Falling For The Viscount

by Lana Williams

  A glance back showed her maid walking several paces behind them. “What are your plans for the afternoon?”

  She sighed, the depth of it suggesting she wasn’t pleased with whatever task lay ahead of her. “The Grovers are expecting us for tea.”

  “Do you not care for them?” He couldn’t place the name.

  “Not especially. Their son is on my mother’s list of possibilities.”

  He frowned as he tried to determine her meaning. “Ah.” No doubt her mother was searching for an appropriate suitor.

  The idea of Dalia in another man’s arms caused a pang to strike the pit of his stomach. How ironic that not so long ago, Mrs. Fairchild had cast her gaze his way before he’d made it clear he had no designs on her daughter.

  He mentally gave himself a shake. He cared for Dalia. That could no longer be denied. And he desired her. The idea of her in his bed even now sent blood rushing to the nether regions of his body. But hardly a day passed that she hadn’t driven him mad with her actions. That had been their relationship their entire lives, and he didn’t see that changing now. He didn’t have the fortitude for a woman like her in his life.

  Marriage was on his list of things to do, certainly. After all, he was now the heir. But he didn’t intend to marry for several years. His position with the Intelligence Office was taking up a good deal of his time and energy. A wife and the family that would surely follow didn’t fit with his current plans.

  Dalia didn’t care for rules and acted without forethought. No matter how much he might admire and desire her, those characteristics weren’t ones he could easily dismiss as they clashed with his. Having seen firsthand what acting recklessly had done to his brother, how could he consider going through that with a wife?

  Nor should Dalia’s behavior change just because he thought it for the best. Her actions were part of who she was and what made her unique.

  Yet he could only imagine the number of arguments they’d have over the simplest things. Even the thought caused his heartbeat to speed.

  The idea of not having Dalia in his life was depressing, but it was for the best. That didn’t mean they couldn’t remain friends.

  She paused along the street and turned slowly, taking in the view. “The buildings along here are quite impressive.”

  “Yes, they certainly are.” He didn’t bother looking at them but kept his focus on Dalia, resisting the urge to place a hand on his aching chest. Funny that he no longer felt the pain of his ribs.

  A strand of hair came free from the clever pale blue hat she wore. He couldn’t resist reaching out to tuck it back into place.

  No matter how logical he tried to be, the idea of not being the man who assisted with her mad schemes or kissed the slim column of her throat did not sit well with him.

  It seemed he could neither walk away from her nor could he bring himself to commit to being part of her life—if she’d have him. The idea of returning to mere acquaintances left a terrible taste in his mouth. In truth, he wasn’t certain he could do it.

  Even now, the urge to draw her into his arms and kiss her long and deep nearly overwhelmed him. If he felt like this on a public street, how could he manage to remain friends with her?

  With a scowl, he determined he needed to return their relationship to a less intimate level.

  “Shall I escort you back to your carriage?” He turned before she could answer, anxious to put some distance between them before his feelings for her grew any deeper.

  ~*~

  Dalia took her seat in the lecture hall beside Sophia Markham, her cousin, who had just returned from a few days in the country with her fiancé and his grandmother. The change in her demeanor since she’d fallen in love with the Earl of Aberland was wonderful to see. She glowed with happiness.

  “Thank you for joining me,” Dalia whispered as other attendees settled in their seats. In truth, she was grateful for anything that distracted her from Spencer’s sudden coolness the previous day. She’d spent a restless night, pondering what it might mean.

  “I’m surprised you have an interest in this topic.” Sophia lifted the pamphlet to read the description. “An enlightening lecture on the social and moral ramifications of declining morality in England with special emphasis on London.”

  “And I’m surprised there aren’t more people in attendance.” Dalia glanced around the room, frowning at the number of empty seats. “This is a topic that affects us all.”

  Sophia lifted her glove to hide her smile but not quickly enough.

  “You find the topic amusing?” Dalia asked.

  “No, but I find your sudden interest in it amusing. You’re acting more like Lettie each time I see you.”

  Sophia had come to London only a few months ago. She’d been hired as companion to the Countess of Aberland, only to fall in love with her grandson, the earl. Their relationship had come as a surprise to many as they were opposites in several respects.

  Sophia’s upbringing had consisted of a wastrel rogue of a father and a mother who pined for him and forgave him for his wandering ways. Upon their deaths, an overly strict aunt had taken over who frequently pointed out the flaws of both, especially her father, causing Sophia to avoid rogues at all costs.

  Aberland’s reputation as a scoundrel was known far and wide. But either it was based more on rumor than facts or falling in love with Sophia had reformed him completely. Dalia wasn’t certain, and Sophia didn’t seem inclined to clarify the situation.

  The pair had managed to sort out their differences and were now planning a wedding. Dalia was surprised they’d parted ways for the duration of the lecture.

  “Being compared to my sister is not so terrible,” Dalia said with a sniff.

  “That isn’t what you would’ve told me two months ago.” Sophia’s smile was contagious. “I believe you suggested that if I wanted to learn about social issues in the city, I should speak with Lettie but to leave you out of the conversation.”

