She was making her calculations when a very badly battered prostitute was brought in complaining about two men who had attacked her when she had been doing her job. She was shortly followed thereafter by a woman who was obviously in the grip of a debilitating fever.
As Arabella had read from Blake's paper, fevers were often highly contagious and frequently lethal to systems already weak from lack of nourishment, cold and hard labor.
She followed the two women in and watched whilst they sat down in the anteroom to wait with a resigned air of hopelessness. The battered woman propped herself against the wall with great difficulty. The fevered one squeezed herself in between two other women, one with a teething baby by the look of it.
Arabella was no doctor, of course, but she knew from her experience helping the poor and sick back home in the country that exposure to illness often led to contracting it. Why then were all these people crammed together, and left to wait hours for their turn?
She turned and went to find Blake.
"Dr. Sanderson, may I speak with you a moment?"
He looked up from the arm he was stitching. "Is there something wrong? Are you ill? I know it can be very distressing-"
"It is, but not in the way you mean."
She spoke of her impressions, and concluded, "If there were someone who could look at them on the way in, at least separate them out into different rooms so that they are not all crammed in, it would mean the more serious cases got treated first. We could get more benches, and something to pass the time. Some better sanitation. The privies are practically overflowing."
"There are so many of them and so few of us. It's nearly impossible to keep up."
"Hire more people."
He shook his head and sighed. "Even with the charitable donations and my own contributions, we're stretched to breaking point."
"Then we will organize a fundraiser, and I will donate. Everything you helped me earn last week, and whatever I get now by your giving me that advice about getting out before the bottom came out of Pinkus' and the Hodge Mills."
He shook his head. "You can't-"
"You told me I needed to learn about the value of money. It can buy labour, food, medicine. One of my gowns can buy how much quinine? Epsom salts? Tell me. I need to know," she asked in a resolute tone.
He had never met a more courageous woman in his life. "You can look at the account books for yourself. They are in my office, behind the desk. Everything calculated down to the last penny. You've already reformed my household. I give you leave to try here. But as you guardian I forbid you to deplete your portfolio in any way, do you hear?"
She nodded. "Yes, Dr. Sanderson."
"Oh, and Arabella," he said as she began to skirt past him to go into the office.
She paused.
Despite himself he put one arm around her and kissed her on the brow, rubbing her back for a moment. "Thank you."
She stroked his shoulder, elated. "Thank you."
They got home at six, hungry as hunters and full of their new plans for the clinic. "You need to bathe first before you do anything else, Arabella, and dress in your evening best. I'll see you in half an hour."
Blake tripped along to his own room, inordinately pleased with the way she had just rolled up her sleeves and got to work.
What a contrast between her and Rosalie, or even Leonore. The former had never disguised her disgust for his chosen profession, which he had wished for from an early age even though his father had possessed a remarkable financial acumen which had raised the family out of relative obscurity.
His father had not been pleased at his son's choice, but the passion and skill with which Blake had helped treat many of the patients had convinced him in the end.
Before he'd died, he had given his son his wholehearted blessing to do what he loved best.
Rosalie had tried to convince him he had more than enough financial perspicacity of his own to give up doctoring.
Leonore pretended to be interested in everything he did, but he had seen her yawn behind her hand far too often when he was speaking of his work.
He had never even dared once mention his Army experiences. It had held little interest for her from any standpoint. Like so many other Britons, they had descried the lack of wine and fashions from France, but could not have cared less about the war otherwise.
By contrast, Arabella had shown an interest in everything he had said and done, and her achievements at the clinic in only one day were astounding.
After they had eaten and relaxed over a cup of coffee, he rose and said, "And now, time to go to Lady Pemberton's."
She raised her brows in surprise. "Are you sure?"
"Your cousins will be there. We must go."
She nodded and rose from her chair. "Very well. Lead on."
He noted she was wearing the bronze gown he had requested. "You look lovely, by the way."
"Thank you." She beamed at the compliment.
He had all to do not to pull her into his arms and show her exactly how lovely he thought she was. He smoothed his bronze cravat and went to fetch their outerwear with a sigh.
Lady Radcliffe's nephew Matthew played master of ceremonies for the evening, organizing charades, games of authors, poetry consequences, and cards.
He paid special attention to Arabella, so much so that she felt as though she were on display like one of the rare creatures in the zoological gardens.
But there was a great deal of good conversation from her two cousins, Adam and Oliver, both tall, dark and good-looking, though not nearly as refined as Blake, nor as full of fascinating information as he when he spoke of his work.
