by Laura Hogg
"Good, because she will not cut it to suit the current fashion."
"I should hope not."
"Do you care about her, Cheltham?"
He frowned. “What kind of question is that?"
"Well?"
"The only other person I care for as much as her is my sister Joan."
"Joan is important to you."
"Yes."
Sweet tenderness rushed her heart. He's a good brother. “Cheltham?"
"Let's walk, Raphael."
"Right."
They found themselves strolling by the river where crime intensified due to many opportunities for theft on the various cargo ships. Both were alert to possibilities and glanced around, looking for trouble.
"What did you want to know, Raphael?"
"Will you be honest with me?"
"Of course."
"Do you want Miss Moore for her money?"
"What?” He snapped and stopped walking. He faced Raphael, and his eyes blazed with vexation. He narrowed them, shook his head, and cupped his ear for emphasis. “Did I just hear you correctly, Raphael?"
"Well? I detected some time ago, that your sit-situation—"
This was truly embarrassing, but a necessary evil.
"What about my situation?"
"Perhaps, you are—er—well—experiencing some financial trouble.” Heat flushed her cheeks.
"First of all, Raphael, if I am—"
She shook her head. “I am deeply sorry. I had no right."
"Damn right you didn—” He thrust his finger in the air at her, froze it midair then let his hand fall to his side.
Curiosity got the better of her. “Cheltham?"
He sighed. “You are so close to Miss Moore and just want what's best for her. Therefore, I will tell you."
"You don't have to."
"You will keep this to yourself, or if you must, tell only her."
Relief touched her chest. “On my honor."
"Very well. Yes, my family has recently experienced some problems. We could use the money."
"You risk much by your activities out here with me, your position in society. You are an elder son."
"Yes, though my parents hate me. Even before the incident of which they will never forgive me, they disdained me because I showed an easy acceptance of those below me—talking to the servants as if they were people and once even being caught laughing with the cook! My father whipped me for that one, but Mr. Ethan was so kind to me, sneaking me extra treats...” He shook his head. “I had to be trained with extra care to be ... aloof and to act with the high dignity of my station. I don't know; I suppose I was just born defective in my parents’ eyes."
Relief reached a hand and touched his shoulder. Oh my God, how sad. Her heart melted. His eyes fell upon her hand.
"I'm sorry.” She withdrew her hand.
"No mind, lad. I will find comfort someday in the eyes of my own beloved children, looking into my face, feeling their father's love shining down upon them."
Relief inhaled sharply, and tears swelled and stung her eyes. That was the most beautiful thing I have ever heard. She rubbed her uncovered eye, and felt her whole body tighten with the desire. She wanted to throw her arms around him.
"No one will discover this is me out here, Raphael."
"I have seen greatness in you. You are more dashing in public, even undisguised, freer, and less-restrained than before."
"And Miss Moore has taken note of this."
"Yes, she has seen you. You impress her, Cheltham."
He closed his eyes and smiled. He fisted his hands and said, “Yes!” joyfully as his eyes popped open.
"Raphael, I would love her without the money."
"But you couldn't marry her."
His expression fell. “I would find a way—"
"It would never be allowed. You are a nobleman. You have to marry in the upper echelons, or at least a woman from a respectable, wealthy family. People will understand if you want to take a wife for money."
"I want Miss Moore for herself, not her damn money.” He paced a step, then back, as was his habit.
"What if she were broke and from a lower-class family?” Relief brushed a shirt sleeve, trying to appear nonchalant.
"I'd still want her."
He's dead serious. “As a mistress, no doubt."
"As more than that."
"But you couldn't."
"Raphael,” his voice betrayed his irritation. “Don't push me."
"I must know!” It's important to me.
"You must? Really?"
"Yes!"
His jaw clenched, and he paced another step, clenching his fists. He stopped, looked at her, and paced again.
"Cheltham?"
