by Julia London
“I’m perfectly fine,” Leo said. He’d lost his appetite for drink, that was all. His thoughts were on the need to discover where one purchased chickens in London, and what one had to do to gain entrance to the market. He was too bothered by this business with these poor Weslorian women and the men who would treat them so ill, and how ill prepared he was to do anything about it. Last night, he’d lain awake, tossing and turning, trying to make sense of his life. It was as if his twenty-ninth year had crept up on him like death and had found his life lacking in so many ways. He’d done nothing worthwhile.
Leo was ashamed of himself. But on the other hand, he wished he had tackled something a little less complicated than freeing women sold into slavery.
He and Beck were soon joined by two other men, Mr. Humble and Sir Granbury, both of whom were eager to celebrate Lady Caroline’s return to health, although neither seemed to know her. When the talk turned loud and boisterous and Beck complained of hunger, he insisted they carry on to a restaurant nearby that he claimed prepared a very good beefsteak.
Leo saw his opportunity and blurted awkwardly, “I’ve had a hangering for good poultry.”
The three men looked at him.
Leo looked back.
“I believe you meant to say hankering, Your Highness,” said Sir Granbury.
“Pardon?”
“The word you are seeking is hankering, not hangering,” Beck supplied, grinning.
“Ah. Thank you.” Leo could feel a warmth in the back of his neck. He’d picked up some words in the last few years that he had not learned from his childhood English tutor.
“If it’s poultry you want, I’ve the best in Lancashire,” said Mr. Humble. “You’ll not see better meat than what is produced on my land. Plump birds.” He used his hands to demonstrate just how plump.
“It is good poultry, Davis, I will grant you that,” Beck agreed.
“Perhaps something a bit closer than Lancashire,” Leo suggested. “Surely there is a market...”
“What have you got all those servants for?” Beck scoffed. “Send them out to fetch good poultry and don’t concern yourself.”
The three men nodded in agreement. Leo would have, too, because naturally, if he wanted poultry, he would tell someone, and it would magically appear on his plate. “Truth be told, sirs...my man does not have an eye for the fattest hen.”
“Neither do I,” said Sir Granbury, and the three men burst into laughter. Various jests about the gentlemen’s appendages and how they’d like to fit said appendages into fat hens went round the table while Leo tried to think of another way to ask about the market.
When the laughter died, he said, “But is there a market for poultry? Someplace I might send him?”
Mr. Humble shrugged. “There is Leadenhall. Or Newgate.”
Leadenhall! That’s what Ann Marble had whispered.
“Not Newgate,” Beck argued. “Leadenhall for poultry, Newgate for beef. Everyone knows it.” He looked at Leo. “Tell your man to go to Leadenhall.”
“Yes, thank you—I will.” That answered the question of where. But as the four of them prepared to leave the gentlemen’s club and seek supper, he moved on to fretting about how he’d convince Miss Marble to tell him what he needed.
* * *
ON WEDNESDAY, Leo had to convince his valet, Freddar, that he did indeed want to dress like an unassuming gentleman of English descent. “But the cut of the English suit does not serve your physique, Highness,” Freddar had sniffed.
“It serves me well enough. And a hat, Freddar. Not a beaver hat. Something less conspicuous than beaver.”
“Less conspicuous,” Freddar repeated, as if he didn’t understand the word.
“I’d like a plain hat,” Leo clarified.
Freddar frowned. “As you wish, Highness,” he said primly, his curtness signaling that he was being made to do this under duress.
Kadro and Artur, too, seemed to participate in Leo’s excursion under duress. He overheard Kadro complain to Artur that the English coats were restrictive.
But Leo rather liked it. And he liked the plain hat with the wide brim. He was able to wander the wide lanes of the Leadenhall market with scarcely a notice.