Philip Marshall was there too, and the Elthams. Blake gritted his teeth and tried to smile as Adam and Oliver laughed with her over a rather shocking little rhyming couplet they had come up with.
Philip came over and stated quietly, "I say this to you as a friend, Blake. Marry her, while you have the chance."
Blake started guiltily and began to bluster, "What on earth are you-"
"Please. I will not betray your secret to anyone, but I didn't get where I am today by not knowing people very well. She's a rare woman. If you don't marry her you'll both regret it for the rest of your lives."
"Why should you care?" Blake asked gruffly, eyeing the other man with a wary regard which told Philip he had heard all the rumors about him, and fully believed them. As he had every reason to, Philip had to admit with an inward wince. He was not a good man. Not any longer.
He shrugged. "I might offer for her myself if you persist in being so obtuse. I would now if I thought I could ever make her happy. But she loves you, Blake."
"Nonsense, Philip," he said with a dismissive wave of his hand.
"You may say so at present, but sooner or later you'll come to see I'm right. Hopefully sooner."
He turned to meet Blake's gaze directly. "By the way, I think you need to know the latest on-dit. Leonore Ross has been giving out that Arabella is your mistress, a prostitute you have rescued off the street from your clinic."
Blake opened his mouth to retort.
Philip clamped his hand down on his forearm, surprising him with his vast strength. "No, Blake, don't go flying off the handle. Everyone is looking at you. I tell you this so you will know that your behavior and hers has seemed odd. I know it's because you both work hard, but these idle people who have never known a day's toil or deprivation can't understand that."
"But why--"
"Arabella had not been allowing visitors, and she has not been around the best houses. Hence people believe the two of you have something to hide. You're going to have to let her chaperone take her around.You too are going to have to do your part. They will quiz her, of course, but she will hold her own and disprove Leonore's gossip. But it will take time to undo the damage Leonore has done to Arabella. Don't ever underestimate the fury of anyone scorned or wronged."
Blake stared at the tall man, roughly his own age, but so much more world-weary
with it. "Why are you helping me?" he asked suspiciously.
"You are a friend of Thomas's. He's been my best friend for many years, even when I was overseas. And you need my help."
Blake's brows knitted. "Thank you, I think. I shall consider what you have said."
"Try to smile, for Heaven's sake," Philip warned in a undertone, casting his eyes around the elegant drawing room. "It looks as though you've eaten broken glass. Arabella will wonder what has happened."
Blake scowled. "Then I shall just leave her with her cousins. She appears to be having a nice time."
"Always remember that in our sphere, appearance is everything except reality," Philip warned, with an odd look in his sherry brown eyes.
Blake smiled tightly. "Thank you for telling me about Leonore."
"It's not the sort of news you wanted to hear, but you needed to know. Make sure you keep an eye on Matthew Dane as well. He has heard the rumor and thinks she's an easy mark."
Blake went over immediately to remove Arabella from Matthew's clutches under the pretext of needing to ask Lady Pemberton's advice on her being given a carriage of her own.
A general discussion followed, in which everyone got the chance to see how simply and unaffected, but definitely well-bred Arabella was.
Blake boiled with fury for the rest of the evening, but left his ward to enjoy the society of the others without anyone thinking that he was being especially solicitous of her.
Arabella had to admit that she had enjoyed herself, but she would have preferred a quiet evening alone with Blake.
They chatted on the way home for some time, until she asked, "What do you make of Philip Marshall?"
"I'm not sure," he admitted. "What do you think of him?"
She shook her head. "There's something there I can't quite put my finger on. He is very witty and charming, but it's like, it's like looking at a reflection in the mirror. There is nothing of him there, it's all him reflecting back onto you. Like he's trying to hide something."
"Yet he and Thomas have been great friends ever since Eton. I recall Thomas saying something about him having suffered badly before we Rakehells were all off to Oxford. Some sort of family tragedy." He shrugged.
"He is nice enough. I can't fathom where he ever got such a fearsome reputation from. He had never been the slightest bit flirtatious with me."
"He respects your decency and intelligence far too much, " Blake said truthfully.
"Kind of him, I'm sure," Arabella said with a grin.
They pulled up to the curb and he helped her down.
"I shall see you in the morning, bright and early for the clinic."
Blake stiffened as he recalled what was being said. "Er, Arabella, perhaps it's not such a good idea-"
She stared at him in surprise. "Why not?"
He wracked his brains for an excuse. "Because, because I have been thinking about what you said about a charity drive. I think you would do much better to call on some of the society matrons to see if you can't get some subscription money out of them. You and Mrs. Evans really do need to pay some calls, especially after tonight."
