by Regina Scott
“But Margaret,” her stepmother began.
“No buts, madam,” Margaret interrupted. “Nothing will deter me. Now, excuse me while I change.”
“You’ll need to change,” her stepmother muttered, but she did not follow her through the door. “If there is any hope for this courtship, you’ll need to change a great deal.”
–
Of course, she went the next morning to check on Annie, finding the woman in the cavernous kitchen of the house, which they also used as a laundry.
“Safe and secure, we are,” the ex-prostitute replied to her concern, though she was quick to lead Margaret back to the little parlor as the girls turned eagerly to question her. “I expect I’ll see Jacob Breely again, stubborn as he is,” she admitted as they were seated on the worn settee. “But he’ll think twice after that crack your Nob gave him.”
“Then there are no bad repercussions from Lord DeGuis’ visit?” Margaret probed, concerned that she had been hurried away from the very women she was here to help.
“Bad things, you ask?” Annie’s face fell easily into her regular scowl. “Well, I can’t call it a blessing. Seems the girls have discussed little else since then.”
“But surely they discuss any visit by someone of Jacob Breely’s stripe,” Margaret protested, compelled to defend Thomas and herself for causing him to come to the house.
Annie snorted, sounding very much like Aeolus when he was miffed. “It wasn’t Mr. Breely they were discussing. Seems your Nob came off quite the hero. I heard bets being laid this morning as to which of them had a better chance of catching him.”
“Lord DeGuis is quite handsome,” Margaret agreed. “It’s little wonder they want to catch his eye.”
“It wasn’t his eye they wanted to catch,” Annie muttered darkly.
Margaret felt herself blushing. “Well, he claims to have little use for your girls, Annie.”
“That I well believe,” Annie replied heatedly. “Why touch coppers when gold lays itself at your feet? He could have his pick of ladies, high born and low.”
“Yes,” Margaret said quietly. “I know.”
Annie sighed heavily. “There! I swear I lost my winning ways when I gave up the profession. Can you believe butter wouldn’t have melted in my mouth once? I was that eager to please my gents. Now I’ve hurt your feelings, and you one of the few to help us.”
“I’m fine,” Margaret replied with a rueful smile. “I try to speak only the truth. Why should I mind when others do so? Lord DeGuis and I had quite a discussion yesterday about Comfort House. Much as I disagree with his points, I cannot argue that he is a paragon, Annie. I have yet to hear anyone seriously contest that, with any evidence that is.”
Annie’s face darkened again, and she shifted in her seat. “Well, you may yet hear something.”
Margaret frowned, leaning forward. “What have you heard?”
“Not much,” Annie grumbled.
When Margaret laughed at her obvious pique, she hurried to qualify the statement.
“None of the girls ever served him. Nor had they met anyone who could make the claim. If I hadn’t seen him after you, I’d start to wonder whether he liked gents better.”
Margaret shook her head. “I would find that difficult to believe.”
Annie cracked a grin worthy of Betsy Misenden. “That lusty, is he?”
Her face was heating again. She could have loved to lie, but could not. “Actually, he has yet to so much as kiss me,” she admitted grudgingly.
“Remarkable,” Annie said, grin fading. “Much as I hate to agree with Betsy, that chest of yours ought to be right tempting. He’s either the coldest fish in London, or the oddest.”
“I tell you he is simply a gentleman,” Margaret insisted. “After working here, I am as surprised as you are that one of his caliber still exists. I’m certain that if he makes up his mind that he loves me, he will demonstrate that love to my satisfaction.” And if he didn’t, she would never agree to marry him, otherwise perfect or no.
“Good for you,” Annie replied with a nod. “I’ll say no more on the matter, then, seeing as you know what you want. Just watch yourself, Miss Munroe.”
Margaret reached out and squeezed Annie’s roughened hands. “I will, Annie. Now, won’t you please put me to work as you usually do?”
