Endure My Heart by Joan Smith Page B

party, nevertheless. It was kind of you to include me. You may have noticed I am making some efforts to brush up my speech and appearance, that I not disgrace you.” I had noticed he wore a jacket of a better cut the past few weeks. Not the work of Weston or anything of the sort, but he had got the wadding out of his shoulders, and looked less merchant-like. The disclaimer regarding leaving off his accent was long overdue. I believe he must have noticed my eyes widening several times, for he often gave a conscious start after he had committed some particularly elegant utterance.
    “It is not necessary for you to don any airs or graces on our behalf, Mr. Williams.”
    “Still, a man dislikes to appear underbred in front of a pretty lady.” The look that accompanied these words nearly knocked me speechless. It was not the cunning, greasy smile he wore when he was trying to con us. It was not flirtatious or insincere, if I am any judge of sincerity. It was sort of bashful, questioning, youthful. It held very much the look of a man thinking of falling in love. My heart heat faster at it. A totally new field of possibilities opened before me, and Mr. Williams was at pains to see that they did so. As a merchant, he knew he must be considered beneath me; he therefore began mentioning a more elevated future for himself.
    “Actually I should take every opportunity to better my conversation, for I hope that soon—when Owens gets back, I mean—I may get a position in London.”
    “What sort of a position?”
    “I have a friend, a patron that is, from home who is active in Parliament. Lord Hadley is his name; he thinks he may find a spot for me. With hard work at improving myself, he thinks I might stand for Parliament back home.”
    “I thought you left Devonshire when you were very young.”
    “So I did, but I often go back to visit. My father was overseer for Lord Hadley. We have kept up contact with him. He gave me some education, and plans to do something for me in the way of a career. I hope to be better employed soon than standing behind a counter.”
    “That will be nice for you,” I answered, refusing to meet his gray eyes, which regarded me closely, still questioning, hopeful.
    It would be futile to deny I found Mr. Williams attractive—or Sir Stamford Wicklow, I ought to say. In his guise of Williams, he was less so. When a young, single lady regularly sees a very handsome gentleman whom she knows to be of birth and breeding, when added to that the gentleman is at pains to please her, some little attraction will inevitably spring up. Throw in an interesting limp won in some heroic battle, and you have a man that is well nigh irresistible.
    The attraction, on my own side, was in no way diminished by the battle of wits going on between us, but this was the first indication I had that Wicklow felt any real affection for me. Thus far we had both been playacting, which added a dash of spice to life. I was now faced with a new dimension. He liked me; with some encouragement, I felt he could be brought to love me.
    What a dilemma to find yourself in! A perfectly eligible gentleman falling in love with you, and eligible gentlemen as scarce as hens’ teeth here in Salford. How fine to be able to attach him! But it was impossible. Only to think, had I not been Miss Sage, I might be instead Lady Mabel Wicklow before many months. But an officer of the law would not be likely to offer marriage to a criminal, and a criminal besides whom it was his chief aim in life to bring to justice. Then too, how was I to keep him at a distance, keep him from falling in love with me? He was now on such a basis of amity with Andrew that he came often to the house.
    “It would raise my position in society considerably,” he pointed out. “Not that I mean to say I could aspire to marry a—a proper lady” he added, with some of the humbleness and insincerity of Mr. Williams.
    I was glad he added that touch of insincerity. I was sorely