The Heart of a Bluestocking Read online

  The Heart of a Bluestocking

  Renée Dahlia

  www.escapepublishing.com.au

  The Heart of a Bluestocking

  Renée Dahlia

  When an uncommon lawyer meets an unusual doctor, their story must be extraordinary...

  September 1888

  Dr Claire Carlingford owns the bluestocking label. Her tycoon father encouraged her to study, and with the support of her two best friends, she took it further than anyone could imagine, graduating as a doctor and running her own medical practice. But it’s not enough for her father. He wants her to take over the business, so he can retire. Then his sudden arrest throws the family into chaos and his business into peril.

  Mr James Ravi Howick, second son of Lord Dalhinge, wants to use his position as a lawyer to improve conditions for his mother’s family in India. When an opportunity arises to work for Carlingford Enterprises, one of the richest companies in the world, Ravi leaps at the chance to open his own legal practice. But his employment becomes personal as he spends more time with Claire and she learns the secret that could destroy his family.

  Both Ravi and Claire are used to being outsiders and alone. But as they work together to save their respective families from disaster, it becomes clear that these two misfits might just fit together perfectly.

  About the Author

  RENÉE DAHLIA is an unabashed romance reader who loves feisty women and strong, clever men. Her books reflect this, with a side-note of dark humour. Renée has a science degree in physics. When not distracted by the characters fighting for attention in her brain, she works in the horse racing industry doing data analysis. She writes for two racing publications, churning out feature articles, interviews and advertorials. When she isn’t reading or writing, Renée wrangles a husband, four children, and volunteers on the local cricket club committee. Find her at reneedahlia.com.

  Acknowledgements

  Thank you to my lovely friends Arpana, Surabhi, and Sneha who read early drafts of this book, helped me with the Hindi phrases, other cultural references, and told me which books to read in my research. I hope our friendship shines through in this book, and I am grateful for your assistance in helping create fully rounded characters. Thank you Romance Writers Australia for providing excellent opportunities to improve my craft, and a place to meet many wonderful writers who have encouraged me on this journey. Thank you Mimi for overseeing the childbirth scene.

  As with the first two books in this series, I’m eternally grateful to my sister and beta reader Caro for her help in ironing out the plot. Thanks also go to Kate Cuthbert at Escape Publishing for this opportunity, to Brooke Moody for her edits, and the rest of the team at Harlequin who pulled this novel into a book.

  To the brave and the bold girls who want to change the world.

  And for the rest of us who quietly support them.

  Contents

  About the Author

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Author Note

  Bestselling Titles by Escape Publishing...

  Chapter 1

  September 1888

  Start of Autumn

  ‘No,’ Claire said emphatically. ‘I don’t owe you my time.’ She lifted her chin a fraction and glared at her father. He stared back with those astute eyes. Even as he approached his sixtieth birthday, he still retained all the qualities that had made him into a captain of industry.

  ‘I paid for you to become a doctor to give you gravitas. Not for you to work in the slums of London, trying to heal people who can’t be healed.’

  ‘My work is important.’

  ‘Not as important as this. You need to learn the businesses, to understand the people.’

  ‘I’m learning plenty about people while I treat the poorest souls in London—’ She took a deep breath, ‘—and, might I add, I also have a practice for wealthy people that earns me an independent income. When people are in pain, rich or poor, they aren’t very different.’

  ‘I concede that you might gain some recognition of the grasping nature of humans. But you’ve done enough time there.’ Claire scoffed under her breath—since when was less than a year ‘enough time’?

  Father continued. ‘I need you to work for me. It is time for you to take over.’ Claire didn’t bother to hide her impatience with the subject as they argued, again, about her role as his likely successor. Carlingford Enterprises—her father’s business that covered several industries across Europe and the Americas—required a leader that the world would accept. Maybe in a decade or two, their clients might be ready to accept her. Maybe in a decade, she might be ready for that fight. Not now. She swallowed. She had only graduated as a doctor earlier this year from the Municipal University of Amsterdam, and was just finding her feet, juggling her two medical practices. She wasn’t ready for this challenge of his, maybe she would never be. Besides, they wouldn’t be having this argument if …

  ‘You can only have this argument because I set you on this path,’ he said, one step ahead of her as usual.

