Lorelie Brown (4 page)

Trepidation fluttered down her back as the street got narrower. The tall buildings leaned in overhead, obscuring more of the dim London sunlight. Night fell sooner in the depths of the city than it did in idyllic neighborhoods. They’d be well served to be on their way back to more familiar environs in less than two hours.

Not to mention she had her daily appointment with her mother.

“You’d be wrong.” His shoulder brushed hers with heat. They pressed too close together when she tried to push away from the wetness in the center of the road. “I’ve increased my family’s fortunes tenfold since taking over.”

She inclined her chin, giving him a measure of respect earned by those words. “Well done of you.”

He had to bend his neck to peer at her, since he was a full head taller. Yet he managed to look in her eyes, even as they kept walking. “Is that sarcasm?”

“As a matter of fact, it’s not.” She drew to a halt, looking up at the building on her left. No numbers designated the address, but it was between a tinker’s shop and a pawnbroker as the women had said to expect. “I’ve known plenty of men who do their level best to squander every pence that falls into their hands. It’s a sickness.”

His mouth curved into an appealing smile. “I’m pleased you can see my position.”

“Your position is still entirely invalid.” She grinned up at him. His height appealed to her. Most likely it was the illusion of being sheltered. Though Lottie knew how false harbor could hurt. “Unions are not simply recommended, they’re a necessity.”

His eyes widened, but he didn’t respond with the vigor she might have assumed. Instead he pursed his bottom lip as he concentrated. “I’m not sure whether to be more shocked that your charity is a front for union agitation or that you should so boldly admit it to a near stranger.”

She bit her lip around a smile. “Neither. My
charity
, as you insist on calling it, is a place for women to advance themselves. Nothing so bold as union agitation. But nothing so lost as to pretend it doesn’t exist.”

“Lords and masters do what is best for their employees as it leads to what is best for the business as well.” He puffed up another inch, his collar white and blindingly clean against the dismal grayness of the surrounds.

“You’re almost adorable in your stubbornness.” She patted his cheek. Though she’d have liked the gesture to be about putting him in his place, she couldn’t quite lie to herself that much. She wanted to feel his skin. Smooth and yet rough with his beard’s evening growth. “Now let’s find Patricia so we can get you away from my
charity
and on your way.”

The stairs inside were decrepit. Lottie hardly knew whether to trust her life to the rickety balustrade, so she settled for holding her skirts up and keeping her chin lifted so that she wouldn’t see the stickiness in which she stepped. She allowed herself to be much comforted that Sir Ian followed behind her as they went up two stories.

If she fell, she’d take him with her on the way down.

The amusement that would arise made the idea worth considering. If it weren’t for the footmen trailing behind, as alert as soldiers, she would play at it. See his true colors if he were to think she was falling.

Instead they arrived on the proper floor, and she knocked on the door of Patricia’s small flat. Sweat and chills sprang up on her hands, though she had no idea why she was so unaccountably nervous.

She wanted to think well of the girls who attended her school. Their very appearance signified willingness to better themselves and take advantage of opportunity. That didn’t mean they all had the best
reasons
for wanting to better themselves. They’d already had a few instances of petty theft, but that was different from blackmail. It was also different from theft serious enough to have the gentry on her tail.

Only Patricia didn’t open the door. Instead a tiny woman with bird-thin bones and a wan smile appeared. “Miss Vale. I didn’t expect you to call.”

“Finna, I didn’t realize you roomed with Patricia.”

Finna bobbed a small curtsy. “We met in Lady Victoria’s elocution lessons, and Patricia needed somewhere to stay. Since my previous roommate moved on, it seemed like a good combination.” Her voice lilted with the softest touch of Ireland. She was a long way from home.

“I’m glad you found each other, then.” Lottie had drawn Finna’s story out one evening when she had lingered late at the school. There had been a man involved, of course, as well as the lure of better paying jobs than Finna could have found in the north of Ireland. But she’d quickly found herself on her own. She was lucky to have steady work in a porcelain factory, but she was working herself to the bone and wanted a better life.

