He managed to slip away when she began speaking with another lady and found the smoking foyer filled with men. He joined a group he knew, listening with half an ear until a familiar name caught his attention.
“I say, did you hear what happened to Lord Jackson? He received a letter from a young girl who claimed to be the only child of a father reduced to beggary due to misfortunes, which they outlined in great detail, each tale more pitiful than the last. The letter included a photograph of the girl.”
“Did Jackson know her?” another lord asked.
“No, but being the soft-hearted man he is, he took it upon himself to send her money only to discover that it was all a sham. A man actually wrote the letter; he didn’t even have a daughter.”
“That is terrible.”
“It’s a new form of beggary. They are growing bold, I tell you, going so far as to advertise their supposed bad luck and prey upon those who might offer sympathy and money.”
Tristan knew Lord Jackson as he’d been one of his father’s few friends. He was an elderly man and well known philanthropist, often mentioned in the news sheets for his generosity. Jackson had always been kind to Tristan and somehow managed to remain friends with his father despite his surliness.
The idea of someone taking advantage of him by posing as a young girl and playing upon his sympathies, going so far as to include a photograph, was inconceivable. That was the challenge in attempting to help those in need. It was not always easy to determine the legitimate pleas for assistance from those who made their livelihood as professional beggars and tricksters.
Tristan made a mental note to call upon him in the coming days to check on his welfare as well as to see if he’d be willing to share any details of the incident. There had to be a way to prevent such dishonest acts from happening. A few bad seeds would discourage those who could afford to lend aid to the people truly in need.
In fact, it might be worth his time to review the advertisements in the news sheets himself with an eye toward searching for any common thread among them. Nathaniel had discovered one ringleader behind the various incidents he’d encountered. Perhaps Tristan might be able to do the same with professional beggars.
After all, as his brother had said, if he could help in some small way and save even one person, all his efforts would be worthwhile.
Maybe devoting some of his time and energy to such an endeavor would help him stop thinking of Grace and Matthew and stave off the melancholy that threatened since their departure.
Grace paused outside a dressmaker’s shop as a wave of hopelessness crashed through her. It seemed no one was interested in hiring a seamstress with little experience who wished to work from home. Though she’d offered to provide examples of her sewing, they’d only shaken their heads.
The consequences of her failure were not lost on her. There was no other name for it. She was in dire trouble.
Blinking back tears, she held out a hand to steady herself against the brick front of the shop. She leaned against the building to rest for a moment, well aware she was growing weak from hunger.
The last few days had been such a challenge. Circumstances at her cousin’s tiny apartment were nothing like Grace had expected based on their limited correspondence. Molly’s family was already hard pressed to put meals on the table, and Grace and Matthew’s arrival had burdened them further. Guilt had become her constant companion, along with anger at Charles for forcing them into such a terrible situation.
Molly did some mending from home, but the wages were barely worth her time. She had also agreed to accept mail on behalf of a man who supposedly traveled often. Grace was suspicious of the latter as the envelopes were addressed to several different individuals, but who was she to suggest Molly turn away his money when each coin mattered?
Grace refused to take food out of the children’s mouths. Better that she go to bed hungry than them. But after five days of doing so, the lack of food was beginning to catch up to her.
At first Matthew had enjoyed getting to know his cousins, but their life experiences were so different. He missed playing outside. Grace had been too busy searching for jobs to take him. Besides, playing outside on the crowded street seemed far too dangerous.
She smoothed a hand over the simple dress she’d borrowed from Molly at her suggestion. Her cousin had studied her appearance and determined Grace’s own clothes suggested wealth. If anyone realized she was titled, they’d never hire her. But that apparently wasn’t her only problem.
Swallowing hard to hold back her despair, she realized she was nearly out of time. She couldn’t continue to burden Molly and her husband, Edward. They had enough problems without her and Matthew taking up space and food. Edward had been injured at his job and, therefore, out of work for a time earlier in the year. He’d returned to his position, but they’d gotten behind on their rent. Every penny counted. Grace had given them what little money she had left but it wasn’t enough to make much of a difference.
A carriage halted on the street before her. The footman hopped down to assist a lady who glanced about impatiently as she descended the steps, her maid directly behind her.
Grace drew her breath in surprise when they headed directly toward her. She wiped her cheeks, puzzled at the idea of the stranger wanting to speak to her. When the maid opened the door of the shop, Grace realized they must be customers and not coming to speak with her at all.
Even as she breathed a sigh of relief, the lady paused at the door and looked Grace up and down from head to toe. Her eyes narrowed as she met Grace’s gaze.
“Must you beg directly before the shop? Surely there are other places you can go.” Though attractive, the woman’s pursed lips and frown detracted from her beauty. Grace couldn’t help but think she often wore that expression.
“I am not—” Grace began as a hot flush of embarrassment burned in her cheeks. She was appalled that this lady thought she was begging when she was doing her best to find employment.
“Don’t bother with excuses. Can’t you see your presence here is dissuading good people from entering the shop?” The acid-like tone took Grace aback.