To her surprise, Annie shook her head. “Not here, I won’t. Sounds like we need your help elsewhere. Did you see the story in The Times? The Lords are fixing to send us to workhouses.”
Margaret had been teaching a number of the women to read, using The London Times and the Bible as her text books. Now she wondered which of the many articles Annie might have read.
“Do you mean the story on the amendment to the Poor Laws?” she guessed.
“Poor Laws,” Annie spit out contemptuously. “Them laws don’t help the poor. But that was what the paper said.”
“I saw the article as well. I won’t cover it with honey, Annie. You are right that this bill could be trouble. When I first heard of it, I had Lord Petersborough get a copy of the wording from his father for me. After reading it, I admit I did not think anyone would be foolish enough to give it serious consideration. From what The Times said, it would appear I was wrong.”
“Then they will send us to workhouses?” Despite her scowl, Annie was obviously asking her to deny it. Margaret shook her head.
“What the bill says, Annie, is that anyone who cannot claim to be practicing a legal trade or have an independent income can be sent to a workhouse.”
Annie’s face tightened. “I knew it! Rotten Tories! They’d see their own mothers in prison if it would bring in a farthing to the Crown.”
“Cursing them will do us little good,” Margaret cautioned, mind working. “We must make our supporters aware of the damage this bill could do to any of our charitable works. Until the girls at Comfort House have been here for a least a fortnight, they cannot claim to know anything but their former profession. It takes at least that long to convince them to stay and help them to learn the laundry. If they are to serve as laundresses to some of the better homes, they have much to learn. Someone vindictive like Jacob Breely could easily alert the authorities and have the girls carted off before we had done any good at all.”
“I’ll lie,” Annie fumed. “I’ll tell any who ask that every one of our girls is employed.”
“Lying is never the answer,” Margaret replied. “It will not satisfy our enemies. Nor will it show the girls the way to a better life. No, the bill must be defeated before it is enacted.” She rose, determined. “Leave this to me, Annie. I will contact our supporters and urge them to accost members of Parliament on our behalf. They must be made to see how wrong this bill is.”
–
She started her campaign with Thomas that afternoon. Of course, she had to wait while he met in the withdrawing room with her father.
“Stop pacing,” her stepmother, who waited with her, ordered. “You do not want to appear flustered when he asks you to marry him.”
“For the last time, madam, he is not asking for my hand!”
Mrs. Munroe shook her head. “Why else would he want to speak with your father? Do you think he will wait until Parliament has adjourned to have the wedding? The ton will be short of people then, but I suppose they might return for such an event.”
Margaret ignored her.
A moment later, her father came out. He beamed at Margaret and patted her shoulder. “He wants to court you,” he whispered with a wink. “You have him on your hook, gel. Play him out and pull him in.”
Margaret shook her head at his enthusiasm, then scooted past him into the withdrawing room as he turned to explain the situation to his wife.
“Did you have to do that?” she asked as soon as Thomas had offered her a bow in welcome. He raised an eyebrow at her tone, and she sighed, slumping into the chair opposite him. “Sorry. I’m more upset than I thought.”
He frowned. “About my speaking to your fat
her? I assure you, it is only a formality. You had already agreed to allow me to court you in earnest.”
Something about his frown told her he was concerned she might have changed her mind. “You had every right to speak to my father, my lord,” she assured him. “The matter that concerns me has nothing to do with our courtship.” She took a deep breath and launched into her thoughts on the Poor Laws amendment. A quarter of an hour later, she became aware that he was leaning back on the sofa, smiling as if she amused him.
“This isn’t a joke,” she told him heatedly. “The bill leaves too much to interpretation. What is a legal trade? How many hours must one work at it to be considered ‘practicing’? Further, it makes no provisions for those in apprenticeships nor those in less formal training. If this bill was stretched to extremes, half the students in Oxford could be carted off to a workhouse.”
“I doubt that would happen,” he interjected.
“Of course it wouldn’t happen. They have high-born parents or sponsors to support them. Who will support the women of Comfort House, indeed, in any charitable institution in the country?”