"I would forfeit my title to my self important cousin, damn it! Fake my death if I had to!"
She gasped. “What?” Her heart sped up.
"I would give away my privilege to my cousin; abdicate, to keep my future estate safe from ill-repute by stepping down, for the sake of my family."
Relief stumbled backward. “You would give away your future earldom?” She could not seem to get air into her lungs.
His brows drew together, and fierceness lit his eyes. “Yes. And live with my poor wife."
"And do what?” She pressed her shaking hands into her sides. A sense of terror began to creep up her legs, making its way to her heart. She was in danger of giving herself away, of telling him.
He smiled. “Raise the most beautiful children in all of England, and love the most wonderful wife."
Relief turned away as tears forced their way out. She surreptitiously wiped them away and turned back to the Viscount.
She inhaled deeply. “You are used to privilege."
"And I would not just give it away but, if I had to—” he shook his head. “I have come to understand the plight of most people, thanks to you. I have come to like myself."
"Street life cannot be pleasant."
"No, it can not."
"Then why?” She reached out her hands, palms up, in question.
"Hmm, I could sit and dine each night with a wife I didn't love, in the cold townhouse she saved with her money, and my title, all the while, dreaming of Miss Moore. I would never get over her. I would be sick, inside. I do not want to raise children that are not hers. My children will be half American or—"
Raphael trembled inside. “Or?"
"Or perhaps I will never have any!"
Relief's mouth dropped open. She closed it with difficulty. “You once despised Americans."
Regret clouded his eyes. “I was a fool."
"You seemed to think they acted with impropriety."
"They are less inhibited."
"Wild."
"Free and honest."
"Reckless,” she challenged.
"Brave and daring,” he grinned.
"Relief will be happy when I tell her these things.” I love you, Benjamin.
"Raphael, I could be so happy with the woman whose mere presence gives me warmth. When I'm with you, my American friend, my title is irrelevant. You have accepted me for the man I am, and have taught me that to do the same for others is not a defect, it's a virtue. And when I'm with ... Relief, I don't see money, titles, station, anything, anything but a long future with her, wherever that may be.” He turned around and gazed at the dingy city around them.
"I could survive in this."
"When you are older, you will change your mind. You are only twenty."
The Viscount walked ahead of him angrily.
"And a grown man! I know what I want!"
"Without money, you would miss your position and regret what you gave up. In reality, you thank God Relief has wealth."
"You are wrong!"
"I—I am sorry. It's just so unusual."
The Viscount turned with a want to scold shining in his eyes; he held up a reproachful finger. His mouth opened to spill out harsh words, but instead, he closed it, thought a moment, then said, “You are right. It
is unusual, and deep down, I'm glad she has wealth, but I'd take her either way. I swear it to you, my friend."
They walked a bit and stopped short at the first notice of two growling dogs tugging at both ends of a bone. A grubby, dirty-faced boy threw a brick at them. Some loud yelping and resentful glances directed at the boy left him unconcerned. The mutts ran off, and the lad placed the bone in a brown linen bag. He went on his way down the filthy road.
Lord Cheltham drew his brows together.
"I hope he does not intend to ... eat that!” He scowled, and his disgust inspired a laugh in Leafy. She felt the bubbling amusement start in her gut and rise. It spit out in a burst of uncontrolled mirth.
"Boy?” Lord Cheltham chuckled.
"No, Cheltham. He will surely not eat that bone!"
Lord Cheltham's lips formed a smile. To Relief, he much appeared the green boy, older by a year as he was-innocent in his own way, and gullible on the streets. “Then what?"
"He'll make a couple of shillings from the burners. Then he'll buy a decent meal."
Lord Cheltham smirked as if he didn't understand but had no desire to appear ignorant. Relief dashed off, and her beloved friend followed behind.
A little girl, holding a stick of fire, was digging in the ground with her other hand. Relief approached her and stood before her. The Viscount stood slightly behind.
"Hello, little Miss."
