The Smithfield Market Romances: A Sweet Regency Romance Boxset

by Rose Pearson

  “Mark my words,” she’d heard someone say. “It’ll be the gaol for that young lad, if they catch him. He won’t ever see the light of day again, I reckon.”

  “Let’s hope they don’t catch him then,” said another man, with a wry smile on his face. “Poor beggar.”

  “Careful there!”

  The shout brought Josephine back to the present, back to her grumbling stomach and the ever-present fear of being caught. She could not be sent to gaol. The very thought sent terror straight through her, her heart quickening its pace at the fear of being thrown into some dark and dingy cell, with only rats for company. He won’t ever see the light of day again.

  Those words had her fixed to her step, despite the desperate urge to eat.

  The man pulling the bread roll cart began to wave his arms as the people jostled about. A bread roll fell from the cart, landing on the cobbled street as the cart moved away.

  Immediately, Josephine’s eyes fixed on it. For a moment, her fear and her hunger battled against one another until, finally, she moved without hesitation. Dodging in between men and women, some with baskets and some who glared at her as though she were an annoying fly buzzing about their presence, she kept her gaze fixed on the small, dirty bread roll.

  Her hands clasped about it with such gratitude that she almost felt like crying, but she knew she could not eat it here. Running back to where she had come from, she quickly sat down to eat, her teeth tearing off large chunks of bread as she grew desperate to satisfy the growl of her stomach.

  Tears ran down her cheeks as she ate. This was not the life she was used to. Her father had been a laborer and her mother had taken in all manner of work in order to bring in a little extra money. She had helped her mother with the sewing and darning, with the herbs and remedies her mother had put together to help those who were sick, and what had been all the more wonderful was when she had been offered the chance to work as a maid at one of the great houses in Hampstead. It had brought a good wage with it, although she had been forced to improve herself in a good many ways even though she barely interacted with those in the house. The housekeeper had taken great pains to improve her speech, her posture, her manner of walking and her appearance. It had been difficult to be apart from her parents but it had been the chance to have a different life and, until the day she got word that her parents had become ill, she had enjoyed it. It was not a rich or abundant life, of course, but it was still a life where she had plenty to appreciate and enjoy. The money she had made working as a maid had been sent back to her parents for the most part, making sure that they never had to scrape about for food. They had never once had to consider stealing simply to satisfy their hunger. There had never been a lot, but there had always been enough. Now, even though she was alone on the London streets, she hated the thought of stealing but knew she would have to do so in order to survive.

  She wiped away the tears with the back of her hand, leaving a grimy smudge on her cheek. Her fingers were red with cold but at least the roll brought a little contentment – not that it would last long. Closing her eyes, Josephine tried not to let doubts fill her. She had come to London in the hope of becoming a maid in one of the grand houses, but no-one would so much as look at her, not when she had nothing but the clothes on her back and no references of any sort. She would have had references, of course, had she not had to leave her position in the great house with barely a day’s notice. But she had not been able to stay away, knowing that her parents needed her. So now, what was she to do? Was she to simply beg on the streets and pray to God that she would somehow make it through the winter? Was there nothing she could do?

  “You there!”

  Her breath caught and she forced herself to remain entirely still, frozen in place on her step.

  “You! Girl!”

  Slowly lifting her head, Josephine saw a tall, dark-haired gentleman moving towards her. He was wearing fine clothes, walking with the dignity and air of a gentleman. There was strength in his movement and, as he approached her, Josephine saw the slight lift of his chin and wrinkling of his nose, which betrayed his disinclination for the area surrounding Smithfield Market.

  “Y-yes, my lord?” she stammered, wondering if she ought to stand but being a little unsure as to whether or not her legs would hold her up. “Can I help you?”

  “Yes.” He tossed her a coin which clattered to the ground. Josephine stared at it for a moment, before picking it up with cold fingers. She held it tightly in her palm, hardly daring to believe she had been given something so precious.

  “Do you know your way about this place?”

  Carefully, she got to her feet. “I do, my lord,” she replied, hope bursting in her heart.

