Chapter Two

Mr. Kit Summers’ Guide to Employment Law and Mischievous Women

Hart, Solicitor, London—June 8, 1815

Kit

The basket of pastries in my hand teetered precariously as I struggled to turn the doorknob to the offices of William Hart, Solicitor, an umbrella rendering my other hand useless. 

After five years as a clerk, I’d developed something of a routine. Rise early and, since the opening of Hudson’s Bakery a year ago, cross the street in search of tarts. I only had to bring Will one before he began to give me a few coins each week to purchase them for all the staff and visitors. 

Mrs. Ainsley—formerly Miss Hudson, hence the shop’s name—was the best baker in town and it hadn’t taken long for her to develop quite the clientele. And shortly thereafter, to run out of the best tarts early. But now we had an agreement. She set aside a dozen for us each day, and we gave her and her husband a lower fee on any work we did for them. 

But the addition of an umbrella always complicated my two-block journey. 

The doorknob, slick with rain, resisted my fingers, greased with the buttery remnants of the apple tart I’d munched on my way down the street. 

Through the glass door, it was clear that none of the other clerks had arrived. 

Two rows of three desks, all empty, lined the walls facing each other. And just beyond that, were three separate doors. One for files, one for Will, and one for pastries. The pastry room was my favorite. But at present, it was tragically bereft of pastry. I knocked on the door using my elbow with a desperate hope that Will was early as usual. If I had to get the key out of my pocket, there were either going to be soggy pastries or a soggy Kit. 

Fortunately, light spilled into the dim room at my knock as Will stepped out of the pastry room. The little bell above the door jangled pathetically when he yanked it open for me with a “come inside” gesture. 

“What’ve you got today?” he asked, taking the tray from my hands. 

“She’s experimenting with chocolate. I grabbed us both one. Don’t tell the others.”

“I swear it on my life,” he vowed. Without difficulty, he located the two chocolate tarts and snagged the topmost one before taking the lot over to a table just outside his office. 

“Are you trying to keep an eye on them then?”

“Ah… no,” he said, blinking up at me with bright blue eyes behind his wire-rimmed glasses. “Why don’t you have a seat?” He nodded to his office. For a moment, my stomach dropped, fears of missed deadlines or lost documents filling my head. Then he added, “Bring your chocolate one with you,” and some of the tension lessened. 

His wooden office, paired with a matching wooden desk and chairs, was cozy as always. The small, high side window offered just enough light to cast away the shadows. 

A deeper glance showed that, rather than the usual ordered chaos of files and documents scattered about, there were a few storage crates piled beneath the window.

Tentatively, I perched on the edge of one of the seats he reserved for visitors while he rounded the desk and took his place behind it. 

“You look like you’re facing the firing squad.” Between bites he added, “Relax, this is a good meeting.”

Permission granted, I shifted farther back in the seat and took a tentative nibble. Warm chocolate slipped over my tongue, swirling with buttery pastry into the most delectable combination I’d ever experienced. Absolutely worth the extra shilling. 

Apparently, Will agreed because he finished his in a single, giant chomp. “If Mrs. Ainsley wasn’t already married…” he murmured, mostly to himself. 

“Augie wouldn’t be pleased with you lusting after his wife.” I grinned across the desk at him before taking another incredible bite.

“I’m lusting after her pastries, not her body. Anyway, I didn’t bring you back here to watch you stuff your face. I have a bit of a proposition, actually.”

Still stuffing my face, I raised a brow. 

“You’ve finished your studies.”

My heart skipped a beat. Was he? I lowered the pastry, slowly, carefully, away from my mouth. “Yes.”

“And you’ve been here for quite a few years now.”

“Five,” I replied, too eager. 

Will grinned a little as he opened the drawer on his desk and pulled out a document. For a moment, he stared at it, then spun it around and slid it across the desk to me. 

I read it once, comprehending none of it, then twice, and a third time before the words began to make sense. “You…”

“Want to add your name to the door, yes.”

“Me?”

“There’s no one else here, Kit.”

