He marveled they had this in common—the need to make a difference. Surely few ladies her age shared her view. “But you must realize how dangerous it is to venture into those areas.”
She raised her chin. “One must take certain risks in order to make progress towards one’s goal.”
He lifted a finger to tap the hint of a dimple in her chin. He’d been wanting to do that since he first saw her. “Only those risks which one truly understands.”
Her eyes widened at his touch even as her lips parted ever so slightly. “I believe I understand the risks.”
Awareness curled through him. It was almost as if she no longer spoke of trips to Blackfriars Bridge. He couldn’t resist testing the water. “Have you ventured there before?”
“No. I have not. But I would like to. With the proper escort, of course.”
Good Christ. She couldn’t possibly be saying what he thought she was saying. Yet he found himself easing nearer to take her gloved hand in his. “One must be equally careful when selecting one’s escort.”
“Excellent point.” Her gaze dropped to his mouth.
He could hardly breathe. What on earth was she about? Longing to taste her again overcame commonsense. He captured her lips with his.
The tiny moan that escaped her lips echoed his own. He released her hand to draw her into his arms, the feel of her against him heating him in places he hadn’t realized were so cold.
Her hand touched his cheek, then his shoulder, resting there for a moment as they kissed. Her tongue danced with his, unloosening a tightness deep inside him.
The odd sensation had him pulling back to stare at her, perplexed at his reaction. She threatened to unleash emotions he’d carefully buried and hoped were dead. That was not worth a kiss, nor even a night of passion. Those feelings needed to stay buried, never to surface again.
His sanity depended on it.
“Forgive me,” he said as he drew back. “I had no right to take such liberties.”
The stunned look on her face gave him pause. Was it because of the kiss or his withdrawal?
He clenched his teeth, reminding himself it didn’t matter. She was not for him. He had no intention of marrying, and a lady’s sole purpose was to find a husband. Far more important missions were in his future than indulging in a heated kiss.
The neglected children of London needed him. And he had no intention of letting them down.
“You must stay away from Blackfriars Bridge. It’s no place for a lady.”
“But I—”
“No. Stay away.” Did she understand that he meant himself as well?
He stepped back, noting how the shadows cast her gown into a deep shade of amber that caused her skin to glow with warmth. She would make someone a wonderful wife some day. But not him.
With a deep breath and an attempt to firm his resolve, he turned away and left through the garden, unwilling to wade through the ballroom. His brother would have to mind his own affairs this evening. Nathaniel had other things to tend to.
CHAPTER THREE
“...winter and summer, within the limits of our vast and wealthy city of London, there wander, destitute of proper guardianship, food, clothing, or employment, a hundred thousand boys and girls in fair training for the treadmill and the oakum shed, and finally for Portland and the convict’s mark.”
~ The Seven Curses of London
Lettie strode into the dining room the next morning, hoping she hadn’t missed her father before he left for the day. In her hand was the book that had given her the sense of purpose she’d been searching for. If she could make him understand how important it was to her, maybe he’d be willing to help her determine a way to make a difference.
She breathed a sigh of relief as she caught sight of him, sitting at the head of the table, his face partially covered by the newspaper he read.
“Good morning, Father.”
“Morning, dear,” he mumbled as his gaze continued to peruse the paper.
No doubt some article in the financial section had caught his interest. That made up the majority of what he read. It only made sense that a man who managed significant funds in shipping ventures would do so. She only wished to shift his attention briefly.
She set The Seven Curses of London beside his nearly empty plate and helped herself to the sideboard. She wasn’t very hungry this morning. A small helping of eggs as well as sausage and toast were all she took.
“Did you enjoy yourself last night?” he asked, his gaze still on the paper.
“Yes. Yes, I did.” For once she could answer in the affirmative without lying. Her time with Mr. Hawke had been truly delightful. She didn’t pretend to understand how he’d come to be at the ball, but she certainly appreciated his rescuing her. While his presence the previous day had been an interruption, last night had been most welcome.
She nearly smiled at the memory of Lady Samantha’s shocked expression. Granted, such an event might never happen again. But that was all the more reason Lettie intended to enjoy it.
She couldn’t help but wonder how he’d injured his leg. The injury must’ve occurred recently as he didn’t yet seem completely accustomed to the lack of mobility. The look of chagrin on his face when he’d thought he couldn’t dance had tugged at her heart. She’d been in awkward situations too many times to count. It had been her pleasure to ease his embarrassment, to assist someone else for a change.
While not the most graceful dance she’d had, it had been one of the best. There was something about how he looked into her eyes that made her think he could truly see her. Past the pale gowns and other trappings to her essence.
She reminded herself that was nothing but nonsense. He didn’t know anything about her. But that hadn’t changed the way she felt when he looked at her, all tingles and butterflies.
His kiss had once again surprised and delighted her. She knew any additional time spent in his presence would be dangerous. He made her long for things that were not in her future. Things she no longer dared hope for. Yes, he was dangerous in more ways than one.
Which brought her back to her purpose this morning—to find someone to help her as she didn’t think she could do it alone.