She lifted up her huge, startled eyes and bolted upright, preparing to dart.
"Wait!” Relief grabbed the girl's arm. “Did you lose something? Perhaps we can help you find it?"
The little girl's bottom lip trembled. Her hesitation melted Relief's heart.
"It's fine,” Relief spoke in a gentle voice. “You can trust me."
"I need iron, nails, to give to my papa, so we can get shillings."
Relief turned to look at the Viscount who in turn pulled some coins out of a pouch hanging at his side. He gave them to her, and she handed them to the girl. The little one snatched them from her hand, penetrated Relief's gaze with hers, and then ran into the darkness of night.
Lord Cheltham stepped back. “Raphael, that was odd."
Relief smiled knowingly. “You do not know what she meant, do you?"
"I'm afraid not."
"She digs out dirt from the ground in search."
"Of ... what?"
"Nails."
"Nails?” His brow rose.
"Yes, stupid, from horseshoes."
The Viscount frowned. “Pardon my ignorance, my stupidity, lad, but I still don't understand the point."
She let out an exasperated gasp. “My lord—"
The Viscount raised one brow. The corner of his lips turned up. “My lord, is it?"
"Nails ... iron ... for gun barrels. There are always buyers."
"It suddenly becomes clear."
"Yes, you deuced lord. Does she look like she could hold a position and earn money?"
The Viscount rubbed his chin. “You're not saying—"
"We can only pray she doesn't get recruited for prostitution in a couple of years."
"Prostitution? Dear God, Raphael! She was not above ten years old! I knew they started young, but I hadn't realized just how bad the situation was. After all, I was not one of those gentlemen who ever used their services."
"There are those that prowl on the hungry, Cheltham.” Relief turned around, squatted and drew circles in the sand, glumly, her heart going out to that child. She said a silent prayer that that little girl would find her way out of this. “We will probably see more grubbers tonight. They search for rings or handkerchiefs that mean nothing to the people who dropped them, but a meal to others ... as you saw a moment ago, some people do not have a choice."
Relief stood up and stepped back startled. The pale face of the Viscount demonstrated that he was deeply disturbed by the streets this night.
"I must have dropped an item or two over the years, Raphael. I never once thought about the poor souls who might have been fed that night because of it.” He shook his head and dropped his gaze. “God, lad, these poor wretched people have no hope."
"Some of them have noble blood, Cheltham."
"What?” His glimpsed up.
Humor tickled Relief's throat. “Some of the gentlemen of St James's are protectors."
The Viscount rubbed his chin again, indicating that a further explanation was needed.
"Cheltham, prostitutes frequent the theatres looking for their West End—"
"I get your meaning."
"And they have children—"
The Viscount held up a hand. “Please. You have said enough about this. I'm sure someone out here needs rescuing.” He looked around.
"You would not be mistaken.” Relief ran ahead at the sound of a woman screaming. The Viscount pursued.
* * * *
When Lord Cheltham and Raphael parted ways again, the Viscount saw his friend headed in the direction of Miss Moore's house, probably to discuss many things with her. On one of the days that the Viscount and Raphael had not gone out together, he decided to pay the lad a visit after his own busy escapades stopping a crime or two on his own. He wanted to present his friend with a small gift, a dagger he could strap to his side to increase his intimidation factor. Raphael had told him that the Moore sisters were calling upon a friend, and he suspected their visit would last until the time of the Viscount's party. Lord Cheltham approached their house, supposing the sisters were not at home.
To his amazement, Mrs. Miller, the young ladies’ chaperon, greeted him at the door of the Moore house. The elderly woman smiled.
"The ladies are enjoying a small gathering. Perhaps your Mr. Taylor is due to join them?"
The Viscount was flustered.
They were home?
He had only expected Raphael at this time.
"I could return. Is he expected?” This is awkward.
"I do not know."