“You want me to be a partner?”

“You, Christopher Summers, yes. I’ve too much work. And you’re too good to lose. You’d start your own practice and then where would I be? Penniless and pastryless.” 

“You want me to be your partner,” I repeated, inanely. 

“Would you like to see your office?”

“My office?” 

“I didn’t realize you’d lose every lick of sense the second I made the offer. I might have to reconsider,” he said, reaching for the parchment.

“No!” I snatched it off the desk, fumbling the pastry. Document in hand, I stuffed the last chocolate morsels into my mouth before I lost them to my own clumsiness. “Show me my office,” I mumbled through my full mouth. 

He chuckled and stood, then walked out his door as I trailed him around the corner and into the pastry room. Instead of the long table and chairs, there was a wooden desk, the exact same oak as Will’s. There were three chairs, one, a particularly fine green leather behind the desk, and two simple wood chairs facing it. The room was plain and unadorned and perfect. Perfect and all mine. 

Silently, I slid behind the oak desk to the olive-green chair and collapsed into it. It was, perhaps, the most comfortable chair I’d ever sat in. The desk in front of me was new and fine, not worn and scarred like Will’s. But someday it would be. And I couldn’t wait. 

Will settled into one of the chairs across from me. “So, shall we talk terms?”

“Absolutely.”

* * *

Two tarts and several crates of files later, I was happily ensconced in my new role as the Summers in Hart & Summers, Solicitors, when the bell rang above the door. 

From my new office, I had a view straight through the glass door to the street. I caught sight of a brow I would know anywhere and settled back into my chair. Will knew the family from childhood, and his was one of the accounts we’d determined he would keep. 

Will greeted His Grace, the Duke of Rosehill, with familiarity, then surprised me by calling me into his office with them. I shut the door behind me and took the seat beside the visitor.

“Your Grace, Mr. Summers has just agreed to become my partner. Mr. Summers, this is His Grace, the Duke of Rosehill. Your Grace, Mr. Summers.”

“Will, you’ve known me since I was in leading strings.”

“Xander, then. Would you mind if Mr. Summers joined us?”

“He is bound to confidentiality as well?”

“Of course, Your Grace,” I interjected. 

His Grace nodded, twisting his fingers together.

“What can I help you with?” Will asked. 

The duke drew an exhausted hand over his face before consciously settling both in his lap. “It’s Dav.”

Dav… Lady Davina. I hadn’t seen her, hadn’t considered her at all, since Katie’s wedding. Well, once, when I caught sight of the place where a bejeweled snuffbox used to sit on Aunt Prudence’s side table. But nothing since. 

“Oh, has she decided to wed?” Will asked, beginning to dig through his desk in search of the standard documents we kept for such things as dowries. 

“I wish, but no. She’s progressed beyond sneaking out and petty theft.” His Grace’s fingers began to knot again in his lap.

“To what?” Will asked warily. 

“Well, it seems she bribed her companion to lie about her whereabouts. She then went to the shopping arcade and applied for a position with a milliner.”

“That’s… an interesting choice. I’m not certain how I can be of service, though, there’s nothing illegal about her securing employment. Unless you’d like us to do something about the companion?”

“No, nothing like that. I followed Dav this morning to see where she went. When I arrived at the arcade, I overheard the milliner accusing her of thieving from the till. I would love to insist to you that she didn’t—”

“But you cannot,” Will supplied.

“I cannot. I would have pulled her out of there and simply paid the man. Then lock her in her room and throw away the key. But that would have caused quite the scene.”

“And quite the scandal,” Will finished. 

“Indeed.”

“So you would like us to visit the milliner, pay the man, ensure there are no charges, and get her out without revealing her identity?” I asked. 

“Well, yes.”

“Mr. Summers should be able to manage that,” Will said, breezy as a summer’s day.

“I beg your pardon?” The words escaped without my permission, but I wouldn’t have been able to find more tactful language in that moment regardless.

“You’re a partner now, Kit. It seems a perfect project for you.”