“Father?” she interrupted, knowing he’d need to leave soon. She wanted the chance to speak with him before her mother came down.
He looked up at her blankly. “Oh, hello, dear. Did you enjoy your evening?”
She frowned at the repeated question. “Yes, I did. Did you?”
“As Rose does not yet have an offer, it wasn’t as pleasant as it could’ve been. I hope the duke hurries along.”
Lettie held her tongue. She’d already offered her opinion on the matter. For Rose’s sake, she too, hoped the duke proposed soon, but more time would give both of them a chance to grow to know each other better before marriage. Hasty weddings were often regretted ones.
“What’s this?” her father asked as he caught sight of the book she’d placed near his plate.
“That is the book I mentioned to you last night. I was hoping you might glance through it so we could discuss it. At least the first chapter on neglected children.” Surely he’d understand the urgency she felt to do something if he looked at that part. The facts the author shared were appalling.
“Ah, yes.” He opened it, flipping through pages. “Another account of the terrible vices industry and technology have forced upon our good city.”
“Actually, it is a carefully researched book which outlines seven different areas that require improvement. Such improvements would help everyone, not just the poor.”
He smiled at her. “I appreciate you seeing the bigger picture. Where would we be without individuals such as yourself to bring these atrocities to our attention?”
“Thank you, Father,” she said, pleased he appreciated her efforts. “I was hoping you might assist me in determining where I could best offer help.”
“I’ve always found it rather remarkable how similar you are to my sister. Sh
e, too, feels the need to take action when she reads such things.”
“We’ve corresponded often on similar topics.” Aunt Agatha was one of the reasons Lettie had determined spinsterhood wouldn’t be quite as disappointing and lonely as it sounded. She tried not to dwell on how the choice had slowly crept out of her hands now that she’d begun her fifth Season with no offer.
“It’s unfortunate she’s decided to remain at her cottage this Season,” he added. “I always enjoy her visits with us.”
Lettie had her suspicions on why her aunt decided against coming to London and also why her once weekly correspondence had dwindled to an occasional letter once or twice a month. She didn’t think her father would appreciate hearing it, so she kept her silence. After all, she had no facts to substantiate her belief that her spinster aunt now had a man in her life, that she was indulging in an affair of some sort.
“You ladies with no families of your own have too much time on your hands and so create ways to make the rest of us feel obligated to take action.” Though he said it with a smile and meant no harm, she couldn’t help but take offense.
“If each of us did a small part to solve the problems, they wouldn’t be problems any longer.”
He rose from his seat and tossed aside his napkin, inadvertently covering the book. “True, but business must take a priority over social causes. You’re old enough to realize that.”
Lettie didn’t argue. After all, she wanted his guidance in this matter. Irritating him by debating the subject would not aid her cause. In her heart, she felt they were equally important. All people deserved the basics of food and shelter.
He came to kiss her cheek. “I must be off. I will see you this evening.”
“Don’t forget the book, Father,” she reminded him as he moved toward the doorway.
“Of course.” He veered back to the table to retrieve it. “I look forward to discussing it with you.”
“As do I.” Lettie heard the sound of her mother’s voice in answer to her father’s. The girls wouldn’t be far behind her. Hopefully Rose wouldn’t be in low spirits at the lack of a proposal from the duke.
Her mother entered the dining room several minutes later, her rose-colored morning gown the height of fashion.
“You’re not eating too much, are you, Lettie? We must all watch our figures.”
“No, Mother.” She pushed aside her plate, leaving most of her breakfast untouched. While she knew her mother meant well, it seemed like she mentioned it to Lettie more often than to her sisters. Her curves suggested a plumpness that was only emphasized by the gowns with ruffles and lace and bows her mother insisted she wear.
“I passed your father in the hall. He showed me the book you gave him.” Her mother completed her selection from the sideboard and took a seat near Lettie at the table.
Lettie nearly groaned. She could already hear the lecture. “Oh?”
“I don’t understand your insistence on dwelling on what is wrong with London. There are many attractive things and people here.”
“Of course, there are. But those people and things don’t need our help.”
“Why not focus on the positive? The seedier parts of London are not places for ladies such as us.” Her mother’s gaze held hers.
“I don’t want to live there, Mother. I only want to help those who do.”
“Why?” There was such bewilderment in her question that Lettie felt compelled to answer honestly.
“I want to have a purpose.”
“You have a purpose. You are a Fairchild with many responsibilities.”
“I want a purpose of my own. I want to make a difference.”
“You make a difference every day. Your sisters and I...”
Hurt filled her as her mother continued. How she wished she could make someone understand. Being needed by her family didn’t bring her joy. Not anymore. In all honesty, she felt used, as if she were an unpaid governess. If she weren’t here to do as her family requested, a maid could easily fulfill the tasks. How sad was that?
It meant she didn’t make a difference in anyone’s life. Oh, she knew her sisters loved her. And she loved them, just as she loved her parents. But how to explain all this to her mother in words she could understand?