The market was fascinating. So many people, so many animal carcasses! It wasn’t that Leo had never been to markets—he’d visited them on occasion in Helenamar. But those ventures were always done with a coterie of royal observers, and the visit arranged so he’d see only what the hosts wanted him to see. In England, he’d had opportunity to enter markets, of course, but there had never been any need to actually do so. The idea of wandering through stalls of meats and leathers and various goods he did not want had never crossed his mind.
Well, he had no idea what he’d been missing! He’d commanded Kadro and Artur to wait at a public house near the entrance of the market, so that he might stroll at his leisure. Just the number of beef carcasses alone hanging from the tops of the stall fronts were a sight to behold.
He was so entranced with the number of people and the sale of the meat that he very nearly collided with an old woman who was carrying the carcass of a sheep wrapped around her shoulders. She looked through him and carried on to her stall, one foot before the other, trudging along as if no one else was in the market.
Costermongers moved in between the shoppers, barking out their wares, singing about their fruits and vegetables, their herbs and flowers. People crowded the stalls, bartering for their cuts of meat. Ale was sold out of carts, and gentlemen strolled through the lanes with tin tankards. An enterprising young man had roasted legs of mutton to sell, too, and the smell made Leo’s mouth water.
On another aisle were leather goods. Belts and knife sheaths, saddles and shoes. Leo walked past a heated argument that had broken out at one tanner’s post. The gentleman apparently thought the tanner’s price for leather to make boots was exorbitant. The tanner accused the gentleman of sullying his reputation and took a swing.
Leo moved on to the poultry stalls, where live chickens and skinned chickens existed side by side, the latter hanging in rows above the stall. He lingered in this lane, pretending to look over all the birds, then walked back and looked again, waiting for a glimpse of Miss Marble. He was beginning to think that she had avoided him once again, but then he spotted her. She was walking with another woman, engrossed in conversation.
He had not counted on there being anyone with her. That was alarming all on its own, but then Leo happened to notice something else that caused his heart to skip a few worried beats. Just behind Miss Marble, a very ornate hat and a tumble of blond curls beneath its brim was moving steadily toward him, like the prow of a ship making its way to the quay. Good God, that was Lady Caroline strolling the market aisle on the arm of a gentleman.
What in blazes was she doing here, at this market? It had been only three days ago he’d seen her in bed looking as if she’d just crawled back from the jaws of death. How in heaven had she untangled the mess of hair he’d seen on her head, much less coiffed it into curls? And how could she look so pretty after appearing so emaciated?
Miss Marble and her companion stopped at one chicken stall and studied the birds. Leo ducked behind a stack of crates stuffed with live birds and held his breath against the stench, impatiently waiting for Lady Caroline and her escort to stroll past. They were not alone, he realized—two ladies dressed similarly to Lady Caroline strolled behind them, looking terribly ill at ease.
When he saw the group of them go round the corner into the lane of beef, he darted out from behind the crates, very nearly knocking them over, and drawing the immediate ire of the proprietor.
Miss Marble didn’t see him at first. She was laughing with the other woman, who, Leo realized as he drew closer, was also from the Hawke home. Bloody hell, who was next? The butler? Beck himself? He stepped out of their line of sight and bumped into a lad carry
ing a basket of cakes. He held one up. Leo dug in his pocket for a coin and handed it to him in exchange for a cake.
“A crown?”
Leo momentarily turned his attention from Miss Marble and looked at the coin in the lad’s hand. “Looks like it is,” he agreed.
“The cake, it’s a half penny, milord,” the lad said.
“Is it?” That seemed awfully inexpensive. “Buy yourself a treat, then,” Leo said, and with a friendly pat to the lad’s shoulder, he moved past him, following Miss Marble and the other maid as they moved down the aisle while munching on the cake.
He feared he was going to have to resort to extreme measures to separate Miss Marble from her friend, but suddenly, Miss Marble’s friend turned down another aisle, and Miss Marble walked up to a poultry seller. Leo quickly hopped forward and sidled up to her. “Miss Marble.”
She gasped. Her hand went to her throat. The man behind the stall looked at him curiously, then at Miss Marble.
