tell you about Wilcox, or Patel’s, or any of this.” He took a step back and straightened his spine. “I gave part of our savings to Wilcox as a deposit for the East End Friendly Society.”

Lucy’s mouth opened but no words emerged. Of all the scenarios she’d envisioned her brother investing their money in, a friendly society was not one of them.

“The East End Friendly Society? What’s that, then?” asked Mr. Gentry.

He, along with a dozen other customers, had clearly overheard everything. Granted, they’d done it by inching over to where Lucy and her brother stood, taking advantage of their distraction.

David pivoted toward the crowd, opening his arms and raising his voice.

“In two weeks, I and my partner, Mr. Willem Wilcox, son of the Earl of Yarmouth, will throw open the doors of the East End Friendly Society. We’re modeling it on the friendly societies they’ve begun up north. Anyone can join, no matter their occupation or their sex. For a set amount of money each month saved with the society, you receive help with your apothecary balances or surgery bills if you are ill and a proper burial if the worst occurs. Like how building owners buy insurance with a fire brigade.”

“What about those of us who are young and without medical debts?” a young woman asked, batting her lashes.

Another of the customers, an older matron with steel-gray curls that poked out in every direction from her bonnet, squinted her eyes at the woman and huffed.

“Mary Smith was one and twenty when her second birth killed her, and they had no money for anything but a wee wooden cross,” she said.

The young woman paled at the reminder that childbirth could be fatal.

“Those of you who are young...” David winked at the woman. “And beautiful...” Then he winked at the matron as well. “Will be readying yourself for the future and paying for a good night’s sleep.”

Lucy had heard of the friendly societies up north, of course. They were popular in small towns and villages for providing mutual aid. Sometimes, as David suggested, for help with illness and burials; others saved toward a common goal, such as a school or service.

“Why would you not tell me about this?” Lucy asked.

“I didn’t want to tell you until we’d gone through with the purchase of the building to house the society and its activities,” David said. He turned his hat over in his hand, shaking his head at the memory. “The money Wilcox and I had collected wasn’t enough, and we had difficulty convincing anyone to loan us money when they found out where we wanted to locate ourselves.”

“Well, where are you going? The east end of Timbuktu?” Lucy asked.

“No, and here is the best part of the surprise,” David said, his beautiful smile extending even more, his eyes finally shining like they used to before their parents’ deaths. “We found a place next to Sniffles’s clinic in St. Giles.”

“Oh. You must have planned this for a while,” Lucy said softly. Planned long before he’d left for Bath. Planned and told her nothing about it.

“I told you before, this wasn’t how I wanted you to find out,” her brother said.

“A friendly society for the people of St. Giles?” Duncan scoffed. “Open to anyone regardless of sex? You’re going to have a barrelful of whores in your waiting room, Peterson. No wonder you couldn’t get a loan.”

Lucy wanted to do more than pinch Duncan. She wanted to wound David as well. But as soon as she had the thought, she felt small.

Like Juliet, David had accomplished something that would be of fantastic benefit to people who needed help the most.

Like Juliet, David’s motives had been well-intentioned.

Like Juliet, David had broken Lucy’s heart a little by keeping secrets.

“Mr. Peterson,” Duncan said, stepping in between Lucy and her brother, unwilling to be ignored. “If you would care to accompany me for a drink at my club, we can discuss—privately—my betrothal to your sister and the benefits it will bring. I’m certain we can see our way toward an arrangement that will please everyone.”

“Mr. Rider, the only arrangement I wish to see with you is the arrangement of my fist in your face,” David said, just as smoothly.

Duncan’s smile thinned into a straight line and his cheeks flushed.

“I think you would do well to reconsider. Rider and Son is going to register a second exclusive medical patent for a croup salve,” he said, all pretenses of bonhomie now vanished. “If you want your sister’s name to be on the patent alongside mine, you’ll change your tune.”

Turning to Lucy, Duncan executed a proper, crisp bow. He shook his hair to the side and set his beautiful hat on his head so that only one buttery forelock peeked out.

David gritted his teeth, but Lucy set her hand on his chest and shook her head no before he could say anything inflammatory.

Duncan swanned through the shop as though he’d not been made a spectacle of, nodding greetings and shaking a few hands before he left through the front doors.

All at once a gush of excited conversation filled the apothecary. Lucy hadn’t noticed how many customers were within hearing distance.

While David congratulated Mr. Gentry on his new position, Lucy made her way to the workroom. She’d left open a jar of liniment and the counter was littered with handwritten formulas, pamphlets advertising various cures, shop receipts, and a page of Sadie’s homework.

The Thornes would be gone by the end of the month. With David and Juliet employed elsewhere, Lucy would be on her own. The ceiling wavered as Lucy’s eyes filled with tears.