Like all Lottie’s girls. Which was why she had to keep them safe.

Finna’s glance jumped over Lottie’s shoulder, toward Sir Ian, who was likely glowering in that way of his. When Finna looked past him, down the stairs to the footmen, her eyes got wider.

Lottie angled her shoulders and stepped a half pace to the side. Not that she could obscure the alarming set of men with her, but so it would be more clear they waited on her orders. “Don’t worry your head about them. We brought them along so Sir Ian here wouldn’t be frightened of Whitechapel.”

“I beg your pardon?” Sir Ian began, but she cut him off as soon as she could.

She kept her voice calm and light. The same voice she used for placating her mother when the megrims came upon her. “You see, Sir Ian’s a bit of a worrier. He knew Patricia in Devon.”

“She grew up there,” Finna provided.

Lottie smiled. “Of course she did. Sir Ian is under the misapprehension that Patricia is in possession of something of his. Is she in?”

Finna shook her head. “I haven’t seen her a couple days now. I’m worried, truth be told. It’s not like her. But then, she’s gotten stranger and odder over the past little bit.”

Sir Ian stepped to the side, making himself seen. Finna shrunk further, her shoulders curling about her ears. “How long have you roomed together?”

“Five months,” she provided, and Sir Ian nodded along as if he’d expected no different.

Lottie shot him a look, but he willfully ignored her. Simmering tension made the space between them palpable in a way he couldn’t possibly ignore. Attraction was a matter of bodies, and she’d felt it before. Lord Cameron was a handsome man, also tall with dark hair. Too bad her father had been pressing him on her so directly. Made a girl want to run fast into the next available man’s arms.

She must have a certain affinity for dark-haired men. That would be good to know in finding someone to be with.

She pushed away those silly thoughts and smiled at Finna. “May we come in?”

Her gaze flicked from Sir Ian to the footmen and back again. “All of you?” Her accent slipped under the strain. “It’s a small room…”

“Of course not. Only Sir Ian and me. He’d like to peek around. He won’t make a mess or treat your belongings with anything less than the utmost respect.” She turned her biggest, brightest smile on Sir Ian. “Isn’t that right?”

The amusement his mouth quirked into was wry and to Lottie’s eyes, doubtful. But he made a rumbling, purring sound of agreement anyway. “Quite right.” The girl melted a little under Sir Ian’s approbation, her spine curling and her hand loosening around the edge of the door. “My mother and sister raised me better than that.”

If Lottie didn’t know any better, she’d think a measure of truth filled his words about his sister. But she had him agreeable, and she’d best press her advantage for the benefit of her girls. “And he promises to behave himself as well. Doesn’t he?”

Ian wasn’t used to women telling him so bold-facedly what to do. He wouldn’t have guessed that he’d easily accept. A surprising sense of amusement kept him willing and happy. He nodded his agreement. “As Miss Vale says. My very best behavior.” He swept two fingers over his lapel in a King’s Cross. “I swear it.”

“As you like, sir.” The girl with frail shoulders stepped back and held open the door.

He could understand her reluctance to have their entire troop inside. He wasn’t assured there’d be enough space on the battered, worn floorboards for all their feet. Two tiny cots lined each side of the room. At the far end was one bare windowpane. A shelf underneath was stacked with belongings—a doll made of a few twists of cloth and a round head, a chipped vase that Ian couldn’t imagine anyone paying money for. The crack that ran through the center alone would have made it useless. Yet either this girl Finna or Patricia kept it as their special treasure, in a place of pride under the window.

Ian could almost understand why Patricia would be moved to blackmail.

That didn’t mean he was inclined to pay it.

Tucked behind the swing of the door was a sink and a small stove. A single cabinet there had a couple pots and a loaf of bread wrapped in cloth.

Four steps landed Ian in the middle of the room. He schooled his expression into something genial and kind as he turned back toward Finna and Miss Vale, but it was difficult. He’d come so far to lose Patricia from his grasp.

“Which side normally belongs to Patricia?”

