Blessing by Lyn Cote Read Free Book Online Page B

unable to hide his shock. “What are you doing in this part of town at this hour?”
    Blessing stared at him. In her arms, the baby in the bundle whimpered as if also unhappy with Ramsay.
    “Everybody knows,” the night watch said in a stiff tone, “that this lady is a very respectable widow. She works among the poor on the docks. We look out for her. Now go about your business, sir.”
    “Thank thee,” she said to the young man. “This gentleman is new to Cincinnati.”
    “I didn’t realize that suffragists also worked for the poor,” Gerard said in a disparaging tone.
    His tone fired up her indignation. “My work includes helping those women who are most mistreated by the unjust laws and prejudice we women must endure. How else would I work for women’s betterment here and now? Lobbying for new laws while ignoring present abuses would be negligence.”
    Gerard snorted in response.
    Then Blessing recognized with distinct displeasure that Stoddard Henry stood behind Gerard.
    “Mrs. Brightman,” Stoddard stammered.
    Unable to think of anything to say to him, she walked toward her carriage. She felt Gerard’s gaze follow her till her driver helped her into the carriage and turned it to head back up the bluff overlooking the river.
    Mr. Smith came to her mind. In spite of Gerard’s apparent proclivity for the vices of the wharf, she hoped he wouldn’t meet up with Smith. It occurred to her that both men spoke with similar accents, so Smith must have come from Boston too. She hoped that was all they had in common.
    What did Gerard Ramsay think of her now? She certainly knew what she thought of him. Perhaps she should warn Tippy that Stoddard’s cousin was luring him to the wharf with all its temptations and pitfalls. Or maybe he didn’t need luring. It was possible she had misjudged Stoddard Henry. Was he just another privileged wastrel, wearing the mantle of respectability? Like Richard? Like Gerard Ramsay himself?

T HE UNWELCOME IMPACT of meeting a lady—and especially that lady—down here at the wharf worked its way through Gerard in cold waves. He watched her enter her glossy-black closed carriage and drive away. Only then did he exclaim, “Why in heaven’s name is she down here?”
    “I told you,” the night watch said with impatience. “If you’re so upset to see a lady here, what are you doin’ here?” With a sound of derision, the officer stalked off.
    “I said this was a bad idea,” Stoddard said. “And nobody tells Blessing Brightman where she can go or what she can do.”
    Could nothing go right? Gerard shook off his exasperation. The idea of the racetrack had taken root, and he knew the wharf was the kind of place he must begin his research. He’d need two kinds of investors: the respectable and thedisreputable. In the process of making it happen, he didn’t want to brush up against some ugly customer who had already decided to do the same.
    But the thought of meeting the Quakeress here had never crossed his mind. His thoughts still raced. What was the widow doing carrying a baby?
    “I don’t come down here,” Stoddard said. “My days of venturing into places like this are long past. I thought the same was true for you. We were young and stupid when we frequented the Boston docks. It’s a wonder both of us survived some of those dangerous nights. And came away without catching a disease.”
    In the dim moonlight Gerard stared at his cousin, realizing he half agreed with Stoddard, a startling thought. Nonetheless, the man’s superior tone grated on him. Was Stoddard going to become one of those stuffy men like Gerard’s father? Had his cousin forgotten how many of the socially prominent possessed feet of clay? “So you really are getting respectable.”
    “You are respectable and I am respectable. I just used to do things that I now see were foolish. And wrong. We’re nearly thirty, man. Getting old enough to know better.”
    Gerard decided to adopt an honest approach.