Lord Cheltham made to leave. Then silently, he chastised himself, remembering that Raphael had told him that Mrs. Miller didn't know about him. She was old, so Relief was able to hide Raphael in the servants’ quarters when needed, where he could keep a protective eye on her and her sister.
"My lord, please join our group and wait for your friend."
"I would not impose, madam."
"Not at all. Please."
He smiled and let himself be guided into the front hall. He heard a woman's beautiful singing voice, and the enchanting notes of a pianoforte filling the air. Mrs. Miller gestured forward to a yellow music room. Lord Cheltham stepped to the threshold of the salon and gasped when he saw Miss Moore singing and Miss Honora playing the piano.
Miss Moore stole his breath away. She stood in a crimson silk gown with her hair pulled elegantly up. A stray curl fell and decorated a graceful shoulder.
Just like the day she wore her bonnet. How he longed to touch that soft-looking lock.
He swallowed, moved by the passionate desire to take her into his arms and (he prayed) accept her complete surrender to his love. How he could hope.
The song ended, and several people clapped. Relief made a deeply elegant curtsey and looked at her appreciative audience. She smiled.
Honora stood up and hugged her. The Viscount clapped loudly from across the room. She turned to look at him. Her lips parted, and she brought her fingertips to them. He smiled, glad that he had gone home after a little adventure on his own, and changed into his casual but dashing dark brown jacket with gleaming buttons, matching waistcoat, shirt of fine white linen, excellently tied snowy-white cravat, buff colored trousers, and tall boots. His only jewelry was a signet ring.
Her face glows with affection ... She loves me, too! Her eyes shine with it.
He knew that he was looking at her with the expression of a love-sick schoolboy, but he didn't care. His knotted stomach and tight chest made it difficult for him to play by the strict rules. Mad love tore at him and affected his senses.
The lovely Moor
e sisters bid their guests goodnight, and one by one they took their leave, each in turn gazing at the Viscount with the greatest of curiosity. These were not nobility, but rather a mixture of middle and upper-class citizens, dressed in impeccable if not always expensive clothing.
Lord Cheltham smiled to each politely as they passed. At last the house was quiet. Mrs. Miller peeked into the room and smiled. She had that matchmaking sparkle in her eyes once again.
"Honora, dear, will you come with me to arrange for a tea service?"
"Yes, madam."
"We will return in five minutes.” She directed this to the Viscount. He smiled.
Mrs. Miller left the room, expecting Honora to follow her. Honora spoke to her sister then left.
"I beg you, Leafy, you will not hesitate to soothe that inflammation of your heart."
Relief grinned.
He had heard the younger sister's advice to her elder.
How delightful! Relief's heart is inclined toward me.
The door was left open. Relief approached him hesitantly. They stood a foot apart. He looked into her angelic face, her glittering eyes. She blinked, reaching for him with unspoken words. She parted her lips slightly. He cleared his throat.
"Miss Moore, I am transcended by your talent."
She continued to look at him in a way that made it difficult for him to conceal his maddening feelings of passion for her. Tension wracked his body. She leaned closer, and his heart pounded. He closed his eyes and sighed.
"Please, Miss Moore, I must go. I anticipate your presence at my party."
She gently touched his cheek with her fingertips.
"I have never loved a man before."
His eyes snapped open.
"—Wh ... what?” Passion began to flood him, threatening to push him past a point he had never known before. He desperately grasped for control.
"I have never been in love before.” She appeared flushed.
"Be ... before now?” Oh my God, can it be?
He stood so still and stiff he could barely breathe. She ran her fingertips gently over his lower lip. He parted his lips slightly, straining not to touch her. Immediate and hot need shot through him painfully. He ached to touch her, but didn't dare. He was, after all, a gentleman.
She placed a gloved hand behind his head and leaned toward him, closing her eyes. Her lips touched his softly at first, and then the kiss became urgent. He responded ardently opening his mouth to taste her, driven by an insane need to have her.