  ‘I need more time on this path. What is the rush?’ She shrugged, lightly. An act of contrition under fire. Father’s eyes narrowed. The lines on his face showed his age.

  ‘I’ve waited long enough. I need to know that the future is secure,’ he said. His eyes darted to the side and back to her so quickly, she wondered if she’d imagined it. There must be more to his recent push for her to get more involved with Carlingford Enterprises.

  ‘What about my brother?’ she said. His grey moustache quivered. Faint patches of colour flooded his cheeks. She raised one eyebrow deliberately, as if the sign that his rage was about to explode didn’t matter to her. Her fingers knew otherwise, rubbing the fabric of her skirt between them. An old habit, the texture of the fabric against her skin soothed the anticipation that beat in her chest; a little too fast.

  ‘Him!’ He exhaled the word with a force that made Claire want to step backwards. She tensed her legs to stay still. And then, the old script changed. Her father laughed. A cynical, mean laugh. ‘That silly fool. He doesn’t have a head for business. Wilberforce—my God, I should never have agreed to that name! He wastes his brain, floating around society and reading poetry. If he were more like young Mr Thackery, I’d consider him.’

  Claire grimaced, suppressing a shudder at Mr Thackery’s name. He’d come from nowhere, using his slimy charm to work his way up the chain of command in the business.

  ‘Wil has written some great advertisements for the brewery,’ said Claire defensively. Her father’s head twitched, an almost nod of agreement, as she interrupted his spiel.

  ‘I said he has a good brain. Just that he should focus more on the right type of task. I will never give this opportunity to a wastrel.’

  Claire clamped her lips shut and stared back at her father. He shook his head with his nostrils flared, and the air shimmered as he wound up to let his temper loose. Mr Carlingford thumped his desk with his fist as he thundered. ‘You are my only hope. The only one with any sense. The only one that I can trust with what I’ve built.’ He paused for a short breath, then stared at her. ‘It’s su
ch a shame you were born a girl. God knows, if you’d been a boy, we’d already have conquered the world.’

  For a second, Claire wanted to slump down. To hear those words from her father—her champion—was a slap in the face. However, she was made of sterner stuff than that. She sucked in a hot breath and squared her shoulders.

  ‘Father. We will conquer the world,’ she said tightly. He almost smiled, as much as a businessman’s poker face can smile during a negotiation. ‘On my terms.’ She completed the sentence tersely, scanning his face for every tell.

  ‘What would they be?’ he said. His face closed, expressionless. One side of his mouth shifted slightly under his robust moustache. She paused to deliberately let the silence grow. This would be her best opportunity to finish this argument for all time. How could she play for more time, maybe not a full decade, but at least five years? She needed time to learn, to grow up. Gosh, she was only twenty-seven. An old maid, by society’s standard, but too young to run such a substantial business. And that was without the challenges of doing this as a woman. She swallowed back a sigh. The whole idea had a touch of absurdity—she couldn’t even vote, and he expected her to step in and run everything. If he wasn’t so serious in his belief in her capabilities, she’d think she was stuck in one of those comic tragedies that her brother, Wil, loved to watch at the theatre. Her father raised his eyebrows, and she opened her mouth to start the negotiation.

  The door flew open. It slammed into the wall with a thud, and two suited men burst in followed by their butler, Clemton. Claire whirled on the spot, her gaze shifting rapidly between her father and the newcomers. Clemton’s face was pinched in a frown, and he held his hands clasped in front of him.