“Please don’t draw attention,” Leo muttered.
Unfortunately, Miss Marble could not appear to be anything but alarmed. She seemed frozen with shock. He did not understand her shock. She’d told him to meet her here—did she think he would not?
“Say something,” he urged her, and forced a smile for the poultry man.
“Something amiss here?” the man rumbled.
Miss Marble managed to gather herself. She said to the man, “Two of your best chickens, if you please. Make certain they’re your best—they’re for Lord Hawke.”
The man nodded, took butcher paper and turned around for his stick to reach the carcasses hanging above him.
“Wrap them well,” she said, then gestured for Leo to step into a tight passage between two stalls. She stepped in behind him, glanced over her shoulder, then dipped into a curtsy.
“Oh no, no,” Leo said, reaching to lift her up, but drawing back his hand before he touched her, uncertain if he ought to, given the circumstances. “That’s...that’s hardly necessary, given this...ah, arrangement,” he stammered, seeking the right word.
“Please, Highness, what do you want of me?” she begged him. “I’ve done all I can do. I told the gent that I couldn’t help more.”
“The gent? What gent? Do you mean Lysander? But he gave me your—”
“Who?”
Leo paused. “Lysander, the Alucian.”
She shook her head.
Leo frowned with confusion. “But he gave me your name. What gentleman are you referring to?”
“Don’t know. I only know the Weslorian girl.”
“Who?”
“Isidora Avalie,” she said.
Leo’s heart lurched. That was one of the names.
“She’s the one you want, isn’t she? I told you, I can’t help you. I told the other gent that, too, when he came looking for her. Lord Hill, he turned us both out, and without any pay. Lord Russell, he didn’t like the way Lord Hill had done it, but he was kind enough to take me in until I could find another position. But Isidora, he wouldn’t take her, not her, because she was Weslorian, and he said he’d not involve himself in that. There, I’ve told you all I know, and now I really must go, Highness! If I lose my post, I’ve nowhere to go!”
“Hawke won’t turn you out—”
“He will, Highness, he will! Please, let me go.”
“Take a breath,” he said, realizing it was his own chest that felt tight. He was far out of his depth.
“I tried to help Isidora, on my word, I did, but she...she...” Miss Marble suddenly burst into tears.
“Oh no. Goodness, no,” Leo said, putting both hands up. “No, Miss Marble, you mustn’t weep. Why are you weeping?”
“She had no place to go, either, and now she...oh, she’s lost, the poor soul. Lost!”
Leo’s breath caught. “Do you mean she’s gone missing? Or...” He winced. “Dead?” he whispered.
Miss Marble looked up from blubbering into her hands and pinned him with a ferocious look. “She ain’t missing or dead. She’s working in a house of ill repute, that’s what. Right at Charing Cross. What was she to do? I begged Mrs. Mansfield to find something else for her—”
“Who is Mrs. Mansfield?” Leo asked, his head spinning.
Miss Marble’s eyes narrowed. “She owns the house where Issy stays now,” she said stiffly. “She said Issy was as safe with her as she was in some grand house, and if I didn’t leave her be, she’d take me in, too.” She glanced over her shoulder and gasped. “Molly’s looking for me! Please, Highness, don’t ask me again, I beg you.”
“Just one last question—who is the other gentleman who asked you about your friend?”
“I don’t know.” She turned to go.
“Wait! Where is Mrs. Mansfield? Where might I find her?”
“Charing Cross,” she repeated irritably.
“But Charing Cross is...”
It was too late—Miss Marble had fled, returning to the poultry man to collect her bundle, then rejoining her friend without once looking back.
Leo stepped out of the space between the stalls and looked around him. How the devil was he supposed to find a brothel with nothing more to go on than it was at or near Charing Cross? That wasn’t a street—it was a juncture of many streets.
He began to walk, his head down, thinking. He had no idea what he was doing, much less what he meant to do if he found any of these women. He was chasing rainbows and wandering around meat markets.