He’d done this on purpose. I didn’t know when, why, or how. But this was some horrific rite of passage he’d concocted. 

Will merely smirked in the face of my glare. 

The duke nodded and handed me a pile of banknotes from his pocket. “Is this enough, do you suppose?”

Fifteen ten-pound notes. He’d just handed me £150 like it was nothing. “I, ah… I don’t think I’ll require that much.”

He stared at me, eyes wide with innocent confusion. “But he was furious. I want to be sure you have enough.”

“I rather think we’re discussing crowns, perhaps a pound or two at most. They won’t be able to exchange these.”

“That's all I have with me—I usually use credit. I’ll have to go back to the house,” Rosehill fretted, his brow falling as he picked at the loose skin around his thumbnail. 

Will reached wordlessly into his pocket and pulled out a handful of pennies, farthings, shillings, and crowns, then dropped them into my hand. 

“Keep the rest. Just in case,” His Grace insisted, looking relieved.

I nodded. “Which milliner?” 

“Decker’s. And please, Davina’s safety is paramount. If you must reveal her identity in order to get him to release her, then that is what must be done.” Rosehill’s voice was tight, thick, and something about his expression reminded me of the one I had seen in the mirror on Katie’s wedding day.

Younger sisters…

* * *

The walk to the arcade was damp but quick. Though the rain had settled to a light drizzle, I wasn’t particularly interested in dallying, especially with such a sum in my pockets. 

I nodded to the doorman and shook off my great coat before stepping inside. 

“Decker’s?” I asked him.

“Down the way, third shop on the right.” 

“Thank you.”

At some point on my walk over, the irritation in the pit of my stomach had become nerves. This was a simple task, I reminded myself. Go in, pay the man, get the girl out without answering questions. 

And there it was, a navy sign fastidiously lettered in gold reading, “Decker’s Fine Bonnets and Accessories.” 

A glance through the window revealed an absolutely miserable-looking shopgirl in front of a wall of frippery-covered bonnets. Even from a distance and behind a sheet of glass, I could see her cheeks were flushed. 

A bell jingled pleasantly when I opened the door, drawing her gaze from the counter. Her nose was rubbed raw and her eyes reddened. This was the place.

“Welcome to Decker’s, sir. How can I assist you?” she asked, the words hoarse under a northern accent. 

I glanced around, confirming the shop’s floor was empty before I replied. “I’m here on a personal matter. I understand there’s been a bit of trouble this morning?”

Her eyes widened and she stepped back. “No sir, constable, sir. No trouble at all. You must be in the wrong place.”

“I’m not a constable. I’m here for the young lady.”

“Lucy?”

She’d chosen a false name? That would’ve been helpful to know. “Yes, I’m her… brother.”

“Lucy’s never said nothing about no brother,” she protested. 

“We’re not close.” I tried to keep the deadpan from my tone, but it was a struggle. “Can you take me to her?”

“I don’t think Mr. Decker would like me bringing a stranger to the back room.”

“Do you suppose Mr. Decker would like to have this conversation in full view of the shop windows?”

She considered the glass warily for a moment before nodding to herself. “I suppose not. She’s very kind, you know, your sister,” she explained, then lead me behind the counter and into the back room.

A gasp broke from my chest at the sight before me. The room was dimly lit, with notions and baubles lining the walls and unfinished bonnets and bits of ribbon and straw scattered across a long table lining one wall. In the center was Lady Davina—bound to a rickety chair with a red mark blooming across her defiant cheek. She sat proud, perfectly poised even in her ropes, back rod straight, and face expressionless as she stared down her employer. 

There was no mistaking that mark. Someone, almost certainly the sweaty, red-faced, unkempt man before me, had struck her. 

I’d never, not once in my life, wanted to hit a man. But in that moment, it took every bit of patience I possessed not to resort to my fists. 

“Release her!” I ordered, an unfamiliar steel in my voice. 

“Who the devil are you?” he slurred.

Lady Davina’s gaze flicked to me and I caught the whispered gasp under her breath and surprise in her dark brow before she schooled her features once more. 