  “I need to find a particular address and appear to have become rather lost. I thought to walk, you see, since the day was fine,” the gentleman replied, looking at her steadily. “You appear to be in need of some assistance also. If you are able to deliver me to where I need to go, then I shall be glad to recompense you in some way.

  Josephine swallowed hard and nodded, the coin clutched tightly in her hand. He was to give her more, perhaps? More money meant that she would not have to struggle for food for some days, for the coin she had meant food for at least a week!

  “I should be glad to help you, my lord,” she replied, carefully, letting her gaze travel to his face and finding that there was now a small smile on his handsome face. In fact, he appeared to be quite at his ease and she found herself smiling back.

  “Very good,” he responded, grandly. “I am Baron Dunstable. I am charged with calling upon a family friend to take them to my estate for a prolonged visit.” His expression changed. “The disease is taking hold of London and I must get her safe.” Josephine noticed that his gaze had drifted away by this point and it was as if he were speaking to himself. She hesitated, waiting for him to say more, only for him to clear his throat and turn his attention back to her. Frowning, his brows burrowed down as he looked at her carefully. “You are not unwell, I hope?”

  “Oh, no, my lord,” Josephine replied, hastily. “That is, I have already had the fever and it has gone from me.”

  His expression cleared. “I see. You have recovered then?”

  “Yes, my lord. A few weeks ago it was now.”

  Nodding slowly, the gentleman studied her for another moment or two. “You speak very well for a….” He trailed off, clearly unwilling to call her what she was – a street urchin. She managed a small smile, hating her wretched appearance.

  “I was a maid in a great house in Hampstead for a time,” she said, by way of explanation. “The housekeeper there spent a lot of time working with me.”

  The explanation seemed to satisfy him. “I see,” he murmured, his gaze a little interested. Stretching out his arm towards the pavement, his lips curved upwards into a small smile. “Then might we go, miss?”

  A faint heat crept into her cheeks, embarrassed. “My lord, you have not said where you wish to go.” She dropped her head only to hear him chuckle with exasperation.

  “Indeed, I have not. It is not too far, I think.” Quickly, he gave her the address and Josephine, relieved that she knew precisely where to go, began to hurry through the streets of Smithfield Market.

  As they walked in silence, Josephine felt her despair begin to fall away. She would not have to worry about food or shelter for a time, if the gentleman was to be as generous as he promised. His funds would not give her any permanent solution, of course, not unless his fiancée’s household was looking for a chamber maid, but at least it would take the fear from her back for a time.

  “Have you no work?”

  She turned her head, a little astonished that the gentleman would consider speaking to someone as lowly as she. “I – I cannot find any, my lord,” she stammered, feeling heat rise in her face as she tried her best to speak properly. “I came from Hampstead to find work here but none would take me.”

  “From Hampstead, you say,” he replied, easi
ly, as they walked past the Smithfield House for Girls. “Why did you come to London? Was there no work for you back home?”

  “The fever took my parents.” The words came from her lips with no emotion attached to them, although it tore her apart inwardly. So many had lost loved ones, so many felt the same pain and grief she endured. She was just another one left alone on the earth, lost, afraid and without hope. Silently, she wondered if the Baron, being of the nobility, had lost any of his dear ones to the fever. Surely not, given just how different his circumstances were from her own!

  “I am very sorry to hear of your loss, miss,” he murmured, as they turned the corner into another street. “That must have been very painful for you.”

  She nodded but said nothing. She could not. The ache in her chest was becoming too great.

  “My father recently passed away,” he continued, as though he were simply talking to a friend. “That is why I am to return to his estate, although I suppose it is to be my estate now.” Sighing heavily, he came to stand beside her as she came to a stop at the end of the designated street. “Grief affects all of us, does it not? No matter our circumstances.”

  Josephine felt herself wondering about this gentleman. He appeared both kind and gracious, which was not what she had come to expect from those in the nobility. Most often, they simply rode or walked past people like her, ignoring them completely, whereas Baron Dunstable seemed to be rather interested in her.