  “Yes, well.” Dalia shifted in her chair. What point was there in denying that, even if she wasn’t proud of it? “I’ve come to see such problems are the responsibility of us all.”

  “How very mature of you.” Dalia couldn’t take offense at the teasing note in Sophia’s tone when she delivered her words with a warm smile of affection.

  “I like to think I’ve grown spiritually of late.”

  “I’m pleased to hear that. May I ask what’s behind your change of heart?”

  Dalia glanced about to make certain no one she knew sat nearby then leaned close to whisper, “Our maid is being lured into a life of prostitution by her cousin.”

  Sophia gasped in dismay. “Ruth?” At Dalia’s nod, she asked, “What could possibly ‘lure’ someone into such a profession?”

  “High wages for a start.” Dalia scowled. “Unfortunately, I can’t do anything about that. So I’m left with attempting to point out the disadvantages. But there are also advantages that make this far more difficult than one might think.”

  “Such as?”

  “Less work. A maid rises well before we do and often doesn’t retire until assisting us to prepare for bed in the early morning hours after balls and the like.”

  “True. I suppose getting sleep should be on the list of advantages as well.”

  “But the risks are horrendous.” Dalia shook her head. “The possibility of pregnancy or disease. And some of the people involved in the business are horrible.” An image of Pruett and his thugs came to mind. She couldn't help but shudder.

  “How do you know so much about all of this?” Sophia asked, a frown creasing her brow. “Is there something you're not telling me?”

  Though Sophia was both her friend and her cousin, Dalia couldn't bring herself to tell her the full truth. There was too much to explain, and she knew Sophia would not approve of her actions.

  Dalia frowned. Did that mean Spencer was right, that she took too many risks? Unfortunately, she didn’t always see that until after the fact. But often
she saw no other option.

  Even though she'd been frightened of Pruett and what he might do to her and Kate, she'd never truly thought she could be killed or hurt. She didn't think courage had anything to do with that. It was more about determination. Or naiveté. Neither felt heroic.

  Before they could speak further, the speaker was introduced. He was considered an expert in the field who’d completed significant research and toured many areas of the East End as well as various cities in England to try and help measure the severity of the problems.

  While much of the information he told them Dalia had already learned, she enjoyed his lecture. Even Sophia seemed interested as he shared his findings and several personal stories of families who’d fallen on hard times caused by a string of unfortunate events.

  “This is incredibly depressing,” Sophia whispered.

  Dalia nodded. “So unfair.”

  “As you can see,” the lecturer summarized, “circumstances forced these fine, hard-working people to release their moral fortitude and shake hands with the devil.”

  “That’s a bit dramatic,” Sophia said.

  “These sort of lectures often are, aren’t they?” Dalia glanced at the rapt audience. “Part of the reason people come is to be entertained.”

  “Good for him to realize that. If that’s what’s required to gain people’s interest, then he has my blessing.”

  “And mine.”

  The lecturer ended his presentation by asking for donations to fund both his continued research and his charity.

  The applause was enthusiastic. As the crowd filed out of the hall, Sophia turned to Dalia. “I wonder how he determines whether the stories men and women tell him are legitimate? Or do you think he creates them to help with his fundraising?”

  “Fraud is rampant in all walks of life, including charitable organizations, but one would hope they were true.”

  Sophia studied her closely. “Again, I have to ask how you can speak of this with such certainty? It’s as if you’ve experienced it firsthand.”

  “I ventured to a home that takes in fallen women to rehabilitate them by teaching them new skills.”

  Sophia’s eyes widened in surprise. “Do your mother and father know of this?”

  “No, and I would appreciate you not sharing it with them. May I point out that they knew little of Lettie’s activities either?”

  “True, but you must take care.” Sophia squeezed Dalia’s arm. “There are many dangers on the streets.”

  “I’m well aware of that but will be careful.”

  They made their way out of the lecture hall. “Doesn’t Aberland know Viscount Rutland?” Dalia asked.

  “Yes.” An odd look came over Sophia’s face. “Why do you ask?”

  “Just curious. Rutland and I have run into each other several times of late.”

  “At the home for fallen women?” Sophia asked.

  “No.” But she could see a question remained in her cousin’s eyes. “What makes you think that?”

  “We were discussing fallen women.” She lifted a casual shoulder as she looked away, her manner stiff. “I thought he might have some connection to the topic.”

  Now Dalia had to wonder if there was something her cousin wasn’t telling her. When had life become so complicated that she and Sophia couldn’t have an honest conversation? And what did it have to do with Spencer?

  Chapter Seventeen

  “You’re supposed to walk about and look for your living, and the watcher is supposed to see that you do it—to take care that you look sharp, and above all that you don’t take customers anywhere but ‘home’.”

  ~The Seven Curses of London

  “Where the hell have you been?” McCarthy stood as Charlie entered his office located near the London Docks.

  “Under the weather.” Charlie couldn’t keep the irritation out of his tone. His body ached in places he hadn’t realized could ache since the incident with Kate and the two who’d stolen her.

  “We don’t have time for you to lay abed. Someone is making trouble, and I need you here to deal with it.”