“Untie her,” I ordered the shopgirl. She hesitated, eyes twitching between her employer, Lady Davina, and me. “Now.”

Something about my tone snapped her into motion, and she hurried to Lady Davina’s side. 

“Wait just a minute. Who are you to come in here and tell me—”

“I’m here for La—ucy. And if you try to prevent me from taking her, I assure you, you will regret it.” I stepped between the women and Mr. Decker, blocking them from his gaze. 

“That little strumpet—”

I took another step toward him. “I wouldn’t finish that sentence.” He had a few inches on me and several stone. But none of his weight was muscle. He backed up one single step, eyes a little wider.

“She stole from me!” he insisted.

“I rather doubt that.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said, ‘I rather doubt that.’ If you had any evidence, you would have called a constable. Instead, you tied her to a chair before you beat her. Were you afraid you wouldn’t be able to get a hit in if her hands were free?”

Out of the corner of my eye, Lady Davina stood. The other girl must have finished with the knots. 

“You— You can’t take her. Not until she gives me what I’m owed.”

“I am taking her. What does she owe?”

“Two pennies and a farthing.” 

Something about the sum, so paltry in comparison to what her brother had considered, what even I had suspected, made me want to throttle the man. He hit her over two pennies and a farthing. 

“And you thought to beat it out of her?”

“She wouldn’t confess.”

I would never be able to name the cold fury that came over me. But silently, my hand found the coins and banknotes in my pocket. I tugged them free.

All of them. 

His eyes widened in astonishment as I plucked two pennies and a farthing from my hand, then dropped them one by one on the stone floor. They made so satisfying a tink that I added a third penny for effect.

“Know this: You’re lucky to leave here tonight without an escort from a constable bound for the pillory. Remember this moment the next time you feel the urge to raise a hand against a woman.”

“Who is s-she?” 

“No one for you to know.” 

I turned to the women and urged them through the door with a last glare at Lady Davina’s former employer. 

The other girl hesitated when we were back in the shop. “I… I need the position.”

“Do you like this work?” I asked.

“I need work. I can’t just leave…”

“I can say with almost certainty that we can find another position for you.”

Lady Davina nodded, then grabbed the girl’s elbow and dragged her along as I ushered them both out the door. “Yes, absolutely. Mary, you cannot stay here.”

When we stepped onto the street with only an odd look from the doorman, I began to regret my choice to forgo a carriage. Wordlessly, I shrugged out of my great coat and wrapped it around Lady Davina, over her simple gold day dress, with an apologetic look to the other girl. It was certainly not her finest gown, but it wouldn’t do to have her returned to her brother beaten and damp. And I had the means to solve only one of those issues.

The additional irony of hauling two ladies out of a milliner’s without a proper bonnet also began to set in. Both women were disheveled and clearly in distress, though Lady Davina bore hers well. 

Neither complained about the soggy weather or the hurried pace I put them through as I urged them away from the arcade and toward the offices. Lady Davina kept up with my clip while her friend trailed a step or two behind. 

“Why—not that I’m not grateful—but why? And how?” she asked, her low voice leaving half the question unsaid. 

“Your brother sent me. We’ve met before. I’m Mr. Summers. Do you remember?”

“Yes, I remember. But why would he send you?”

I sighed and ran a hand through my hair. “I’m a solicitor. I work with Mr. Hart.” I truly hoped that would suffice because I was entirely uninterested in explaining that sending me after her had been a fun welcome to my new role as partner. And now that I had seen her circumstances, I felt a hint of guilt when I recalled my earlier grousing.

“So… Xander knows. Is he very cross?” There was a hint of worry in her voice, though less than I would have expected, given the circumstances.

“Oh no. I have my own sisters to worry about. I’m not involved in this beyond the rescue,” I insisted, then turned her down the correct alley.

“But—” she started to protest.

“No. And this is the last time,” I insisted. “I’ll not be coming to save you again, so try to behave yourself.”

It wouldn’t be the last time.