  “You must be careful,” he was saying, as she gestured towards the house where his fiancée would be waiting for him. “A young lady like yourself could easily become the prey of those who have less than pleasant intentions.”

  She managed a small smile, aware of just how intense his blue eyes were when they lingered on her. A little ashamed of her ragged dress and grimy face, she dropped her gaze and nodded. “Thank you, my lord. You are most kind.”

  The gentleman smiled at her again, his eyes alight. “Very good, miss. Now here, take this and ensure that you spend it wisely.” He placed some coins in her palm but she did not look at them, barely able to keep her breathing steady. This was more than she had ever dared hope for.

  “I think you will be wise with them, however,” he continued, with a broad smile. “Thank you for your excellent navigation through the streets of London. I am in your debt.” He bowed towards her, as though she were some elegant lady, before turning on his heel and walking away.

  Josephine remained precisely where she was for a good few minutes, watching him as he left. Her breathing was quickening as she felt the coins in her hand, her legs shaking just a little as she slowly unwrapped her fingers to look down at them.

  She gasped. The gentleman had given her five sovereigns. Five full sovereigns. That was more than her parents had earned in a year! Her eyes filled with tears and she held her hand close to her chest, feeling the warm tears slip down her cheeks. There was more than just money here, there was a place to sleep, food to eat, warm tea to drink and revive her. It would give her the chance to find work without fearing where her next meal would come from. Baron Dunstable had not simply given her money, he had given her a life. She would not need to fear the winter, nor even the one after that if she was careful.

  Pulling her ragged handkerchief from her pocket, she wrapped up the coins tightly and tied a knot, making sure they would not jingle for fear they might be stolen. “Bless you,” she whispered, watching him through tear filled eyes. “Bless you, good sir. And thank you.”

  2

  “Georgina, really. You need not fuss!”

  Miss Georgina Wells, daughter to Viscount Armitage, frowned heavily at Gideon and continued to smooth and rearrange her skirts.

  “Georgina, please,” he said again, growing frustrated with her constant attempts to ensure her skirts had not a single wrinkle in them. “You will only have to do so again once we reach the estate, which will be very soon.”

  “Then it is all the more important that I am quite ready and prepared to meet your mother and dear sister again, is it not?” Georgina replied, primly. “Really, Dunstable, you are quite impossible sometimes! Can you not see that this is of the utmost importance, especially since it is my new gown?”

  Gideon held his tongue with an effort, despite the fact that he wanted nothing more than to state there was nothing wrong with Georgina’s skirts and that no, new dresses were not of the utmost importance. Looking out of the window at the familiar landscape, he tried to let the frustration pass from him. He had known Georgina for a good many years and had always known that she did not care for anything other than herself. It was to be expected, of course, given that she was a young lady of quality who had been brought up to preen and simper and delight in everything she did and everywhere she went – but of late, it was beginning to grate on him. Mayhap it was because he had finally realized that the death of his father meant that he now had sole charge of the estate and all that went with it. Mayhap it was because there was this terrible fever sweeping through London, taking so many to the grave with it. For whatever reason, Gideon found himself growing more and more irritated with his bride to be. He did not care about new gowns or the like and was surprised that Georgina appeared to put so much stock into what she wore or whether or not the gown was of the highest fashion. Did she not see all that was going on around her? Did she not see the sick, the fallen, the poor and the needy? It was all he had been aware of since coming to London some days ago.

  Sighing to himself, Gideon fixed his gaze on the window and did not let himself listen to Georgina’s continued complaints about his lack of consideration for her and her gown. They had been betrothed for a good many years, due to the desire of both Gideon’s father and Georgina’s father, but he had never felt anything particularly for her and, even though he had not asked her, Gideon did not think that Georgina had any particular affection for him. That being said, whilst he had never found her particularly engaging, she certainly was beautiful and did well to be every bit the elegant lady she was expected to be – although Gideon was quite sure she had not been this vapid when he had first left for India two years ago, at the behest of his father. Having holdings in India, Gideon’s father had thought it would be good for his son to see for himself what things were like and Gideon had rather enjoyed his time there, managing and ordering things. To hear that his father was deathly ill, however, had brought his joy to an end and so he had taken the first passage he could back home. It had been too late, however, for he had missed the funeral itself by over a month. Now that their half mourning was completed, Gideon was finally able to step back into society just a little, which meant that Georgina could make a long-planned visit to the estate.