The lady’s maid sent an apologetic glance at Grace as though embarrassed by the woman’s behavior.
“Allie, give the woman a few coins so she can be on her way. We don’t want her kind loitering here, ruining the reputation of this shop. What will people say?”
With one last glare, the lady entered, leaving the maid holding the door and staring at Grace.
“I am terribly sorry if she offended you,” she whispered as she dug into her handbag. “We have all had our challenges in life, haven’t we? You are certainly not the only one.”
“But I’m not—”
The maid stuffed some coins into Grace’s hand. “Best of luck to you. But please be gone before we leave or neither of us will like what Lady Samantha has to say.”
Grace was frozen, horrified at what had just happened.
To be thought a beggar when she had only been resting for a moment.
When she was trying to find a job.
She looked down at the coins in her trembling hand, determined to return them, only to realize the maid had already followed the lady inside. Nothing could convince Grace to endure the humiliation of speaking with the lady again. Certainly not in front of the shop owner after the rejection she’d gotten when inquiring about work.
The lady’s carriage stood waiting so Grace stepped forward determined to give them to the footman. “Excuse me—”
“Off with ye,” the liveried footman said with a wave of his hand. “Ye’ll get no more from her ladyship.”
Humiliation heated Grace at the man’s dismissal. Her entire being shook with embarrassment as she backed up and spun away. Fleeing the scene seemed like her only option. She felt sick, her stomach lurching, as though she’d stolen the coins that now burned in her palm.
This moment would be forever burned in her memory. She no longer had any doubt that a drasti
c change was required in her plan.
Chapter Six
“...one of the earliest Acts of Edward VI was to mitigate the penalties attaching to beggary. Even under this humane King’s ruling, however, a beggar’s punishment was something very far beyond a joke.”
~The Seven Curses of London
The very next day, Grace found herself holding Matthew’s hand, their bag in her other hand, wondering if she was doing the right thing. Would she ever know with certainty that the next step she intended would be the right one? Yet she hadn’t been able to burden Molly and her family any further. Not when she and Matthew had a house they could go to and food available. She couldn’t waste any more time searching for work.
In all honesty, she was sick of the doubt that plagued her every step of late. What must it be like to move through life, greeting each new challenge with confidence, knowing your place, assured of the welcome you’d receive when you arrived at your destination? That was something she couldn’t even imagine at this point.
Even during her years as viscountess at Witley Manor, she hadn’t felt comfortable. It had never felt like home but more like a place she was visiting. She had no one to blame for that except herself. Rather than embracing her position and making the large house her own, she’d allowed Daniel to make all the decisions.
She’d made a few minor suggestions at first, and Daniel always agreed but then when she’d set about making even the smallest adjustment, he’d change his mind, insisting everything was perfectly acceptable as it was. She hadn’t protested. Not even once.
No more.
She needed to take control of their future. While the trip to London had been a start, the plan had quickly gone awry. Their luggage had been stolen, she’d grown ill, then struck by the coach. Her cousin’s home had been far smaller and poorer than she’d anticipated. Her search for employment had been disastrous. The idea that the wealthy woman and her servants thought she’d been begging in the front of the dress shop had been the final straw. Now was her chance to turn things around and make them right for Matthew.
With a lift of her chin, she marched toward the large townhome on Grosvenor Square, pleased she’d remembered its location.
“Why didn’t we come here instead of Cousin Molly’s house sooner?” Matthew asked as he studied the front entrance. “It looks much nicer.”
Though she’d hoped to avoid it, she had to tell Matthew at least part of the truth. “I didn’t want your Cousins Charles and Lynette to know where we were going so they couldn’t follow us.”
“Why?”
She paused on the stairs and looked down at her son, wondering how much she should say. “I don’t really like them.”
Matthew’s eyes grew wide. “Truly?” At her nod, he leaned closer and whispered, “I don’t either. When Cousin Charles smiles, it makes me uneasy.”
Grace’s heart twisted at his admission. She should’ve spoken with Matthew earlier, but she hadn’t wanted to frighten him with her suspicions.
“You should always listen to your instincts,” she told him. “They are the best guides that life provides for you.” Unfortunately, she seemed to have lost hers. She needed to find a way to get them back.
A ball of nerves settled in the pit of her stomach and refused to move on as she set down the bag and raised the brass lion’s head knocker on the door.
Before she’d put her hand down, the door flew open.
A tall, older man dressed in a black suit and perfectly knotted black-striped cravat looked down his nose at her, his demeanor anything but welcoming. He was exactly as she remembered. “Beggars are to go to the kitchen door. Off with you.” He started to close the door as the heat of embarrassment flooded her cheeks.
“Paxton, surely you remember me?” She paused at the quiver in her voice, annoyed at the sound. “Lady Chivington.”
The butler’s eyes narrowed as he studied her, glancing up and down at her then peering around her to the street where he undoubtedly noted the absence of a coach or carriage. All of that only deepened her embarrassment. “You are not, and I don’t appreciate you stating so.”