"Very well, if you're sure," she said doubtfully, but she acceded to his request.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Leonore's nasty rumours about Arabella being a fallen women Blake was fobbing off as his ward were soon scotched thanks to Blake and Philip making a concerted effort to re-instate her reputation. Once everyone who counted in Society met the fresh-faced young girl with raven locks and the most bewitching pair of blue-violet eyes, no one could find anything objectionable about her conversation and person.
They put it down to rivalry against a poor little country girl half Leonore's age. As a result they were willing to overlook the amount of time she began to spend with her cousins Adam and Oliver, and Philip Marshall.
They were one or the other of them ever present when she was paying calls, and the bookmakers at Boodle's began to bet on which one would wed her. Or bed her.
Only a fool would have taken the long odds offered that Blake was going to get her himself. It would take a far more glamorous man than he to win the lovely and wealthy young lady, they were sure.
Arabella sighed. Another day out trying to drum up financial support for the clinic, she thought with a sigh as she checked her russet gown in the mirror one last time, and greeted Mr. Marshall and Mrs. Evans with a shake of the hand each.
Philip had been a huge help. Adam and Oliver were nice enough, but they did not seem to think much of her efforts, and had only put down a couple of guineas apiece. Philip had given her unstinting support, and had been most gentlemanly always.
Blake tried to remain aloof, watching from his upstairs window as the trio left the house. He kept telling himself that he was giving her a fair chance to meet the man of her dreams. He had taken her to several evening occasions so she could see and be seen. It was hard being with her, still harder being without her. But he simply had to do something to make sure that no one suspected there was a single word of truth to the rumor that Leonore had been spreading.
He longed for Arabella passionately, but Peter would never forgive him for sullying his beloved step-sister. Nor would he ever forgive himself...
After another fortnight in London, Arabella's charity drive had borne some real fruit.
"Very good," he praised, looking over her account book, in which she had tallied all of the pledges she had tirelessly secured for the clinic, never suspecting for a moment the evil things which had been said about them both. "Lady Cavendish's tonight should be an excellent success for you."
"I hope so," she said wistfully, looking forward to his eyes lighting on her with such warmth again.
"I know so."
"Thank you for having such faith in me."
"Not at all. It has certainly been fully justified, has it not." He smiled back at her. "Now, can you please wear your sprigged muslin with the purple? It goes so well with your eyes."
Once again he appeared in a cravat which complimented her ensemble perfectly, but when she mentioned it, he actually seemed surprised, and shrugged. He scolded himself for thinking of her as his…
Adam and Oliver Neville were making no secret of their intentions. Even if they did not stay the course, there was Philip, Matthew, and also Randall Avenel. The trouble was they were all rakes, even if they were Rakehells.
Alistair Grant had also been seen in company a bit more than usual, and Blake couldn't help but wonder if Arabella had succeeded in turning the head of his most sedate and illustrious barrister friend. Perhaps Alistair... He was a good man, but the thought nearly suffocated Blake. He gathered her by the elbow, helped her don her outerwear, and swept her out the door of the house with barely a pause, so eager was he for some fresh air.
Blake had hoped that Lady Cavendish's would be a triumph for his ward's charitable efforts. But upon their arrival, he soon sensed a new kind of trouble brewing. He felt uncomfortable from the moment he entered the drawing room and found several of his old female acquaintances there, not least of whom were both Rosalie and Leonore.
If they had wanted to embarrass him by putting every single woman he had ever had private dealings with in one room, well, here they all were.
How could they be so vindictive? he wondered as he tried to avoid the cat-like gleams directed at him as he strode through the room with Arabella. He had not thought Lady Cavendish disliked him so…
Unless someone else had suggested the guest list? But who?
No matter how Blake, Philip, and even tall, slender, silver-haired Alistair tried to shield Arabella from the gossip flying about the room, she was given the decided impression from snippets of broken-off conversation that she heard as she mingled that Blake was as much of a rake as Philip was said to be.
She felt sick with apprehension. To think she had ever imagined she was in love with Blake…
She tried to concentrate on what Alistair was saying about slander and defamation of character as being legally
punishable offences, when the barrister moved slightly to take a glass of refreshment for each of them.
She caught Leonore and Rosalie shooting looks of triumph her way. Then she knew in an instant that it had all been deliberate. They had been trying to damage Blake in her eyes.
Well, it would have been damaging, except that she acknowledged Blake had been younger and immature when he had got involved with the two women. Foolish. Everyone made errors. He had been respectably engaged to one, and had behaved with weakness but circumspection with the other.
The Rakehell Regency Romance Collection Volume 2 Page 78