  Except, he did not feel any particular joy at the prospect.

  His mind drifted back to the young lady he had seen on the steps, the one who had helped him to find his way. He could still recall how she had looked up at him with wide green eyes, clearly astonished that he would stop to talk to her. At one point, she had moved back from him, as though fearing he would either strike her or drag her away and he had felt his heart break. There were so many beggar children, so many orphans and street urchins but there had been something about this young lady that had spoken to his heart. Whether or not it was because he was afraid that she might be taken advantage of, beaten or worse, he had given her more than he had intended in the hope that she would make as much use of it as she could.

  He had not meant to become lost in Smithfield Market, of course. He had been in the center of London and had become more and more astonished at just how desolate it seemed to be. It had not been the London he remembered, for it was quiet with an almost oppressive air. There had not been hackneys ready to take him to wherever he needed to go. There had not been carriages filled with the ton, all laughing and smiling and desperate to be seen. The quietness of it had been all the more evidenced by the fact that this was only just the end of the Season, a time when there ought to be at least a few more balls and soirees – but t
here had been nothing of the sort. The fever had scared the wealthy away, back to their country estates where they prayed they would be safe.

  That fear had begun to linger in his own heart. His feet had ached in his boots as he had turned this way and that, growing a little more desperate with every minute that had passed. Having thought to go to the townhouse of his fiancée’s father, he had begun to pray that he would either find his way there or somehow manage to make his way back to his own townhouse but had not managed to do either. It was obvious that Smithfield Market was no place for a gentleman of the ton. Men and women had jostled him without any consideration, shooting either vengeful glances or interested, conniving looks as if wondering what they could take from him. If he were to be attacked, he had realized, there would be no-one to come to his aid. The air had grown thick and his heart had quickened with anxiety. Despite this, however, he had lifted his head high and continued on as best he could, all too aware that the streets of Smithfield Market were not exactly safe.

  The fever was in Smithfield Market too, he was well aware of that. As he had walked, a woman near him had stopped to cough violently, which had forced a frisson of fear into his heart.

  Seeing the young lady sitting on that step had jolted that fear from his bones. She did not look as though she were about to attack him or steal from him, for he could sense a desperation coming from her. Her eyes were red-rimmed as if she had been crying, her feet bare and hands red with cold - and his compassion for her had burst to life. It was clear that she was living from one day to the next, never quite sure where her food would come from – and so he had taken a chance. A chance that had paid off for them both.

  The grime on her forehead, the way her dark hair had swept about her thin cheekbones – he could not forget her face. How different she was to Georgina, and yet how much more in need of his assistance than his fiancée. Georgina came from wealth. He had more than enough to live on quite comfortably and yet that young lady, who he was sure was almost the same age as Georgina, had nothing. Her parents were gone and she had no work to speak of. Even though she spoke well and clearly had been given a very basic education from the housekeeper where she had worked, the young lady had no employment. None would hire her, he was sure, not if they discovered that she had already had the fever. Everyone was afraid, even of someone who had been struck with it, only to survive. He had spoken to her more than he had first intended, finding his heart caught with sympathy for her and aware of just how grateful she had been to him for what, for him, was a simple kindness. He prayed that she would not fritter away the coins he had given her, but that she would use it to find food and shelter for herself. He had wanted to do more, had wanted to demand that Georgina ensure the girl had a position as a maid or some such thing in her father’s household but had known he could not do so. He would have sent her to his own townhouse, was it not shut up and empty of servants, for he had sent them all to his country estate to clean it from top to bottom before preparing it for his mother and sister.