“The left,” answered the girl. Her voice was subdued. She darted a look toward Miss Vale. “I hope she comes back soon. The rent is due day after next and I’ve my half, but that’s it.”

Ian knelt by the left-most bed, but his attention was split between checking beneath the woefully thin mattress stuffed with cornshucks and watching Miss Vale’s response. Most women would have fished a bob out of their purse and handed it over to gushing thanks from the girl. Hell, Ian would have likely done so himself. This poor, draughty room wasn’t much. If Finna were kicked out, Ian couldn’t imagine what the next step down would be. Sleeping in a cold alley? A tenement packed ten to a room?

But Miss Vale’s bright expression never wavered. She patted Finna on the shoulder. “If she hasn’t returned by tomorrow evening, come let me know at the school. We’ll find you someone new to room with. There are always girls looking for safe situations.”

“I do know that feeling,” Finna agreed. Her spine eased from its rigidity, and the tendons stretching her thin neck softened. “Not as I’d want to get rid of Patricia, but if she can’t be bothered to be around, well…” She trailed off with a shake of her head.

“Was she a good companion until now?” Miss Vale asked.

He tried to make his poking and digging subtle, but when he was looking for a sheet of paper, it became difficult. He leaned down to peek in the space between the baseboards and the yellow-tinged walls, to make sure no folded papers were secreted.

“Well enough,” Finna said, but her gaze shifted and her jaw worked over what seemed to be a lie. “That is, she was always sweet. Kind. Except for when her man came calling. I didn’t like him as much.”

“Her man?” Miss Vale prompted. “Who was that?”

“I don’t know as such. She never talked at length. But she liked him a great deal.”

Ian hoisted a loose floorboard and found nothing but dust and thick cobwebs. He dropped it in flat-out annoyance, but Miss Vale’s eyebrows lifted and her mouth pinched into a displeased shape.

He shifted the floorboard neatly into its place, then used the heel of his shoe to push down an errant nail. The smile he aimed her way said,
There. Sufficient to your high standards?
Silent communication was the only option considering their audience.

Except he wouldn’t have guessed that she’d understand him. Or that she’d curve her mouth and lower her lashes into an expression that said so very clearly,
Yes. For now.

He didn’t enjoy the idea that he might have some deeper level of communion with this woman. She was flighty and giggly and entirely too
much
. He hardly knew what to do with her kind, except she’d never lower herself to his level. Best to admire her sort from afar.

He dusted his hands off, flecks of dirt falling to the floor. “Sweet and kind sound like wonderful attributes in a friend.”

Her throat worked on a nervous-looking swallow. The woman came to Miss Vale’s chin and Miss Vale, in turn, was petite when compared to Ian. How obvious the poor effects of childhood malnutrition could be sometimes.

Finna was still capable of lying, however. “She was the very best sort of roomer. I do hope she comes back,” she said, ignoring the strain in her words.

That didn’t sound at all like the Patricia once known by Ian. Her brother Archie had been a bluff, kind man, that much was for certain. He’d been the second son born to a large farming family, but he’d been apprenticed out to the local millwright at twelve. No one had been thrilled when Etta ran away and married Archie, not by half. Screaming battles between Etta and Ian and their parents left everyone going round and round in awful circles. That she should lower herself so fully to a man who wouldn’t ever leave the village. Mostly that she would so disappoint their father’s hope with such sound dismissal.

That didn’t mean the family was incapable of understanding Archie’s appeal. He’d treated Etta like a queen among women and loved her every step. There was no doubting his love for her, nor his goodness. He fed stray cats, nursed ill hedgehogs and would give a beggar the boots off his feet if he thought it would help—the same sort of person as Etta.

Patricia had been nice enough, but not in Archie’s league. Plus she’d always had her eye on moving on. Nothing in their small village or even their county was good enough for Patricia. When she’d disappeared after Archie’s death, no one had been astounded. Nor, honestly, had Ian been particularly shocked to realize she was the only one with Etta’s marriage certificate and therefore the likely choice for blackmailer.