  ‘Mr Carlingford. I apprehend you for the crime of fraud,’ said one of the suited men. Claire’s father stood up taller. Rigid. His bushy eyebrows pressed together as he glanced between the two men. The other man walked behind her father’s desk and grabbed his hands. He wrenched them into a pair of handcuffs. Claire’s heart stopped. Her breath slammed into her throat.

  ‘Is this necessary?’ she asked with a squeak in her voice.

  ‘Scotland Yard living up to their brutal reputation as usual,’ said her father, in taut, yet civil tones, with the sparkle back in his eye. The corner of his eye twitched, nearly a wink, and Claire bit her bottom lip to see his subtle humour under pressure. No matter their prior ongoing argument, she would do anything for him. Her champion. The man who’d told her that she could get the same education as her brother. That she might have to work ten times as hard to get the same outcome as him, but that she was more than capable of doing it. His words ‘if anyone can do this, it’s you’ had kept her company in many of her hardest days.

  ‘There is no need to be uncivil, Mister,’ she said, turning slowly to face the officer who had spoken. She held out her hand, palm up, to the policeman in his mediocre suit. ‘Presumably, you have some paperwork to demonstrate the necessity of your impolite behaviour.’

  ‘Officer Wedsley of the Criminal Investigation Department,’ he said. He handed her a crumpled piece of paper with smudged ink. ‘This will be easier all round if Mr Carlingford would surrender himself to the law.’ Claire’s father’s face stayed stern and unmoved until he gave an infinitesimal nod in her direction. She clenched her jaw to abide by that instruction to remain silent, and watched the officers haul her father away.

  As he walked past her, his head held high and his back straight, he whispered, ‘Get an independent lawyer. Someone good. Someone new.’ That last word resonated in the room with an urgency that swept over Claire’s skin like a sharp blast of winter sleet. Did that mean there was an enemy within the business? Is that why he wanted her to take over so soon? Her eyes widened as she sat, perched on the edge of a chair, possibilities rattling in her head. Who would benefit from her father’s removal from Carlingford Enterprises?

  ‘Excuse me.’ The clipped tones of her father’s butler, Clemton, made her shift in the chair. He stood beside the door with an expectant look on his face. She cleared her throat and stood up. ‘My apologies. I tried to stop them.’

  ‘I’m sure they made it impossible for you,’ she said. Clemton bowed his head. ‘The question becomes not so much about what you could have changed, but what we should do now?’

  ‘You must follow him to the Yard. Take two of the footmen with you.’

  ***

  ‘Dr Carlingford.’ Her butler, Clemton Snr, now retired from her father’s house where his son had taken over his reins, spoke in his typical reserved tone. She sat up straight and rubbed underneath her eyes as she dragged herself back into the world. ‘A visitor is here.’ Claire glanced at the clock. Time for elevenses. How could it be so late in the morning already? She’d spent a fruitless evening at Scotland Yard, then a restless night before coming into the drawing room to collect her thoughts. She rolled her head on her shoulders. Her neck made three loud cracking sounds that eased the odd pull in the base of her skull. ‘I believe it is Lady St. George,’ said Clemton Snr.

  ‘Thank you, Clemton. Send her in.’ Clemton Snr retreated from the room, and Josephine marched through the door in a swirl of dark blue, aniline dyed fabric. The sharp lines of the dress suited Josephine’s tall stature, with just enough decorative lace to soften the military style that was currently in vogue.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ said Claire. She stared blankly at Josephine through the haze of exhaustion, briefly rubbing the corner of her eyes.

  ‘We arranged this weeks ago. You know, lunch without the men,’ said Josephine. Claire blinked. ‘Marie will be here soon, and I have news.’

  ‘What news?’ called Marie from the hallway. Claire stood up as Marie waddled into the room with more energy than Claire expected to see, given the size of her pregnant stomach. ‘It’s the dress, isn’t it? I see Nicholas has managed to get you to embrace the latest in fashions,’ Marie concluded.