“Dear God, it’s you.”
Leo instantly stopped walking. He turned slightly and looked directly into the lovely green eyes of Lady Caroline. “I beg your pardon. It’s you.”
She suddenly beamed at him, clearly delighted with her find. She took in his plain hat, his unassuming coat, and her smile turned impossibly brighter. “Well, well, what have we here? What are you about today, Your Highness? Hungry for a leg of mutton, are you?”
It was impossible to imagine that this woman, who had been in bed just a few days ago, could look so beautiful. She was a tad too thin, but the glow of health had returned to her cheeks, and her eyes were glittering with wicked delight. “It may surprise you, Lady Caroline, but I like mutton as well as the next man.”
“Do you know what I find interesting?”
“No, but I’ve no doubt you will tell me.”
“That the last Alucian gentleman who dressed like this was your brother. He was sneaking about, as you may recall. Are you sneaking about?”
“I see that your impertinence has returned in full. It’s rather astonishing that I must say this aloud, but what I do is no concern of yours. I think the better question is why are you here at all? Were you not deathly ill only two days ago?”
“Three,” she said. “But I am blessed with a hearty constitution, and I bounce back like a rubber ball.” She moved closer. “Why are you prancing about Leadenhall market dressed as a regular Englishman?”
“I am not prancing—I am walking. You can’t possibly understand, given that you are not a prince, nor inclined to listen, but sometimes it is easier to go round dressed like a regular Englishman.”
“Is it,” she said skeptically.
“It is,” he assured her. “Shall I call someone to help you to your carriage? You oughtn’t to be about.”
Her brows dipped into a decided V over her smile. She stepped closer. “Will you not humor me and tell me why you are here, Highness?”
He shifted closer to her, too. He could see the deep green specks in the irises of her eyes, dancing little eddies, drawing him in. “Will you not humor me and tell me why it is you think you have license to interrogate me? Why does anyone enter a meat market? I want a chicken.”
Her brows rose with surprise and she smiled with delight. She leaned forward. “A chicken?” she asked, her gaze on his mouth.
�
��That’s right, a chicken, Lady Caroline,” he said to her bodice. “The poultry at the hotel is not to my liking.” His gaze moved to the pert tip of her nose. And then to her succulent lips.
“But you have servants.”
“You sound like your brother.”
“Do I? That is somewhat alarming to hear, but I know that the difference between me and my brother is that Beck would probably accept your explanation without question. I won’t.” She tilted her head slightly as her gaze moved to his jaw, and up to his ear.
“But that’s the rub, madam. I don’t need or want your approval.” He desperately wanted to take her by the chin and force her to look him in the eye. He leaned so close that she had to look up. “No offense meant,” he added impertinently.
She smiled for the long moment it took for her gaze to travel lazily to his lips. “None taken.”
“Excellent. Then we may both be about our day.” He touched the brim of his hat and stepped around her. But when he did, his hand made contact with hers. It was a very slight tangle of fingers, hardly anything at all, and yet it set off fireworks inside him. “Good day, Lady Caroline. I shall leave you to your bouncing about like a rubber ball.”
“You’re scurrying away like a rat or a guilty man, Your Highness. What about your chicken?”
“Lady Caroline?”
Leo started almost as badly as Lady Caroline. She abruptly whirled around. “Mr. Morley!” She was breathless, either with surprise or delight, Leo didn’t know. “You found me!”
The gentleman was about the same height as Lady Caroline. He’d walked up behind them holding a basket carrying bread and flowers. “I thought I’d lost you,” he said with a nervous smile. “It would be quite easy to be lost in here, I think.” His gaze shifted to Leo. “I beg your pardon, sir. May I...?”
“Oh, I do beg your pardon, Mr. Morley,” Lady Caroline said, and Leo prepared to be introduced as a prince, at which point he’d have to make some elaborate excuse for being here admiring a row of hanging chicken carcasses without a royal guard in sight. “Mr. Chartier, my friend, Mr. Morley.”