Thomas clapped his hands. “Well spoken, my dear. I only wish you could take the floor of Parliament. You make an eloquent and lovely advocate.”
“Oh!” Margaret huffed, glaring at him. “If you will not take me seriously, how can I expect anyone else to?”
His smile of appreciation faded. “I assure you, Miss Munroe, I take you very seriously indeed. It is obvious that you do not play at your good works as do some of the ladies of the ton. Much as I worry for your safety, I commend your devotion to the unfortunate ladies of Comfort House. I have only recently seen the bill myself, but I promise you I will bear your points in mind when I consider it.”
Margaret felt her frustration melting. “Thank you, my lord. I should have known you’d approach this intelligently.”
“Thank you,” he said with a nod, smile returning. “And you are right to be concerned. With so many returning soldiers on the streets and Wellington’s victory making excuses for endless celebration, many of my fellow peers are struggling with the apparent lawlessness of the citizenry. I have never been enamored of workhouses, but they are an easy solution.”
“Then we must press for a lasting solution,” Margaret maintained.
“Agreed. Would you like the opportunity to try?”
She cocked her head, eyeing him. That smile was confident, but she still was not certain he was not merely placating her. “What do you have in mind?”
He leaned forward. “I’ve been invited to the Prince Regent’s supper celebrating the return of Wellington. Every influential member of Lords will be there, including the Prime Minister and his cabinet. I would be honored to escort you as my guest.”
Margaret stared at him. Her first thought was that her stepmother would swoon in awe at the idea of her stepdaughter mixing in such august company. Cousin Reggie would kill for such an invitation. And this would indeed be a perfect opportunity to impact the dreaded amendment. But when she considered the social constraints she would have to endure to achieve her goal, she could feel her palms start to sweat.
“But your sister, your aunt,” she protested feebly. “Won’t they expect you to escort them instead?”
“My sister abhors crowds, and my aunt will want to remain with her,” Thomas replied easily.
Margaret could not help thinking that the quiet Lady Catherine had the right of it in this instance. But then, Lady Catherine did not have a cause to defend.
“Then I would be honored to accept, my lord,” she murmured. “But are you sure you are willing to appear in such company with a noted Original on your arm?”
He rose to take her hand and bring it to his lips. As always, she trembled at his touch. “I have no doubt you will put them completely in the shade. Shall I pick you up at half past eight?”
Margaret nodded numbly. She knew she should follow her own philosophy and seize the moment, but her heart quailed.
Even on the arm of a noted paragon like the Marquis DeGuis and for the best of causes, could the Original Miss Margaret Munroe be a Society belle for even one night?
Chapter Thirteen
Thomas, of course, had no such concerns. To him, having Margaret campaign among Society’s leaders for the rights of fallen women was far safer than Margaret working among those women. Besides, if she was to be his marchioness, she’d have to accustom herself to an occasional state dinner. He was not numbered among the Regent’s favorites, being far too conservative and quiet for Prinny’s opulent tastes. However, as a peer of the realm, he was expected to exude a certain amount of pomp and circumstance. His wife would have to do no less.
Besides, he had been impressed with her analysis of the bill’s limitations. He wondered how she’d fare against the equally determined Viscount Darton. Lady Jersey and Lady Melbourne had long been known for their abilities to sway politics behind the scenes. Though by accident of birth they could not set foot on the floor of the Lords, they managed to see their agendas raised and passed. Margaret Munroe had the intelligence and drive to do no less.
He attempted to call the following day, having vowed to be more attentive now that they were courting. However, he found Margaret out shopping with her stepmother and Mr. Munroe already gone to his club. He did not have a chance to talk to Margaret until he arrived to escort her that evening. Even then, he was forced to wait and natter about the weather and Wellington to Mr. Munroe. But he could not deny the wait was worth it. There was a step on the stair, and Mr. Munroe’s face split into a smile of pride. Turning, Thomas found himself confronting the goddess of the moon.