  ‘That’s Claire’s line,’ said Josephine with a smile. She sat on the chaise lounge and waved at Marie to join her. Claire swallowed back a yawn. She stood up slowly, let out a slow breath, and schooled her features into a pleasant smile.

  ‘Please, make yourselves welcome,’ she said to her friends with a wide, fake grin. She could always sleep later. Time spent with friends and their news trumped Father’s situation. She walked to the door of the drawing room and called out to Clemton Snr to arrange tea. The elderly butler ran her own smaller house with an aplomb that she admired. She turned back to see her two friends whispering together on the chaise lounge.

  ‘How is the pregnancy, Marie?’ she said. She sat opposite her friends in an antique Fauteuil armchair.

  ‘Fine. I’m holding up well at this stage.’

  ‘Two months to go?’

  ‘Yes. And then the worst part,’ said Marie. Claire saw the frown flash on Josephine’s face. She shared a look of worry with Josephine, whose mother had died in childbirth. ‘I’ll be fine. I’ll be following Lister’s processes for hygiene. Plus, I have two brilliant doctors as my best friends to guide me through the process.’

  ‘As to that, I have some news,’ started Josephine. ‘I am branching out into veterinary medicine.’

  ‘Horses, not people?’ asked Marie.

  ‘Yes. I’ve had the most fascinating discussions with Nicholas’s trainer about how to improve his athletes.’

  ‘And horses don’t talk back,’ said Claire. Marie shot her an annoyed glance as Josephine looked downwards. When would she learn to hold her tongue? Mother always told her that her mannish tongue would get her into trouble, and here she was, using it against her best friends. She sighed, her tired shoulders sagging, wanting to apologise, but couldn’t pull anything from her tired brain.

  ‘I’m surprised that Gordon agreed to you coming into the city, Marie,’ said Josephine. Claire closed her eyes at the change of subject and the tiny snub. She deserved that. She hunted for something funny to say, but her exhausted brain could only produce snark.
She clenched her teeth and looked away.

  ‘He doesn’t like it. The pea-soup air is bad for me and the baby. I know he’s right, but I had to visit Dr Jacobs to organise the next year. And I’m not going to miss seeing you two while I’m here. It’s only a short train ride. I’ll be back in the fresh country air soon enough,’ said Marie.

  ‘Next time, we should meet at yours,’ said Claire. Her friends both stared at her for a second then laughed.

  ‘Claire, my dear. You know that we meet at your place because you never have the time to visit us. I know you forgot about today’s visit,’ said Josephine. Claire instinctively squared her shoulders and opened her mouth to deny it. She’d been to Josephine’s country manor once, but clamped her lips shut before she verbalised the excuse.

  ‘What’s the matter, Claire? I’ve never seen you quite so jittery,’ said Marie. Claire pressed her heels into the floor. Perhaps her leg had been jiggling through this conversation.

  ‘Nothing,’ she said.

  ‘Mr Nothing?’ laughed Marie. Claire rolled her eyes. She continually had to ward off fortune hunters. One, Mr Thackery, had managed to work his charms on Mother, whose only goal was to get her married off for status. She blinked slowly. After years of being dragged in front of surly old Dukes, Mother seemed to have changed tack with Mr Thackery. Was it because of his sudden rise within Carlingford Enterprises? Last week, Mother invited him to dinner and presented Claire with a dress for the occasion, a soft pearl and ivory dress with pink ribbons. She’d traced the gorgeous dress with her fingertips. For all her faults, her mother did have marvellous taste—just not in potential husbands. To thwart Mother, she’d worn a House of Worth dress in vibrant green with black and purple embroidered flowers. A dress that said, “I’m bold, don’t mess with me”. Mother had apologised profusely for her lack of feminine graces, while Mr Thackery purred nonsense.

  ‘It’s just a family thing. No big deal,’ she said, rubbing her eyes. She shoved all thoughts of Mother and her ambitions aside to focus on her current, real problem. Father’s arrest.