“I was here with the viscount several years ago, soon after we were married. Remember? We stayed here for a few weeks in March.” She knew desperation tinged her voice, but she was incredibly desperate. He had to let them in. How could she have found the courage to take this step only to be dismissed so easily?
Paxton drew himself up to his full height and squared his shoulders. “I don’t know what you’re about. As I said, beggars go to the kitchen door. That is the only assistance I can offer you.”
This time, he closed the door so quickly, she didn’t have time to protest. The lump in her throat had her swallowing hard. Now what was she to do?
“Mama, are you sure this is the right house? He doesn’t seem very nice.” Matthew looked up at her, frowning with doubt.
“Indeed it is. He was much nicer when I was here with your father. That was before you were born.” She glanced at the empty street behind her. “I suppose since we didn’t arrive in a carriage, he doesn’t think it’s truly us.”
“Please say we don’t have to walk back to Cousin Molly’s. That was a very long way and I am tired.”
Grace knew she didn’t have the strength to do so either. Walking that far, carrying the bag, had nearly exhausted her.
Nor was she willing to return to Molly’s home. Not when her cousin had been so relieved they were leaving. Molly and Edward had been gracious, but Grace well knew how much of a burden she and Matthew had been. Somehow, Grace was going to find a way to make it up to her and Edward.
How ironic that she had been married to a man with a significant fortune, yet she didn’t presently have a shilling to her name.
That was about to change. She should’ve taken Tristan’s advice to begin with and come to London with the intent of taking her proper place in Society. Whether she felt like a viscountess or not, she was one. As Matthew’s mother, it was her duty to see him raised in a safe and secure environment where he learned how to properly perform his duties and responsibilities.
A wave of exhaustion threatened her, making the idea of doing all of those things feel completely overwhelming.
She turned to the door once more and eyed it warily. If anything, it had only grown taller and more intimidating.
Though she hadn’t known Tristan long, she missed him. There were many times each day when she wished she could ask his opinion. But that would’ve defeated the purpose of this journey. She needed to stand on her own and find her voice.
“Are you well, Mama?” Matthew jostled her hand gently. “Your face is pale.”
Fearful she was going to faint on the doorstep, Grace drew a long, deep breath and succeeded in chasing the shadows from the corner of her eyes. “I am quite well. No worries.”
“I think you must be tired,” he continued as he watched her closely. “You didn’t have anything to eat last night or this morning.”
“I wasn’t hungry,” she lied, hoping it was the last one she had to tell her young son for the foreseeable future.
“I think some food will make you feel better.”
She couldn’t help but smile down at him. His concern for her was touching and filled her with warmth. “I am sure you’re right. The cook who was here when I visited made the best bread pudding.” Her stomach growled at the memory.
“I told you that you were hungry,” Matthew said. “Perhaps we should go to the back door as that man suggested.”
“No need.” She knocked on the door, determined that her son should be admitted into his own home.
The door opened again and the surly butler frowned in disapproval. “I told you—”
Grace let her own anger rise to the surface. “This is Viscount Chivington. Surely when you look closely, you can see his resemblance to his father.”
Paxton scowled as he stared at Matthew for a long moment. Something beneath the scowl shifted, telling Grace that he saw
enough of her husband to give him pause.
“Humph. Come inside for a moment.” He held the door wide, and they stepped into the large foyer. “Wait here, please.” He hurried away down the long hallway toward the back of the house, disappearing from sight.
Matthew looked about with interest. Grace’s gaze followed his, noting how little had changed in the years since her last visit.
An enormous crystal chandelier glittered high above them. The marble tile held swirls of gray against a background of white, adding to the elegance of the foyer. A high mahogany table polished to a shine stood along one wall, a silver tray on its glistening surface. A staircase curved to the upper floors. The drawing room doors were shut as were the other doors down the hallway.
Voices could be heard approaching along with the jingle of keys, and Grace gathered her resolve once more to argue if necessary. Now that they were inside, she had no intention of leaving.
The housekeeper who walked at the butler’s side was familiar to Grace as well. The woman had been very kind to her during her stay, and Grace couldn’t help but smile at her.
“Good day to you, Mrs. Foley. It’s a pleasure to see you again.” She waited with bated breath, hoping the woman recognized her.
The plump woman was a head shorter than Grace. The mass quantity of keys at her waist were displayed prominently like fine jewelry. Her eyes narrowed as she stared up at Grace, seeming to search through her mental records. Then she turned to study Matthew in the same manner.
Grace held her breath, hoping for a hint of recognition. When the housekeeper dipped into a curtsy surprisingly graceful for a woman of her girth, relief made Grace’s knees weak.
“Lady Chivington, it’s lovely to see you. I must apologize, but we weren’t expecting you.” She looked again at Matthew. “I say, you’re the spitting image of your father, aren’t you? I’d recognize those blue eyes anywhere.”
Grace shared a smile with Matthew. He took great pride in how much he resembled his father.
Mrs. Foley turned to glare at the butler, making her disapproval clear. “Please forgive Paxton’s doubt, my lady. It’s been some time since we’ve seen you.”
Rescuing the Earl (The Seven Curses of London Book 3) Page 7