“Mother, I want to help someone outside the family. There are many people only a few miles away in desperate circumstances. If I could help even one of them, it might change their lives for the better.”
“Nonsense, Lettie. You are needed here. With us.” Her mother reached out and patted her hand, then proceeded with her breakfast.
Lettie rose. The conversation was obviously over. Trying to make her mother understand how she felt was impossible.
“Wait,” her mother said and gestured for Lettie to sit before she’d had the chance to step away from the table. “There is one more thing I wanted to speak with you about.”
Lettie sat, a sense of foreboding filling her.
“I couldn’t help but notice the gentleman you danced with last evening.”
“Yes?” Lettie didn’t offer his name. She well knew her mother would latch onto it like a cat with a mouse, inquiring among her friends as to who he was and all the other details she deemed important.
“No one seemed to know his identity.”
“Oh?” Was the only response she offered, feigning a sudden interest in arranging the silverware next to her plate.
Her mother sighed at her lack of an answer. “At the very least, I must remind you how important it is for all of us to behave above reproach. Rose might receive an offer any day from the duke. The slightest question about our family—such as you venturing into the garden with a strange man—could easily deny Rose her dream of becoming a duchess.”
Guilt flooded Lettie as she thought of the kiss she’d shared with Mr. Hawke. It was impossible to keep the heat out of her cheeks. Of course, she wanted Rose to receive an offer. But was it so wrong to want a little something for herself as well? It seemed terribly unfair to think that one kiss—or rather two—could possibly result in denying Rose her duke.
But Lettie knew it to be true. Had the wrong person seen her, she and Mr. Hawke might’ve found themselves the subject of gossip or worse. Lettie had no intention of ruining her own reputation let alone her family’s.
Did that mean she needed to keep her distance from Mr. Hawke? Or even worse, did she need to curtail her attempts to find a way to serve a purpose? Where did that leave her?
Hoping her father would show interest in her desire to take action, she supposed.
“Mother, I have no intention of doing anything that could harm Rose’s chance with the duke. Please know that.” She rose. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need a book from Father’s library.”
“I’m counting on you, Lettie,” her mother’s words followed her out the door.
Aren’t you always? Her mother had been depending on her since Rose was born. The tasks may have changed over the years, but the fact remained the same. Her mother needed her. Perhaps not quite in the way Lettie would prefer, but she supposed being needed was better than being ignored.
She entered her father’s study, intent on finding additional information on Whitechapel. The more she learned about that area, the better. His massive desk sat near the windows. The drapes had been drawn back to let in the morning light. A glint of something shiny on his desk caught her eye.
Her heart sank as she drew near. The black cover with ornate gold edging and gold title was very familiar. The Seven Curses of London lay on her father’s desk. Perhaps he’d simply forgotten it in his rush out the door. But somehow she doubted it.
She picked up the book, running her fingers along the gold filigree decorating the cover, swallowing back the disappointment that filled her. Why was it so difficult for her parents to understand she wanted to make a difference? If she were married and starting a family of her own, she might have something else on her mind. But she wasn’t. With all her heart, she wanted to have a purpose. M
aybe even save someone’s life or, at the very least, make it better.
With a sigh, she tucked the volume under her arm. It appeared that achieving her goal was up to her and her alone. That didn’t change her mind one bit. She was still determined to find a way to help.
~*~
Nathaniel perused the newspaper as he finished his breakfast.
“More coffee, Captain?” Dibbles asked.
Part butler, part valet, Dibbles had insisted on moving in with Nathaniel upon his return to London. He’d been Nathaniel’s servant since Nathaniel had been a boy.
“Please,” Nathaniel answered. The dark, aromatic brew was a special blend that he had brought with him from his travels and enjoyed each morning. Luckily, Dibbles had found a specialty store that had been willing to order it for Nathaniel.
“Might I ask what is on your agenda today?” Dibbles inquired, his posture perfectly straight, his black suit impeccable.
Dibbles had taken to requesting Nathaniel’s schedule when he’d learned where Nathaniel’s wanderings took him. He insisted part of his duties involved Nathaniel’s safety, and he couldn’t ensure his safety without knowing his whereabouts. Though Dibbles had made his disapproval clear, Nathaniel maintained he should be able to walk in his own city without fear.
Dibbles disagreed.
The older man had served in Tristan’s household the many years Nathaniel had been away. But he’d insisted he wasn’t needed there and had left without a backward glance upon Nathaniel’s return.
“I am seeing my brother later this morning. After that, I am watching a workhouse.”
“Which one?”
“I only have one brother. I believe you know him.” Nathaniel couldn’t resist continually attempting to draw a smile from the older man. He gave the cliché of stodgy butler far too much credibility.
“I was referring to the workhouse,” Dibbles replied without cracking a smile. “Which workhouse?”
“The Whitechapel Workhouse.”
“Shall I accompany you?”
“No need. I will venture there on my own.” At Dibbles’ disapproving frown, he couldn’t help but add, “I don’t intend to seek out trouble. I only want to observe for a time.”
Loving the Hawke (The Seven Curses of London Book 1) Page 4