David, Juliet, and Thorne had proven without any ill intent that no matter how hard she tried, Lucy herself was not a good enough reason to remain.

—

Sadie settled back into her seat, smiling while looking between Thorne and Mrs. Merkle. “More tea, Mrs. Merkle?” she asked.

“No, thank you.”

The three of them sat in the Thornes’ parlor drinking tea. Rather, Sadie drank tea mixed with plenty of milk and sugar, while Thorne and Mrs. Merkle pretended to sip at theirs. Sadie had been the one to steep the leaves, and in her desire to impress Mrs. Merkle, had used three times the amount that she normally would.

Unwilling to spoil Sadie’s pleasure, Thorne pretended he wasn’t sipping bark juice and searched his brain for interesting topics of discussion. It came to him that the only thing he and Mrs. Merkle had ever spoken of was Sadie. Now that Sadie was present, he couldn’t think of a single thing to say to the woman.

“Did you know a frog eats—”

“Might I have another scone, Sadie?” Thorne blurted.

Sadie and Mrs. Merkle both examined his plate, which held a half-eaten scone already.

“I meant when I am finished with this one. It is delicious,” he said, picking up the scone and taking a mouthful. Luckily, it was quite tasty.

“They are indeed, Miss Thorne,” Mrs. Merkle said, turning her attention now to Sadie, who sat by her side on the settee. While Mrs. Merkle wore a plain day dress of brown and cream stripes, she’d taken care to polish the gold clasp of her belt, and a shiny jet beaded hatpin sparkled in her fashionable brown felted poke bonnet, which sat on the sideboard next to her.

She’d dressed very nicely for a simple tea.

Thorne’s throat closed on the crumbs of the scone, and he choked.

While Sadie rushed to the kitchen for a glass of water, Mrs. Merkle stared at him with a faint air of sympathy.

“Are you quite well, Mr. Thorne?” she asked politely.

If it were Lucy here, she’d probably have his arms over his head while thwacking away at his back.

If it were Lucy.

“Sadie has told me a great deal about her new school,” Mrs. Merkle said. “There is a nice girls’ school nearby my new house. They train in needlework, organization, and meal preparation.” Mrs. Merkle’s head tilted, and she peered at him from the side like a little brown sparrow.

“Mr. Thorne, we have known each other for a long time, so you will forgive me my plain speak,” she said.

Oh God.

Was she going to propose to him ?

The crumbs remained wedged in his throat, and Thorne wondered, could he somehow pass out from the discomfort? That might be preferable.

“I have had occasion to think back on your offer of marriage and have concluded that my declination may have been too hasty. After speaking with Sadie, my fears have been confirmed, and I believe she would be better off with us in Scotland after all.” Mrs. Merkle settled her hands in her lap and leaned to see if Sadie were still in the kitchen. She lowered her voice. “It is one thing to indulge her uncommon interests in London, where you can remain anonymous.”

Uncommon interests?

“In Durndee, she will have to be schooled as befitting her station in life. I think this is for the best. You don’t want her aiming too high.”

“I don’t?” Thorne asked.

Mrs. Merkle’s brow lifted at his tone. “Even if you had some greater social standing and had married her mother, well...” The widow shrugged as though explaining something to someone who should know better. “In a smaller town, Sadie’s mother’s profession won’t remain a secret. Best get her trained up for service and give her a realistic idea of what type of man she might expect to marry sooner rather than later.”

“Papa, here is your water.”

Thorne did not know how long Sadie had been standing at his side nor what of Mrs. Merkle’s words Sadie had heard. A low vibration of rage—or relief?—had deafened him while he fought to breathe.

If he’d asked anyone on the street, they would have agreed with Mrs. Merkle. There simply was no place in polite society for a child of unmarried parents. Thorne’s mother had made that clear the day he left the Abbey for good.

Strict lines separated people based on birth, on religion or convention. Lines as immutable as those Thorne had drawn between himself and others.

All of society would agree with Mrs. Merkle and condemn Lucy.

All of society was wrong, however.

Sadie deserved a chance at any life she could imagine, no matter whether he’d married Genny, no matter that Genny had been born out of wedlock herself.

The room spun when Thorne pulled in a breath so deep it hurt.

If the lines drawn by society were too small and too rigid, what of the boundaries Thorne had erected?

What other assumptions had he made or ideals had he held that were untrue or unjust?

Somehow, Thorne got through the next twenty minutes without fainting or saying anything to Mrs. Merkle that might cause her to faint.

Although she hovered by the door, prolonging their goodbyes, Thorne wordlessly escorted her outside the shop, then hailed and paid for a hack back to the hotel where she was staying.

He did not promise to call on her again, nor did he issue another invitation for her to call on him.

Instead, he watched the hack disappear into the London traffic, and only once it was lost from sight did he turn and make his way back to Sadie.

Back to home.