He could describe her no other way. Her gown was of a blue as deep as midnight, with its own luster. It was simply cut, laying close to her creamy skin and emphasizing the curve of her generous bosom. Draped over the top and no less fitting was the lightest of blonde lace overskirts sown with beads that caught the light like stars in the night sky as she moved. Her dark hair was bound with silver, one heavy curl falling along her neck. His eyes followed to where it rested against the top of one breast. For a fleeting second, he wondered what it would be like to rest his lips on the same spot. Heat rushed to his face, and he bowed deeply to hide his surprise at the reaction.
“Miss Munroe, I am the most blest of mortals,” he proclaimed as he straightened. “What other gentleman may claim to be escorting a goddess?”
“Diana,” her father put in with a chuckle. “Didn’t I say so when you described the dress to me?”
She had not moved from the top of the stair, as frozen in her regard of him as he had been in his regard of her. He was not sure what arrested her. His valet had insisted he wear something more festive than his usual evening black, and he had been surprised to learn he owned a coat of cobalt blue with gold buttons. He was even more surprised to find he owned a sapphire waistcoat heavily embroidered with gold.
“A gift from your sister,” Jimms had explained when Thomas had asked.
Now by Margaret’s mesmerized look, he was glad he’d followed the fellow’s advice. Unfortunately, if she didn’t stop staring, he was going to be put to the blush again.
Luckily, she shook herself and moved gracefully down the stairs, her skirt trailing regally behind. “Good evening, my lord,” she murmured as Thomas brought her gloved hand to his lips.
“Wait, wait,” Mrs. Munroe panted, nearly throwing herself down the stairs. “You forgot your ear bobs.”
Margaret made a face as the woman hurried to her side. “Oh, must I wear them? They pinch.”
“Hush,” Mrs. Munroe chided, then, obviously catching Thomas’ gaze on her, she colored. “I’m sure the marquis will appreciate how they match your gown.”
Thomas had the feeling this was the last in a long series of arguments, many of which Margaret had lost. “What need to improve on perfection?” he quipped, earning him a glowing smile from the lady.
Mrs. Munroe was gaping. She reminded him suddenly of
Pinstin; apparently the fish imitation ran in the family. Bidding the Munroes good night, Thomas offered Margaret his arm and swept her from the house.
“Will she forgive me by the time we return?” he joked after they were seated in the carriage and heading toward Carlton House.
“Much sooner than that,” Margaret promised him. “You will notice I have been sent with no chaperone.”
Thomas frowned. “It is only a short distance to Carlton House. Surely I can be trusted to behave like a gentleman for that long.”
Her eyes twinkled in the lamplight. “And if not, surely you will be enough of a gentleman to rectify matters.”
“She would wish you compromised?” He could see he was going to have to work tonight to keep from being shocked or embarrassed.
“She would never wish anything bad to happen to me,” Margaret assured him. “But I have come to realize we have different definitions of the word bad.”
“Nonetheless,” he replied earnestly, “I hope you know you are safe with me.”
She cast him a quick look, then turned her gaze to the window. “I have never doubted that, my lord,” she murmured.
It was indeed only a short while before his driver was slowing for the traffic before the Prince Regent’s London residence. Margaret peered out the window, wide-eyed.
“Quite a crush,” he remarked with a smile at her amazement.
She turned an awed face in his direction. “Everyone in London must be here.”
“Oh, no,” he assured her as they took their place in the queue of countless carriages. “Only a few thousand of the Regent’s closest friends.”
When the carriage finally stopped, Thomas waved away the liveried, bewigged footman and handed Margaret down himself. She looked no less awed at the candlelight blazing from the windows of the classical mansion. As they walked arm in arm through the soaring columns that marked the entrance, she had her head tipped so far back to see the frescoes on the pediments that he thought the rest of her hair would fall. A passing matron raised an eyebrow but the look Thomas returned caused her to urge her escort ahead.