  McCarthy was a bull of a man with a temper to match. Charlie had decided in the past two days he wasn’t paid enough to take the sort of beating he’d received. Yet he didn’t care to admit that a gentleman and two women had trounced him. Where did that leave him?

  He was loathe to provoke McCarthy’s ridicule. The man had told Charlie in the past that if he were bested in a fight, it was no one’s fault except his own. His job was to even the odds by any means necessary.

  Charlie had initially agreed but was now re-evaluating his opinion. His men had let him down. Having more there would’ve helped but reprimanding Kate should’ve been an easy task one man could handle. He’d decided to deal with it himself to set an example to the other girls. That had certainly not been the result.

  Now he looked like a fool in front of his men. Not that they’d fared any better. One had run, and Charlie had punished him severely for that behavior. The others had received the sharp side of his tongue. Kate’s whereabouts were currently a mystery, but if she breathed a word of the outcome of the fight to anyone, she’d pay with her life.

  “Do you have any idea what sort of trouble that whore has brought us?” McCarthy paced the length of the room and back again.

  Charlie felt the floor shift unsteadily under his feet. How had McCarthy found out about Kate? Had one of his own men turned snitch? He waited, wondering exactly what McCarthy knew.

  “Two men came snooping around another home that provides us with girls—the one Cowell oversees—asking too many questions.”

  Charlie’s stomach dropped.

  McCarthy leaned forward, his beady eyes burning into Charlie until he felt sweat bead on his brow. “The worst of it is that they weren’t the police.”

  “Then who were they?”

  “Lucky for you, I have contacts everywhere, including the Intelligence Office where they were from.”

  Charlie couldn’t make sense of the news. “Why would they be involved?” Did this have something to do with that blasted Fairchild woman and the man who’d been with her?

  “That’s what I intend to find out. Obviously, I can’t rely on you for that—or much else.” McCarthy tapped his desk. “Things like this are bad for business, and prostitution is our most profitable one. We lose money if we don’t have enough girls to serve the customers.”

  “I’m doin’ all I can, boss.” Charlie didn’t want McCarthy to think he wasn’t doing his job but had little proof of his capability at the moment.

  “I heard what you did all right. Got the stuffing beat out of you, didn’t you?” McCarthy shook his head in disgust as he looked him up and down. “By some dandy from what I was told, despite the odds being in your favor.”

  Charlie gritted his teeth. The odds hadn’t felt like they’d been in his favor in the midst of it. He was still in disbelief that the likes of them had bested him. “It was a bit more complicated than that.”

  “I’m beginning to wonder if you’re the right person for the position. Between you being on the wrong end of a fight and the authorities snooping around one of the homes, I’m losing confidence in you.”

  Anger bubbled forth, but Charlie choked it back. Any attempt to protest or make excuses would end badly. He’d seen McCarthy’s response firsthand with others. His best option was to try to shift the boss’s attention to something or someone else.

  “Stephens is causin’ more problems than he’s worth. He can’t keep his hands to hisself with the girls. They don’t like it and are talkin’ to outsiders about it. That’s what started the whole mess.”

  “Those are the sort of details I expect you to handle. Get rid of him and put someone else in his place. Unless that’s too complicated for you.”

  The challenge in McCarthy’s voice had Charlie’s hackles rising. He needed to recover his good standing with his boss. Once all was back to normal, he intended to ask for a percentage of the
action. What he earned now wasn’t enough for the trouble he dealt with most days.

  “I’ll handle Stephens and find out what’s happening with Cowell. Have no worries.”

  “While you’re at it, get rid of the whore who started the problem. I don’t want the other women thinking they can talk.”

  Charlie kept his grumblings to himself. He had no desire to explain to McCarthy that he’d already searched for Kate, but she’d disappeared. No one had seen or heard from her.

  He’d bet his last shilling the Fairchild woman knew where she’d gone. Perhaps it was time to pay her a visit and see what he could do to convince her to tell him.

  ~*~

  The next afternoon, Dalia and Violet shopped on Regent Street along with their mother. The day was a warm one filled with sunshine, quite unusual for London. But the threat of an appearance by Pruett overshadowed the pleasantness of the outing.

  Dalia tried to convince her mother and Violet that they should all remain home but since she couldn’t offer a reason, she’d been overridden. The best she could do was keep an eye out for Pruett and hope the crowded street provided some protection.

  The sisters stepped onto the walk, leaving their mother in a shop to search for just the right hat. She’d become convinced several of hers were hopelessly out of date but didn’t seem to care for their opinion on her purchase. Jack had left to deposit their purchases in the carriage but should return shortly.

  At times like this, Dalia found it easy to set aside all the problems she'd been studying of late as well as her fear and focus on the joy of being alive. She tilted her face toward the sun though she knew her mother would have a fit. Young ladies were not to expose themselves to sunlight. But she enjoyed the warmth all the same.

  “You're awfully quiet,” Violet commented.

  “I am taking a moment to appreciate the day.” In truth, her study of the homes and the women they served was depressing. The problem was so large it seemed impossible to make the slightest bit of difference, especially with men like Pruett involved.